Jan Selbourne – Page 4 – Nomad Authors Blog

Chocolate – milk, dark or light? Jan Selbourne #MFRWauthor

I don’t care if its milk, dark or light, its chocolate and should be enjoyed – anytime – anywhere.

As a dedicated chocolate lover, I decided to check some chocolate facts and look what I found.

The cocoa beans grow inside the cacao fruit. It takes about 900 cacao beans to make 1 kilo of chocolate. We cannot turn our backs on such effort.

More important, here are some of the benefits:

It is good for the heart and circulation.
It reduces risk of stroke.
Its mineral rich.
It reduces cholesterol.
It’s good for your skin.
It can help you lose weight.
It’s good for mothers and babies.
It may prevent diabetes.
Chocolate is good for the brain.
Chocolate makes you feel better.

While checking these invaluable facts I learned Napoleon loved chocolate and demanded it be available at all times, including his military campaigns. (I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn his chocolate was stolen by the Duke of Wellington before the Battle of Waterloo.)

Chocolate plays an important role in society. Grandma’s birthday. Valentine’s Day. A thank you. A peace offering, often accompanied with flowers. What better housewarming gift than a chocolate and wine hamper? Heck, any excuse will do.

‘Ah’, some righteous souls will say. ‘It can be addictive.’ Of course it’s addictive! One look at a box of chocolates and I’m an addict and a thief. I can be trusted with someone else’s money, car, wine but I freely admit, I cannot be trusted with their chocolate.

It has just occurred to me that the characters in my historical novels have enjoyed wine and good food but not chocolate. That unforgivable omission will be rectified in my current novel under construction. One character might just gorge on it to justify my bad habits.

So, now we know milk dark or light is good for our health and well being we can indulge without any guilt. – and the witty sign at climate rallies puts it in a nutshell. “Save the Earth – It’s the only planet with chocolate.”

What do you think?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Jan

The Woman Behind the Mirror
The Proposition
Lies of Gold—Silver Historical for 2019: Coffee Pot Book Club

A very Perilous Love: Jan Selbourne #MFRWHooks

Perilous Love

Blurb
Barely tolerating each other, Adrian and Gabrielle are trapped in Belgium as the clouds of war loom over Europe. Plunged into a nightmare of lies and betrayal, they flee for their lives as the German forces cross the border. Narrowly evading capture, witnessing death and atrocities, they reach safety as two different people who’ve found deep love. But, the tentacles of treachery have spread to England where Adrian faces charges of treason and a woman who’ll stop at nothing to see him dead.

Buy links

Amazon

Excerpt

The first soft shafts of sunlight woke Adrian. The ground was hard and he was cold. He’d barely slept because of his throbbing foot and he was as thirsty as hell. He hobbled to the canal and drank thirstily then dipped both his feet into the cold water. He let out a slow sigh as the pain eased. Gabrielle knelt at the water’s edge beside him and washed her face and pushed her wet fingers through her hair to slick down the untidy curls.

Her voice was low and angry. ‘What was she like?’

‘What are you talking about?’ He scowled, dreading what was coming.

‘Sigrid, Maryanne, whatever her name was,’ she snapped back.

‘What the hell are you trying to do Gaby? Force an argument?

‘No, I’m not forcing an argument. I really want to know! You preferred that woman’s company to mine and your children’s and because of her and my uncle and your unbelievable stupidity, two innocent people have died, and we are forced to rely on each other to stay alive. Are you proud of yourself? And was her beauty and obvious bedroom expertise worth all of this?’

Adrian turned his head away, angry and embarrassed.

‘I’m waiting,’ she persisted. I presume you also showered her with gifts and expensive baubles while we would be lucky to see you on our birthdays.’

Something snapped inside him. He’d had enough of her barbs and sarcasm.

Furious, he turned to face her. ‘If I could get up and walk away, I would. Just what are you trying to achieve? We’ve avoided capture by the skin of our teeth, we have no idea how to get away, the Germans are pouring into Belgium, thousands will be killed and you want to know if I showered her with gifts. Why don’t we concentrate on getting out of here and then you will be free of me? Now for Christ’s sake leave it alone.’

