Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Tamra Lassiter presents Something to Lose

Today, I have Tamra Lassiter  and her book, Something to Lose.

Peep Rep: Nope not there.  Not there either.

Liza: Peep Rep, what are you looking for?

Peep Rep: Something to Lose.  *falls to floor and belly laughs*

Liza: Get up and stop dusting the floor. 

Peep Rep: Okay. Is there a prize?

Liza: Yes. Tamra will be giving away a $50 gift card (Amazon or B&N) to one randomly selected commenter for this Tour.

Peep Rep: Me, let it be me!

Liza: Settle down and lets learn a bit more about our generous author's life.

 A day with Tamra behind the scenes
My day can take many forms, but one thing that all my days have in common: multi-tasking. I’m an early riser, so my day starts around five. I stumble to the coffee pot and take my first cup with me to my computer. By the time I’ve checked my email, I’m awake enough to begin writing. I’ve found that the early morning is my most prolific writing time so I don’t want to waste a moment of it. I have about an hour to write before it’s time to get daughter #1 up and off to school. Once her bus comes, it’s time for daughter #2 to get up and out the door. In between wake-up calls and making lunch, I’m checking email again and looking into what needs to be done for my part-time job.

It’s nine a.m. now. My kids are at school and my husband is at work. I have six hours to get everything done that I need to get done today. That includes errands, housework and my job-job, which luckily is done from home. It sounds like a lot of time, but it sure never feels like it. I dig in with whatever needs to get done. I always try to carve out some dedicated time for writing or other writing activities like marketing, etc. There’s so much do in the writing world that isn’t actually writing and it all takes time.

At three-thirty I’m in car line waiting for daughter #2. I use this time to finish up some writing or actually read a book for pleasure, one of my favorite things to do. Once we’re home, the craziness of homework and dinner prep begins. That’s on an easy night. Do I need to play Mom Taxi and drive my daughters to an activity? Is there a meeting that I need to attend?

Dinner is whenever my husband gets home. We try hard to have a family dinner every night. I know that’s a little Leave it to Beaver these days, but it’s important to me and my family. Then it’s time to clean the kitchen and get the kids showered and ready for the next day.

I may watch a little TV, but if I have any time in the evening, I usually use it for reading instead. I much prefer a good book to any television show. Since I get up so early in the morning, I’m pretty early to bed. I’m usually asleep by ten unless a really good book keeps me up later. It’s always great to have a good book.

 Liza: Well, I'm exhausted. I've no idea how authors can do so much in so little time.

Peep Rep: You barely get anything done and you don't have kids nor husband, and you rarely make any effort to clean.

Liza: And yet I work 17 hours a day. I don't get it. But that issue won't be solved today. Let's check out Something to Lose.

Something to Lose
by Tamra Lassiter


Everyone has something to lose.

Camden Piotrowski is justifiably upset to find her boyfriend in the arms of another woman. But it’s not the end of her world and definitely not something that a bubble bath, good wine, and cookie dough won’t help. Her pity party is interrupted when handsome Seth Vendetti bursts into her bathroom. She soon discovers that her world and those in it are not as they seem. Can she trust Seth’s version of the truth and make him realize that even he has something to lose?


His hands form fists that rest on his hips. “Are you threatening an FBI agent?”

I hadn’t really thought of it like that, but I’m not backing down. I put my hands on my hips as well and stand on my tippy toes so that my face is close to his. I could use those three-inch heels right about now, but I hold my ground. His body is tight. I see his pulse beating in his neck.

“Call it what you want. Just get out of my house.”

His hands move behind my neck. He pulls me to him and before I even know what’s happening, he’s kissing me and even more surprising, I’m kissing him, too. His strong fingers move up and down my back as his lips work their magic on mine. I thought I’d been kissed before, but never have I been kissed like this. I still don’t see fireworks, instead I am the firework. Heat explodes from my lips down my throat and to the rest of my body. This isn’t the warmth of fairy tales where the prince and princess kiss their happily-ever-after. This is the battle of the dragon and I don’t know what because my brain is no longer working.

