Kindle Edition Amazon Kathy Fischer-Brown Amazon Category:  Historical Fiction Publisher: Books We Love ISBN-10:  B008BDVY08 Type: Fiction Pages: 228 Copyright: June 133, 2012 Set against the backdrop of 18th century England on the verge of the American Revolution, Lord Esterleigh’s Daughter is the first book in “The Serpent’s Tooth” trilogy, which follows a young woman from the rural countryside, to London society and into the center of the conflict. As a child, Anne Fairfield dreams of the father she never knew, the hero who died fighting the French and their Indian allies in a land across the sea. Her mother’s stories, and fantasies of her own devising, sustain and nurture her through a poor and lonely existence. Until one winter night, a strange man comes to call, and the life she has known comes crashing down like shattered glass. Forced to confront sordid truths, secrets and lies, the headstrong young woman begins to learn that, like generations of Darvey women ruled by their hearts, she is destined to follow in their footsteps. Set against the backdrop of 18th century England, Lord Esterleigh’s Daughter is the first book in “The Serpent’s Tooth” trilogy, which follows Anne from the rural countryside, to London society and into the center of the American Revolution. Excerpt Melbridge, Spring, 1762 Blinded by tears, Anne Fairfield ran. She had lost her shoes somewhere in the squire’s field amid the newly plowed furrows, but she couldn’t stop to worry about them now. Nor would she stop to consider how her mother might take to the loss, although the thought stirred a fleeting pang of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. But it was nothing compared to the need that drove her to keep running. To run fast and hard and not look back. Far worse than a mother’s scolding would be her punishment if she allowed them to overtake her. Even as she ran, their hateful voices grew louder as they steadily closed the distance between her and them. Cradling her basket against her heaving chest, she tried not to think of the precious eggs within. She’d already lost a goodly number...not counting the one she had hurled at Dickie Hodge. She hadn’t realized how far she had run. All the way to St. Cillian’s Well! Nearly home. But they gained ground. The pounding of their ponies’ hooves and a new clarity in their cruel voices drew closer and more distinct. She’d never outrun them. They’d be on her before she could cross the meadow between the spring and home. Gasping for breath, only partly conscious of the raucous chatter of birds that greeted her entry and the cheerful gurgle of water bubbling up from the earth, she darted into the thicket surrounding the pool. She pressed her back against the spiny bark of a slender hawthorn, and willed the tears from her burning eyes. Hands balled into fists, Anne swiped their trails from her cheeks. She sucked in a deep breath and peered through the grove at the road and the fields behind her. There was still no sign of them, but their taunting voices filled the air, ringing in the glade with hurtful words that stung her to the heart. The strident sound drew closer—young voices chanting and laughing in fiendish delight. An-nie Fair-field, where did your father go? Across the sea to Galilee, but mother’ll never know. An-nie Fair-field, what is your father’s aim? To kiss the maids and make them cry! Oh, for shame, for shame! She carefully set her basket at the foot of the tree. Glancing about her, pushing the torn linen sleeves of her neatly patched frock above the elbows, she spotted a flash of brilliance where the sun glanced off a stone in the shallow spill of water. She held it in her hands—a large chunk of quartz crystal, worn smooth by the years. She wiped it dry on her apron and clasped it in her fist as she stepped out into the open to confront them. Myles Sutcliffe, the squire’s youngest son, put up his hand. The others drew up their ponies behind him. The pale, fleshy boy reined his stocky mount down the embankment, where he stopped well within range of her missile. He raised his head with an imperious air. “My mother says your mother is a whore.” Blood pounded in Anne’s ears. Her throat tightened. “That’s a lie!” She stumbled forward, hoisting the stone in warning. “Hurl that at me, bantling, and you’ll find yourself pilloried in the square. And it won’t be the first time, will it?” He turned to the others. They squawked with laughter. A fiery heat rose in Anne’s face. Tears flooded her eyes, quickened by the memory of that cold day in November when she endured more than public humiliation at their hands. The indignity and the shame swept over her anew, brought back tenfold by the sight of their twisted faces and the sound of their laughter. Myles’s sister Maude shrieked the loudest of all, high pitched and squealing like a pig. Robin Wells and Dickie Hodge mocked her with their fingers in their faces. How she wished she could kill them all! She lowered the stone to her side. “Now give me that basket, thief!” He tapped his heels against the pony’s sides. She stepped back. “I’m not a thief!” “Stealin’ eggs is—” “I didn’t steal them, Myles Sutcliffe, and you know it!” “It’s your word against ours, bastard.” Anger flared through her veins.“I am not a bastard!” Fighting back tears and the urge to hurl herself headlong at him, she took another step away. Myles goaded his pony closer. “You haven’t got a father, and everyone knows your mother is a whore. That makes you a—” “Lying, bloody swine!” As if to punctuate her remark, Anne heaved the stone with all her might. It missed Myles by a wide margin, but bounced off his pony’s flank. The animal reared with a bellowing shriek, throwing its rider, who fell with a dull thud and the burst of breath. Anne flung herself upon him and pummeled him with her fists. “Liar! Liar!” she screamed, not pausing a beat, her knuckles aching from the assault. She straddled his chest, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees. Blood ran from a split in Myles’s lower lip. “Take it back!” The others rushed into the fray, the two boys to restrain Anne’s flailing arms, the girl to tear at her flying clothes and hair. The boys managed to haul her away, wriggling and squirming, kicking and shouting, resisting them with every ounce of her strength. While they restrained her, Myles picked himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, straightened his waistcoat, dusted off his breeches, strode to the foot of the hawthorn tree. And smashed her basket against its bole. He tossed the empty, egg-soaked basket into the water and clapped his hands together. “That’ll teach you not to steal! Just wait until my father tells the bailiff of this. He’ll see that you get a public flogging this time.” While the others laughed and ridiculed her, Anne trembled with rage and hurt. Tears poured over her cheeks. Jutting out her chin, she labored to keep the tears from consuming her in deep, convulsive heaves. “You don’t frighten me! When my father comes, you’ll be sorry.” “Your father will never come,” Myles said with a sneer. “Everybody knows that. Bantlings don’t have fathers!” Long after they had gone from the glade, their laughter continued to echo painfully in her ears. Sitting where they left her on the hard damp earth, her eyes clenched tight against her tears, Anne sought comfort from her pain in the only way she knew. He will come! I know he will! It would never be more than a wish that had sustained her for most of her nine years, for as long as she could remember. The sensible part of her knew better. But Death defied acceptance as she grasped in pain at the dream. The dream was upon her as she dragged herself up from the ground. The sounds of the glade had long since silenced the mocking voices. Hateful looks dissolved against the splendor of her reverie. In her mind’s eye he appeared just beyond the road embankment. Her father—godlike and golden, like Perseus astride Pegasus—descended through the clouds to carry her away to a fortress in the sky. In other imaginings, he rode through the village of Melbridge on a dark warhorse at the head of a great army. Banners and trumpets announced his arrival. Always handsome and brave, her father would have battled fierce enemies, traveled great distances, overcome unbearable odds, and triumphed, in his quest to be reunited with his beloved and faithful wife and the daughter he had never seen. Though it should take him many years, one thing remained certain: Not time, not distance, not death itself could prevent him.