‘You want to get up and walk away?’ her voice dripped scorn. ‘Did I walk away from that lonely, empty life, in that big lonely house? Making excuses to your children, visiting neighbours on my own. Did I show such contempt for my marriage vows?’

‘You forgot to mention entertaining Charlton in my home,’ he snarled and flinched as Gabrielle’s hand slapped his face.

‘Yes, your home.’ Gabrielle yelled. ‘I may have lived there and given birth to your children there, but it was always your home. I pray to God we will return to England and you can enjoy your home with your expensive treacherous harlots!’ Her hands clenched into fists. ‘Yes! Brian did share my bed. You were never there, you couldn’t care less about me or our children, you were so besotted with that German harlot’s devious charms you had no idea what was going on. She was exceptionally clever, and you were exceptionally stupid.

Adrian rubbed his cheek and pointed his finger at her. ‘If you hit me again, you will be sorry. You want to know what she was like. She had long wavy auburn hair, a figure that made men’s eyes water and yes, she had expertise in the bedroom. She could drink me under the table and she could discuss politics like a man. She was exceptionally clever and yes you are right, I was exceptionally stupid, because I hadn’t a clue she was German or she’d bedded a cabinet minister or she’d been on other assignments for your uncle. I hope I’ve answered all your questions and I don’t give a damn whether you believe me or not, but I’m bloody ashamed of myself. And I hope to God we’ll get back to England, so you can do whatever you want and I won’t have to listen to your harping sarcastic tongue. Are you happy now?

‘Oh yes, very happy, thank you. Who wouldn’t be, sitting with you on the damp ground beside a canal without food or clean clothes,’ her eyes glittered with contempt, ‘How does it feel that you, a cabinet minister and my uncle shared her? I wonder if she kept an inventory of her jewellery and gifts to remember who gave her what.’

He pulled his feet from the water and stood up. ‘I’m not listening to your ranting, nor am I waiting here for them to find me.’

‘You can’t face the truth, can you?’ she shouted at him. ‘Well, unpleasant as it is, you need me and I need you to survive. When we reach safety, you can go back to the life you enjoyed with your sophisticated women without the inconvenience of an unwanted wife. And if we get out of here, I don’t want anything from you. Not even a Christmas card.’ Her lip curled. ‘A gentleman never breaks a business contract, but it’s of no consequence to break your marriage vows.’

Adrian reached down and roughly pulled her up to face him, his eyes black with fury.

‘I can’t face the truth? It’s a pity you didn’t meet and marry that useless fop Charlton eight years ago, because he’d have been the target for your sainted uncle’s lunacy instead of me! Christ, you haven’t shut up about your miserable marriage but look where it’s got me! Stitched up like a bloody weaver’s loom, set up as a traitor, hiding like a fugitive. And why? Because I had the temerity to marry you!’ He turned his back and hobbled over to the grazing horse. ‘I’m leaving, are you coming with me or staying here?’

Gabrielle’s face mirrored the shock she felt at Adrian’s words. Her foot lashed out sending a small log into the water and she walked up to Adrian, her fists clenched, then without warning she burst into tears.

‘I have no choice.’ Her voice was raw with emotion. ‘All I want is to get out of Belgium and go back to my children and never see you again!’

Adrian gripped her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘You’ll get your bloody freedom one way or the other. If we get out of this, I’ll gladly give it. If I’m shot, you can play the grieving widow for a day or two. Now shut up and help me get this horse into the shafts.’

He heaved himself into the driving seat, knowing damn well they were suffering huge reactions to the events they had witnessed. His insides were ripped apart enough without her rubbing his face in it again and again. How could he have been so bloody naive? It wouldn’t matter how loudly he protested his innocence, the fact remained his mistress had wheedled far too much information from him and a senior government minister named Edmund. Good God! Sir Edmund Charters! Close to the Prime Minister, related to the Foreign Minister. That old fool must be nearly seventy and you, Bryce, are the biggest fool of them all.

