Chasity Bowlin

C h ASITY B o WLI n

Chasity Bowlin lives in Kentucky with her husband and their collection of dogs and cats. She loves writing, traveling and enjoys incorporating tidbits of her actual vacations into her books. She is an avid Anglophile, loving all things British, but specifically all things Regency.

Growing up in Tennessee, spending as much time as possible with her doting grandparents, soap operas were a part of her daily existence, followed by back to back episodes of Scooby Doo. Her path to becoming a romance novelist was set when, rather than simply have her Barbie dolls cruise around in a pink convertible,

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Uncaged welcomes Chasity Bowlin

Welcome to Uncaged! Your newest book, Sleepless in Southhampton will release July 13 and is the fourth book in a series. Can you tell us more about the series and this book? What do all the books have in common?

The Hellion Club Series was born out of this snippet I read in some research material about gentlemen providing for their illegitimate children, but specifically their daughters so they might marry well. Part of that would obviously involve educating them in how to navigate society. I envisioned a school where this could take place, the domain of the illegitimate daughter of a duke, who has taken it upon herself to give these girls an option… to marry well, to become governesses or companions—a way to live their life on their own terms. In this era, where women were essentially the property of their fathers or their husbands, illegitimacy actually provided a kind of freedom that they would not have had otherwise.

You also write a more gothic style historical romance, can you tell readers more about those books?

I’ve always adored gothic romance. I’m a former paranormal investigator! I tell the story frequently that, as a kid, I would rush home from the school bus stop to get to my grandmother’s house where I could watch the last half hour of my favorite soap opera and the minute it went off, I would switch the channel to watch Scooby-Doo. So marrying my love of romance and of things that are more suspenseful or scary was just natural for me. Some of my books feature very earthly forms of villainy. Other books take a more supernatural view of the world. But above all, in every book I write, love always triumphs. I think putting characters in these situations of extreme danger, whether it’s from another human being or something more ephemeral, can heighten the emotion. Any time you up the stakes for them, it drives them closer together and to that moment where they must confront their feelings for one another.

What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

That is one of those things that varies from book to book. Historically, I will say that the beginning of a book is usually smooth sailing. The end of the book feels like a race, like my fingers can’t type fast enough to keep up with what’s happening inside my head. But that middle part… oh, goodness. It’s like walking uphill in a blizzard at times. So slow and bogged down that you think the end will never come.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

Prior to becoming an author, I worked as a social worker in a family preservation program. I was working on my Master’s in Mental Health Counseling when my first book was published. So that was definitely a big fork in my path. But I have no regrets. That background helps me write more complex characters and gives me better insights into why they might do the things they do. I love what I do and wouldn’t change anything.

Which comes first, the plot or the characters in the planning stages?

Definitely the characters. I don’t plot. I’m as surprised by how my books end as anyone else.

I love to cook. I love to travel. I’m a bathtub thinker. I’ll soak for hours and just sort out my thoughts. I also have an eight month old little boy, so relaxation of any kind is in short supply right now. But he’s so much fun.

If you could have one all-year season, which would it be and why?

Oh, that’s so hard! I love fall. When the air is crisp and the sky is that perfect blue. The sound of leaves rustling as you walk through them. And the clothes, obviously. I love that late 70’s/early 80’s vibe in fashion. So cowl neck sweaters, plaid skirts, tall boots. And hot chocolate.

How many hours a day do you write? On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

If the outside world does not intrude, I can write about 4,000 words a day. I normally write about four days a week (more if I have chid care). So, ideally, I can finish a book in about 6 weeks.

Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

I love the convenience of an ebook. I normally read on my phone. Right now, I’m working on revamping an older contemporary series of mine and writing another book in that world. So, I’ve been re-reading my own books in the Bourbon & Blood Series to refresh myself.

What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

Just thank you. Thank you so much for your support, for your patience as I tried to get the hang of being a full time author and a new mom. God bless you all for loving my characters and being willing to suspend reality and fall into this made up world of mine.

Enjoy an excerpt from Sleepless in Southhampton

Sleepless in Southhampton Chasity Bowlin Victorian Historical Releases July 13

PROLOGUE

Lord Henry Meredith, Viscount Marchwood, stared at the broken wheel of his carriage and uttered a mild curse. They were not even fully out of London yet. He could still see the heavy cloud of soot that marked the city behind them as it hovered just above the tree line. Not that he’d had any great desire to go to London anyway. He detested being in town and was far more content at his country estate. But alas, prior to his jaunt to Hampshire, he’d been summoned by his cousin who was having some issues with his eldest progeny and gambling. In fact, his younger cousin had been sent down from University and rather than returning to the family fold, had fled to Hampshire himself.

