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I Wish You Love | Part One
I Wish You Love Masterlist
Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader
Watching Miss Isobel encourage Lieutenant Nixon's affections only to ignore his letters as soon as he's deployed proves too much for you to bear.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Discussion of War Wounds, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.
Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 4611
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You had met Lewis Nixon first. On a misty morning in early December 1943 when The Honourable Isobel St John’s dog, Dash III, was yet again carelessly let out of the house by the naïve kitchen maid Else. The poor girl, freshly arrived from Austria, meant well, truly. But she simply did not seem to comprehend the vastness of Lydiard Park, nor the fact that a great portion of it had become off limits, requestioned by the 101st Airborne to construct a field hospital in anticipation of the invasion of France.
Wrapping a shawl around the shoulders of your black service dress, lace collar at your throat, you had forced yourself out into the damp chill, shoes crunching on the pea gravel path as you had called out for the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Miss Isobel thought quite highly of herself, typical middle child syndrome if one were being quite honest, and had kept a series of Cavalier’s named after Queen Victoria’s own – though she preferred the Blenheim colouring to the original’s tri-coloured coat. Of all the staff, and humans, at Lydiard House, Dash III was most likely to respond to you and so this task was one with which you were quite familiar.
What you had not expected to find was the missing canine squirming in the arms of a handsome American Lieutenant, desperately trying to lick at his striking jawline.
“Dash!” You had cried out at the state of his filthy coat, the majority of the white streaked with mud.
“That’s your name, then, is it?” The Lieutenant had smirked, a label bearing the last name of ‘Nixon’ stitched onto his uniform above his left breast pocket.
“Dash the third, Leftenant.” You had gulped roughly at the broad grin that had unfurled across his features at your British pronunciation of his rank.
“Dash the third. I am Lewis Nixon the third, what destiny we should meet.” Nixon had addressed the filthy dog fondly, prompting him to squirm in delight, smearing all manner of muck onto his uniform.
“I am terribly sorry for the trouble, sir, please allow me.” You had moved to take Dash from Nixon, but the gentle shake of his head had halted your movements.
“Not at all, miss, I’m assuming this rogue Dash belongs up at the house?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded quickly. “Allow me then, my clothes are meant to get dirty.” He had tucked the dog under his arm more securely and began walking back with you. “I take it this is not Dash’s first great escape?”
You had shaken your head quickly, biting back a laugh. “Unfortunately not, Leftenant. I truly appreciate your help returning him to us. Miss Isobel will be relieved.”
“And how about you?” Nixon had inquired with a grin.
You had looked to your feet quickly, the expression only making him transition from good looking to dangerously handsome. “Grateful, of course, sir.”
“And is that what I should call you? Grateful? Is that her name, Dash?” He had looked down to the dog beneath his arm, earning a warm tongue along his cheek in response.
A laugh had escaped your lips before you had introduced yourself properly as the pair of you neared the 18th century Palladian style home. “Please follow me to the kitchen door, Leftenant, I’ll need to give Dash a bath before he is unleashed upon the household.”
Nixon’s appearance in the servants’ hall had caused quite a stir, earning him an introduction to the family upstairs upon which Miss Isobel had immediately set her eyes on him. The Honourable Isobel St John was a complicated woman and while you were the same age, born in 1918, your experiences and perceptions of the world could not have been more different. Third child of Viscount Bolingbroke, what she lacked in social standing she more than made up for in entitlement.
While her parents, Bertrand and Elizabeth St John were disappointed in her unwed state at the age of twenty-five, four years into the war it was more common than not. And it was not for any lack of suitors on Miss Isobel’s part. A veritable parade of uniformed men had joined the family at the simpler dinner parties they now hosted, particularly with their eldest child and only son taken prisoner by the Japanese so early in the war. With eldest daughter Gwendoline busily running her own household with two children, and youngest Rosamund off with the Auxiliary Territorial Service, Lydiard House was held hostage by the whims and desires of Miss Isobel. And through the winter of 1943 into spring 1944 that had been Lieutenant Lewis Nixon.
From the glimpses you caught of him whilst serving cocktails and dinner, the lack of footmen pressing housemaids such as yourself into service in unusual roles, and the starry-eyed descriptions provided by Miss Isobel herself as you helped her dress and undress before said gatherings, it seemed Lieutenant Nixon fit in quite well at an upper-class table. Naturally his duties prevented him from visiting every weekend, but he was present more often than not, and as the weather grew warmer, he and Miss Isobel would take long walks on the grounds still available to the St John family, Dash happily accompanying them on a leash.
Lieutenant Nixon was polite and friendly, greeting you with a familiar nod when you would fetch Dash for his meal as they were lounging beside the lake, or throwing you a smile as you would hold out his preferred whiskey on a silver tray before dinner. But you by no means expected his generosity that rainy Sunday in mid-April. Having taken the majority of the day off for your father’s birthday, you had seen to it that Miss Isobel was dressed and on her way to breakfast, before changing into a once-colourful dress of your own, frowning as the skies opened up.
Pulling on your Macintosh, you tucked your small gift into the inside pocket before dashing out to the garage to fetch your bicycle, heading down the gravel drive toward the road into town when Lieutenant Nixon’s covered jeep pulled up beside you.