Jan

Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

Contact Jan:
https://www.facebook.com/jan.selbourne/
https://twitter.com/JanSelbourne
https://www.linkedin.com/in/jan-selbourne-2817b6140/
https://nomadauthors.com/

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Re-reading—a rarity #MFRWauthor

I love (love, LOVE!) reading. Some books haven’t been really great, but a lot have been. So many stories have occupied my mind long after reading them, for the characters or the lyrical writing or something I can’t quite put my finger on. But it’s not very often I go back and re-read them. In fact, off the top of my head, I can only think of two books I’ve re-read. Well, four I guess, but three are of the same series.

The first I thought about was Diane Gabaldon’s Outlander. I did love that book! The romance was strong, the historical aspect was interesting, and then (of course!) there was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. He’s what kept calling me back, not Claire, the witch, with her nose in the air. I also re-read books 2 and 3, when a friend and I decided to read the entire series. I still have not read the final book (is there an actual final book out?) because I don’t want Jamie to die. I was ready for Claire to die by the end of book 4, to tell the truth, but that’s neither here nor there.

The other book that came to mind is one by Emma Holly called The Demon’s Daughter. I absolutely lost myself in that book!! I really like Emma Holly’s writing style, but then she wove a tight, exciting sci fi/fantasy adventure romance that kept me glued to the book from start to finish. In fact…I kinda want to read it again now.

I just finished reading Ed Hoornaert’s The Saint of Quarantine Island, and I think it has the quality of a book I could read again. There’s so much happening and so many quirks and twists that I think I could discover things the second time around that I might have missed the first. I really enjoyed it!

And I could also re-read Jan Selbourne’s Perilous Love (or Behind the Clouds if you prefer a cover without the naked chest!) In that book, Jan wrote a real love story—more than a romance—and set it against the opening chords of WWI. It is very exciting, and she brought the romance out slowly but surely. Wonderful book!!

Which books have you re-read?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Burning Bridges by Anne Krist
One Woman Only
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Who knows what a woman can do? Jan Selbourne #MFRWHooks

The Woman Behind the Mirror

Blurb –
Betrothed by her father to a man twice her age, Sarah Forsythe does the unthinkable—she runs away with the son of a Methodist minister. Not to Gretna Green, to colonial America—the New World. For Sarah, a “new world” of broken promises, abandonment, poverty and shame. Around her, the American Revolution is simmering, and the siege of Boston worsens by the day. As British soldiers seek out traitors and treason, a desperate Sarah breaks open a safe looking for cash. Instead, she finds a box holding Bank of England documents. Through willpower, bitter determination, and lying through her teeth, Sarah manages to make her way home to England. What she doesn’t know is that two men follow, and they will do anything to claim those documents.

Bank investigator Neil McAlister faces an almost impossible task—to determine the true owner of the documents by deciding who is lying. Most of all, as danger creeps ever closer, he needs to know who wants the secretive, beautiful Sarah dead.

Buy link
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt –
When the early dusk gave way to night, she cut her hair to above her shoulders. Dressed in grubby men’s breeches, a thick quilted coat and cloak she’d bought from a street hawker, her cropped hair pushed under a black hat and a knife in her pocket, she walked past the front entrance, looked around and hurried down the lane to the rear of the building. Stepping over rubble and filth she moved closer to the back door and almost sagged with relief. The cover over the coal chute had not been sealed. Crouching down, she pulled the metal ring and pulled again but it wouldn’t budge. Forcing down the urge to scream and kick, she pulled again. With a harsh scraping of wood against wood it lifted, and she dropped into the black hole. Hitting the pile of coal with a thud, she lay still listening, then crept into the empty kitchen and the hall. A glance behind her and she sprinted up the staircase to Samuel Fenton’s private quarters.

It was as she expected, dark and stripped of all furniture, so she felt her way along the wall until a hand covered her mouth. Her heart thudded with shock then she bit down hard. The grip loosened and she kicked back behind her. Two strong hands swung her around and jammed her face into the wall.

“Move and I’ll cut your throat,” a muffled voice hissed in her ear.

Sarah tried to kick back again but he dodged to one side and threw her to the floor. Winded and terrified she flinched when his knife pressed against her throat.

“Who are you? Answer me!”

“Please,” she begged. “Let me go and I’ll not look back.”

A sharp intake of air. “A woman?”

Sarah was pulled up to face a man shrouded in black and with a scarf covering the lower part of his face.

