Showing posts with label Jennie Marsland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jennie Marsland. Show all posts

Wednesday, 1 March 2017

Available Now: To Capture the Sky by Jennie Marsland

TO CAPTURE THE SKY
Choices of the Heart series, #2
Jennie Marsland

$4.99
(99c/99p through Sunday 5 March)
Trey McShannon survived the carnage of the War Between the States, only to discover that the deepest wounds are those to the heart. A traitor to his home state of Georgia, Trey has built a new life for himself in the untamed Colorado Territory. Now it’s time to find a wife to share the future he’s worked so hard for–but can he free himself from his past?

Beth Underhill is looking for choices. Needing to marry to escape being sent back east, she prefers Trey’s honest business proposal to false promises of love.

Can a union between a man who doesn’t think he can still feel love, and a woman who no longer believes it exists, blossom into more than a marriage of convenience?

• • •

Denver, Colorado Territory - 1871

“Elizabeth, have you taken leave of your senses? You could have married Jason Pembroke!”

Beth Underhill winced when her cousin Graham’s fist hit the polished mahogany dining table, but she held his gaze without faltering. “Jason Pembroke doesn’t care for me any more than Trey McShannon does.”

Graham sneered at the letter lying on the table. “The man’s a dirt farmer. You have no idea what kind of an animal he is or what kind of a shack he lives in. You know nothing about him at all.”

Beth held tight to her hope that Mr. McShannon’s letters had given her a true impression of the man and his home. In the face of Graham’s doubts and hers, she had nothing else to cling to.

“I know he expresses himself like a civilized man.” What more could she ask of a stranger? The Matheson Matrimonial Agency didn’t concern itself with emotions. In the months since her Aunt Abigail’s death, Beth had come to believe she’d be wise to do the same. “And whatever else Mr. McShannon might be, I doubt he’s a fraud and a cheat like Jason Pembroke. I told you what I found out about his railroad contracts. If you don’t believe me, ask some questions yourself.”

No doubt Graham already knew everything there was to know about Mr. Pembroke’s business affairs. As long as the man stayed on the right side of the law, he’d be satisfied. This was Colorado Territory, not Philadelphia. Here, a man might be hanged for stealing a horse, but not for supplying food to railroad navvies at ridiculously inflated prices.

“Jason is a smart businessman. He’s not doing anything illegal. And what do you know about railroad contracts?”

You’d be surprised, cousin. The process of settling her uncle’s estate, and then her aunt’s, had taught Beth more than she’d ever wanted to know about the vagaries of railroad and mining investments. “I know Mr. Pembroke is greedy and unscrupulous. And even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t marry him. He wants a wife with breeding and all the social graces he doesn’t have himself, and he thinks I’d look good enough on his arm to outweigh my lack of money. That’s as much as he cares for me. He didn’t even bother to propose to me before he approached you.”

Hands in his trouser pockets, Graham paced the length of the room and back. He stopped in the patch of spring sunshine that poured through the window overlooking the street – a relatively quiet street, a good distance from the raucous activity of downtown Denver. Here, it was easy for Beth to imagine she was back in the old home in Philadelphia where she and Graham had both grown up, twenty years apart. The home Graham had never truly left in any way that mattered – just like Aunt Abigail and Uncle Robert.

ncial situation, your choices are going to be limited. You found that out with Daniel Hunter. If you’d agree to go back to Philadelphia, you’d stand a better chance–”

Of what? Meeting more men like Mr. Pembroke, willing to take Beth at a discount for her looks? Or like Daniel Hunter, who’d courted her for a year and made her think he honestly cared for her, then backed away when he learned that she had no significant settlement to bring to their marriage?

“No. I’m tired of being a commodity, Graham, and I’m tired of boys who pretend to be men. That’s why I wrote to the Matheson Agency. I’m going to Wallace Flats, and I’m going to marry Trey McShannon. And if I’m not happy with him, I’ll go to Isobel James in New York and try to make a living from my art.”

Graham put on a pitying smile. Beth had long ago given up expecting anyone in the family to take her painting ‘hobby’ seriously, even though Aunt Abigail had continued to indulge her with lessons until Uncle Robert’s death. A lady needed something to fill her time.

“Your art? You really are living in a dream world. Well, you’re of age and what money you have is your own. I can’t stop you from doing as you wish, but don’t expect me to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart.”

“Understood. I’m leaving on Friday.”

Graham stalked out without replying. Legs suddenly shaky, Beth pulled out a chair and sat at the table, in the middle of the elegant dining room – the kind of room that could still be hers if she used her head instead of her heart and let Graham find her a husband.

Was she out of her mind? Or just desperate to escape the trap she’d felt closing around her since the end of the War Between the States, when she’d been officially put up for sale in the marriage market? She picked up Mr. McShannon’s last letter and read it again, though she knew every word by memory.

Dear Miss Underhill,

Thank you for explaining your position so honestly. I will be honest with you in return.

For the last four years I have been living outside of Wallace Flats, a day’s stage ride south of Denver. My homestead is ten miles from town. I built the house to meet my own requirements, which are simple, but it is weather-tight and clean. I have no idea if you are the kind of woman who could be content with a dirt floor, but if you are, you might find it comfortable enough.

My nearest neighbors are two miles away, and I go to town no more than twice a week. If you are very fond of social life you’ll find it dull here, but if you enjoy solitude, there is no lack of it. I find the countryside beautiful, but many find it bleak and of little interest.

What I can offer you is this: if you think you could be satisfied with my situation here, I will pay your way to Wallace Flats. I think a one-year trial period, as husband and wife in name only, would be wise. Next spring, if we decide we aren’t mutually suited, we can separate with no questions asked, and I will pay you a hundred dollars for your time. If this is agreeable to you, please let me know through the agency.

