A Historical Romantic Fantasy Adventure spanning 250 years, B. Roman's 'The Immortal Rose Wyndham" Book Tour & Giveaway
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This romantic adventure unfolds over 250 years, where the transcendent force of music and the belief in a higher purpose shape a narrative of mystery, magic, and miraculous encounters.
The Immortal Rose Wyndham: The Beginning
The Moon Singer Book 4
by B. Roman
Genre: Historical Romantic Fantasy Adventure
From 18th Century France to 20th
Century San Francisco, the Promise of the Rose Crystal both empowered
and mystified Grace Moreau and her daughter Rose Wyndham.
They
fought for women’s rights, suffered prejudice and conspiracy
theorists, and blazed their way through a male-dominated world to
define their own roles in society. Through it all they poignantly
resisted romantic desire, for if they fell in love the power of the
Rose Crystal would be impotent and they - and their lovers - would
die.
A romantic adventure spanning 250 years, B. Roman's
'The Immortal Rose Wyndham' is a story where the power of music, and
the belief in a purpose greater than oneself, provide the mystery and
magic that creates miracles.
**The Immortal Rose Wyndham: The Beginning can be read as a standalone and/or prequel to the rest of the books in the series.
Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads
**Don’t miss the rest of the collection!**
Every fantastic adventure, every romance, every heartwarming family story, every magical moment.
All four books in B. Roman’s The Moon Singer, a series of fantasy novels, now available in one volume. This collection also includes the prequel novella, Before the Boy, as a bonus.
https://mybook.to/MoonSingerCollection
The Immortal Rose
Wyndham: The Beginning by B. Roman
Excerpt #1 (714
words)
Legend has it that the Hawthorn tree, also
known as the May Tree, is tied closely with female sexuality and therefore is
useful in marriage or love magic. Hawthorn blossoms are believed to be highly
erotic and are used to attract men by women looking for a new love. If the
maiden places the petal under her pillow at night she will dream of her future
husband.
For Grace Moreau, this dream is forbidden.
For her daughter, Rose, this dream is
shattered.
***
Prologue
A
delicate petal from the mystical Hawthorn tree flutters down with the
gentleness of a butterfly and brushes her face, then falls to the ground, damp
with her tears.
“What’s
wrong, Mama?”
“Nothing
is wrong, Dearest,” Grace assures her daughter. “These are tears of joy. Soon,
everything will be right. But there will be some changes that may startle you
or confuse you.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“You’ll
soon be a young woman and that is why I must tell you now, before the changes
occur.”
Always
tall and willowy, Grace will soon lose height and gain width. Her skin will
line and crease, and spots from years in the sunlight will form patterns on her
delicate hands. The female body betrays you, she grieves silently. It
deteriorates into unwelcome mosaics of decay, becomes something to be
hidden.
Because a
spell is about to be broken, she must soon resort to Smoke and Mirrors: careful
makeup, corsets, long sleeves, and face veils to conceal the drastic changes.
And yet, the voice will remain as young as springtime, alluring as a siren’s
song, her last vestige of perpetual youth.
“I
watched my friends and loved ones grow old and wrinkled, some with poise, but
most of the others with anguish at the gods,” she begins. “I held on to my
youth fervently, selfishly, out of vanity, and also out of fear. I believed if
I let myself age as they did I would then die an old crone, angry and alone.”
“You’ll
never be an old crone, Mama, and you’ll never be alone while I’m here.”
“My
lovely daughter, you are my everything, but I have kept a secret from you that
I can keep no longer.”
Rose
tilts her head inquisitively. “What kind of secret? If you tell me, will I have
to keep it, too?”
Grace
brushes a stray auburn curl from her daughter’s forehead, lamenting the huge
burden she is about to bequeath to her. “A long, long time ago, I was given a
gift and told it has magic in it, an essence to keep me young and beautiful for
as long as I wore it. I had to make choices along the way - how I lived my
life, how I treated others, what I valued. I didn’t always make wise or
benevolent choices, though I tried as often as my pride and inner strength
would allow. And now my time for holding on to this gift is coming to an end.
It no longer works for me.”
“Surely
it does, Mama. You’re still young and beautiful, as always.”
“Be
prepared, Dearest. I won’t be for long.”
Grace
Wyndham nee Moreau, born 1750, and
now 107 years old in this year 1857, opens the clasp of the chain from which
the pendant hangs. She removes it from her smooth neck which will soon develop
deep lines and folds of sagging skin.
“I give
this pendant - the sacred Rose Crystal - to you. It belongs to you. It is why I
named you Rose. Since you were born, I could see you have special talents and
insights that I never had. I know you will be a true guardian of the pendant
and will make careful and generous choices. Listen to what the crystal tells
you and your life will be rich and full and long.”
Grace
secures the clasp at the nape of her daughter’s flawless neck. The crystal
glints its miraculous promise, the optical effect of a star appears on its
surface, made visible in the moonlight.
An
expression of childlike wonder animates Rose’s face. “It’s exquisite. I have no
other words. What happens now?”