“Let me go!” she yelled but his grip tightened and now frightened for her life she fought back. Her fingernails clawed at his eyes and when he jerked away her boot lashed into his shin bone. Swearing furiously, he kicked her feet from under her and she landed heavily on the floor.

“Bitch,” he snarled. “If you were a man, you’d be dead.” Within seconds he was gone.

Shaking uncontrollably, Sarah backed into a corner and curled into a ball until the cold and the terrible silence became unbearable. You are so close, and you can’t lie here forever.

Lifting her head, she peered into the dark room before crawling to the alcove where the mahogany desk had stood. Inch by inch, she felt along the floorboards until she found the join. Her fingers moved forward until they found the second join and pushed down. It didn’t move. Stifling a sob, she willed herself to remember the night two men had challenged each other to a duel. She’d burst into this room to find Samuel Fenton on his knees placing a box into the hole. He’d swiftly covered it, spluttering something about dropping his snuff box. She hadn’t so much as glanced at the floor, instead she’d pointed to the salon shouting, “Quick, they’ll kill each other.” Now, she had no idea how to open the hidey-hole.

God, it was so dark she couldn’t see a damn thing. Gritting her teeth, Sarah felt the floorboards again. No keyhole. Her eyes closed in despair, why didn’t she bring a hatpin or… Her eyes flew open. Idiot, the knife!

Keeping one finger on the join, she fumbled for the knife in her pocket and pushed it into the crack. Nothing. “Please, please,” she begged silently and dug the knife into the other join. A soft click. Now what do I do? Her fingers gently pushed again, and the other end lifted. Every nerve in her body was screaming to get out now as she lifted the box from its hiding place. Something else was beneath it.

Her fingers probed and picked up a slim leather folder when a noise outside made her freeze. Dear God, he was coming back. Then it went silent. Most likely an alley cat. She pushed the folder into the pocket of her cloak, clutched the box to her chest and, heart pounding loud enough to hear a mile away, she crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. Across the flagstones to the coal chute. “Oh no,” she whispered. There was nothing to help her climb out. Defeated, she slumped down to the floor and put her head in her hands.

It was a scraping noise that roused her. Most likely a tree branch against a window, but wait, how did that brute get in and out? Gripping the knife, she walked beside the walls, touching each boarded window and door and then stopped to listen. Back to the privy where chamber pots were emptied into the sewer outside. The small door was open, its rusty hinges squeaking. Dropping to the floor she crawled through the gap, stepped over the foul-smelling drain and was about to run when a figure loomed in front of her.

Hard hands grabbed her shoulders. “What were you doing in there?”

“Nothing, get away, get away from me!” Jerking away, the box slipped from her grasp and hit the ground with a clatter.

The man grabbed her again. “Slut, answer me or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

Blindly Sarah lashed out at him and her breath caught in her throat when he gave a sickening whoop and staggered backwards to collapse onto the cobblestones.

Oh, dear God. In her panic to get out she’d forgotten the knife in her hand. Her legs were turning to water, she couldn’t move, then a shout from the road.

“What goes on there?” Two night watchmen with lanterns were turning into the lane. Dragging air into her lungs, she picked up the box and fled.

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Does the figure make the woman?—Jan Selbourne #MFRWauthor

Are my characters full figured or always slim? That is a good question because I try to avoid stereotypical characters such as a woman with an eye watering figure – because I don’t have an eye watering figure – or a Superman with rippling muscles. I want my characters to be like you and me, real and believable, warts and all. I realise now that my characters’ figures reflect their lives and trials and tribulations.

In my first book, Perilous Love, Gabrielle thought of herself as thin, shapeless and uninteresting. That shapeless figure would be her saviour when she and husband Adrian, whom she despised, were badly betrayed as world war one exploded over Europe. Adrian, the quintessential upper-class Englishman is very conscious of his masculine physique until injury renders him helpless. The only way they narrowly escaped capture was to disguise themselves as male peasants on the terrifying journey to safety.

In Lies of Gold, Julian has the hard, toned body of a soldier, trained in unarmed combat. Without those years of hard living, he could not have stopped the ruthless traitor peddling young people for gold. Katherine, the woman Julian loved and lost, is more worried about her children’s safety than her figure, until Julian comes back into her life.

