It was the beginning of the war between the Greeks and the Turks. Lily Montgomery is captured by gypsies on that fateful night of March 1821 when the Turks set fire to her home town.  She is raised up as a gypsy, traveling through Europe, selling wares and dancing. When she is sixteen, her gypsy caravan travels to in Caen, France for a festival. There, she encounters Edward, and later that day learns from her gypsy grandmother that she is not a gypsy, but that her father is an Englishman and her mother a Greek heiress.
     Thus begins Lily's search for her real parents. She journeys to England only to find out from a cousin that her mother is presumably dead and her father away to the Indies. Her cousin sends her to boarding school in York to become a lady and to await her father's return. Once there, Lily falls in love with the Lord's handsome son Edward Grant, who is intrigued by her past. Due to unrest caused by the reform bill, he leaves for London with his family and there, becomes engaged to another to appease his ill father. Several months later, Lily learns that her father has died at sea and she is now penniless. Her gypsy past is disclosed and she is forced to do menial work at the school in order to pay her tuition. Will Edward admit his true love for Lily?

       
                                                        * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                                                                     EXCERPT
 
                        Caen, France 
                        September 1831
 
                         Lily exited the dark chamber of the bookseller’s store clutching a small book
                         in her grubby hands, content with her purchase. Her voice was hoarse from
                        selling trinkets all day and she was tired and hungry, yet her victory was not in
                        the number of coins in her pocket, but the leather bound book in her hand. 
                         A sigh escaped her lips when she spied the crescent glow of the setting
                        sun peaking behind the crown of the stone building she faced. She was late.
                             It was the first day of the festival  in Caen and the town’s square was
                        bustling with activity. Lily’s bare feet skimmed past the spice-filled barrels
                        with their wild profusion of rich scents, followed by the pungent smell of
                        leather and freshly baked bread. She hugged her book close to her as she
                        passed tight crowds watching musicians sing and perform juggling acts, while
                        nearby food vendors competed with chaotic shouting, bargaining and selling
                        French cheese, sausages, and brioche. Jumping over carpets brimming with an
                        assortment of textiles, handcrafted goods, and tools, she turned into a dark
                        alley.  
                        It was quiet here except for the steady pitter-patter of her feet against the
                        cobble-stoned pavement and the rhythmic sound of her heavy breathing. Lily
                        could see her grandmother’s tent, which always stood on the outskirts of the
                        towns they visited, and would be removed by the end of the day. It was round
                        and dirty white, with tiny tears from constant use and had two openings, one in
                        the front, and one in the back. A small line of people, mostly women, had now
                        formed in the front.
                             Lily flipped the back flap of the tent and stepped inside. Grandmother
                        Mirela sat at the table with her crystal ball and two lit candles on each side.
                        She was plump and middle-aged, with round gold earrings, and decked in
                        flashy apparel. A purple  turban covered her head. Her eyes were closed. She
                        was meditating.
                             “Your earnings were good enough to afford that book?” Mirela spoke
                        without opening her eyes.
                             “Yes, Grandmother. I earned more than Sultana and Fifi and the other girls.” 
                              Mirela’s dark, heavy lidded eyes slid open. She gazed with interest at
                        Lily’s wide, blue eyes.
                             Lily strode towards her and pulled out the shiny coins from her pocket,
                        dropping them into her outreached fat palm. She showed her the book. “It is a
                        new French novel and…”
                             “You can tell me another time. Now go and wait for my cue. Take some
                        candles with you.”  
                             Lily grabbed some tallow candles and slipped out the back. She slithered
                        the black wig off her sweating head  like a snake casting off its skin. Her
                        grandmother wanted her to wear the piece in public so she wouldn’t stand out