“My life
will end soon. But you, dearest Rose, will be immortal.”
end excerpt #1
The Immortal Rose
Wyndham: The Beginning
Excerpt #2 (741
words)
The Alien
Grace’s
body tensed up and she snapped to full alert, withdrawing her hand cautiously.
“Come with you? To America? That is a dream I do not share, Percy. I have my
life here, my business.”
“A life
that is lonely from what I can see. Max Gaither mostly runs your business these
days. You can open a new boutique in America.”
“Catering
to Indian tribes and Spanish settlers? They do not share my fashion sense or
style.”
Percy
laughed lightly at her sarcasm. “And who better to enlighten them than
Mademoiselle Gabrielle? Besides, the settlers there are more sophisticated than
you might think.”
Grace
drew herself up to full height and apologized to Percy for her hasty departure.
“I am flattered at your proposal, but I must decline.”
Percy
stood and tried to keep her from leaving. “Please Grace,” he beseeched and
firmly grasped her arms. “Please don’t leave. Or go with me someplace private
so we can talk.”
Grace
maneuvered away from his grip, slightly frightened but mostly flustered. She
strode quickly from the shop and hurried to her apartment. This state of
confusion and agitation was new to her.
She had
always been in control of her emotions, even when near Marcel. Despite her
thoughts and musings, she had managed to maintain an equilibrium that the Rose
Crystal gave her. Percy conveyed an element of menace that unnerved her and
sent up cautionary flags.
Struggling
to retain her inner calm, Grace played one of her favorite Mozart Sonatas, and
repeated Marcel’s name quietly as her personal mantra of strength. Soon, the
palpations in her heart quieted, her hands no longer shook, and she lost
herself in a musical out-of-body experience that led to a desperately-needed
dream-filled slumber.
Drifting off, Grace imagined what life
would be like sharing a bed with Marcel, his bright blue eyes gazing upon her
with adoration. His smooth hand with delicate fingers would find its way to the
ribbon holding her bed gown closed, untie it in a gentle revealing of virgin
flesh that had never known a sensual touch. He would be expert, despite his
youth, in awakening and arousing every pleasure point of her being, bringing
her to a state of completion she did not know was possible...
But
something was wrong, shockingly wrong. The smell of the man near her was not
Marcel, the man of her dreams. The touch on her body was not gentle or smooth
but rough and desperate. She was tempted to scream but her mouth was held
closed by a another mouth muffling her cries. It was dark, she could not see
who or what was assaulting her. The hands became groping, grasping. Her knees
were pushed apart, her bed gown pulled up. Something was thrust painfully
between her legs, and the paroxysms of an Alien being reaching the pinnacle of
passion allowed her to cry out, thrash around and throw it off, whatever it
was.
Grace
shivered and quivered, and pulled every layer of cover around her like a
shroud. There was no sound coming from her. The Alien, however, was sobbing in
the darkened room and pleading over and over, “Forgive me, Gabrielle. Forgive
me! I’m so sorry.” It was a familiar voice trying to register in her brain
which was foggy with terror.
Then she
knew. Percy. Percy did this. Percy raped
me.
***
Grace’s
figure changed. Her stomach swelled. Her heart sank. The child she carried from
Percy’s assault should have been Marcel’s. Every evening she played the first
movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
over and over, losing herself in its poignant sorrow. The melancholic mood
swept over her and filled her with a desperate ache, an enduring anguish. The
betrayal of the Rose Crystal that was supposed to give her a life of beauty and
happiness was a lie. How could she ever believe in it again? In anything or
anyone?
Mourning
Marcel’s death, mourning the death of her purity, her spirit, she pounded the
keys with her fists. Music sheets flew into the air and across the room. Grace
grabbed the piano’s music desk and dislodged it from its hinges. Using the flat
board as a hammer she slammed it down onto the keys, pummeled hammers and
strings until they came apart. Her hands were bloodied and, when she
comprehended what she had done, she was horrified that she had destroyed the
one thing that made her life bearable.
end Excerpt #2
B. Roman - in her own words:
Since childhood, I've been torn between two worlds: writing and singing. It's difficult to serve "two masters," as they say, but I was compelled to do so. When I was not singing, I was writing; when I was not writing, I was singing. I've learned, for me, that one creative expression nurtures the other. Much of my writing has a musical theme somewhere in the plot, or is the plot. Whether it's in my non-fiction writing about the power of music itself, in children’s picture books and in writing music and lyrics for songs.
It is natural, therefore, that my adventure series (The Moon Singer) has its roots in musical theories and metaphors, entwined with the magic and mystery of metaphysical concepts and matters of ethics, faith, compassion, love, and heroism. Music provokes universal emotions and memories, and giving my characters a musical talent and/or identity enriches them and the reader experience.
*B. Roman’s books include the 5-book Moon Singer Series, two suspense thrillers (Whatever Became of Sin?; A Man’s Face), and (as Barbara Roman) three children’s books: Hubert in Heaven, Alicia & The Light Bulb People in Star Factory 13, and The Prince Who Was A Piccolo.
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$20 Amazon
This sounds like a good book. The cover looks great.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Marcy. The artist did a wonderful job of representing the elements of the story.
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