“Where are you going in this deluge?!” He peered out at you, and you swallowed.
“Good morning, Leftenant. Headed into Swindon to see my father. You’ll find Miss Isobel in the breakfast room, sir.”
Your eyes widened as he put the jeep in park, the door swinging open before he dashed around to open the tail gate. “Put your bike the back, I’ll drive you.”
“But sir, I…” You trailed off as the jacket of his uniform was growing darker with rain by the moment and found yourself unable to argue at the expense of his clothing.
You quickly dismounted and surrendered your bicycle, trying not to stare too intently as he easily hoisted it into the back before ushering you into the passenger’s seat on the right side of the vehicle – the positioning utterly foreign, but you quickly dashed inside, sliding off your hood as he jogged back to the driver’s side.
“This is truly unnecessary, Leftenant, it’s out of your way and will only delay you.” You pleaded with him once he was back under the canvas cover.
He gave you his lopsided grin, shaking his head, scattering some raindrops from his garrison cap. “Izzy’ll not even notice, let her enjoy her cold toast.”
You bit your lip savagely, well aware of the degree to which Miss Isobel loathed that nickname, yet she never seemed to correct him on it. Executing a smooth three-point turn, he aimed the jeep back toward the main road and began to drive to Swindon. “How long does it take you to cycle there?”
“About twenty minutes, sir. It’s a nice ride on a dry day.” You undid the buttons on your Macintosh, overheating in the garment, and slid it open to reveal your dress.
Lieutenant Nixon’s glance in your direction, and quick double-take, had you smoothing the hem of it against your knees self-consciously. “I’m sorry, you look lovely, I’m just so used to seeing you in black and white it’s like we’ve landed in Oz and you’re suddenly in Technicolor over there.”
The analogy was so striking that you were completely taken aback. Laughter bubbled up from your throat as you shook your head and belatedly covered your mouth as he grinned broadly, seeming quite pleased with himself.
“So, you grew up in Swindon?” Nixon asked over the sound of rain pelting the roof and windshield and you nodded quickly.
“Yes, sir.” You swallowed, hands planted in your lap as you tugged at your fingertips nervously.
“Izzy tells me you have a brother fighting in Italy, is that right?”
You looked to him, startled to learn that you had ever been a topic of conversation between him and Miss Isobel. “I do, sir.”
“Is he older or younger than you?” He took his eyes off the road to meet yours briefly, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.
“Johnny is twelve minutes older, sir.”
“Twins?!” His wide, brown eyes flashed back to yours and you nodded with a soft laugh.
“I don’t think I’ve met a twin before…” He murmured thoughtfully. “And what does your father do?”
Swallowing nervously, you glanced out the window a moment to carefully formulate your answer. “He picks up work at the Swindon Railway Works.” You replied, leaving out the part that he only did so when he was physically well enough. The loss of his leg on the Somme was a wound that had never fully healed and nagged him more and more as he got older.
“Do you get to see him often?” He asked, making the turn into town easily as you shook your head sadly.
“Not as often as I should – it’s his birthday today, though, so I asked to take most of the day a few months ago.”
“Well, wish him a happy birthday for me, will you?” He smiled and you nodded before guiding him through the streets to the simpler, working-class neighbourhood where the one-bedroom flat you’d grown up in was located.
Lieutenant Nixon parked the jeep in front of the building and the pair of you hurried out into the rain to retrieve your bicycle from the back. You had just finished thanking him profusely when you turned to see your father standing in the doorway on his crutches, not wearing prosthetic leg. It was no surprise, actually, in weather like this he found the thing extremely uncomfortable.
A look of understanding crossed Lieutenant Nixon’s face and he insisted on walking you to the door, offering his hand to shake your father’s.
“Happy Birthday, sir.”
Your baffled father had shaken it in return with his thanks, completely taken aback by the American Lieutenant on his doorstep.
“Thank you again, Leftenant.”
“It was my pleasure, enjoy your afternoon off.” He smiled and dashed back to the car as you ushered your father inside, explaining everything as you helped him to his chair.
Mercifully, when it came time for you to return to Lydiard House for the evening, the rain had eased up and you were able to cycle back without getting soaked to the skin. As you came up the drive, you spotted Lieutenant Nixon and Miss Isobel walking arm in arm, heads bent toward one another as Dash walked alongside. You dismounted quickly, trying to be discrete, but the dog turned as soon as he caught your scent, barking happily in greeting.
“Ah, you’re back.” Miss Isobel said flatly.
“Good Evening Miss Isobel, Leftenant Ni–“
“Oh, don’t be so British, it’s Lieutenant.” Miss Isobel cut you off, tone rather condescending as she slipped the leash from the Lieutenant’s grasp and held it out toward you expectantly. “Will you take Dash inside for his meal? Then I’ll see you to change for dinner.”
You hurried to close the distance, pushing your bike along with you as you took the leash from her, Dash happily wending his way between your ankles in greeting. “Certainly, Miss.” You replied patiently before excusing yourself with a curtsy, leading the dog inside, finding it rather awkward to manage the bicycle as well but after nearly ten years of serving the St John family you knew better than to test Miss Isobel.