His stubble scratches my chin and the sensation kindles the fire even more. My stomach lurches and I feel weightless, light as a feather now, falling from high in the sky. His hands move to my hips and he pulls me to him tightly. He kisses my chin and then my neck and down to the opening of my robe.

It’s like I wake up from some out-of-body experience to find myself full of lust and clinging to a complete stranger. His hand slips into my robe. I startle and jump back, hugging myself with one hand, the other covering my mouth as my eyes go wide in complete disbelief.

Tamra Lassiter lives in Northern Virginia with her supportive husband, two lovely daughters, elegant Great Dane and not-so-elegant, but very sweet, English Bulldog. She enjoys spending time with her family, reading and of course, writing.





Friday, April 25, 2014

Liza interviews Love & Vengeance by Gina Danna

Today, we are interviewing the book Love & Vengeance by Gina Danna.

Peep Rep: I know. I hired a chariot to bring it here.

Liza: Thank, God. I feared you intended to use the catapult.

Peep Rep: I can't find the catapult. I think it got misfiled under puppies or something.

Liza: How could you lose the catapult. It's huge!

Peep Rep: I know, but it's missing all the same.

Liza: No matter. A chariot is a much better way to send a book. 

Peep Rep: Here it comes now...

Liza: Where's the horse?

Peep Rep: Turns out the book has no hands to hold the reins, so I had a slave walk behind, pushing the handle. He's probably very hungry and thirsty. 

Liza: I don't see a man behind the chariot.

Peep Rep: I guess he ran away. Probably thought since we didn't have slaves, he could declare himself a free man.

Liza: I'm sorry to say a great many people are still held as slaves, but I wish him well. Now let's bring the book in.

Liza: Oh, you're a handsome cover. What should I call you, Love or Veng.

Book: Call me V. 

Liza: Oh I like that. Low probability of misspelling one letter.

Peep Rep: She can't type worth Lion dung.

Liza: I must say you've acclimated well, so let's start the interview. Tell me about the world you just left.

V: The place is Rome. The time 108 A.D. Our ruler is Emperor Trajan. Rome is the center of the civilized world. It is a time of sophistication and decadence, a brutal world to their conquered.

Liza: We may be way in the future, but thanks to movies and books, we know that.

Peep Rep: Some of the movies are X-rated.

V: Then they could be accurate.

Liza: So tell us about your people.

V: Marcus is a Roman citizen sentenced to die as a gladiator.

Liza: Why?

V: He is accused by his wife and brother for a crime he did not commit. 

Liza: So is this a short story?  Because most slaves die very quickly.

V: True. Yet death eludes him and he rises to become champion of the sands.

Liza: Well done, Marcus. Is he happy about his success?

V: No. It is a title he does not want. 

Liza: What does he want?

V: Revenge against his wife and brother. 

Liza: I don't blame him, but a life of killing other gladiators and slaves has to be very bleak indeed. I see him kissing a young woman on your cover. Can we discuss that part of his life please.

V: The Colosseum bestows monetary rewards which he uses to save a beautiful slave, Gustina, from certain death by the beasts.

Liza: Excellent. And what does she give him in return for saving her life?

V: A priceless gift. A taste of love in a world full of lies, betrayal and murder.

Liza: He sounds like he needs love.

V: True, but his overwhelming desire for vengeance, for blood and the kill, brings a higher price tag – can he satisfy the demon inside him and face the truth? A truth that will kill the woman he loves?

Liza: Why are you asking me? I haven't read the book!

V: You haven't?

Liza: No.

V: My apologies. I understood most people read the book before they interview the author.

Liza: In fact most TV interviewers have an unpaid intern read it and give them notes, but you are the book not the author. 

V: We become one during the writing process. 

Liza: That's exactly why I am interviewing you- as the expert.

V: I understand, but I believe an interview would go better if you read me first.

Liza: Then there would be no reason to talk to you at all. I could simply write a review!

V: Excellent point. May I offer you a peek beneath my cover to distract you from your anger?

Liza: Yes, please.


V: Rome 108 CE

Liza: We already know that.

V: You are most difficult. First, you don't want questions about what you don't know, and now you don't want statements about what you do know.

Liza: *growls* Would you get to the story!

