Sarnia de la Maré FRSA Author, Musician, Artist

  Welcome to the History of True Love Romance at Mills and Swoon. Tonight’s story takes us to the salons and drawing rooms of early twentieth-century London, where literature, art, and scandal often mingled freely among the cleverest minds of the age. It was here, in the unconventional world of the Bloomsbury Group, that one of the most intriguing love affairs in literary history unfolded between two remarkable women: Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West. Virginia Woolf was already establishing herself as one of the most innovative writers of her generation. Brilliant, thoughtful, and deeply introspective, she was fascinated by the workings of the mind and the subtle movements of emotion. Her novels challenged the rigid storytelling traditions of the Victorian era and replaced them with something more fluid, more psychological, and more daring. Vita Sackville-West was different in almost every way. Tall, glamorous, and aristocratic, she moved through society with a confidence tha...

  “Welcome to Mills & Swoon Daily — where your morning scandal is served warm, wicked, and just a little bit improper.” Today’s tale: The Duke and His Mother’s House Guest . By Sarnia de la Maré — Mills & Swoon Daily #1 Lady Elowen Hart was not accustomed to being mistaken for staff, but she had arrived at Hawthorne Hall in a travelling cloak and mud up to her silk-white stockings, so the error was, she supposed… understandable. Almost. The Duke strode into the foyer with the confidence of a man who had never once been contradicted in his life. Such entitled grandeur might have been repulsive if he hadn’t been so annoyingly well-formed. “You must be the new governess,” he announced, looking her up and down with far too much interest for a man hiring a tutor for his niece. Elowen raised a brow. “Must I?” He hesitated, thrown off-balance. “…You’re early.” “And you, sir, are mistaken,” she replied smoothly. “But I do admire a man who leads with certainty, ...

Penelope Fairlie had never faltered. 'Faltering is for amateurs and the mentally ill', she would say.  At fifty-two, she was the embodiment of composure. That rare breed of Englishwoman who moved through life as if time itself obeyed her schedule. She was a beacon of virtue and as disappointing as a soggy digestive, though no one would ever tell her due to her ability to petrify anyone within her orbit, even other people's dogs in Hyde Park. She lived in a tall, ordered house in Belgravia with her husband, Charles, a respected tax barrister, and their Pomeranian, Bertie, whose coiffure was definitely worse than his bark, styled by an expensive personal dog groomer from Hampstead. There were no children, a fate that had become a new normal many years before. If one dared to asked Judge Penelope Fairlie when she last felt the surge of a carnal wave, she would probably tell you it was when she saw Julio Iglesias in concert for her twenty-first birthday Charles Fairlie was a ...

                                         The Dilemma of the Disappearing Derrière  A Mills and Swoon short by Sarnia           It began, as these things so often did, with a bottom. Not Honoria’s, which was widely agreed to be both pert and philosophically unassailable, but the alabaster posterior of the Duke of Bellington, recently immortalised in marble by one Miss Lavinia Crimble—sculptress, troublemaker, and owner of the most expensive collection of scandal in Sussex. The statue, titled Man in Repose, had been commissioned for the gardens at Brimwell Abbey, and depicted His Grace reclining against an improbably convenient vine, entirely nude save for a suggestion of toga and an expression that suggested deep thought or mild constipation. Lady Honoria, attending the unveiling for the champagne and a chance to ogle the nobility in daylight, leane...

Lady Honoria Bellweather’s chief concern, apart from the ever-expanding mildew patch in the east wing of Bellweather Hall, was not to fall in love. Love, after all, was for servants and poets, neither of whom had to maintain a viable bloodline, or tolerate the Dowager Marchioness’s dinner conversation.                                                         It was therefore particularly inconvenient when, upon entering the ballroom at Carrion House—her gown artfully ruched to imply innocence while aggressively suggesting otherwise, Honoria slipped on a dropped profiterol and landed in the arms of a man who was, by all accounts, thoroughly beneath her. Major Dominic Arlesford had the kind of reputation that required the use of italics when discussed in polite society. He had been “posted abroad” for reasons that seemed to involve a diplomat’s daughte...

  Three Flat Whites by Sarnia de la Mare, a Mills and Swoon Short Romance Story Clara Smith was not, by anyone’s account, tech-savvy. She had once tried to scan a QR code using her SLR camera, and once reported her Kindle as 'smoking' when it was, in fact, her kettle boiling. Things were improving though as she had roped her sister's four year old into giving her smartphone lessons. She could now text, search Google, and even purchase ceramic hedgehogs on eBay. And today, Clara was confident. She had downloaded an app. All by herself. Not just any app, mind you. Plenty of Lovely, the thinking woman’s dating platform. So many men, so little time, so many dentists, vets, and doctors working with Medecins sans Frontieres. She uploaded a photograph where she was smiling holding a ceramic hedgehog. It had taken three days of selfie practice, some with props, many in different outfits, and most looking like she was passing wind. “GSOH, loves adventure, loves quirky vintage, and c...

Mills and Swoon: “The Duke of Dunstable’s Seduction” by Sarnia de la Mare, for Tale Teller Club Publishing. Lady Antonia Bellweather had three secrets, well a lot more than three but I will break readers in gently. She couldn’t ride side-saddle without swearing. Her French maid was actually from Glasgow. And she’d once had a highly inappropriate dream about the Duke of Dunstable involving marmalade and a velvet chaise. (It was a strange dream that also involved the butler, but luckily, things had become hazy at that point.) Sadly, the Duke had yet to reciprocate any marmalade-based fantasies, though he did occasionally stare at her bodice as if trying to recall where he’d left his monocle. Her Ladyship had spent all season attempting to draw more of the Duke's attention. She had even asked assistance of her friends, a lady of ill repute and even her French maid (just in case the things they say about Glaswegian girls was actually true). The Season was in full swing. Antonia’s dance...