Congratulations to B, for winning the drawing for Kieran Kramer’s IF YOU GIVE A GIRL A VISCOUNT plus a special tea favor. Thanks to Kieran for being such a great guest. She had trouble posting a couple of pictures in comments – the polka dot teapot and a lovely picture of men in kilts from The Citadel. I finally figured out how to do it, so here they are!

Polka Dot Teapot

It’s my great pleasure to introduce a guest to The Ballroom.  Miss Kieran Kramer is the author of four simply delicious historicals, most recently If You Give a Girl a Viscount.

Kieran (waving her fan): Lady B, I’ve heard so much about you.

Lady B: Welcome, Miss Kramer. I’m always pleased when my dear authoresses introduce their authoress friends. First things first. Are we related?

Kieran (lowering her fan): I’m afraid it’s quite unlikely. I have no noble connections and my blood is pure red, but I can gossip as well as any society doyenne. (leaning forward, with an exaggerated whisper) I’d love to talk to you about a compelling gentleman with blood as blue as yours—Charles Thorpe, Viscount Lumley.

Lady B: I already know everything about the dear man. His mother’s uncle’s second cousin once removed was my sister’s bridesmaid. Also, he’s one of those Impossible Bachelors. Matchmaking mamas and their daughters are wild for them. She looks around the ballroom. I’m sorry not to see him in attendance tonight. Those bachelors would all be better off if they spent less time drinking and wagering and more time dancing.

Kieran: I’ve news, my lady. Charlie won’t be a bachelor much longer. At least not after he traipses through the pages of my latest book, IF YOU GIVE A GIRL A VISCOUNT.

Lady B: No!

Kieran: Yes.

Lady B: Charlie? The last of the Bachelors? Finally snared?

Kieran: Indeed, he is. By a clever, strong-willed lass named Daisy Montgomery who doesn’t put on airs. For instance, she’s never stepped foot in a London ballroom. She also eats shortbread with her servants every night at a well-worn kitchen table.

Lady B: I must correct you on one point: no one traipses through a book. They traipse over moors. And I don’t find it a recommendation that Miss Daisy Montgomery has never set foot in a ballroom. I trust this is a misfortune rather than a choice.

Kieran: Truth be told, she couldn’t afford to put on airs even if she wanted to. She’s nearly penniless.

Miranda: She’d hardly be the first wealth-challenged heroine to enter the Ballroom. We all love a Cinderella story. I’m sure Charlie makes a wonderful Prince Charming.

 Kieran:  He almost makes a hash of it, I can tell you. Not that Daisy doesn’t make her own mistakes, too.  But when you get them both to the Stone Steps—

Lady B: The Stone Steps?

Kieran (whispering again): In Scotland. Their favorite trysting spot. I do believe they’re made for each other. (she chuckles) Most people wouldn’t want to—um—that is, the stone is awfully cold and unyielding, but when you’re in the throes of passion…(she shrugs)

Lady B: You must bring them both to The Ballroom. I want to inspect Miss Montgomery and make sure she is suitable.

Kieran: They’re busy at the moment. But they send their regrets. Charlie’s attempting to learn to play Daisy’s favorite song on the bagpipes, all before her birthday next week. Count yourself lucky that he’s not here. The squeaks, I tell you, coming from those pipes…he means well, however, and Daisy is pretending to enjoy his practicing.

<squawk>  “My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here—” <squawk>

Lady B: Albert, whatever Robert Burns says, your heart is here with me. I may have to drink a finger of whisky ….

Miranda: Stick to ratafia, Lady B, and think about Scottish fashion. Scottish men’s fashion.

Lady B: Oh my word! Kilts. I feel better.

 Kieran: Also Scottish dancing. Sword dances! Highland reels!

Miranda: Indeed! Scottish balls are quite admirable.

 Kieran (patting Lady B’s hand): Please don’t despair. Charlie and Daisy will be down for the Little Season. In fact, Lord Lumley sends you this. (the author reaches in her pocket and hands something to her hostess).

Scottish balls are admirable ... even small ones

Lady B: peering closely at it. An invitation to their house on Curzon Street for next Tuesday evening? I’m not sure I need an invitation to the birthday party of the gel who finally brought Charlie to the altar without ever attending one of my balls.

Kieran: There’s one more thing … (she retrieves something miniscule from her pocket).

Lady B (taking the tiny rectangle of paper and holds a quizzing glass up to it): Ah, they’ve issued an invitation to Albert.