War changes a man. For Harry Connelly in The Proposition, it’s down to a bullet on the Western Front or arrest and prison at home. Severely injured, he falls beside the body of a dead soldier with the same build, same colouring—his one chance of a new life. What the hell—he swaps identity discs. Now Andrew Conroy, repatriated home with a limp and a small pension, he’s more worried about being caught than his physique. When he meets Lacey Haines, he sees a beautiful woman. Lacey has been a nurse on the European front and she needed strength and stamina more than she needed a reed-thin figure. Does it matter to Andrew? Not likely.

In The Woman Behind the Mirror, Sarah Forsythe’s lovely face and hourglass figure are her assets, and she’s very aware of that when eloping to the American colonies. When everything she trusts deserts her, Sarah must sell those assets to survive – and in that mirror, every day, she sees a loathsome harlot in a gambling club. It’s not until Neil McAllister, who by the way has a damn good body, investigates her for possible bank fraud, that she has the courage to see herself as she once was.

It never ceases to amaze me that every book has a different story to tell with characters that draw us in and, in a lot of cases, characters we can relate to. That’s the beauty of it.

What do you think?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Jan

The Woman Behind the Mirror
The Proposition
Lies of Gold—Silver Historical for 2019: Coffee Pot Book Club

A mysterious proposition—Jan Selbourne #MFRWHooks

This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

The Proposition
Blurb:
They met on the eve of a battle. One enlisted to avoid prison, the other enlisted to avoid the money lenders. On the bloodied fields of France, Harry Connelly collapses beside the corpse of Andrew Conroy. It is a risk, a hanging offence, it’s his only hope for a future. Harry swaps identity discs.

Now Andrew, he is just another face in post war London until a letter arrives with a proposition. Accepting is out of the question, refusing pushes him into a nightmare of greed, blackmail and murder. To survive he must live this lie without a mistake, until Lacey, her secrets and the truth.

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
“Excuse me, call of nature.”

The niggling coil of unease had been growing and now, as Andrew watched the dining room door close behind Elliot, his instincts were jabbing at hm. His host had been charming and hospitable. Last night, after a delicious dinner at Browns Hotel, they’d touched on their family connection, unsure of what to say without offending the other. Elliot had twirled his glass between his fingers. “My grandparents made a lot of money from the textile industry, my father sold seventy percent of those businesses and invested in other profitable enterprises. To put it simply, he was a very astute, successful businessman, but I’m afraid he was not a good husband and father. He cared little for us and it distresses me that he cared even less for you and your mother.”

Today, Elliot had proudly introduced him to his pride and joy, a dark grey Austin-20hp, motoring smoothly out of London and onto the soft Essex countryside. When they’d stopped at Thaxted’s Swan Inn for lunch, Elliot had commented, “Every spare acre in Essex has been growing vegetables, doing their bit for the war effort and rationing.” When they continued on to Saffron Walden, he’d pointed to his left, “Railway station, a branch line from Audley End. Made a big difference to this town.”

They’d stopped briefly in High Street, then through the marketplace, bumping over cobblestones to a wider road and finally stopping at the entrance of a large Victorian house. He’d been shown to his room overlooking the rear of the house with its garden rows of vegetables. Elliot had apologized again, business to attend to and please make himself at home. Not used to the substantial meals, he’d slept until five pm. At seven pm, he’d joined Elliot in the dining room where silver serving dishes containing roast beef, baked potatoes and green vegetables sat on spirit warmers.

“Very informal this evening,” Elliot had said breezily. “I asked my daily help to prepare something easy for us, so please, help yourself.”

The only time his host’s friendliness disappeared was when the daily help tapped on the door to tell him she’d answered the phone and left the message on the phone pad.

Something was very wrong, or perhaps he was too jumpy from living on this tight rope of lies. The door opened again.

“Much more comfortable,” Elliot grinned and sat down. “More wine?”

“No thank you, I might not be able to climb the stairs, but I must thank you for another very pleasant evening.”

Elliot’s grin disappeared. “It’s time to discuss the business proposition which will give us both what we want.”

