Let us Talk of Many Things; of Books and Queens and Pirates, of Mystery and Kings...: My Coffee Pot Book Tour Guest: Mistress of Dartington Hall by Rosemary Griggs

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About the Book

Book Title: Mistress of Dartington Hall

Series: Book 3 - Daughters of Devon

Author Name: Rosemary Griggs

Publication Date: July 10th, 2025

Publisher: Troubador Publishing

Pages: 292

Genre: Historical Fiction; Women’s Fiction; Historical Biographical Fiction

1587. England is at war with Spain. The people of Devon wait in terror for King Philip of Spain’s mighty armada to unleash untold devastation on their land.

Roberda, daughter of a French Huguenot leader, has been managing the Dartington estate in her estranged husband Gawen’s absence. She has gained the respect of the staff and tenants who now look to her to lead them through these dark times.

Gawen’s unexpected return from Ireland, where he has been serving Queen Elizabeth, throws her world into turmoil. He joins the men of the west country, including his cousin, Sir Walter Raleigh, and his friend Sir Francis Drake, as they prepare to repel a Spanish invasion. Amidst musters and alarms, determined and resourceful Roberda rallies the women of Dartington. But, after their earlier differences, can she trust Gawen? Or should she heed the advice of her faithful French maid, Clotilde?

Later Roberda will have to fight if she is to remain Mistress of Dartington Hall, and secure her children’s inheritance. Can she ever truly find fulfilment for herself?

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/4jjOZk

Author Bio:

Author and speaker Rosemary Griggs has been researching Devon's sixteenth-century history for years. She has discovered a cast of fascinating characters and an intriguing network of families whose influence stretched far beyond the West Country. She loves telling the stories of the forgotten women of history — the women beyond the royal court; wives, sisters, daughters and mothers who played their part during those tumultuous Tudor years: the Daughters of Devon.

Her novel, A Woman of Noble Wit, set in Tudor Devon, is the story of the life of Katherine Champernowne, Sir Walter Raleigh’s mother. The Dartington Bride, follows Lady Gabrielle Roberda Montgomery, a young Huguenot noblewoman, as she travels from war-torn France to Elizabethan England to marry into the prominent Champernowne family. Mistress of Dartington Hall, set in the time of the Spanish Armada, continues Roberda’s story.

Rosemary is currently working on her first work of non-fiction — a biography of Kate Astley, childhood governess to Queen Elizabeth I, due for publication in 2026.

Rosemary creates and wears sixteenth-century clothing, and brings the past to life through a unique blend of theatre, history and re-enactment at events all over the West Country. Out of costume, Rosemary leads heritage tours at Dartington Hall, a fourteenth-century manor house that was home of the Champernowne family for 366 years.

Author Links:

Website:

https://rosemarygriggs.co.uk/

Twitter / X:

https://x.com/ragriggsauthor

Facebook: Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/ladykatherinesfarthingale

Instagram: Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/griggs6176/

Threads: Threads:

https://www.threads.net/@griggs6176

Bluesky: BlueSky:

https://bsky.app/profile/ragriggsauthor.bsky.social

Amazon Author Page:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Rosemary-Griggs/author/B09GY6ZSYF

Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21850977.Rosemary_Griggs

read an excerpt

Once Upon a Christmastide

Christmas 1587, Dartington Hall

William stamped the snow from his boots, scattering a cloud of powdery white over the floor. Smiling, he set down an armful of greenery, releasing an invigorating evergreen scent. Arthur’s rosy cheeks were aglow as he scampered in and signalled to three burly estate workers. The men grunted and groaned as they struggled to manoeuvre an enormous tree trunk into the hall from the screens passage. After several attempts, they hauled the massive piece of lumber towards the waiting fireplace. Following behind, more servants struggled to carry huge bunches of holly and ivy.

Mary clapped her hands, her homely face pink with excitement. She was always the most mild-mannered and helpful among my girls. I could rely on Mary to obey instructions without question. Seeing Lisbeth holding herself aloof as usual made me hope Mary wouldn’t change as she grew older.