<squawk. Will there be lobster patties?>

Kieran: This parrot-sized invitation came particularly from Daisy. She can’t wait to meet him, she says. She sees sheep all the time, of course, and Scotland has its share of fascinating birds. But alas, no parrots. Especially no parrots of grandes dames. She feels the absence of such keenly.

Sorry. I meant this kind of Scottish Ball

Lady B: Well, since she clearly has a refined notion of an invitation list and a welcome interest in My Albert, perhaps I’ll go and meet this Scottish miss, after all. The main problem with Scotland is that it takes days for the gossip to reach me. I do wish couples would be sensitive to the need for chatter in London ballrooms before they head off to Scotland to be matched.

Kieran: Your compassion knows no bounds, Lady B. Which reminds me, perhaps you’ll be so good as to take a turn about the room with me? I’ve got loads more gossip to share about Duncan and Marcia, the hero and heroine in the first book in my newest series, The House of Brady….

Miranda: Between us, I think Kieran and I have almost reconciled Lady B to the concept of Scotland, although she’ll be complaining about the slow speed of gossip until the invention of the telegraph. So help us, fellow guests. Tell Lady B about the splendors of the bonnie land to the north. What, in your opinion, is the best thing about Scotland? One commenter will win a special tea favor from Kieran (we love tea in the Ballroom, though not perhaps as much as Lady B loves ratafia) plus a copy of If You Give a Girl a Viscount.

Jane Austen herself

Because Thursday was Thanksgiving, today we’ve decided to combine our end-of-month guest post with our Saturday Salon. And it’s perfect, because my guest today is Brenna Aubrey, who recently had her published fiction debut with “The Love Letter,” a short story in the anthology Jane Austen Made Me Do It. This seemed like the perfect time to talk about taking inspiration from the author who is arguably to thank for the entire genre of Regency romance: Jane Austen.

Ooh, and there’s a giveaway attached, so be sure to comment for your chance to win!

Brenna and I are good friends in real life, so I knew last year she’d entered the Jane Austen short story contest at Pemberley.com, for which the prize was a slot in this fabulous anthology. Bren, I still have the text saved in my phone, from when you wrote to tell me that your entry won. I was so excited for you, so I can only imagine how YOU must have felt!

Tessa, you are so sweet. I do remember it was pretty late so I didn’t want to call you, but you were one of the first people to find out (aside from the people I live with, that is). Because of the nature of the contest, I had to go roughly five months before I was at liberty to spread the news because the announcement was planned to tie in to the book release. That was an excruciating set of months, as you well know because you shared the frustration with me.

I know! I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But the wait was worth it in the end, right?

It’s all been a great experience! I can’t begin to describe what it’s like to share cover credit with the likes of Syrie James, Jo Beverly, Lauren Willig, just to name a few. All of them are such amazing authors and then there’s little ol’ me.

Fabulous Anthology!

Now, now. Those authors are Ballroom Blog favorites and tremendous talents, but enough with the “little ol’me”! Your story had to rise above the scores of other entries. So Brenna, tell me — When it came to writing “The Love Letter,” just how and why did Jane make you do it?

Jane Austen has been a muse to me for many years. I never cease enjoying her books, crying with her heroines, swooning for her heroes and cursing at her villains. With Jane, I’ve walked down muddy lanes in Hertfordshire and danced at a ball in the pump room in Bath.

Persuasion, especially, has touched me time and time again. I love second chance stories and every time I read the famous letter from Wentworth to Anne, I am moved to tears. The letter is the first thing that popped into my mind when I was brainstorming ideas for a story to write for the contest..

I also know that the majority of Janeites are women (at least the most vocal and visible ones) and I was interested in investigating the possibilities of her work touching a man’s life and teaching him something about himself and his own heart based on what he’d read. This was my primary reason for the unusual choice of writing from a man’s first person point of view.

But Jane Austen’s work has touched so many people and so many modern authors trace the roots of their inspiration back to her. We’ve talked many times about and I know that Jane’s work holds a particular place in your own heart as well.

Absolutely. Several years ago, I started writing Austen-inspired fanfiction for online friends. That’s how I got my start at writing original historical romance. Jane Austen totally made me do it.

"Yes, I truly am this handsome."