                        from the other gypsies, but she never could get used to it. With anticipation
                        coursing through her sixteen-year old body, Lily sat down on the small stool,
                        lit the candle, and began to read her book. It would be several minutes before
                        she would be needed to escort the customer out the back. 
                             Grandmother Mirela had taught her to read and write English, Greek, and
                        French, although this was not an acceptable practice of the gypsies. Her
                        friends often teased her when they spied her reading. She would shrug her
                        shoulders and toss her head. They could not understand her. 
                             The sun had already set when Gertrude Charleton entered Mirela’s tent.
                        Hiking her blue walking dress up so as not to sully it on the dirt floor, she
                        walked into the dimly lit tent and with a flourish sat down on the hard chair. “I
                        am so glad I found you!” she said, removing her snug-fitting gloves. “So much
                        has happened since two years ago, in Paris, when you read my future.” 
                             “I have been expecting you.” Mirela spoke in English, her voice calm
                        and dusky. 
                             “After you told me about Mr. Penbroke, I checked up on him and you
                        were right! He had gambled away everything he had. I married Sir Douglas
                        Charleton after all.” She showed her the ring on her finger.
                             “You are to be commended for your wise choice, Lady Charleton.” 
                             “With help from you, of course. I will always be in your debt. If there is
                        ever a need for assistance in anything…” 
                             Mirela’s eyes flashed open. “Later… we can talk. Let us begin.” She
                        fixed her gaze on the gleaming ball for a few moments, then looked up. “What
                        brings you to France, Lady Charleton?”
                            “My husband’s cotton textiles business.” Gertrude twisted her gloves. “It
                        is not that he needs the money, mind you, he inherited quite a bit from his late
                        father. He just likes to make more.” She appeared guilty. “Although trade is
                        not quite accepted by the ton.”
                            “Maybe trade is not, but money is…and trade brings money.”
                            Gertrude appeared pleased. “We just came from Lyon, where we bought
                        silk fabric. We will be leaving tomorrow with our packet ship for England. Is
                        silk right for us at this time?” 
                            “I do not see anything wrong with  the choice, but I do see machines,
                        many of them, for the cotton. The looms will help your business grow.”
                        Lady Charleton thanked Mirela. A shadow flitted over her features. “My
                        husband’s uncle is quite ill with consumption. The doctors claim he does not
                        have much time left.”
                            “A change of climate could help his condition.” 
                            “His son is returning to England from his trip abroad, and now my
                        younger sister Charlotte has confided in me that she is in love with him,”
                        Gertrude said with lowered voice. 
                            Lily’s long, honey-blonde braids brushed the pages of the book as she
                        labored over the words. With one ear cocked toward the tent, she listened to
                        the conversation, waiting for the cue to usher Lady Charleton out the back. 
                            “Charlotte just turned twenty-one,” Gertrude was saying to Mirela, “I am
                        not surprised of her interest for Edward. Indeed he is wealthy and quite
                        handsome. Even I had a crush on him at one time, but that was so long ago.”
                        She tittered.
                            “Hmm, and you want to know if they are right for each other.” Mirela’s
                        eyes narrowed as her hands hovered above the ball. “Yes, I sense a woman
                        next to him. She is attractive and brightly clothed, and appears to be important
                        in his life, for they are holding hands.” 
                            “Oh, that sounds like her! Is there anything more you can tell me? Will
                        there be a wedding?”
                            Two drops of candle wax landed on the page that Lily was reading.
                        Disgusted, she moved the book to the side, not wanting to damage it and
                        turned her gaze on the shadows in the tent. Mirela’s turbaned head was close
                        to the lady’s plumed head. She gave an inaudible response. 