Sincerely

Trey McShannon

A straightforward business proposal. Wasn’t that more palatable than the offers Beth had received from the men Cousin Graham sent her way? Mr. McShannon’s proposition – a more accurate word than ‘proposal’, really – held just as much affection, and a lot more honesty.

Be grateful for that, Beth. It’s a rare commodity. But a homesteader? She could hardly blame Graham for thinking her crazy.

• • •

Jennie Marsland lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, on Canada’s beautiful East Coast. She has had a lifelong love affair with words and history, starting with her family’s stories of life in Nova Scotia in earlier times. Jennie teaches English, science and history at a local private school, and when she isn’t writing, spends her free time cooking, gardening, playing guitar, and catering to the whims of her two very spoiled Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers.

Fing Jennie online:

Website - http://www.jenniemarsland.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/Jennie-Marsland-Author-268022986552318
Twitter - http://twitter.com/jenniemarsland
YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/user/jenniemarsland
G+ - http://plus.google.com/117455026655986401318/about
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Marsland_Jennie




























Wednesday, 7 September 2016

Available Now: Where the Heart Is by Jennie Marsland

WHERE THE HEART IS
Choices of the Heart Series, #1
Jennie Marsland

Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance

Price: $3.99 (99c/99p through 11 September)

BUY HERE

When Rochelle McShannon moves with her father from Morgan County, Georgia to the Yorkshire Dales, she thinks she’s leaving behind everything that matters to her. Her mother has passed away, her twin brother is going west to avoid the looming Civil War, and her family’s unpopular views on slavery and secession have destroyed her relationship with the man she hoped to marry. If returning to her father's childhood home eases his grief, Chelle asks for nothing more.

Martin Rainnie understands grief. Since the loss of his wife in childbirth, he’s known little else, except anger. He’s retreated to his farm and turned his back on the world, including his baby daughter, who’s being fostered by Chelle’s relatives. With little Leah drawing them together, Martin begins to wonder if he can love again – and convince Chelle to do the same.

But the war overseas has far-reaching consequences, even in a small English village. Can Martin and Chelle overcome danger, loss, and bitterness to make a home where the heart is?

• • •

As she bent to set the lamb on its feet, a dog’s bark startled her. Still crouching, Chelle spun around and faced a grizzled black and white collie, standing a few feet away with its teeth bared and hackles raised. Luckily, the dog’s owner stood close by. Heart in her throat, Chelle released the lamb and slowly raised her gaze from a pair of heavy boots to eyes the color of a stormy sea.

“Come, Gyp.”

The dog returned to his master’s side at the curt command. Chelle stood, blushing under the man’s cool stare.

He’d be at least six feet tall, perhaps taller, bulky and solid. He reminded her of Charlie Bascomb at home, broad in the shoulders, thick in the legs and torso, but the resemblance stopped there. Charlie was quiet and easy-going, always wearing a smile, but there was nothing approachable about this man with his lowering brows, grim mouth and rust-colored hair. His resemblance to Leah told Chelle who he must be.

“Hello. I’m Rochelle McShannon. Are you Martin Rainnie?”

The collie stood braced beside his master, the fur still standing up on the back of his neck. Mr. Rainnie looked no more welcoming. He spoke to Chelle as curtly as he had to his dog. “Aye. What are you doing out here?”

It seemed Jean had done the man a favor by saying little about him. Chelle lifted her chin and showed him her bleeding hand. “That’s obvious enough, isn’t it? That lamb’s fleece was caught in this bush. I freed it.”

Mr. Rainnie looked her up and down with those cold gray-green eyes, then softened his tone and made an effort to curb his broad Yorkshire. Likely he’d recalled that his daughter was living with her family.

“So you’re Jack’s niece. I didn’t know you’d arrived yet.”

“We arrived yesterday.” Chelle fished a clean handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wrapped it around her scratched hand while she fumbled for something to say. “I’ve been out for a walk to the top of the hill. The view is lovely.”

Mr. Rainnie’s mouth twisted in a sardonic grin as he stepped closer. “Aye, but it’s not very sustaining. Not much but sheep will grow up here.”

Chelle took in his well-worn clothes and large, work-roughened hands. Martin Rainnie’s face showed the effects of wind and weather, but she thought the lines around his mouth and eyes revealed bitterness. With the breeze plucking at the sleeves of his faded canvas jacket, he seemed as much a part of the landscape as the sheep and the moorland grass, and just as rugged.

“The village down there, is that Carston? Dad mentioned it.”

“Aye, that’s Carston.”

“I thought as much. I was on my way home when I decided to follow this trail and heard the lamb.”

Mr. Rainnie shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “You could have spared yourself the trouble. This is my flock, and I check on ‘em every day. You’d better get home and take care of those scratches.” With that, he strode past her toward the sheep, his dog at his heels.

Chelle watched him go, his shoulders high, his broad back stiff with annoyance. Because I rescued one of his silly sheep? She turned on her heel and started back toward the village, muttering under her breath. “I’m sorry for your daughter, Mr. Rainnie. As for me, the next time I find one of your animals in trouble, I’ll be leaving it alone.”

• • •

Jennie Marsland lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, on Canada’s beautiful East Coast. She has had a lifelong love affair with words and history, starting with her family’s stories of life in Nova Scotia in earlier times. Jennie teaches English, science and history at a local private school, and when she isn’t writing, spends her free time cooking, gardening, playing guitar, and catering to the whims of her two very spoiled Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers.

Fing Jennie online:

Website - http://www.jenniemarsland.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/Jennie-Marsland-Author-268022986552318
Twitter - http://twitter.com/jenniemarsland
YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/user/jenniemarsland
G+ - http://plus.google.com/117455026655986401318/about
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Marsland_Jennie