Okay, I have to admit… It might have been Darcy who made me do it. And here’s a key difference between us. I’ve always been hot for er, inspired by Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, and your favorite Austen hero is clearly Captain Wentworth of Persuasion. I’m amazed that we can still be friends.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d never throw Darcy out of my boudoir for eating crackers in bed. However, he just doesn’t have that… certain… je ne sais quoi that a certain erstwhile navy captain possesses. What’s Darcy’s big cachet?

You want me to list his many, many fine attributes?

• He’s refined, handsome, intelligent, and he has a sly wit.
• Though he can come off as aloof at parties, he does not prattle on like other young men do.
• When he makes a mistake, he’s (eventually) willing to admit it and correct it.
• He doesn’t wait around eight years to win the woman he loves! He sees an obstacle to winning his love (one named Wickham), he fixes it. And the managing old women involved can go sit on a pin.
• Ten thousand a year and Pemberley. ‘Nuff said.

 

So Darcy’s got a superior attitude, a huge bank account and a ginormous house. But Wentworth…

Are you dazzled by my brilliance yet?

Wentworth…

• HE’S a ship captain with gold epaulets and his closest friends are captains
  too.
• He didn’t inherit his money, he went out and commandeered it from the
  French
• Spinsters sprint through the streets of Bath for him…
• He’s got a big, shiny sword.

And…Where other rich Regency dudes write letters explaining why they were so rude to the girl they love, Wentworth writes a love letter to make a woman turn into putty and swoon… and then agree to marry him!

To this, I will only add…
Darcy’s letter is longer.

What do you say, Ballroom denizens? Who is the more inspiring hero: Darcy or Wentworth? Has Jane Austen (or another favorite author) ever inspired you to take chances in real life?

One lucky commenter will win a copy of the Jane Austen Made Me Do It anthology, signed by Brenna!

It seems my authoresses have all sent their regrets today.  They are celebrating an American holiday with their families.  Something they call “Thanksgiving.”

Upon hearing more about this holiday, Albert was distressed to learn that a great many birds are sacrificed.  However, when I assured him that they are almost entirely turkeys — those rather vulgar colonial fowl — his feathers were soothed.

Those of you living in America, please enjoy this holiday with your families.  The authoresses will be back on Saturday for our regular Saturday Salon with special guest Brenna Aubrey, featuring the inspiration of Jane Austen.

In the meantime, the authoresses have all asked me to express how very thankful they are for you, our Ballroom guests.  And as Americans hold no monopoly on gratitude, I will say that I am thankful for you, too!  These past four months of balls and salons have been a true source of inspiration and amusement.  Please have a safe and delightful holiday.

“My dear Sabrina, I don’t know what to do.”

The loud whisper from the direction of the hallway alarms me. I know that voice. I’ve known it for many years. But what I find most troubling is that Lady B knows that voice and the last time she heard it was when Mary was announcing her plan to hire a mistress for her son.

That silenced the room.

But it hasn’t been the most shocking thing to grace Lady B’s ballroom since she opened it to authoresses this last July. So I take a deep breath and beckon Mary in, because if Lady B has borne our shenanigans this long…

Mary: Sabrina, I need help!

I’m half afraid to speak.

Mary: Tomorrow I conduct my first interview for a mistress and I have no idea of the etiquette for such a situation. Does one ask questions? Require references? I certainly cannot request a demonstration of skills!

Sabrina: Shh! (I look about the ballroom, desperately hoping that no one, not even that potted plant to our right, has heard her.)

Mary: I know, it’s indelicate, but I’ve embarked on this path. What do I do?

Sabrina: I’m not entirely certain why you think that I would have a better idea…

Mary: I’ve read your stories, cousin.

Sabrina: I assure you there is no such scene in anything I have yet written.

Mary: Exactly. Yet.

Sabrina: All right. Let me think.

I quickly google modern approaches to interviewing and hiring: behavioral interviewing (past performance is best indicator of future success), group interviewing (ability to work in a team environment), stress interviewing (rapid-fire questioning or stressful situation)—

Mary: (pacing as I search) I do hope you come up with something. I have heard that keeping a mistress is a terrible expense.

Sabrina: I believe if a man keeps a mistress for his own, as opposed to visiting a courtesan who entertains many men, the cost can be prohibitive. A separate establishment alone, not to mention the dressmaker and jeweler receipts might exceed the expense of a wife.

Mary: I knew you’d understand about these things! Last night, I thought through every example I’ve ever known of a lady attempting to judge the character of a woman interested in her son. I even turned to that memorable scene from Miss Austen’s book for guidance.

 

Mary: Odd, I don’t quite remember the scene going that way.