“I think it’s charming how she says it.” You bit the inside of your cheek savagely, trying not to overhear Lieutenant Nixon’s defense of your pronunciation, particularly when Miss Isobel replied in a sultry voice.
“I’ll tell you what’s charming…” The rest of her statement was mercifully out of the range of your hearing as you tucked your bicycle away in the garage.
As the calendar flipped to May, Lieutenant Nixon’s presence became less and less frequent at Lydiard and the ever-impatient Miss Isobel’s eye began to wander. It most certainly was not your place to have an opinion, or loyalties to any of her suitors, but the presence of a RAF pilot named Shore left a sour taste in your mouth.
It was early on June 7 when the first of Lieutenant Nixon’s letters to Miss Isobel arrived. Placing it on a silver tray, you took it up first thing in the morning when you went up to dress her for the day. It sat on her vanity, unopened still, when you changed her for dinner with Captain Shore, remained there while she flirted with him brightly through the meal, and was brushed into the dust bin as you undressed her for bed. “Oh, Miss I think you…”
“That will be all, good night.” She waved her hand dismissively and you frowned, excusing yourself with a nod before stepping out of the room.
Sitting heavily on your twin bed in the attic, the metal frame creaking in protest, your brow remained furrowed as all you could picture was Lieutenant Nixon’s caring face as he had listened attentively to your answers whilst going out of his way to drive you into town. He was a kind and considerate man, not to mention excruciatingly handsome, but now that he was out of sight, he was quite simply out of Miss Isobel’s mind. For all anyone knew he could be lying dead in France somewhere by now, the news of the invasion fresh in everyone’s mind, particularly the steep toll and tenuous hold.
“You keep making that face and it’ll get stuck like that.” Helen, your roommate chided warmly, and you blinked rapidly, shaking your head to clear it with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Just overthinking things, sorry Helen. Shall I get the light?”
With her agreement, you flicked the switch off at the wall and shuffled back to bed, sliding under the covers, mulling over the conundrum of the unopened letter upstairs. You would be emptying that dustbin tomorrow morning while Miss Isobel was at breakfast. Perhaps you should rescue it in case she changed her mind. Plan formulated, you were able to get some rest and later secured the correspondence, storing it in the bottom of your suitcase.
One week later, the second letter arrived, and you took it up to Miss Isobel hopefully.
“Oh, you can stop bringing these to me, I shan’t be taking up correspondence with him.” She muttered dismissively, not even taking the letter from the tray on which you presented it to her.
Your entire body went rigid for a moment, and it took a great summoning of strength to reply, “Yes, Miss.”
“And take Dash for an extra long walk, would you, he’s been positively listless the past few weeks and the weight of his gaze is quite a bore.” She sank in the vanity chair expectantly as you glanced over at the dog, lying forgotten on his plush, velvet bed, no longer of use to her as Captain Shore was allergic.
“Yes, Miss.” Your reply was perhaps terser than it ought to be, but to your good fortune, Miss Isobel was already flipping through a magazine idly as she waited for you to begin styling her hair.
Drawing deeply from your well of restraint, you managed not to jab her scalp with any pins as you secured her hair into a set of fashionable victory rolls before you called to Dash to take him for a walk. As you descended the stairs, you took the abandoned letter from its tray and shoved it into your pocket, grabbing Dash’s leash from the backdoor in the servant’s hall and heading out for a lengthy walk of the grounds. It did both of you good to get out of that house, Dash immediately perking up, tailing wagging as he trotted to-and-fro to inspect the foliage while you worked out your frustration at the petulant child you worked for by setting a brisk pace.
You only slowed after about thirty minutes, when a sheen of sweat had gathered at your brow and your legs were beginning to ache, changing to a stroll as you circled the lake, laughing softly as Dash barked at the ducks far out in the water who paid him no mind. “I promise to bring you out here more often, you silly boy.” You muttered, sliding a hand into your pocket and blinking as you found the letter, guilt twisting like a knife in your belly. “Because there’s a lot to make up for when it comes to your mistress.”
Swallowing tightly, you slowly pulled out the envelope, looking over Lieutenant Nixon’s tidy cursive. Certainly, there were laws against reading another’s mail, but the immorality of entertaining a man’s affections for six months only to throw him over as soon as he went to war seemed to outweigh all that in your mind. He had taken the time to write to an ungrateful, spoiled woman, the least someone could do was grant him the courtesy of reading it. Johnny had always said what a joy it was to send and receive letters, how it took his mind off life at the front first in North Africa and now Italy, and as someone who got to enjoy the safety and comfort of home it was a duty in your mind to do whatever you could to help those fighting for the Allies.
Taking a shaky breath, you carefully slipped the letter from the pre-sliced envelope – Miss Isobel was not even expected to open her own mail, after all – and unfolded the sheets of paper.
Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you only realized your feet had stopped their progress across the lawn when Dash’s leash tugged at your wrist insistently before he bounded over to you, pressing his paws onto your calf impatient to continue on. “Sorry, Dash, yes.” You whispered, carefully folding the letter and sliding it back into its envelope before returning it to your pocket.