“I confess I was intrigued when I received your letter,” Andrew replied guardedly.

“You will perform a service and if that service is completed satisfactorily, I will pay you three hundred pounds and pay your outstanding debts.”

Andrew went perfectly still. “Perform a service?”

“You will impregnate the woman I married.”

Jan:
Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

Contact Jan:
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Twitter
LinkedIn

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Nostalgia, in a time when we need it! Jan Selbourne

Reading Dee’s blog post, Making Changes, made me smile. It took me back a LONG time, to when I was a young kid.

Jan Selbourne's dad — My dad, digging stump holes. Our Collie dog Sandy would drop his ball into the hole, wait for dad to throw it, and off he’d go to fetch and bring it back – again and again.

My parents had scraped up just enough money to buy a block of land in a country town east of Melbourne, Victoria. There was one main road through the town and our road was unsealed. Dust in the summer, mud in the winter. Our block sloped steeply back from the road with plenty of ti-trees and eucalyptus trees at the bottom. The plan was to live in a small fibro bungalow while my parents and older brother Don built the house. A small loan from a building society and that’s what they did, starting with a thick carpentry how to do it book, basic tools and now I look back, a lot of courage.

Electricity wasn’t connected until the house was built, so we lit ‘Tilly” lamps at night, we had a wood burning stove for cooking and heating water for a bath, which incidentally was a galvanised iron tub in the kitchen. We had an ice chest to keep food cold, the ice truck delivered blocks of ice weekly in winter, twice weekly in summer. The ice-man wore thick leather gloves and a thick leather shoulder pad. He hooked his pick into a block of ice, up onto his shoulder and with a curt g’day to mum, carried it into the house to deposit it into the chest. No time to talk, especially in summer.

At the back of the bungalow was the outhouse – the “dunny”. The ‘nightmen’ in their truck collected the full pan twice a week, replacing it with a clean pan reeking of the eye-watering strong disinfectant Phenyl. To this day, the smell of Phenyl reminds me of the dunny and country railway toilets.

It was a very bushy area, plenty of blue tongue lizards, a lot of native birds, especially bell birds, and thankfully we didn’t see any snakes. I clearly remember a swagman camped at the bottom of our block because there was a small creek and plenty of open land beyond. Mum made sure he was okay and didn’t need anything. He’d light his fire, cook his food and boil his billy, and a few days later he moved on.

The floor plan for our new house was laid out on the ground with wood stakes and string. Armed with shovels, my dad and my brother Don dug every stump hole by hand. In went the redgum wooden stumps. Then the flooring joists. My job was to help paint the weatherboards with pink primer, which I did until my hands ached. Up went the house, bit by bit, because dad and Don worked weekdays. Then the inspection by the municipal building inspector. Was the house built to satisfactory standards? Yes, it received a big tick. Time for the tradies – the plumber, the roof tiler and the electrician. And – at last – we were able to move in. My brother had his own bedroom. I had my own bedroom. Mum had an electric stove. And we had a real bathroom with an inside toilet! But we kept the ice chest, what money was left didn’t stretch to a refrigerator. We now see ice chests in museums but believe me, they are as almost as efficient as a fridge – minus the freezer.

Looking back, it was a perfect life for kids. Sure we walked the mile or more to school and back every day, in the rain or the summer heat, so did all the other kids. There were no luxuries but we had a lot of fun and the best games playing in the bush at the back of the block. I admit I had it easy compared to my brother who was nine years older than me, but that four inch paint brush and endless weatherboards was hard work!

I can still see that carpentry book, and the spirit level, dad used it while digging the stump holes and the floor joists. Heck, a book and a spirit level, dogged determination and hard work built a house…

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Highly Recommended Award for Jan Selbourne’s The Woman Behind the Mirror!

Yay! The Coffee Pot Book Club has awarded Jan Selbourne their Highly Recommended designation for The Woman Behind the Mirror!! Such well-deserved recognition—this book is historical romance at its best!

