SHARE THE LOVE, SHARE THE ASKING?

 Please join me in welcoming Andrea Downing to The Roses of Prose today. And what fun to have her - she has a give away. Read to the bottom of the post and see how you can win!

     Tomorrow, sadly, is March 1^st.  Why sadly?  Because in some years, tomorrow would be February 29^th when a young lady has full license to ask out a man or even to propose marriage.   If you are stuck with a commitment-phobe boyfriend, have been dying to go out with that good-looking guy in your office or have just been stuck at home for the last three Saturdays dying for a date, Leap Year would be the time to take on the responsibility that usually falls to the man—doing the asking.

      The tradition of a woman proposing on Leap Year seems to have started in the Scandinavian countries where, if such a proposal was refused, there was a penalty of buying gloves or dress cloth for the woman.  Hardly good recompense for having a marriage proposal turned down!  This tradition was then brought over to Scotland by a Queen Margaret (there were several Margarets) in 1288 who had been living with her court in what is now Norway; since Margaret was aged 5 at the time this was made law, it is hardly likely to have been her idea.  Nevertheless, by the 17^th Century the tradition was in place in Great Britain and eventually spread to Ireland. 

      But without Leap Year what can you do?

      Well, you can wait for November 15^th, Sadie Hawkins' Day.  Sadie Hawkins' Day was started as a plot device by cartoonist Al Capp in his L'il Abner cartoon strip.  Poor ol' Sadie was said to be the ugliest woman in Dogpatch.  When she remained unwed at the ripe old age of 35, her father, the prominent, powerful and wealthy Hekzebiah Hawkins, declared a footrace in which the town's eligible bachelors were given a head start over Sadie.  But whomever Sadie caught had to marry her!  Extensive research has not divulged to me the name of the unfortunate forced into wedlock in this manner, but it has revealed that way back in 1937 when the cartoon strip appeared, it began a tradition on U.S. college campuses of Sadie Hawkins dances and races.   Think how prescient this was prior to Women's Lib!

     Nowadays, Sadie Hawkins' Day is often confused with leap year and the name applied to February 29^th—but do we really need it?  Most young women I know—and my own sweet daughter is one of them—have no problem in asking men out on 'a date.'   But propose marriage?  Ah—that's a different proposition!

     I'm very happy to give away an e-copy of my book, Loveland, to the first person who can prove to me that his or her birthday is February 29^th!  OK, ok:  I'll give away one free e-copy of Loveland to the first person who can find out the name of Sadie Hawkins' husband!  No?  Can't find it?  Well, my character, Lady Alexandra Calthorpe, was way before her time in pursuing a career.  If you can head on over to my website at http://andreadowning.com and tell me what career Alex was pursuing and put it on a comment on the 'About the Author' page, I'll send a free e-copy of Loveland to the first person to answer correctly.  That's 3 chances to win. Good luck!

BLURB:

    

When Lady Alexandra Calthorpe returns to the Loveland, Colorado, ranch owned by her father, the Duke, she has little idea of how the experience will alter her future. Headstrong and willful, Alex tries to overcome a disastrous marriage in England and be free of the strictures of Victorian society --and become independent of men. That is, until Jesse Makepeace saunters back into her life...

     Hot-tempered and hot-blooded cowpuncher Jesse Makepeace can’t seem to accept that the child he once knew is now the ravishing yet determined woman before him. Fighting rustlers proves a whole lot easier than fighting Alex when he’s got to keep more than his temper under control.

     Arguments abound as Alex pursues her career as an artist and Jesse faces the prejudice of the English social order. The question is, will Loveland live up to its name?

EXCERPT:

     As the round-up wound down, the Reps took

their stock back to their outfits, and soon the men

were back at headquarters or at the camps. Alex

knew word had more or less got out and found the

punchers were gentler now around her, had a sort of

quiet respect for her, and she hated it. She tried to

bully them a bit to show them she was still the same

girl, jolly them into joshing with her as they had

before. It was slow work. At the same time, she

yearned to see Jesse, to speak with him, to try to get

life back to the way it was before the argument at

the corral, and before he saw the scars. The

opportunity didn’t present itself. She would see him

from a distance some days, riding with the herd,

sitting his horse with that peculiar grace he had,

throwing his lariat out with an ease that reminded

her of people on a dock waving their hankies in

farewell. Hoping to just be near him, she slid into

one of the corrals one evening to practice her roping.

     The light was failing and the birds were settling

with their evening calls. Somewhere in the pasture a

horse nickered. She sensed Jesse was there,

watching, but she never turned as he stood at the

fence. She heard him climb over and ease up behind

her. He took the coiled rope from her in his left hand

and slid his right hand over hers on the swing end,

almost forcing her backward into his arms.

     She thought of paintings and statues she had

seen, imagining his naked arms now, how the

muscles would form them into long oblique curves,

how he probably had soft downy fair hair on his

forearms, how his muscle would slightly bulge as he

bent his arm. His voice was soft in her ear, and she

could feel his breath on her neck like a whispered

secret.

     “Gentle-like, right to left, right to left to widen

the noose, keep your eye on the post—are you

watchin’ where we’re goin’?”