Recalling the conversation with his cousin, Horace, and Horace’s pleading look as he’d stated, “But you’re going to Southampton anyway. Surely it won’t be too much of a bother to have a word with him, will it?” It would, actually. But as always, Henry felt he didn’t have the luxury of saying no. He never refused them anything and that was part of his frustration now. He had a limited amount of time and a new task added to his schedule. Glancing at the coachman who appeared far less concerned about the matter than he should, Henry demanded, “I asked you to have that wheel replaced a week ago. Not just repaired—again—but replaced.” Was it his lot in life to be so “nice” that even his own servants had no fear of reprisal for blatantly disobeying his edicts? Of course, it was hardly an edict when he always phrased it as a request.

“Aye, m’lord. But it were so expensive to replace when patching it would do,” the driver protested in his heavy brogue. Henry blinked at the man in disbelief. Was he truly so lacking in spine that even his servants felt disobeying direct instructions was without consequence? “Clearly just patching it did not do. If it had, I wouldn’t be standing on the side of the road four miles out of London.” The coachman had the grace to look somewhat sheepish. “I can have a new one made and have it on by the morning.” Henry sighed. It wouldn’t work. He’d promised his aunt that he would be in Southampton by the following day. There was much to do in advance of his uncle’s birthday. After all, the Duke of Thornhill’s fiftieth birthday was not an occasion to be missed. The entire family was gathering at the seaside to spend several weeks together at the family’s estate there. Southampton had become their gathering place of choice given poor Philippa’s deteriorating condition. The resort town with access to many spas and sites for sea bathing made it a good destination for them. The less strenuous and active social whirl, as compared to Brighton and Bath—or heaven forbid, London—made it perfect for them. Of course, it wasn’t just his uncle’s birthday which made time of the essence. There was the other matter for his cousin. If he was to catch the boy still at the Duke of Wellington Inn in Southampton, he’d need to move quickly. Indeed, if someone didn’t step in and take the reins, young Julian could find himself in a world of trouble. Julian was getting into a great deal of trouble and a great deal of debt that his branch of the family had no means of correcting.

Still, it wasn’t entirely duty and obligation. The notion of gathering with his family in its entirety, when he spent so much time alone, was something he’d been anticipating for a while. He enjoyed his aunt’s and uncle’s company, so long as they weren’t throwing potential brides in his path. And spending time with his cousin was always a welcome respite from estate management and endless rows of columns that had to be added and subtracted and balanced. Henry had long suspected that he wasn’t cut out to be a gentleman of leisure. He’d have much preferred working in the fields to working on an account book. Being locked in a study all day poring over documents was not the life he wanted for himself. He couldn’t say precisely where it came from, but a feeling of restlessness had been slowly creeping over him. It was a feeling of being unsettled by the sameness of his days, a need to escape his ever growing sense of ennui and the resentment his position as heir apparent had sparked inside him. Perhaps having his seemingly well-ordered travel plans interrupted was a blessing in disguise. “Burton, how long has it been since I’ve done something irresponsible?” Henry asked. “Far as I know, you’ve never done anything irresponsible, so I couldn’t rightly say, my lord,” the coachman replied, his tone cautious as if perhaps he thought his employer was ready for Bedlam. “Neither could I,” Henry mused. “In fact, for the last several years, I’ve done nothing that wasn’t related to managing my own estate or preparing for the heavy workload of managing those my uncle will leave in my care.”

“Yes, my lord.” Now the coachman was simply humoring him, agreeing with whatever he said in order to not get sacked.

He could be angry or frustrated. He could fire his longtime coachman or castigate the man right there in the middle of the road. But ultimately, Henry decided to go a different route—a route that might, even if just for a day, give him a chance to alter that sameness which was weighing so heavily on him. If one chose to look at it in a more favorable light, he was being presented with an opportunity. “There’s an inn a mile or so up ahead where the public stage stops, isn’t there?” Henry asked. The coachman nodded, but his expression had gone from slightly wary to entirely skeptical and perhaps even scandalized. “Aye, my lord. But a gentleman such as you on a public stage is hardly—”

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brisk, purposeful and quite decisive as he opened one of the small trunks strapped to the back of the carriage. After rifling through it for a moment, he emerged victorious having found what he was looking for. An older coat with a frayed cuff and a waistcoat that was more plain and of slightly less luxurious materials were clutched in his hands. By adjusting his wardrobe, he could alter his position in the eyes of others quite easily. Rather than a wealthy viscount who was heir to a duke, he might now be taken for a second or even third son, perhaps a clerk or even a would-be cleric. In short, he could be someone else, at least for a day.