Blurb:
Betrothed by her father to a man twice her age, Sarah Forsythe does the unthinkable—she escapes her arranged marriage and runs away with the son of a Methodist minister. Not to Gretna Green, to colonial America—the New World. For Sarah, a “new world” of broken promises, abandonment, poverty and shame. Around her, the American Revolution is quickly developing and the siege of Boston worsens by the day. As British soldiers seek out traitors and treason, a desperate Sarah breaks open a safe looking for cash. Instead, she finds a box holding Bank of England documents. Through willpower, bitter determination, and lying through her teeth, Sarah manages to make her way home to England. What she doesn’t know is that two men follow, and they will do anything to claim those documents.

Buy links for The Woman Behind the Mirror:
Amazon KU
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon AUS
Universal link

Read the full review.
If you have time for just a snippet try this, from the review posted on the Coffee Pot Book Club’s blog site:
“From an impetuous decision that would lead to disastrous consequences to a complicated and unprecedented plot to defraud the Bank of England, The Woman Behind the Mirror by Jan Selbourne is the wonderfully evocative story of one woman’s fight to stay alive in the face of adversity.

With a rich and compelling narrative, Selbourne has penned a book which is part historical fiction, part romance, part thriller, and part mystery. It is a story that captured my imagination, and it was one that was utterly enthralling. This novel commanded my attention from the opening paragraph and continued to hold it until that final full stop.

…
The Woman Behind the Mirror by Jan Selbourne is a sprawling stirring story that is unputdownable. This is the kind of book one can lose themselves in.

I Highly Recommend.” Mary Anne Yarde

A huge congratulations to Jan Selbourne!!

Excerpt:
A voice from behind made her jump. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

Sarah whirled around. “Because…” She didn’t know what to say.

“No one asked? I can barely believe it.”

Feeling stupid and awkward, she remained silent.

“Don’t tell me you can’t dance,” Neil taunted.

“Take care of your bank business and I’ll take care of my shortcomings,” she bit back.

“I can’t take care of my bank business if you won’t allow me to take the documents to London.” he said sharply.

“I told you I want a written assurance of a reward. I know and you know I will never see them again.”

Neil leaned closer. “I told you we can apply to the courts for a warrant to seize them.”

“You will seize a pile of ash.”

“You could go to prison,” Neil replied coldly.

“Really? I should have burned them in Boston to keep warm.” She shrugged. “I believe they are quite genuine, otherwise you wouldn’t be in such a fuss.”

“They must be examined properly. Forgeries are the bank’s biggest headache.”

“If they are genuine, the bank can hold them for Claude Westfield and give me an appropriate reward for bringing them safely to you.”

“You are not shy in demanding money,” Neil said caustically.

“No, I’m not. I rely on my brother for a roof over my head and it—” She broke off as her cheeks flushed. “Go and enjoy yourself and leave me alone.”

As she moved away Neil put his hand on her arm. “There is no need to be unpleasant. If they are genuine, we will discuss it further.”

“Nothing more to discuss,” Sarah’s eyes never left his. “Remove your hand.”

Neil’s face hardened. “You think you hold all the cards, madam, but rest assured, until you are more amenable, you’ll get nothing.”

“Neither will you, sir. Beneath your smooth bank exterior, you are no better than your forebears who loaned their gold at outrageous interest.”

Neil’s fingers dug into her arm. “You are no better than a street hawker yourself.”

“Get your hand off me,” Sarah’s voice rose as she wrenched her arm away. “Leave me alone!”

Neil’s expression changed from irritation to disbelief to shock. “Good God,” he breathed. “It was you.”

Meet Jan Selbourne:
Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com/JanSelbourne/index.html
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/JanSelbourne
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jan.selbourne
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14661584.Jan_Selbourne?from_search=true
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Jan-Selbourne/e/B0184OSZ6E/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jan-selbourne-2817b6140/

In memoriam, in commemoration: Anzac Day 2020

Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourne

Who would have thought, when we welcomed in 2020, that March would see the world as we know it, in the grip of a pandemic? It has affected all of us and a lot of things we have taken for granted are now cancelled, closed or declared out of bounds.

For Australia and New Zealand, our most important day of the year is one of those. Anzac Day is a national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand that commemorates all Australians and New Zealanders who served and died in all wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations.

Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourne On the 25th April 1915, the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps formed part of the allied expedition that set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula—Turkey. These became known as Anzacs and the pride they took in that name continues to this day.