For all his jokes and smirks, there had always been an air of melancholy about Lieutenant Nixon, one that he seemed to hide beneath a good story and strong drink. The only crime, as far as you could see, would be for his letters, written with such care and affection and filled with a need for connection, to remain unanswered. You could write well-enough, had received excellent marks on your cursive before you left school at sixteen to begin working and supporting your father as his old wound had become more and more troublesome.
You would, of course, toe the line of impersonating your employer. There would be no soppy declarations, just descriptions of the home and the family. Stories to keep his spirits up – just as he requested. Begging out of the after-dinner socializing with the rest of the staff due to a headache, you slipped up to your room to retrieve the first letter from the bottom of your suitcase and sat on your bed to read it as well, intending to reply to both.
Settling against the headboard with some fresh paper and a pen, you nibbled on the end of it thoughtfully, trying to decide how to begin your response.
Lieutenant Nixon
My Dear Lewis
Dearest Lewis
“You’d think I was trying to reinvent the wheel…” You hissed under your breath before grabbing a new sheet of paper and starting anew.
You bit your lip as you signed off, taking more than a little pleasure in perpetuating a nickname you knew Miss Isobel loathed. There were moments in the letter where you may have let a bit more of your own personality shine through but on the whole, you were satisfied that it was a rather good impersonation of your mistress. And most important of all, provided Lieutenant Nixon with the fuel for his imagination that he so longed for.
Preparing an envelope with the mailing address and Miss Isobel’s return address, you carefully folded it all up once the ink had properly dried and placed it in the outgoing post that night after you’d helped Miss Isobel change for bed. In your thoughts as you fell asleep was not only the hope for your brother’s safe return, but also that of Lieutenant Nixon, too.
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Read Part Two
I Wish You Love Masterlist
Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24
#lewis nixon x reader#lewis nixon imagines#lewis nixon imagine#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers fic#band of brothers
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The Lady of the Tower Elizabeth St.John #HistoricalFiction #PrincesInTheTower #Audiobook #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @ElizStJohn @cathiedunn
FEATURED AUTHOR: ELIZABETH ST. JOHN Please welcome Elizabeth St. John again as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Audiobook Blog Tour held August 1st - 3rd, 2023. Elizabeth St. John is the author of the Historical Fiction, The Lady of the Tower, released by Falcon Historical (print) on 28th January 2016 (395 pages). The audiobook, narrated by Bridget Thomas, was released on 8th May 2018 (14 hours 40 minutes). Below are highlights of The Lady of the Tower, Elizabeth St. John’s author bio, and a snippet and link to a clip of her audiobook. Blog Tour Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2023/06/blog-tour-lady-of-the-tower-audiobook.html HIGHLIGHTS: THE LADY IN THE TOWER The Lady of the Tower By Elizabeth St.John Narrated by Bridget Thomas Blurb: "Elizabeth St John has brought the Stuart Court vividly to life. She weaves together the known facts of Lucy’s life with colourful scenes of fictional imagination, drawing on innocent romance and bleak deception to create a believable heroine and an intriguing plot." Historic Novel Society Book Review "The Lady of the Tower is a beautifully produced novel with a well-crafted story that will keep you both engaged and entertained. A joy to read. Thank you for sharing your world with us." Writers Digest 24th Annual Book Awards London, 1609. When Lucy St.John, a beautiful highborn orphan at the court of King James, is seduced by the Earl of Suffolk, she never imagines the powerful enemy she creates in his beloved sister, the Countess of Rochester. Or that her own sister Barbara would betray her and force Lucy to leave the court in disgrace. Spirited, educated, and skilled in medicine and precious remedies, Lucy fights her way back into society, and through an unexpected love match, becomes mistress of the Tower of London. Living inside the walls of the infamous prison, she defies plague, political intrigues and tragic executions to tend to aristocratic prisoners and criminals alike. Now married into the immensely powerful Villiers family, Barbara unites with the king’s favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, to raise the fortunes of Lucy and her family to dizzying heights. But with great wealth comes treachery, leaving Lucy to fight for her survival—and her honor—in a world of deceit and debauchery. Elizabeth St.John’s critically acclaimed debut novel tells the true story of her ancestress Lucy through her family’s surviving diaries, letters, and court papers. Lucy’s personal friendships with historical figures such as Sir Walter Raleigh and the Stuart kings brings a unique perspective to the history of seventeenth century England. Buy Links: The ebook is available to read on Kindle Unlimited. Universal Buy Link: https://geni.us/MyBookLOTT Audiobook Buy Links: Available on BookBub Chirp for only $3.99 during August: https://www.chirpbooks.com/audiobooks/the-lady-of-the-tower-by-elizabeth-st-john On all other platforms from $7.99 or FREE with an Audible subscription: https://geni.us/XZlpl45 AUTHOR BIO: ELIZABETH ST.JOHN Elizabeth St.John’s critically acclaimed historical fiction novels tell the stories of her ancestors: extraordinary women whose intriguing kinship with England's kings and queens brings an intimately unique perspective to Medieval, Tudor, and Stuart times. Inspired by family archives and residences from Lydiard Park to the Tower of London, Elizabeth spends much of her time exploring ancestral portraits, diaries, and lost gardens. And encountering the occasional ghost. But that’s another story. Living between California, England, and the past, Elizabeth is the International Ambassador for The Friends of Lydiard Park, an English charity dedicated to conserving and enhancing this beautiful centuries-old country house and park. As a curator for The Lydiard Archives, she is constantly looking for an undiscovered treasure to inspire her next novel. Elizabeth's books include her trilogy, The Lydiard Chronicles, set in 17th Century England during the Civil War, and her newest release, The Godmother's Secret, which explores the medieval mystery of the missing Princes in the Tower of London. Social Media Links: Website: http://www.elizabethjstjohn.