                            Lily could easily imagine what was being said, filling in the blank spots.
                        Each city they visited was different, but the people were all alike with similar
                        emotions, aspirations and dreams. The hushed conversation inside the tent was
                        no different; a possible marriage, illness, and impending death. 
                            The rattling sound of a carriage caught Lily’s attention. It was unusual
                        for carriages to come through the narrow alley and besides, they were quite
                        expensive and only the rich rode in them. The clattering sound stopped. Lily
                        arose and hurried toward the alley with her candle to see who it was. She
                        peered down the pitch-black alley, shifting the sputtering tallow candle
                        towards that direction. Unable to see anything, she leaned forward, her lit
                        candle revealing a closed carriage and horses.
                            The scene before her reminded her of a story she had once read, where the
                        handsome prince drove up in his plush carriage to rescue the maiden in distress,
                        but where was the maiden? She shook her head, realizing that she was becoming
                        too fanciful. It must be Lady Charleton’s carriage, she was sure of it.
                            A cackling sound followed by the smell of the stark, pungent smoke
                        interrupted her daydreaming. She glanced down in alarm at the flames soaring
                        through her hair. Her heart jumped to her throat. She dropped the candle and cried
                        out, but nothing came out of her mouth except a croaking sound. What was wrong
                        with her? 
                            What came next happened so quickly that it would remain a blur in her
                        memory. Someone pushed her to the ground, rolling her in some thick, scratchy
                        fabric. The scent of sandalwood and spice replaced the smell of smoke. 
                            “Ne vous enquietez pas, ma petite,” said a man’s voice, deep and soothing. 
                            Lily struggled to be free, for she did not want to be a captive in his arms,
                        whomever he was. The warm wool was lifted from her. Trembling like a leaf,
                        feeling the coldness of the evening press upon her, she arose. The tall shape of the
                        man kept a respectful distance as she swiped at her face and clothes. She felt
                        stronger by the minute. 
                            “Merci, Monsieur,” Lily rasped. Her throat still felt raw from the smoke. “I
                        do not know what I would have done without your help.”
                            “Ah, so you also speak English.”
                            Lily was silent, unsure as to how to reply to this man’s gentle probing. If he
                        found out she was a gypsy, who spoke several languages, he would turn his heel,
                        checking his pockets to make sure she did not steal something.
                            “I was in that carriage when I saw your head glowing like a ball of fire in the
                        night,” he said. “I used my coat to put the flames out. You should be more careful
                        in the future.” 
                            Lily was touched by his words. His gentle tone was that of a father
                        addressing a child. A gadjo speaking in such a manner was unusual. 
                            “Good-bye!” Mirela announced from inside the tent.
                            Lily’s head swiveled towards the tent. Her grandmother’s call could not be
                        ignored. “I must go!” She dashed back to the tent, thankful for the candlelight
                        inside the tent guiding her way. She threw the black wig on her head and pulled
                        the flap open to reveal the small frame of Lady Charleton standing there. 
                            Lily curtsied, her head low. “Please follow me, my Lady,” she said, grabbing
                        her gloved arm and leading her towards the direction of the street. 
                            Gertrude pulled her arm away. “I can find my way.” 
                            Lily watched the lady glide forward. She wondered if the man would still be
                        there. Maybe he was the lady’s coachman. As if reading her mind, the man’s tall
                        shape materialized. 
                            “Hello, Gertrude.”
                            “What a surprise to see you here!” Lady Charleton exclaimed. She clung to
                        him as they walked away, their dark shapes blending into the night. 
                            Lily stared at their retreating shadows, feeling deflated. She did not even
                        know the name of her rescuer. 
 