V: This seems an appropriate section:

A menacing growl followed by an earth-shattering scream bellowed above the rafters. The roar of the crowd snapped her out of the numbness. The applause echoed through the chambers as particles of sand rained through the wood slats in the ceiling.

            She was filthy, covered in sweat, blood and grime. What damage could more dirt do? Toes on the dirt floor wiggled as she stared at them. Her hair hung around her face like a curtain, matted with dried blood. Inadvertently, she lifted her hand to tuck one side behind her ear but jerked to a halt, restrained by the iron cuffs around her wrists, bound together with a chain. The same chain connected to the metal collar around her neck. How had she forgotten its weight resting so heavily on her shoulders?

            Another scream and the sound of flesh ripping, laughter and clapping became louder above. Fear snaked down her spine and she shuddered.

            Gustina sat on the stone ledge, chained with the other miscreants, waiting to be forced up the ramp to the carnage above. If she could just return to the numbness again, where nothing mattered any more. The place she’d escaped to before she’d heard the animals attacking the condemned out there. But she couldn't silence the roar of the crowds enjoying the executions as their noontime entertainment. Trembling, she pulled her sluggish legs up, wrapping her joined hands over them, and buried her face in her knees.
            In the hallway outside the chamber, Marcus stood, flexing his muscles, his arm extended with the metal disk in his hand. It equaled the weight of his sword—a weapon he would not have until it was his turn in the arena. Besides, there was no room in the corridor to swing it, to loosen his arms in preparations for the next fight.

            Christians and convicts. What a surly lot. But it was an easy way to feed the vast array of beasts the Empire kept to compete in the games. Did he ever feel sad for the poor souls about to perish by their claws? No. Nor did he mourn the loss of life at the end of his sword.

            He was one of the rare attractions people paid to see. He was gladiator. And he soon would be victor of all he opposed on the sands. Marcus' victories gave him the privileges and money he wanted—as long as it remained wine and women. But not his freedom. Not what he had lost to the Romans. No, the only way to gain that came by victory in the arena and in front of the Emperor. And to earn that opportunity, he’d kill whomever they placed before him.

            He closed his eyes as the screams filtered downward. His soul heard them and his body tingled with the smell of blood and dirt. Breathing in the welcoming atmosphere, he exhaled and opened his lids to look straight into the captives’ chamber.

            He found her. Sitting, hunched on the small ledge, draped in chains and metal bands, her head down. But when she looked up, through all the muck and grime, her pale blue eyes shone, sparkling and bright. Her unmarred face was a rarity among captives dragged to this place, usually after rough treatment. He noticed her high cheekbones, a small nose, narrow chin but ripe mouth. Her eyes locked on him and his mouth went dry. When her tongue licked her lips, his body tightened.

            He had to have her. Period. Regardless if she was a convict, runaway or Christian, he wanted her.

            A guard butted past him into the room and yanked the chain, pulling all the captives up. Many moaned, some pleaded. She didn't. She stood straight, pushing her shoulders back, waiting at the end of the line. Her eyes locked on his until the guard turned, chain in hand, to lead them out.

            Marcus stepped back. Instantly, his hand went to his stomach guard and pulled the narrow pick-knife out of its hidden sheath. As the captives stumbled past him, he extended his foot, causing her to trip. She fell into his grasp. His free hand placed the knife into the lock and twisted it open. His hand covered it to deaden the noise as his other arm encircled her tiny waist and pulled her against him.

            "Not a sound," he whispered. He shoved her to the wall, his massive body hiding hers as he flexed his limbs. The guard stopped at the sound of the loose chain but didn't look far when he saw the gladiator's well-muscled body. Marcus glanced at him over his shoulder and gave the man a nod. His status as a victorious gladiator allowed some privilege. The guard shrugged and moved on. The frightened woman gasped for air and shook with fear.

            Quickly he lifted her. She was light, seemingly lighter than his sword, but he knew that couldn’t be. In a swift move, he turned. Next to the doorway was a covered alcove. He dropped her in it.

            "You'll be safe here." He looked her over. Her wide eyes, full of fear and mistrust, returned his gaze but she said nothing. He heard the gong of his master calling him, reminding him he fought next, after the final execution. "Remain here. I will be back for you." He touched her cheek, his bulky hand swallowing half her face. Her skin was soft, like silk. Back in the days when he wore silk... He banked the anger. With a final nod to her, he left. He knew she'd be there when he returned.