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/ElizStJohn Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElizabethJStJohn LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/elizabethjstjohn/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elizabethjstjohn/ Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/elizabeth-st-john Amazon Author Page: https://geni.us/AmazonElizabethStJohn Goodreads: https://geni.us/GoodreadsElizStJohn AUDIO LINK & SNIPPET : THE LADY IN THE TOWER Audio clip to go with this Snippet: https://youtu.be/8ZMMZauG_CE Chapter Eight Whitehall Barbara got up from Frances’s side and walked across the room to me. Under the pretense of an embrace, she whispered clearly. “’Struth, Lucy, if you intend to pursue this road with Theo, judge your odds and be prepared to wager the stakes, for those who aim high can also fall far. Do not look to me for aid, for you choose your own path, and if ruin is the outcome, I shall publicly disown you.” I stepped back involuntarily. “What have I ever done to make you hate me so much?” I asked. “I don’t understand why you are this way to me.” “Not hate. Indifference. I do not see what others see in you. And my plans will not be compromised by your foolishness. Straighten your gown — you reveal too much.” She pulled the soft muslin across my reddened skin, kissed my cheek as though she were Judas, and left. “Theo . . .” I turned to him for reassurance, but he was gone. Drawn into Carr’s circle, he was loudly joking and drinking steadily from a goblet of wine. As I stared at him, trying to reconcile this frivolous courtier with the man I loved, he shrugged, laughing at his situation, and turned back to his friends. The musicians, who sounded so glorious when I first arrived, now rang discordant. I sickened of the entire confusing visit to White Hall and wished myself back in the peace of Lydiard. “But you know this is the way of the court.” The night lay between us, and we met at the Stone Gallery again during the afternoon promenade. The pavement reflected a cold light; falling snow continued to swathe the palace in gauze, softening the angles of the roofs and chimneys, and settling on charcoal-etched branches. A woman in a crimson cloak hurried across the privy garden, a daub of color in a black-and-white landscape. I wondered whose arms she was seeking, so swiftly, in such inclement weather. All my thoughts turned first to lovers now. I touched Theo’s arm to bridge the distance. “I know, I am not stupid. Anne has told me of her years at court where she witnessed firsthand the deceptions and lies, the flattery and untruths. It just does not sit right with me to see you in that world.” “Ah, Lucy, it’s just a game. Seize the opportunity to know us better, and you will find this amusing. As long as you do not take yourself seriously, there is no harm in playing these subtleties.” “Is that what last night was?” “No, that was no game, for you have captured my heart and enchanted my soul, Titania.” He pulled me to him, ignoring the glances of those around us. “Learn the ways of White Hall, and enjoy courtly love.” Instagram handle: @thecoffeepotbookclub Read the full article
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I'm delighted to welcome Elizabeth St. John and the audiobook for The Lady of the Tower to the blog #HistoricalFiction #Audiobook #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub #PrincesInTheTower
I'm delighted to welcome Elizabeth St. John and The Lady of the Tower to the blog #HistoricalFiction #Audiobook #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub #PrincesInTheTower @ElizStJohn @cathiedunn @elizabethjstjohn @thecoffeepotbookclub
Elizabeth St John is sharing a snippet – written and audio – of her fab book, The Lady of the Tower. Enjoy. Chapter Nine Lydiard Park I drew a deep, shuddering breath, my hand on my breast, feeling the posie ring concealed beneath. “I can’t bear it, Anne. I can’t live this way any longer.” I slumped into a chair, such a paralyzing emptiness overwhelming me that my tears were frozen. Although…
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#Audiobook#Blog Tour#Elizabeth St. John#historical fiction#New Release#The Coffee Pot Book Club#The Godmother&039;s Secret#The Lady of the Tower
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Swindon woman told to pay £375 to use Lydiard Park for charity
New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/k3YbF
Swindon woman told to pay £375 to use Lydiard Park for charity
Megan Ody of West Swindon was aiming to host a mass charity dog walk in Lydiard Park later this month to raise money for Battersea Dogs & Cats Home. The 27-year-old, who pet sits and walks dogs for a living, was shocked to find that the event would cost her a significant cost when she contacted […]
See full article at https://petn.ws/k3YbF #PetCharitiesNews
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#dawn#dusk#evening#church#my photography#nature photography#building photography#lydiard park#swindon#west swindon
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OH beat my record btw
#my sober record is like 50k tho..it was the morning my mom came home from hospital i didnt know she was coming back that soon so it was a#suprise when i got home i was so so happy n I used pacer back then b4 i inherited a fitbit#and s#I posted on the groups pics of the lakes and mature at lydiard#park#*nature & I had been walking for literallyso many hours and this guy do#comments ‘you phone shaking fool’ and I’m like I did for realllllll
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(via ice house | Lydiard Park Swindon Wilts | GRAHAM DICKINSON | Flickr)
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There were 56 horses in this field in total and the foals were gorgeous, especially this one. (at Lydiard Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEHXDCGA-Qm/?igshid=1aqeyh938sahx
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Simple Minds Is Performing
Simple Minds Is Performing
Enjoy Simple Minds In Concert
See Simple Minds in concert at one of the venues listed below.