When war was declared in August 1914, Australia had a population of 4.9 million. New Zealand 1.1 million. We were a bit isolated down here in the Antipodes but that didn’t stop approximately 531,500 men and women (nurses) from putting up their hands to travel 10,000 miles to a war on the other side of the world. My grandfather was one of them, going first to Egypt for training and then on to the Western Front. The young man from the Aussie bush, who had never killed anything bigger than a snake or rabbit would never be the same again. However, he and his mates are not forgotten.

The first Anzac Day service was commemorated on 25th April,1916 in Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourne both Australia and England, where 2,000 Anzac troops marched through the streets of London. A memorial service was held at Westminster Abbey, attended by King George V and Queen Mary. Since then, on every 25th April except 1919 when the Spanish flu was rampant, services are held in every city and town in Australia and New Zealand, the Casey research station Antarctica, the very moving dawn service at Gallipoli in harmony with the Turkish people, Belgium and France and the UK. While checking my facts before writing this tribute I was surprised how many other countries acknowledge this day.

This year, Anzac Day services are cancelled due to the Corona virus. Instead, Australians and New Zealanders are asked to light candles and stand in our driveways or front doors at 6am for a dawn service with a difference.

And we did, in every town and city on both sides of the Tasman Sea.

Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourne

Finally – the Ode of Remembrance
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

It’s here! The Proposition by Jan Selbourne

The Proposition by Jan Selbourne Updated and with new cover art, Jan Selbourne’s The Proposition has just been re-released! If you haven’t read it, you’re missing out on some great historical fiction! Congratulations, Jan!

I read The Proposition a while ago and really enjoyed it. But when I re-read it last week..it blew me away! I don’t know how Jan does it, but I swear, you feel you’re right there with the characters. Her attention to detail is that good! Mystery, murder, mayhem, romance–it’s all here, and you can have it for yourself!

The Proposition by Jan Selbourne

Blurb:

They met on the eve of a battle. One enlisted to avoid prison, the other enlisted to avoid the money lenders. On the bloodied fields of France, Harry Connelly collapses beside the corpse of Andrew Conroy. It is a risk, a hanging offence—and his only hope for a future. Harry swaps identity discs.

Now as Andrew, he is just another face in post-war London until a letter arrives with a proposition. Accepting is out of the question, refusing pushes him into a nightmare of greed, blackmail and murder. To survive he must live this lie without a mistake. Then he falls for Lacey and her secrets. Will the truth set them free or embroil them even further in the webs of deceit that surround them?

Buy link: Amazon KU

The Proposition by Jan Selbourne

Excerpt:

“Excuse me, call of nature.” Elliott left the room.

The niggling coil of unease had been growing and now, as Andrew watched the dining room door close behind Elliot, his instincts were jabbing at him. His host had been charming and hospitable. Last night, after a delicious dinner at Browns Hotel, they’d touched on their family connection, unsure of what to say without offending the other.

Elliot had twirled his glass between his fingers. “My grandparents made a lot of money from the textile industry, my father sold seventy percent of those businesses and invested in other profitable enterprises. To put it simply, he was a very astute, successful businessman, but I’m afraid he was not a good husband and father. He cared little for us and it distresses me that he cared even less for you and your mother.”

Today, Elliot had proudly introduced him to his pride and joy, a dark grey Austin-20hp and they’d motored smoothly out of London and onto the soft Essex countryside. When they’d stopped at Thaxted’s Swan Inn for lunch, Elliot had commented, “Every spare acre in Essex has been growing vegetables, doing their bit for the war effort and rationing.”

When they continued on to Saffron Walden, he’d pointed to his left, “Railway station, a branch line from Audley End. Made a big difference to this town.” They’d stopped briefly in High Street, then through the marketplace, bumping over cobblestones to a wider road and finally stopping at the entrance of a large Victorian house. He’d been shown to his room overlooking the rear of the house with its garden rows of vegetables. Elliot had apologised again, business to attend to and please make himself at home.

Not used to the substantial meals, he’d slept until five pm. At seven pm, he’d joined Elliot in the dining room where silver serving dishes containing roast beef, baked potatoes and green vegetables sat on spirit warmers.