To leave meant death.

Liza: Oh, that was very good. You are forgiven for asking me questions.

V: I didn't ask for forgiveness.

Peep Rep: I found the buy links:

Peep Rep: I also located the slave, gave him an update about slavery in the 22nd century and he's willing to take V home.

V: I am more than ready.

Liza: Hold on. You have to tell me about your author.

V: You don't know about my author? You have to be the worst interviewer in the world!

Peep Rep: No, there are worse.

Liza: Actually I know a great deal about Gina.

V: Like what? 

Liza: Well, she was born in St. Louis, Missouri, which must be very a dull place since she spent all her time reading about history. 

V: Nonsense. History is her love and she's earned undergraduate and graduate degrees in field. She writes academic research papers for museum programs and events. And thankfully, she finally found the time to write great stories such as myself.

Liza: What else do you know about her?

V: Under the supervision of her three dogs and three cats, she writes amid a library of research books.

Liza: Sounds like a dusty, cluttered mess to me. What else does she do?

V: Her only true break away is the time she spends with her Arabian horse – with him, her muse can play.

Liza: I am most impressed. You know your author well. Let us fist to book bump and make up. Despite your question, I have enjoyed our sparring immensely and look forward to actually reading the book.

V: Then my work here is done. Slave, you may return me to Rome, 108 CE.

Liza: *Waves goodbye*  That was fun. Can't wait to read the book.

Stalking Links:
website: http://ginadanna.com

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Kiss the Enemy by Dianna Love

Today I've New York Times Best-selling author, Dianna Love sharing her book, Kiss the Enemy.

Peep Rep: Does she come bearing gifts?

Liza: Lot's of them. Sit down and I'll tell you. 

At each stop, Dianna will be awarding EITHER the ebook box set of the first 3 Slye Temp OR a signed copy of ONE of the first 4 Slye Temp books. (Print Books are Continental US Only - Amazon/iTunes/Nook ebook equivalent for international) to one randomly drawn commenter at each stop during the tour, 

Plus a GRAND PRIZE of Signed copies of all 4 Slye Temp books – LAST CHANCE TO RUN, NOWHERE SAFE, HONEYMOON TO DIE FOR – plus a MONOGRAMMED SLING BACKPACK, and swag pack of surprise goodies. (Continental US only for print books - Amazon/iTunes/Nook 3 ebook box set for international) will be awarded to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour.


Liza: And Peep Rep faints. So let's find out about this book without Peep Rep's dubious assistance.

Kiss the Enemy
by Dianna Love



Her only hope is in the hands of her enemy.

Slye Temp operative Margaux Duke is chasing an international terrorist who murdered the last of her family. But her plans go up in smoke when her agency is in the crosshairs of the dangerous killer, forcing her to turn rogue to protect the only family she has left - her team. This is no time to get involved, especially with an enemy who steps between her and the terrorist she has to stop.
Logan Baklanov has been known by many names in the underbelly of international terrorism and will do whatever it takes to shield those he loves from the treacherous world he lives in. When his brother’s life is in jeopardy, Logan takes on a role that places him at the top of the most-wanted lists of government security agencies in every country. He accepts the no-win situation, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice until a long legged beauty draws the attention of his deadly target and screws Logan’s carefully planned mission.

Margaux and Logan must join forces in a dangerous game to save a major city from a powerful psychopath, but their ruse escalates out of control when the heat smoldering between them threatens to explode.



Margaux gazed around the elegant room, taking in the mundane, wealthy men shopping for an expensive party girl for the night. All of the clients here were middle aged and ordinary.

On the other hand, Dragan’s bodyguard was anything but uninteresting.

He stood off to her right, with Secret-Service-looking eyewear and a coal-black designer suit that had to be custom-tailored to fit shoulders as wide as his.

That was one big man.

Just her flavor, if she had any interest in a taste.

Surprisingly, he still managed to blend into the shadows, motionless as a tiger waiting for his dinner to stroll by. Power rolled off him in silent waves. She couldn’t tell much about his face with that thick, but neat, black beard and his eyes hidden.