The Dark Side of Jane Austen
When Anne, raised poor and taunted as a bastard, discovers that her father has always lived nearby, she is shocked and furious. Why has he never acknowledged her and why has he allowed her mother to suffer years of humiliation and want? Her father is a wealthy man, Lord Esterleigh. For reasons which she will only gradually learn, he married her mother and then callously cast her aside. Now, for reasons which are part of a shameful family secret, he has suddenly reclaimed her. Anne, like any spirited, independent teen, views these events with suspicion. Her father, a man she's mythologized, appears to be, in this new reality, a contemptible figure. The money and privilege he's now providing brings Anne few pleasures and much reflective bitterness. Anne has also acquired powerful enemies, in the form of her father's ex-wife and disinherited son. To further muddy the waters, Anne falls passionately in love with a handsome servant who is off to America to seek his fortune in order to be "worthy" of her hand. The time, the place--late 18th Century England--is brought to breathing life, complete with the elegance and hypocrisy which marked the period. The manners, the proprieties, the clothes, customs and language are all present, as well as the familiar scramble after wealth and position, here seen through the eyes of a heroine far less sheltered than those of Jane Austen. Anne Esterleigh has experienced the dark underbelly of this world, ruled by (as many arias have it) "the cruelty of men." At the end of this novel, her perils and adventures, her journey toward understanding, are just beginning. I look forward to the next part of this fascinating, ably-written trilogy.

An enjoyable read
A well written, suspenseful story with an unexpected ending. This story had it all - family secrets, scandal, and forbidden love. Not a traditional romance per se, however, the author draw you deeper into the story page by page. I can't wait to read the next book in the series! :)

Now I have to wait? Argh!
I really liked this book. My only how ever it did start a little slow. And at times I couldn't figure out the characters motavation for doing certain things. Like when Ann is scared of the brother, yet goes with him. Then later confides in him. She should clearly see he is twisted from their first encounter. Other than that loved it. But now I have to wait for the next book. I'm not the most patient person and tend to get books when a series is completed so I don't have to wait. But if your up for a little frustration at having to wait to see how the story continues because it doesn't resolve Ann's problems by the end, than it is the book for you.