     He made the throw and pulled in the rope to

tighten the noose. Alex stood there, his hand still

entwined with hers and, for a moment, she wished

they could stand like that forever. Then she took her

hand away and faced him. For a second he rested his

chin on the top of her head, then straightened again

and went to get the noose off the post while coiling in

the rope. She looked up at him in the fading light

and saw nothing but kindness in his face, simplicity

and gentleness that was most inviting. A smile

spread across her face as he handed her the coiled

rope and sauntered away, turning once to look back

at her before he opened the gate. Emptiness filled

her like a poisoned vapor seeking every corner of her

being, and she stood with the rope in her hand

listening to the ring of his spurs as his footsteps

retreated.

****

BUY LINKS: 

http://www.amazon.com/Loveland-Andrea-Downing/dp/1612173233/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1360871536&sr=8-1&keywords=Loveland

AND

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=991&zenid=c900f24699dcdb428e5c3b7d0c8ac181

AND

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/loveland-andrea-downing/1112486451?ean=2940014874021

Contact Andrea at:

Twitter at @andidowning
and FB page is http://www.facebook.com/writerAndreaDowning?fref=ts

Confessions of a Dating Rebel!

By Glenys O'Connell

 There are lots of traditional mores that now seem outdated: once upon a time, women were not allowed to own property, vote, hold down a job (except poor women could do something menial, like being a servant).

In fact, right up until a few years ago, women teachers in Ireland (and possibly other countries!) were expected to leave their jobs if they got married. One brave soul had to go all the way to the higher courts to insist that she and all other women teachers had the right to work in their chosen profession and at the same time be a wife and mother. She won her case and a judge ordered her reinstated, but whether she actually returned to work in a school that had caused her such unhappiness, I don’t know. I doubt things would have been pleasant for her in the staff room.

Yes, there are many things that women weren't supposed to do in the past that they do now without even having to stop and think. For example, I can remember when I was in my teens, you were considered a bit 'fast' if you asked a guy out on a date. Well, not being one to stand on ceremony, I bravely invited three boys out on dates. Not all at the same time, you understand.

One turned out to be a total jerk. So much for my feelings of being sophisticated in the ways of dating. But never mind, if at first you don’t succeed….

The next turned out to be older, but also a member of the minor aristocracy, and I learned a lot from him – his lifestyle provided lots of insights for a girl from a working class background! But he was looking for a long-term relationship which was more than I was ready for. 'Nuff said.

The next guy I met and asked to accompany me to a party turned out to be a real gem – and we're still together many years and four children later.

So Phssst! to social mores!

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this. Definitely not to prove what a rebel I am! I'm pretty sure my own very modern daughters wouldn't be impressed by this bit of 'forwardness' on their Mom's part. And the idea of proposing – well, that went way beyond me!

But hey, girls – it's a Leap Year. You know, the one year in four when February has 29 days.

And if you're too young to know this bit of old folk lore, this is the one day every four years when it's considered okay for a woman to propose to a man. Wow!

If you're in love and he's a bit shy (or, as we used to say, a bit backward on coming forward)       today's the day you can pop the question with good luck on your side.

I'd love to hear about your own adventures in setting the running in a relationship – whether it's making the first move - or even proposing!

Lady Diana, the heroine of my romantic comedy  Marrying Money, was tired of there being a dearth of eligible (and wealthy) husband material in her life. So she decided to go out and find herself a rich husband to save her impoverished estate. Here's an excerpt:           

“I have definitely got to do something about the state of things. We can’t go on this way, what with money leaking out left right and centre and the east wing needing a new roof and…….“

Sally raised an eyebrow at me over her pint mug of lager and lime. It’s her way of saying: “Get on with it.“ and I don’t think she has any idea just how badly her eyebrows need plucking. Raising one like that makes it look like a caterpillar is crawling up her face……

Where was I? Oh yes. “I made a decision this morning, after going over the accounts one more time with Jim Chatterton. After realising that I don’t actually have a pot of my own to piss in, as your dad would so charmingly put it, I've decided on a course of action."

"Ohh, get you. 'I've decided on a course of action.' Well, if that ain't just the lady of the manor, an' all," Sally said before honking loudly and banging her forehead on the table.

"Stop it, will you – everyone's looking," I hissed at her. "Anyway, I am the lady of the manor. And I'm going to get married."

                I should have waited until Sally had swallowed that mouthful of lager and lime. That way she wouldn’t have sprayed it all over the vicar when I made my marriage announcement.

                "You're not serious! You? Get Married? Never!"

                People really were staring, now. The Reverend Morrison was edging quietly away from our table, although I wasn't sure whether he wanted to avoid another lager spray or was afraid I’d ask him to conduct the service. The vicar and my dear nutty Aunt Kay, the family witch, have had a few spats in their time. I think it once involved an exorcism.

                "You're not really going to marry Larry the Lettuce, are you?" Sally's eyes were wide.

                "Well he's as good as any other option around here. And he's got money. It's simple: He gets me, and the Ashburnham Estate gets his money."

                Which is actually only a variation on my ancestors' behavior. Whenever the estate was down to its last few hundred thousand, out would go a hunting party to bag a nice rich bride and dowry. I couldn’t see any difference between my bagging Larry the Lettuce and my great Great-Great-Great-Great--Grandfather, Lord Ralph, aged 70, bringing home pretty little fifteen year old Alice de Clancy and her accompanying gold dowry.

Glenys O'Connell swears she has never proposed to anyone in her life. This blog is the last confession of this sort she intends to make - even under threat of removal of her chocolate stash! You can read excerpts from her books on her web page at Romance Can Be Murder