Handsome was too simple a word to describe him, too civilized. Like admiring a wolf for its lush coat or a shark for its grace in the water, a woman would find this man attractive in a deadly way.

A woman who enjoyed playing with fire or dancing with lightning.

A woman who was a fool. 

Nothing about that man invited sexual banter, which she found even more appealing. No, he was not one to play with and that presented a problem.

Because right now she had to get to Dragan and that bodyguard was her only route.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

New York Times bestseller Dianna Love once
dangled over a hundred feet in the air to create unusual marketing projects for Fortune 500 companies. She now writes high-octane romantic suspense, thrillers and urban fantasy. Her new Slye Temp romantic suspense series launched its first four books in 2013 to rave reviews and more will follow in 2014. Her books are available in print and ebook.  On the rare days she’s not in her writing cave, Dianna enjoys touring the country on her BMW motorcycle. She lives in the Atlanta, GA area with her motorcycle-instructor husband and a tank full of unruly saltwater critters. Read excerpts of her books at www.authordiannalove.com or join her Dianna Love Street Team on Facebook and get in on the fun!


Follow her on Twitter at -- https://twitter.com/diannalove

Buy Links for KISS THE ENEMY:

For other buy links, to read an excerpt, or to purchase an autographed copy, visit  the KISS THE ENEMY page on Dianna’s website:  http://www.authordiannalove.com/bookshelf/77/kiss-the-enemy---book-4

And now for the Rafflecopter to win the fabulous prizes:

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Liza Interviews the book Traces by Betty Bolté

Today, we are interviewing the book Traces, Ghosts of Roseville Book 1 by Betty Bolté.

Peep Rep: Oh Ghosts. We love ghosts. 

Liza: Settle down Peep Rep. We don't know anything about these ghosts yet.

Peep Rep: Let's find out! 

Liza: Well, I put you in charge of transportation. How is the book arriving?

Peep Rep: By pickup. 

Liza: That will take days!

Peep Rep: Nope, I hired a Leprechaun. Their pickups are magically inclined. Here it is now.

 Liza: That's either a giant book or a---

Peep Rep: Tiny Leprechaun truck.

Liza: Welcome Traces. Are you ready for my questions?

Traces: After bumping around and being buffeted by the wind, I’m not sure I even know my own name. But I’m curious. How do actually expect to interview me? It's not like you can read my thoughts or hear my voice.

Peep Rep: Hey, Traces, unless you want to be No Trace can be found, you need to nix the attitude. I'm sorry you had a rough trip, but Liza can hear you, and you are perilously close to becoming kindling rather than getting in a Kindle.

Traces: Oh dear. Am I going to die now and become a ghost book?

Liza: Now look, Traces is trembling. *pets book* It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I'd be a bit annoyed driving in a tiny truck, myself. And I will try to call you by your full name, Traces.

Traces: Well, actually, my full name is Traces, Ghosts of Roseville Book 1.

Liza: Don't push it.

Peep Rep: Yeah, keep it simple. Liza is a terrible typist. Your name would come out like: taceswGhoestw ofRovevilleook1.

Traces: So just use my nickname, Traces, then.

Liza: Great. Let's get this interview going. Tell me a bit about your heroine.

Meredith Reed is a forty-year-old architect turned demolition expert. 

Liza: That's a weird twist in careers. She goes from creating things to blowing them up.

Traces: That's because she’s been desperately searching for the means to bury her grief. 

Liza: Why is she grieving?

Traces: She lost her husband, but how and why will be revealed over time. But believe me, she has reason to grieve.

Liza: So tell me about why she's in Tennessee.

Traces: She inherited her family’s historic plantation home, Twin Oaks, in Tennessee from her grandmother.

Liza: That's nice. She can fix it up.

Traces: *Page flutter* That was her grandma’s plan, but no. She decides to start anew by razing the antebellum house and replacing it with a memorial garden.

Liza: Shouldn't this house be registered and protected by the Historical Society?

Traces: The paperwork is in the process, but it hasn't been registered yet.

Liza: Then she's going to destroy a beautiful antebellum mansion as part of her grief therapy? Is there no one in the book that thinks this is a horrible idea?

