Muskets and Minuets
Blog Tour for Muskets and Minuets
Love. Politics. War.
Amidst mounting tensions between the British crown and the American colonists of Boston, Annalisa Howlett struggles with her identity and purpose as a woman. Rather than concern herself with proper womanly duties, like learning to dance a minuet or chasing after the eligible and charming Jack Perkins, Annalisa prefers the company of her brother, George, and her beloved musket, Bixby. She intends to join the rebellion, but as complications in her personal life intensify, and the colonies inch closer to war with England, everything Annalisa thought about her world and womanhood are transformed forever.
Join Annalisa on her journey to discover what it truly means to be a woman in the 18th century, all set against the backdrop of some of the most pivotal moments in American history.
Violence and battle scenes, sexual assault, mild sexual content, and profanity.
The following night, Jack sat in Aunt Catherine’s parlor on Tory Row in Cambridge. Oliver sat silently sipping his brandy, but Father’s round face glowed redder than a boiled beet as he stood by the fireplace.
“Three-hundred-forty-two crates of tea into the harbor. The Gazette is calling it ‘the late transaction in Boston’.”
News of the ransack had spread like smallpox. Father paced before the hearth and puffed his pipe, while Aunt Catherine and Oliver looked on, their faces twisted with grievous doubt.
Jack stood tall. “I hear it was organized, sir. A peaceful protest.”
“Peaceful or not, ’twas an act of treason. I hardly agree with the Tea Act, or the control Parliament and the East India Company have imparted on tea. But I daresay, we may end up paying the duty anyhow. The ruffians, those Sons of Liberty.”
“But sir, it was said not a single item else on board those ships was so much as touched.”
“How could you know such information?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Were you there? Did you partake in this traitorous event?”
Jack fisted his hands under the scrutiny. “I was not.”
“You were,” Oliver jeered. “I found a hatchet in your trunk last night, covered in soot. And you still bear the remnant of lampblack under your fingernails. Are you entirely determined to sully our family name at all cost?”
Jack glanced at his hands. He’d taken great care to clip and clean his nails when he returned from the raid, but the soot was embedded.
Father’s nostrils flared and he grabbed Jack’s hands. “You didn’t.”
“No. Of course not.” Jack pulled free and crossed his arms. “Ollie, you dare accuse me of treason?”
“Admit your treachery, you rebellious lout. You humiliated our family enough while we were in France.”
“Ollie, for shame.” Aunt Catherine frowned.
Father set down his pipe. “Jack, is this true?”
Oliver faced Father. “Sir, Jack made no attempt to conceal his connection with the rebels. He sought any Frenchman at Versailles who would hear his plights for freedom in the colonies. And this was all in the presence of Lord General Cornwallis. I am sure the gentleman overheard the nature of his treasonous tongue.”
Father’s forehead vein bulged. “Jack, I know where your principles lie, but to engage in such topics of discussion at a ball?”
“No, sir, he lies.” Jack ground his teeth. “Ollie, that account is false. I spoke with one gentleman by the name of Beauregard, who sought me out. The exchange was brief and cordial. That was exactly how the intercourse went, and your rotten Tory self knows it.”
“Enough.” Father slammed his fist against the fireplace mantel. A small reverberating wave rattled the clock and wavered the candle flames. Jack and Oliver stood at attention. “Tory, Patriot. These are mere words. Remember, you are brothers above these.” He regarded Jack, his face no longer red with anger. “I want to believe you. And Ollie, I’ll be damned if you slander your brother with indecency. I’m no Tory. You both know that. But neither am I radical. Jack, you must look to gentlemanly ways of dissent. I’ll not have one son gallivanting about with the Sons of Liberty while the other accuses his own brother of treason.”
A born and bred New Englander, Lindsey hails from the North Shore of Boston. A member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets and Minuets. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Boston, she's nursing patients back to health in the ICU.