Without even checking to be certain anyone was about, he switched them out there on the roadside and then reappeared. “Now, I’ll blend with my fellow travelers.”

The coachman looked dubious. “My lord, I think it’s a very bad idea. There’s all sorts on the public coach—” “Get that wheel replaced, Burton, then return to Haverton Abbey. I’ll hire a coach when I return,” Henry instructed one last time and then began marching down the road. He needed to get there in time to get on the next coach to Southampton. Besides, it was an adventure. He needed an adventure. He needed something in his life that was not expected, that was not determined by others, and that would allow him to forget that he was not only a viscount, but the heir apparent to a dukedom with vast wealth and properties to be maintained. In short, he was running away from his life, albeit temporarily. And it felt marvelous.

“You’re certain about this?” Miss Sophia Upchurch, or Sophie as she preferred, checked her valise once more, making certain that it was properly fastened. “I’m quite certain,” she replied. the youngest of my pupils to set out on her own, Sophie. I know you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m very worried. You are only just eighteen, after all. And while many of the other girls were of a similar age to you, they were—well, they knew much more of the world than you do. I fear I have sheltered you too much.” Sophie let out her own sigh. She’d been with Effie since she was so young she couldn’t recall where or whom she’d been with before. She’d been left on Effie’s door like a foundling with a hefty sum of money to cover her care and education and a note that promised more would be forthcoming so long as she remained there. It was an old and familiar story to her, but she was still very grateful to Effie for taking her in when the Darrow School had never been intended for children as young as she had been at that time. It was so much more than a school. It was her home and its occupants were her family. “Effie, I will be fine. Why, I’ll be there long before nightfall even. Besides, you’ve met Lady Parkhurst. She’s very respectable!” “And utterly horrid,” Effie replied with a grim expression. She reached over and adjusted the collar of Sophie’s pelisse. “I don’t have favorites, Sophie. It would be terrible of me to do so. In truth, I love all of my girls. Every one of you that has crossed that threshold has become my family, like my own daughters, and I simply adore you all. But you are very special to me. You were such a tiny thing when you first came that perhaps my feelings toward you do tend to be much more maternal than for some of the other girls.” “I love you, Effie. And yes, for all intents and purposes, you are my mother and I could not have asked for better,” Sophie admitted. “But I can’t simply hide behind your skirts forever. I have to start making my way in the world. The more birds that fly from your nest, the more room there will be for new ones who need you, too. Also, it is terribly unfair to the other girls that they should have to become independent while you continue to support me! Not to mention that this is an excellent opportunity.”

Effie nodded. “I could at least see you all the way to Southampton. There is no need to take the public coach!”

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Yes, because all servants are delivered to their employer’s doorstep in a fashionable barouche! No, Effie. I will take the public coach as befits my station and you will stop worrying. It’s one day’s travel time along a route that is well trafficked and quite safe. I shall be at Lady Parkhurst’s before nightfall and ready to begin my duties.” Effie threw her hands up as she stepped back. There were tears in her eyes. “Fine. You’re right. I know that you are and that I’m worrying needlessly. You are a very good girl and a very smart and capable one. I have taught you well and prepared you for every eventuality that I could foresee. But it’s the ones which I could not foresee—those leave me utterly petrified. Be careful. Promise me that you will.” “I will,” Sophie promised.

“And if Lady Parkhurst is too difficult, you will come home,” Effie stated. “There are other positions. You need not be miserable and bullied by her.” “She surely will not be so bad,” Sophie protested. Actually, she could possibly. During their one meeting the woman had been sour and contrary. But she’d also been amusing, though that amusement might wear thin after a while as it had tended to be rather meanspirited in nature. “I can do this, Effie. I’m ready.”

As if on cue, the coach pulled in then and the bustling activity of the busy inn suddenly doubled. It became so noisy that not a word could be heard between them. So they both said a silent goodbye, punctuated with a long hug as Sophie climbed into the coach with the assistance of the driver and settled herself on one of the ill-sprung seats. A glance through the grimy window showed Effie still standing in the inn yard watching, her face etched with worry, as the coach pulled away.

I will not fail, Sophie vowed to herself. I will not be cowed and I will not come running back to cling to Effie’s apron strings.