Traces:  Both her family and her grandmother's handsome estate lawyer are outraged. 

Liza: Handsome, eh? Tell me more about him.

Traces: James Maximillian “Max” Chandler needs two things to complete his life plan: become a senior partner of his law firm and find his soul mate. 

Liza: Realistically speaking, neither of those are easy tasks. 

Traces: True, but he's been promised a promotion once his proposed legislation to protect all of the county’s historic properties is approved. 

Liza: Only one of them is about to be razed.

Traces: Yes, unless he can bring her to her senses. 

Liza: You said he was searching for a soul mate. How's that going? 

Traces: Far more challenging. He's never met the right woman in all of his forty-six years.

Liza: Any chance he might like Meredith?

Traces: Well, he thinks her talented and attractive, but she is incredibly aloof. Then there is the whole 'destroy Twin Oaks' thing. 

Liza: Yeah, that might sink his chances for partnership.

Traces: It's more than that. He's grown to cherish the mansion. 

Liza: So how do you stop her from razing it before sense can be crammed into her head?

Traces: Well, her sister moves in and refuses to leave. You cannot raze a building if people are in it. 

Liza: Clever. And how do the two sisters get along?

Traces: You wouldn’t believe! Not only do they argue and fight, but the memories of their childhood spent at Twin Oaks causes even more turmoil between them. 

Liza: She might be able to get her evicted. I'm worried for this old house. Please give me some hope.

Traces: While Meredith struggles to reconcile her past and her future, she learns a lesson from the spectral Lady in Blue that may save both her family and the family home from destruction.

Liza: Ghost to the rescue! I love Ghosts who help get us to the right solution. I can't wait to read it.  Speaking of which, may I peek beneath your covers? 

Traces: I suppose. Here is the first time the Lady in Blue attempts to reach out to Meredith.

The memory of a childhood dream floated into her mind. The Lady in Blue. Inspired by the belles in that old movie, Gone with the Wind, most likely. But the dream had replayed for her frequently as a child. It always started with a beautiful young woman dressed in a royal-blue hoop skirt, dotted with sequins twinkling with every step. Her blonde hair was pulled up with sausage curls dangling about her petite face. Funny how she could never espy the lady’s eyes, though.

An icy breeze blew through the half-open window, fluttering the lacy sheers. Meredith opened her eyes at the first blast. Griz lifted her head from where she’d laid it on her paws, staring at the window. Meredith stroked the cat, but the feline leaped up, the hair along the ridge of her backbone slowly rising.

“What’s the matter, girl?” Meredith looked at the cat, then the window. She pushed back the sheet and went to the window to close it. The sheers settled into place. “There’s nothing there. It was just the wind.”
Griz growled low in her throat, staring at the window.
Meredith slipped into bed, pulling up both the sheet and the lightweight coverlet. All was quiet except for the slowly fading complaints of her cat. “It’s okay, Griz. Now where was I?”

One, two, three…

Another icy breeze chilled her despite the covers draped across her body. The window remained tightly closed. Her brow tensed into a frown as she sat up and scanned the room. A flash of light drew her attention to the mirror on the triple dresser set against the far wall. She gasped as Griz jumped from the bed and raced from the room. The Lady in Blue appeared in the mirror, standing between the window and where Meredith sat on the bed, the lady’s hands reaching toward her. The lady’s silk skirt rustled when she stepped closer to the bed, sequins glinting.

Fear, sharp and intense, shot through Meredith. She spun around to confront the woman, only to discover she sat alone among her tangled bedclothes, sleep a distant thought.

Pre-order  and save 20% off the retail cover price.

Betty Bolté writes both historical and contemporary stories that feature strong, loving women and brave, compassionate men. No matter whether the stories are set in the past or the present, she loves to include a touch of the paranormal. Traces is a contemporary romantic women’s fiction novel set in a haunted plantation home in Tennessee, scheduled for release on April 28, 2014. Hometown Heroines: True Stories of Bravery, Daring, and Adventure (2012) is a collection of short historical fiction based on the real-life achievements of 19 American girls in the 19th century, each with a landmark in the United States of America. The first edition won Honorable Mention in the 2003 Writer’s Digest International Self-Published Book Awards and 2000 Writer’s Digest Writing Competition. She’s the author of several nonfiction books and currently marketing a romantic historical fiction trilogy.