With hits like Don’t You (Forget About Me), Alive and Kicking and Promised You a Miracle Simple Minds has made a mark since forming in Glasgow in 1977.
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#AJ Bell Stadium#Butts Park Arena#Colchester Castle Park#concert#Cyfarthfa Castle#Durham County Cricket Club#Kent Event Centre#Kunst!Rasen Bonn/Gronau#Lydiard Park#Millennium Square Leeds#music#Northern Meeting Park#Pearl Concert Theater at Palms Casino Resort#performance#Plaza de Toros de Granada#Riverside Park Newark#Simple Minds#South of England Showground#Tabernacle#Taunton Racecourse#The Fillmore Detroit#Tower Theater#Trent Country Park#Weert Noord
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Elizabeth St.John The Godmother’s Secret #HistoricalFiction #PrincesInTheTower #Audiobook #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @ElizStJohn @cathiedunn
FEATURED AUTHOR: ELIZABETH ST. JOHN Please welcome Elizabeth St. John again as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Audiobook Blog Tour being held July 18th — July 20th and July 25th, 2023. Elizabeth St. John is the author of the Historical Fiction, The Godmother’s Secret, released by Falcon Historical (print) on 4th October 2022 (361 pages). Tantor Media released the audiobook narrated by the author on 27th June 2023 (11 hours 59 minutes). Below are highlights of The Godmother’s Secret, Elizabeth St. John’s author bio, and a snippet and link to a clip of her audiobook. Blog Tour Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2023/06/blog-tour-godmothers-secret-audiobook.html HIGHLIGHTS: THE GODMOTHER’S SECRET The Godmother’s Secret By Elizabeth St.John Audiobook narrated by Elizabeth St.John Blurb: "An extremely well-written book with depth and complexity to the main characters. The author says she wanted to write a book about family love and tolerance, and a woman's loyalty and courage. She has done so. This is the best book I've read in ages!" The Ricardian Bulletin, Richard III Society "The authenticity and historical research displayed within this story is immense and exquisite. Ms. St. John is sure to be a newfound favorite for fans of not only this fractious time in English history, but of all historical fans who adore rich, immersive prose." Historical Fiction Company 2022 Book of the Year "A very enjoyable read. The historical veracity is impeccable, and Elysabeth is a likeable, admirable character who faces interesting dilemmas with love and courage." Historical Novel Society If you knew the fate of the Princes in the Tower, would you tell? Or forever keep the secret? May 1483: The Tower of London. When King Edward IV dies and Lady Elysabeth Scrope delivers her young godson, Edward V, into the Tower of London to prepare for his coronation, she is engulfed in political turmoil. Within months, the prince and his brother have disappeared, Richard III is declared king, and Elysabeth’s sister Margaret Beaufort conspires with her son Henry Tudor to invade England and claim the throne. Desperate to protect her godson, Elysabeth battles the intrigue, betrayal, and power of the last medieval court, defying her Yorkist husband and her Lancastrian sister under her godmother’s sacred oath to keep Prince Edward safe. Bound by blood and rent by honour, Elysabeth is torn between King Richard and Margaret Beaufort, knowing that if her loyalty is questioned, she is in peril of losing everything—including her life. Were the princes murdered by their uncle, Richard III? Did Margaret Beaufort mastermind their disappearance to usher in the Tudor dynasty? Or did the young boys vanish for their own safety? Of anyone at the royal court, Elysabeth has the most to lose–and the most to gain–by keeping secret the fate of the Princes in the Tower. Inspired by England’s most enduring historical mystery, Elizabeth St.John blends her family history with known facts and centuries of speculation to create an intriguing story about what happened to the Princes in the Tower. Buy Links: Audiobook Buy Link: https://geni.us/TGSAudible The ebook is available to read on Kindle Unlimited. Universal Buy Link: https://geni.us/GodmothersSecret AUTHOR BIO: ELIZABETH ST.JOHN Elizabeth St.John’s critically acclaimed historical fiction novels tell the stories of her ancestors: extraordinary women whose intriguing kinship with England's kings and queens brings an intimately unique perspective to Medieval, Tudor, and Stuart times. Inspired by family archives and residences from Lydiard Park to the Tower of London, Elizabeth spends much of her time exploring ancestral portraits, diaries, and lost gardens. And encountering the occasional ghost. But that’s another story. Living between California, England, and the past, Elizabeth is the International Ambassador for The Friends of Lydiard Park, an English charity dedicated to conserving and enhancing this beautiful centuries-old country house and park. As a curator for The Lydiard Archives, she is constantly looking for an undiscovered treasure to inspire her next novel. Elizabeth's books include her trilogy, The Lydiard Chronicles, set in 17th Century England during the Civil War, and her newest release, The Godmother's Secret, which explores the medieval mystery of the missing Princes in the Tower of London. Social Media Links: Website: http://www.elizabethjstjohn.