The eager girls cut pieces of greenery to wrap around candles in every window, laughter bubbling from them as they vied to outdo each other. Agnes arrived carrying a large basket. Shaking off her damp cloak, she settled down on the floor with the girls, showing them how to twine dried flowers, rosemary sprigs and bright red berries into the foliage. While the girls worked, Agnes reached into the basket and drew out an enormous bunch of mistletoe, which with deft fingers, she wove into a kissing bough to hang inside our door.

At William’s direction, two stable boys raised a ladder.

‘Have a care! Don’t fall!’ I called as one boy balanced atop to string the evergreen garlands amongst the magnificent carved oak beams. Meanwhile, William prodded the smouldering cinders in the hearth with a sturdy metal poker before adding pieces of charred wood from a basket, tossing them into the flames that soon flickered in the cavernous fireplace.

‘There!’ He said, standing back to survey his efforts with satisfaction. ‘The remains of last year’s Yule log are already alight. Soon this year’s will send sparks up the chimney and bring warmth and light to our Christmastide.’

‘Thank you, William!’ I stretched my face muscles into a warm smile and felt the tension drop away. ‘Following the old customs will steady us all,’ I said. The steward’s answering grin lit up his face, and his eyes twinkled as he took in the crowd of chattering servants who worked with the children to create a wonderful display of festive cheer.

‘Aye, Mistress! ’Twill be good to forget our enemies for a few days. May God send us a peaceful holiday.’

‘Amen to that,’ I said, giving Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze. We stood side by side, spellbound by the first tiny flickers, which soon grew bolder and became vivid tongues of light as they licked round the wood. Our Yule log, stripped of its bark and left to dry for months, promised a cheering blaze.

‘I wish Father were here,’ the boy whispered. ‘Oh, how I wish he were here for Christmas.

‘I know, Arthur, I know.’ I hugged him close as a fleeting spasm of fear threatened to snuff out the joy of the moment. Arthur blinked fast, trying to hold back his tears. ‘Your father has important work to do. He is with Sir Francis. They count our ships, ready to fight the Spaniards if they appear.’ I turned to see Mary placing a green garland on little Ursula’s head.

‘Lisbeth, Kate? Won’t you wear one?’ she called. Soon they all had crowns of green and danced about, light-footed as laughing wood nymphs.

‘Boys can dance too.’ Mary chuckled, snatching off Arthur’s cap and replacing it with a ring of foliage. ‘Come, Mother, won’t you show us how you danced at Queen Elizabeth’s court when you were young?’ Mary grabbed my hand, and I soon felt my linen coif knocked from my head and a wreath set in its place. Caught up in their laughter, I showed them the steps of a courtly dance. Even Lisbeth joined in, shrieking with laughter as she trod on Arthur’s toe.

‘We must have music,’ Kate cried, clapping her hands together. I stared at my feet. We could no longer afford the minstrels who had once played for Gawen’s father. All of them had gone to Modbury to join Pierre, the talented French boy I had rescued from starvation so many years ago. Perhaps William noticed the disappointment on my face because he stepped forward.

‘I have no lute, but I can sing.’ With that he launched into one of the age-old English songs of Christmas, his rich baritone voice echoing to the rafters. As he reached the chorus, Agnes, Alice, and Marie joined in, their voices harmonising to create a glorious wall of sound. Meanwhile, Clotilde stood to the side, humming along and tapping her feet to the rhythm, while other servants added their voices to the impromptu choir. The children and I, caught up in the merriment, danced faster and faster. We abandoned the formal steps and instead, hand in hand, we pranced round and round in a gleeful circle, hoots of laughter mingling with the singing. It was a mad moment of freedom and hilarity, a brief respite from the midwinter gloom.

Our dancing feet froze when William broke off in mid-flow, stood to attention and made a stiff bow. Pushing back a lock of my fair curling hair, I whirled round, expecting to see the rector frowning at us for such behaviour on the holy eve of Christ’s birth. I gasped and let go my grip on Arthur’s warm fingers as my hand flew to my mouth. It was not the rector. It was Gawen whose broad shoulders filled the doorway.