Social Media Links
Twitter: @BettyBolte

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Late Victorian Dresses

Late Victorian Era Dresses

Sounds like an easy task, right. 
Find some pictures on pininterest and slap them up.
Here's my problem. Lots of pictures are mislabel to their exact time. They are 1890s. But the decade was far from homogeneous.
The most notable change is the sleeves which are slender in 1890-1892 

(1893 is a transition year and is all over the place.)

During the coming of THE NEW WOMEN (1st named in 1894) they give themselves large puffy 'I am NOT fragile' shoulders. They keep these massive puffs from 1894-1896

In 1987 & 1988 they gave it up, tired of fighting with their coats in the winter, and returned to slender arms. The big difference between the early part of the decade is that the bustle has nearly disappeared this time around and the hats are huge and carry strange items like birds, fruits and dead foxes. 

By 1899, the hints of the Edwardian style show up with the use of lace and draped softer fabrics.

However, most of the ladies continue to wear the more delineated line of 87/88.

There is also a difference between English, American, French and other countries. France, home of House of Worth, would make a dress for any nationality with the funds to buy it, so they sold widely diverse styles, not all which would be accepted in all countries. Thus, when someone moved to a new location, buying a new wardrobe was a top priority.

However, that doesn't mean all ladies wore the same style. We don't now, and we didn't then.
Here are some style sheets showing what was 'in fashion'  and what someone wore instead.

Above left is the 'new' larger sleeve style of 1893. The style to the right is also from 1893, but it is the 'retro' style that grew popular in the early 1890's.

Here's a 1895 'Gibson Girl' style vs. a french style preferred by some.

So as you can see, one style does not suit all.

Nor does one dress a day work.
It was not uncommon for a woman to change her clothes many times in the day.

Staying to year of  1895:

There was the morning gown to be worn in the privacy of your suite

a day dress
This particular dress is called a 'Shirt Waist' because it mimics a man's shirt. (except for the sleeves.) It was the basic uniform for working young women of the growing middle class.

a walking dress, 
no train to drag about in the muck.

an afternoon dress to visit others (with train to drag about in the muck.)

 a tea gown  is likened to a morning gown made of luxurious fabrics. No corset is normally worn beneath it. Notice a strong resemblance between the afternoon and tea dress length of skirt trails. The main differences are the afternoon dress could be worn outside and required a corset, while the tea dress was for intimate indoor occasions only with people you don't mind seeing you without a corset. This means the host of the tea party might wear a tea gown while visitors might prefer arriving in an afternoon dress. Main source 

a dinner dress, to my eye, looks a great deal like a 'day dress' but with more expensive fabrics.  Since a tea gown was not deemed appropriate for the dinner table, the corset must be located and a dinner dress put on for the evening meal.

and last, but not least, the ball gown. 
Notice the train on the ball gown was not normally as long as the trains on the tea gowns. That may be because it was easier to dance in shorter trains.

 I don't know about you, but to have the whole day wasted in changing clothes sounds like hell to me. And don't forget, ladies were advised to bath at least twice a day.

 Of course if you wished to go swimming, 


 or golfing (1899)

or ride a horse

or work out in a gym. (1893)

or riding a bike (1896)

There were special clothes for each.

And let us not fail to mention the sad cries for attention, otherwise known as 'What was she thinking?"

The need to compensate for small breasts

Groping made easy

Can't take your eyes off my chest, can you? 
Stare much longer and you'll have to marry me.

The wonders of fabric folds to give the illusion of breasts. 

Grab the buckle, you know you want to.

Watch me wiggle

Faux cleavage
Assuming the wearer's skin was close to the color of the chest fabric, this ballgown would be most risque.

Thus ends my review of Late Victorian Era clothing for ladies.  Just reading about all these dresses to be worn in a single day exhausts me. I can't blame my character Vic (in my humorous,  Late Victorian  
mystery romance series, Book 1 - August release) for deciding to live the life of a young man instead of a woman. 
Vic makes a handsome young man, doesn't she?