One of the things I love about
writing romance is that I can write about serious issues but still slip back
into the comforting hold of a Happily Ever After. It’s not that I’m making
light of these issues, quite the opposite – writing about heroes and heroines
with survivor’s guilt or those who suffered abuse or bullying is my way of
‘discussing’ those issues with myself without letting them overpower me.
In my third book just out this
month, The Duke’s Unexpected Bride, the hero Max is plagued by guilt about his
part in the death of his fiancé. In my next book will be out in November, Lord
Hunter’s Cinderella Heiress, the hero is also suffering from guilt at his
failure to prevent his younger brother, a war veteran, from committing suicide.
Suicide among veterans (and among active soldiers) is a real and growing
problem.
Today at least there is awareness
about PTSD, the impact of battle, the difficulties of reintegrating into
civilian life, and the costs incurred by families of veterans and especially
those whose loved ones commit suicide. But imagine how it would have been two
hundred years ago after decades of war around the globe: thousands of veterans returned
to England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, often damaged in body and mind,
without income or the ability to find employment. There were some hospitals
dedicated to caring for soldiers ‘broken by age or war’ (the most famous was
the extensive Royal Hospital Chelsea established by King Charles II in 1681 and
built by Sir Christopher Wren), but they were a drop in the ocean and didn’t
address the difficulties so many had trying to rebuild their lives after years
at war.
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18th century engraving of the
impressive Royal Hospital Chelsea from the Thames. To the right was the famous
rotunda of Ranelagh Gardens (demolished in 1805).
|
Even those who were lucky enough
to have families who cared for them, there was no understanding of the horrific
impact of battle on the psyche. They were called heroes and expected to return
to normal and to shed their nightmarish experiences as easily as they did their
uniforms.
 |
A scene from William Sadler II’s
Battle of Waterloo 1815
|
It is no wonder there were cases
of suicide among men who experienced the horrors of war, many of which were not
be reported as such for religious reasons or because of family pride or simply
because they weren’t ‘clear’ cases of suicide.
In my story, Lord Hunter’s
brother has been brutally tortured and suffers from acute pain. It is never
clear whether the overdose of laudanum which kills him is an intentional
suicide, though Lord Hunter is as certain as he can stand and is haunted by
what he considers her failure to help his brother out of his tortured shell.
Like many members of families who are affected by suicide of a loved one, his
guilt at failing to protect his adored younger brother becomes a driving force
in his life and very nearly prevents him from opening himself to his own thirst
to live and to the healing power of love.
All fairy tales carry within them
a core of painful reality. Happily Ever Afters are much more potent when hard
earned. So out of the ashes of this very serious topic I wove my own fairy tale
- luckily Hunter’s Cinderella heroine Nell (who has a few scars of her own, but
that’s another story) is not easily dissuaded from pursuing her imperfect
prince…
Here’s an excerpt from the first
of my Wild Lord’s series which starts with Lord Hunter’s Cinderella Heiress in
November 2017:
‘Here, this
will keep you warm.’
Nell turned.
Hunter was behind her, holding a glass of cider, its coil of milky steam
carrying all those smells upwards, encompassing all the joys of the fête in a
single receptacle. For a moment all the agony of unrequited love and impending
loss fell away – right now Hunter was with her, a smile beginning to form in
his eyes as he looked down at her. She took the glass, breathing in the scent
of the cider, and sighed.
‘It’s just
cider,’ he said with a laugh, his expression losing the remainder of its
uncharacteristic grimness. ‘You look as if I am offering you the elixir of the
gods.’
She shook
her head and tasted it. In all her years attending the fête with her father she
had never been permitted to taste this hedonistic brew and it had achieved
mythical proportions in her mind. It didn’t disappoint – it slid down her
throat, evoking a thoroughly sensual response like stepping into a warm spring
swirling amber and amethyst and gold. She closed her eyes to let the taste
spark those colors, surrounding her and fading away at the end, leaving just
the fundaments of apple and cinnamon and a hint of clove. She opened her eyes
with another sigh, letting it go.
‘That was my
first time.’
As the
silence stretched and with the glow of the bonfires lighting the same colors in
his eyes she might have believed she had conjured Hunter from the same pagan
spring in her mind. It took her a moment to even realize her words might be
grossly misconstrued.
‘My first
cup of Wilton cider,’ she explained.
‘You have an
interesting way with firsts, Nell,’ he remarked, and the spirits in the cider,
which had been tumbling through her quite leisurely, chose that moment to
expand in a rush of heat that spread through her like the birth of a sun.
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2 comments:
love the excerpt
They didn't even talk about the suicides because in many circles, it was considered a sin. So sad. In much of modern warfare, it was called shell shock until PTSD was recognized as a real condition, and some still don't get help. My father had a friend who suffered from it. He became agitated during the anesthesia of dental work and had an episode. It did not end well. His funeral was my first experience with knowing about it other than the Hollywood portrayals.
d
d - that is such a sad story. I wish your father's friend could have found the help he needed, but it doesn't always work. Sometimes life overwhelms. All the best.
Lara xx
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