                                                                           * * * * * * *
 
                            Gertrude sank into the plush seat of the carriage. “I was expecting Douglas to
                        collect me. You can imagine my surprise when you showed up instead! I suppose
                        my husband was still busy finishing up with his… transaction?”
                            “He duly sends his apologies.”
                            “I thank you for playing the gallant!” Gertrude replied, laughing. “We were
                        expecting you earlier in the day.”
                            “I just arrived an hour ago. Our ship struck inclement weather just as it was
                        departing from Italy, which made for an arduous journey.”
                            “I’ll have you know that delays in shipping are quite common these days.
                        Indeed, our textiles are always late for some reason or another. So, Edward, how
                        were your travels? You must tell me all about your trip.”
                            “Extraordinary, and always something new to see or do.” He discussed a few
                        highlights of the countries he visited.  
                            “You took so long in returning, we thought you might have met some
                        beautiful exotic woman and decided to live on some secluded island with her for
                        the rest of your life!”  
                            Edward laughed. “It was not like that at all. I assure you, I am still a free
                        man.”
                            “That is good. There are some people besides your father and us who are
                        glad that you are returning to England.” 
 

                                                                            * * * * * * *

                            After the last customer left, Lily dragged her sore and tired body into the tent.
                        She pulled off her ragged black wig and combed her fingers through her singed
                        hair, thinking about the tall stranger who saved her from the fire. Perfumed scents
                        from the female customers clung in the air as she greeted her grandmother, whose
                        head was bent over the table counting the coins.
                            “We did very well today.” Mirela looked up at Lily and blinked. “What
                        happened to your hair?”  
                            “It was nothing. My braid got caught in the candle,” Lily mumbled.  
                            “Come, sit down. There is something important I must say to you.” Mirela’s
                        fleshy hand sought Lily’s, guiding her to the stool. “I had a dream last night, a
                        prophetic vision, where a young woman I knew came and took you away. I
                        woke up feeling terrified and did not know what it meant until this evening when
                        Lady Charleton appeared.” 
                            “Lady Charleton? What are you saying?” 
                            “The time has come for you to leave us, Lily, and the reason? It is here, a lie
                        that I have lived with for a decade, that has been knocking on my heart heavily,
                        seeking to be free.” Mirela pounded her chest. “You must know that I am not your
                        real grandmother.”
                            Lily sat motionless, stunned into silence. How could this be? Mirela was all
                        the family she had.
                            “You always wondered why you stood out from the other gypsies, your tall
                        height, your fair hair and blue eyes and I told you lies. They were all lies!” Mirela
                        sighed once more. “Your parents were not gypsies. Your mother was not my
                        daughter. You are a gadjo.”
 



                                                              * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
   

        
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                                                READER TESTIMONIALS



"What a delight! I was hooked from the first sentence and couldn’t put the book down. I loved the way the story mirrored life – chance meetings and incidents have a way of being connected to /having an impact upon us sometime in the future. For example – Tsingana, the gypsies’ horse that was sold, re-appeared in Lily’s life in England. Edward, a chance encounter early in the story, features strongly later on. In life, we have no idea what impact a chance meeting will have upon us later...

The strength of the characters is exciting. Someone like Mirela, who appears for a rather short time at the beginning, continues to have her strong beliefs and convictions tease their way through the story. Lily, her inner strength, fostered/nurtured by Mirela, continues to grow. And Edward, what a beautiful man! How I would like to manifest him in my life!

Patty Apostolides has worked her magic to bring the words to the reader as if in an on-going painting or movie. It is as though the reader has been pulled tenderly into the story, experiencing sights, sounds, smells and emotions.  This is reflected in the choice of illustration on the cover – a painting depicting both elegance and innocence of a Greek maiden who invites you in on gentle wings to touch her soul.

“The Greek Maiden and The English Lord” is the kind of book where I hate reading the final sentence. I want it to go on and on and on.." by Lorrie Jarrett - Director/Creator of Granna's Place, www.grannasplace.com.au, and Author of "The Greek Islands Pastel Painting Tour Painted Through the Eyes of a Writer"  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"A captivating novel of courage, determination, gallantry,, and love in it's highest form.  It was difficult to put this splendid book down!" - H. Reddy-Lane, North Carolina

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                                                         READ A REVIEW

          "In my opinion, The Greek Maiden and the English Lord stands above many of the typical romance novels that I
            have read,..." T.K.http://krazybooklady.blogspot.com/2011/11/review-greek-maiden-and-english-lord.html

                                                          
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To order book from Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/Greek-Maiden-English-Lord/dp/1602646236/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1321585435&sr=1-1