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/ElizStJohn Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElizabethJStJohn LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/elizabethjstjohn/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elizabethjstjohn/ Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/elizabeth-st-john Amazon Author Page: https://geni.us/AmazonElizabethStJohn Goodreads: https://geni.us/GoodreadsElizStJohn AUDIO LINK & SNIPPET 2: THE GODMOTHER’S SECRET Audio Link to go with Snippet: https://youtu.be/5ohiQOzJ6gE 2 Autumn 1470 | Westminster Sanctuary As a toll marks the end of mass, Meg returns, and the midwife arrives in a swirl of fog and wood smoke with her bag of scissors and linens and vials of mugwort and pennyroyal electuaries, a rabbit’s foot, and St. Margaret’s birthing girdle to ensure an easy labour. The crone smells strongly of her workroom spirits, but her hands appear steady. The relentless abbey bells mark the longest hours. The room is so dark night loiters within. The scent of purifying lavender oil mingles with stinking melting tallow and smoke from the damp logs. The hours pass with no sign of the child, and then creeps over us a sharp odour of fear-sour sweat, drenching the queen's moans. “This is not like the others,” she pants, her stomach mounded over her long slender legs. “There is something wrong.” The midwife leans over her, casting a humpbacked shadow on the wall. “Hush, my lady,” she says. “Your child is just slow to arrive. Bite down on this kerchief, and do not push further, for just a moment.” The queen cries, her body rigid. Meg bathes her forehead with a damp cloth. I beckon the midwife to the fireside. The crone’s lined face gleams with perspiration, and the smell of fear is strongest from her. “What is happening?” I demand. “The queen employed you because she trusts you. This birth is going on for too long.” The midwife wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “The queen is narrow,” she says. “And the baby is large. That is all.” She turns away from me, hunches over her bag, and rummages for another curative. This time she places a dried toad upon the queen’s stomach, arranging it this way and that with deliberate care, chanting an unintelligible rhyme as she does so. I turn my back on the woman, shaking my head. I do not put much store in these witching tokens, but if the queen does, then it is her decision. “Belle-Maman!” Meg hisses. “Look!” The midwife is tipping a stone bottle into her mouth and drinking the contents. She sees me looking at her and quickly drops it back into the bag. “What are you doing?” I cry. “Are you drunk, woman?” The midwife laughs and pulls the bottle forth. “Want some? Prepare yourself, Lady Scrope.” “Get away from me.” I smack her hand. The crone sneers. “And you think you can do more? From what I’ve felt, the cord is wrapped around the child. If it is not freed, the queen will kill it. And likely herself too.” Instagram handle: @thecoffeepotbookclub Read the full article
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Simple Minds Is Performing
Simple Minds Is Performing
Listen To Simple Minds In Concert
Catch Simple Minds live at one of the peformances listed below.
With hits like Don’t You (Forget About Me), Alive and Kicking and Promised You a Miracle Simple Minds has made a mark since forming in Glasgow in 1977.
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#AJ Bell Stadium#Butts Park Arena#Colchester Castle Park#concert#Cyfarthfa Castle#Durham County Cricket Club#Kent Event Centre#Kunst!Rasen Bonn/Gronau#Lydiard Park#Millennium Square Leeds#music#Northern Meeting Park#performance#Plaza de Toros de Granada#Riverside Park Newark#Scone Palace#Simple Minds#SLESSOR GARDENS#South of England Showground#Taunton Racecourse#Trent Country Park
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: Cafflano® Go-Brew - Portable Brewing Bottle! Try quality coffee before Park Run! @CafflanoGoBrew . . ☝️ Water/beverage bottle (110°C hot & cold) ✌ Take-away cup & sleeve 👌 Pour-over set (dripper + stand/cup sleeve+ server/cup + bundle paper filters) . No more single-use plastic/paper cups/bottles ♻️ Bio co-polyester ECOZEN ♻️⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ________________________________________________ #cafflano #cafflanogobrew #pourover #coffee #cafe #coffeetime #coffeelover #coffeeaddict #barista #coffeebreak #instacoffee #coffeegram #coffeeholic #coffeelife #coffeemug #specialtycoffee #travel #outdoors #camping #cycling #backpacking #trekking #bottle #tumbler #plasticpollution #parkrun #lydiardpark #카플라노 #카플라노고브루 (at Lydiard Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5jAoFUFKUo/?igshid=18djn862bvqi2
#cafflano#cafflanogobrew#pourover#coffee#cafe#coffeetime#coffeelover#coffeeaddict#barista#coffeebreak#instacoffee#coffeegram#coffeeholic#coffeelife#coffeemug#specialtycoffee#travel#outdoors#camping#cycling#backpacking#trekking#bottle#tumbler#plasticpollution#parkrun#lydiardpark#카플라노#카플라노고브루
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OOC INFO
Name: Penny Age: 20 Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: GMT+1
IC INFO
Name: Edward St John, brother to 1st Viscount Bolingbroke Age: 36 Pronouns: He/Him Faceclaim: Aidan Turner
At least 3 headcanons about your character:
♔ Edward was born the middle child to the Baronet of Lydiard Tregoze in Wiltshire. The lot of a second son told him he would not inherit the baronetcy and its accompanying land so would have to forge his own way in the world. For Edward, this was much more a gift than a hindrance; he had no real desire to head an estate, no matter how relatively small it might be.
