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Tuesday, April 8, 2008Win a Book & Read an Excerpt from Liz Fielding!
 Read on for a great guest blog from Liz Fielding...and a chance to win a book! THE BRIDE'S BABY, Liz Fielding's 50th Harlequin Romance is published this month as the first book in a four-part mini series, A Bride for All Seasons. The heroine, Sylvie Duchamp Smith, is an events planner, but she knows that a wedding is a never-to-be-repeated occasion that has to be perfect and it's her attention to detail, her determination to deliver the perfect day that has made her the top of every A-list bride's wish-list. Now, in the cause of a charity founded by her mother, she's been asked to show the world what her own fantasy day would be like.  Hi, I'm Sylvie Smith. Thank you so much for inviting me to visit this wonderful Wedding Planners blog.I have to admit that planning a fantasy wedding was the very last thing on my mind when I was asked to help publicise a fund-raising Wedding Fayre for the Pink Ribbon Club. Five months pregnant, my thoughts were running more to layettes than wedding gowns. Worse still, the event was being it was being held at Longbourne Court. Once my home, I hadn't been back there for ten years. Not since my world fell apart just as I was putting the finishing touches to my real fantasy wedding. This was going to be it's last outing before some billionaire turned it into a conference centre. I really didn't want to play but as Hon Pres of the Pink Ribbon Club, a charity founded by my  mother, and with lifestyle magazine Celebrity offering a huge donation as well a full coverage, I didn't have much choice. Even when the noblesse has gone well and truly down the pan, the oblige just refuses to quit.My first mistake was neglecting to ask which billionaire had bought Longbourne Court. Honestly, as if things weren't already bad enough, running into Tom McFarlane, the father of the baby I was, so obviously, carrying before me --a man who'd left me in no doubt that fatherhood was off his personal agenda -- did not improve matters. This fantasy, dredging up painful memories, was already difficult enough. Ten years ago, nineteen years old and about to marry my childhood sweetheart, I chosen a colour scheme based on the primroses blooming in the hedgerows and I'd planned to wear my great-grandmother's wedding gown. It was still wrapped in tissue in the attic at Longbourne Court, but that virginal veil was scarcely appropriate - even in the wildest of fantasies -- for a woman shortly about to become a single mother. Just when I was in despair, however, I saw the shoes.  Rich dark purple, embroidered and beaded. The colour of the violets carpeting the woods. I had my colour scheme, I had a dress designer who sketched me a dress and a loose three-quarter length jacket, appliquéd and embroidered to match the shoes. So far, so good. But I needed a theme, something vivid, something fresh and new that would ignite my imagination, thrill the readers of Celebrity. Without a bride to drive that, without a groom of my own, I was all out of ideas.It was Tom, amazingly, who came to the rescue. Who came up with the idea of a proper old-fashioned country fair, with rides driven by vintage traction engines, sideshows and carnival  food. Tom, who in the firelight of the library, had me spilling my secrets. Who spilled out his own… Tom pushed open the library door and stopped as he saw Sylvie stretched out in one of the fireside chairs, limbs relaxed, eyes closed, head propped against the broad wing. Fast asleep, utterly defenceless and, in contrast to the hot desire he'd done his best to drown in a torrent of cold water, he was overwhelmed by a great rush of protectiveness that welled up in him. Utterly different to anything he'd ever felt for anyone before. Was that love? How did you know? As quietly as he could, so as not to disturb her, he placed the tray on a nearby table and then took the chair opposite her, content just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Content to stay like that for ever. But nothing was forever and after a few minutes her eyelids flickered. He saw the moment of confusion as she surfaced, then the smile as she realised where she was. A smile that faded she saw him and, embarrassed at being caught sleeping, struggled to sit up. 'Oh, lord, please tell me I wasn't drooling.' 'Hardly at all,' he reassured her, getting up and placing a cup on the table beside her. 'And you snore really quietly.' 'Really? At home the neighbours complain.' 'Oh, well, I was being kind…' He offered her a plate of some home made biscuits he'd found as she laughed. Teasing her could be fun… 'Have one of these.' 'Mrs Kennedy's cure-alls? Who could resist?' 'Not me,' he said, taking one himself. Then, as it melted in his mouth, 'I can see how they got their name. Maybe she should market them? A whole rang of Longbourne Court Originals?' 'With a picture of the house on the wrapper? Perfect for the nostalgia market. Except, of course, that there won't be Longbourne Court for much longer. Longbourne Conference Centre Originals doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it?' He didn't immediately answer. And when he did, he didn't answer the question she'd asked. 'When you asked me if I bought the house for Candy, I may have left you with the wrong impression.' The words just tumbled out. He hadn't known he was going to say them. Only that they were true. 'You always intended to convert it?' 'No!' He shook his head. 'No. I told myself I was buying it for her. The ultimate wedding present. But when I walked into the house, it was like walking into the dream I'd always had of what a family home should be like. There were old wax jackets hanging in the mud room. Wellington boots that looked as if somebody had just kicked them off. Every rug looked as if the dog had been sleeping there just a moment before.' 'And all the furniture in "country house" condition. In other words tatty,' Sylvie said. 'Comfortable. Homely. Lived in.' 'It's certainly that.' 'Candy would have wanted to change everything wouldn't she? Get some fancy designer in from London to rip it all out and start from scratch.' 'Probably. It scarcely matters now does it?' She lifted a brow, but when he didn't respond, subsided back into the comfort of the chair, 'This is total bliss,' she said, nibbling on the biscuit. 'Every winter Sunday afternoon of childhood rolled into one.' Then, glancing at him, 'Is it raining?' 'Raining?' 'Your hair seems to be dripping down your collar.' 'Oh, that. It's nothing. I missed the kettle and the water squirted up at me,' he lied. 'And only got your hair?' That eyebrow was working overtime. 'How did you get so lucky? When that happens to me, I always get it full in the face and chest.' 'Well, as you've already noticed, I've got a damp collar, if that helps.' 'You think I'm that heartless? Come closer to the fire or you'll catch a chill.' He didn't need a second invitation, but took another biscuit and settled on the rug with his back propped up against the chair on the far side of fireplace. 'Tell me about your winter Sundays, Sylvie.' 'I'd much rather hear about yours.' 'No, believe me, you wouldn't. They are definitely nothing to get nostalgic over.' Then, because he didn't even want to think about them, 'Come on. I want everything, from the brown bread and butter to three choices of cake.' 'We never had three choices of cake,' she declared, in mock outrage. 'According to my mother only spoilt children had three kinds of cake.' 'I'll bet you had toasted teacakes. Or was it muffins?' 'Crumpets. It was always crumpets,' she said, still resisting him. 'I will have your story.' 'You'll be sorry if you do.' But for just a moment he was tempted by something in her eyes. Tempted to unburden himself, share every painful moment. But he knew that once he'd done that, she'd own him, he'd be tied to her forever …  For more excerpts, pictures and background to the books in this series, visit http://abrideforallseasons.blogspot.com/ and http://www.lizfielding.com/ Now for the contest. We'll draw a winner from all comments! "Sylvie confronted the wedding planner's worst nightmare when the bride did a runner with one of her assistants. In the book she lists the top five disasters. For a chance to win a signed copy of The Bride's Baby, what would be the very worst thing -- short of the bride or groom not turning up -- that could happen on the big day?" Labels: A Bride for All Seasons, contest, guest blogging, liz fielding, The Bride's Baby
posted by Shirley @ 7:23 AM
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