Fathers and Daughters in the 19th Century
It didn’t take me long to realize when I first dreamed up my novel, Victorian Town, that a lot of research had to be done before beginning the story itself.
How could I transport my character back to 1876 without first learning everything I could about that time? Exactly what was life like in the late 19th century? I was soon to find out.
One of the topics that interested me was the relationship between fathers and their daughters in the Victorian era …
The traditional father in 1876 is seen as the protector of his home from external threats, and a disciplinarian, with his emotions hidden within. Middle-class Victorian fathers who own farms spend most of their time focusing on their fields to provide for their daughters, while upper-class and urban businessmen are expected to be good providers as well. They spend most of their time away from their family. As head of the household, men have the sole responsibility when it comes to financial support for his daughters as they grow and mature.
It is during times of celebration, such as a Victorian ball or Christmas, when fathers are expected to be involved with the family, and show some emotion toward their daughters. Otherwise, men are expected to behave firmly toward them to command respect, and fill their heads with the stern morality of the time.
Even so, Victorian fathers have an especially prideful spot in their hearts for their daughters. They hold the wish for a successful husband to come along to cherish them in all manners of life.
Victorian Town
by Nancy Thorne
March 28th, 2018
Genre: Paranormal Romance with time travel and mystery elements
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-68291-639-1
ASIN: B07B65543D
Number of pages: 196
Word Count: 56,000
Cover Artist: Rae Monet
Abby Parker has a modern life. Too bad someone in the 19th century needs it.
Abby Parker planned out her whole life: complete her final year of high school, go to college, get a job, move away from her insane family, stay best friends with Jessica.
But, that was before she broke into the nearby tourist attraction and unwittingly answered a call from a centuries-old spirit who dragged her into the 19th century.
Now she must solve a Victorian mystery without getting herself killed, or worse, spend a lifetime trapped in the past, leaving behind everyone she loves and altering their lives forever.
When she meets gorgeous Benjamin, the future looks a lot like wreckage.
Excerpt
I waited for him to make the next move, to tell me how inappropriate, how forward that was of me. As I struggled to think of how best to offer an explanation, he turned to me. Gently but deliberately, he moved his hand up my arm, stopping at the nape of my neck beneath the ribbon of the bonnet.
The moment he leaned in, I closed my eyes. His lips, soft and full, touched mine with the modest pressure of an indecisive act. A warm energy coursed through my body, but the strangest thing was that everything felt unbelievably familiar, like it had all been rehearsed before that moment. I held onto this profound feeling, not wanting it to leave, until Ben removed his lips from mine.
Even with the whistled melodies from a pair of cardinals outside the church's entrance, the following silence felt awkward. It persisted, and I assumed Ben was already regretting kissing me.
"Miss Abigail−"
I brought up a hand and covered his mouth. "It's okay."
We walked down the hill without saying another word. A lot of activity was happening on Main Street: coaches lined the front of the Royal Hotel as travelers zipped in and out of the main entrance; horse carts delivered goods in dashes of haste; store merchants hurried beyond their open doors; street sellers sold goods out of baskets; helpers swept the boardwalk; ladies could be seen purchasing last minute necessities behind the windows of each shop.
Ben accompanied me up the stairs of Town Hall's entrance and stopped on the landing before we reached the front door. I peered through the window. Martha arranged long-stemmed flowers in a vase on a table at the side of the ballroom. A young man placed a candelabra on a table and then another on top of a piano. Ben had already started back to the street when I turned. He waved. I waved back. Still a chance he'll change his mind.
The gloves were easier to remove now that one was missing its button. I placed them, and the button, on the ledge of the window and took off the ring.
Jess was still sitting on my bed when the haze cleared, but her tapping fingers had moved from her chin, which now rested on her knuckles. It was obvious it had taken longer for me to return this time. It made sense to me right then that the ring held within it a finite amount of energy with which to transport me to the past and back home, like a battery depleting its energy with each use. And, I had no idea how to recharge it.
About the Author:
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Nancy Thorne is an award-winning author of fiction inspired by the romance and courage of youth.
Born and raised in a suburb of Toronto, she fostered a passion for creating stories in grade school but hid it much too well. Five years ago she decided to pursue her lifelong dream of telling them.
When she's not writing books or reading, you can find her going on road trips or cooking untested recipes for brave family members and friends.
Nancy lives outside of Toronto with her husband, two sons, and an energetic fox-red Labrador.
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