♔ With a strong desire to continue his education though he was certain he would never put it to any practical use, Edward went on to study history at Cambridge University. As he had suspected though, his degree was simply a way of chasing an interest for as soon as he graduated his father finally agreed to buy him a commission. He joined the British Army as an ensign in the Coldstream Regiment of Foot Guards in 1763 and was promoted to the rank of Captain four years later.
♔ At the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel his career changed course and Edward found himself landing on Long Island in a war against the rebelling Thirteen Colonies. Injured in battle in Pennsylvania in early 1778 Edward returned home to find his brother had been given the title of the Viscount Bolingbroke and ennobled in his long absence. He was naturally happy for his brother and sister-in-law but otherwise remained largely indifferent towards the development.
♔ Still recovering from his injuries and no doubt becoming more of an annoyance to those around him (who quickly became acutely aware that Edward was not prone to idleness — in fact seemed incapable of it) in the process. It undoubtedly seemed a blessing from above when one of the seats in the parliamentary borough that the St John family most prominently exerted their influence became available after the death of a local Tory MP It was conspired that Edward’s name should be put forward so that he would have something to occupy his time with as the realisation that he would not be returning to the army anytime soon dawned. He had proved himself an intelligent, compassionate man and an eloquent speaker during his time at university and his service with the army had only honed any leadership skills he may have had to begin with.
♔ It was deemed a perfect fit, though Edward was very much still surprised when he found himself the newest Member of Parliament for Wootton Basset as a result of the by-election. He is a Tory MP but by no means a staunch one, he himself has commented that it is near enough ‘only in name.’ Edward intends to vote as he pleases and sees fit, not as his family’s political history and opinions would require; especially as in recent years he has come to be more and more sympathetic to the Whig point of view on numerous subjects. If nothing else this development has given him plenty of opportunity to practice the art of an argument. ♔ Far more likely to be found at Almack’s or any other gentleman’s club he can gain entrance to rather than a theatre, much preferring the excitement of a gamble over sitting through a play, no matter how comedic. Edward can be as charming, well-mannered and gentlemanly as the very cream of the British nobility should he chose — and for the most part he exhibits those very traits though at heart he is very much a man of the country rather than the city and has a temper that flares with little to no warning and a tendency towards bluntness and sarcasm. When his presence is not required in London on parliamentary matters, he can be found trying to get home to Wiltshire, or the next best thing; roaming one of the Royal Parks to bide his time.
♔ Sociable and occasionally flirty though he may be, Edward by no means intends to find himself a wife in London. He has had (and enjoyed) quiet dalliances with both men and women in the past but never felt the desire to marry, though he suspects this may start to change as he learns to settle down in life.
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Ballarat Fencing and Gates
Significantly, gold has been one of the most important industries in Ballarat, Victoria and still is today. Gold was discovered in 1851 at a place called Poverty Point. After that, the area of Ballarat was discovered to be a plentiful alluvial field, which was the cause of Ballarat transforming itself into a larger encampment for the Victorian gold rush.
Today, Ballarat has an estimated population of over 94,000 citizens and is located 105 km's north-west of Melbourne. In 1970, Ballarat evolved into a popular tourist destination, with the well-known Sovereign Hill attraction opening, and since then has continued to increase the number of tourist destinations including, Kryal Castle, the Eureka Centre, the Gold Museum, Gold Rush Mini Golf, Ballarat Wildlife Park, Ballarat Bird World, ghost tours, and more.
Ballarat is home to the Ballarat Fine Art Gallery, the oldest regional gallery in Australia located in Lydiard Street North. Ballarat is also home to the longest and oldest Memorial Avenue, the Avenue of Honour. With the Avenue coupled with the Victoria Heritage Register, they are said to be seen by over 20,000 visitors each year.
The City of Ballarat has a beautiful botanical garden with many statues including members of the Australian Parliament, making it an interesting attraction. In addition to the impressive gardens and situated along side it, is Lake Wendouree, which was originally known as the Yuille's Swamp. The lake is now home to numerous wildlife, including several swans, ducks and about 100 native water rats.
The oldest and largest annual presentation of an Australia Eisteddfod, is the Royal South Street Eisteddfod, located in Ballarat, with the presentation running over a period of 12 weeks each year.
The city has a close link with community theater and acting and it is not surprising that some famous actors and actresses in Australia were born in Ballarat, including Kimberley Davies and the well-known Bill Hunter. Ballarat is also used for various shooting locations, with the city appearing in movies like, My Brother Jack in 2001 and Ned Kelly in 2003.
Two major international producers, Mars Incorporated and McCain Foods Limited, are both headquartered in Australia, in Ballarat in particular, both establishing in the 1970s and are still going strong today.
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