Sabrina: Nonetheless, you might very well wish to ask this young lady whether she can dance or sing. Does your son like either of those pursuits? You certainly would wish to choose a woman who shares your son’s interests.

Mary: My Georgie was always quite talented at the pianoforte.

I brace myself for a motherly reminiscence on the talents of her darling son.

Mary: But I am still concerned about this expense. While George has no fears on that account, I can hardly charge this escapade to him. My own finances…well, I could hardly offer carte blanche.

Sabrina: Yes, there should be boundaries, a contract, in fact, delineating the details of your business arrangement.

Mary: A contract, I do like that. Makes it all seem so much less… sordid.

Sabrina: But first you must find the right woman for the job. That clip from Pride and Prejudice reminds me of another interrogation. Perhaps we could turn to Oscar Wilde’s Lady Bracknell for inspiration?

Mary: Who?

Right. I’m forever confusing myself with all these details of time and space.

Sabrina: This is Lady Bracknell, from the play, The Importance of Being Earnest, when she interrogates her daughter’s suitor, Jack. Both clips comprise the entire interview.

Mary: A handbag! Well I hardly think it should matter if this lady were born in a handbag or a barrel. After all, it isn’t as if my son were about to marry her.

<< Squawk! >> Marry! <<Squawk! >>

Sabrina: Heavens forbid, Albert!

Mary: Wait! Is that not the same woman portraying both Lady Bracknell and Lady Catherine?

Sabrina: Yes, that is Dame Judi Dench, an actress of considerable renown.

Mary: Dame, truly?

I nod.

Mary: From her letter, I know the young woman that I interview tomorrow considers herself an actress. I certainly hope she is not as formidable as Dame Judi Dench.

Sabrina: I am certain an actress of skill knows when it is appropriate to make herself formidable. In fact, an actress might be the perfect thing for your son. Only a month or so ago, the fabulous Nell Gwyn visited us here at Lady B’s and she certainly was a woman who knew how to attract a man.

Lady B: Please, Miss Darby, not again.

Uh oh. We’ve been discovered. I shoot a suspicious glance at Albert, who is suddenly nowhere about.

Mary:  (with a sniff) In any event, I don’t think she’s quite my Georgie’s style.

Sabrina: Lady B, you do remember my cousin?

Lady B: (dryly) How could I forget?

I’d like nothing more than to back out of the room at the moment and find someplace to hide. However, the problem must be solved. So I put it to all of our inventive and wise friends in the Ballroom. What does one ask a prospective mistress and how does one conduct such a delicate interview?

Confronted with the beastly verbal lovemaking of hunky firefighter Chris, Roxanne, the title character in Steve Martin’s 1987 film, demands, “Why did you say those things?”

Charlie, the man with the golden tongue who truly loves her, cues Chris from behind the bushes: “Tell her you were afraid of words,” and dull-witted Chris—mishearing—blurts out, “Because I was afraid of worms, Roxanne. Worms!”

You tell that saucy, superficial astronomer, Charlie!

Ah, Cyrano! The lover ashamed. The man with the great gift of words but without the courage to employ them with the woman he adores. Not because he is not brave, strong, dashing, or immeasurably talented. No. This lover hides his love behind the handsome face of another because of his own monstrous nose. Thus his words, adoration bound in poetry, find their fond expression upon another man’s tongue.

Words!

Ask any writer to list what she loves about writing, and I’ll bet most will include words on that list — playing with words, shaping words to serve their characters, the worlds they build on paper — placing words in the mouths of others because it’s just so much darn fun. I write romance because I am thoroughly addicted to love stories. But spinning those tales offers me an extra added bonus.

Brawn. Sexy. Brains. Sexier.

Unlike Charlie at the moment he speaks the truth of his love to Roxanne through the medium of Chris, I’m not particularly afraid of words. Rather, I respect them. I’ve always thought that the more words we know, the more we can say, the more subtleties of life we can express, and the more color we can bring to our prose and poetry and everything in between.

Words give me such pleasure. Discovering new words, learning the expansive dimensions of old ones I thought I’d known, and basking in the comfort of oft-employed old friends—words are simply very good.

(Cue angels singing, trumpets trilling)

NOTE: Like Rupert Giles (Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s tireless Watcher who is always researching something), I love looking stuff up. Words are no exception. My favorite reference work is the venerable Oxford English Dictionary. For a writer of historical fiction, this resource is more genie-in-a-bottle than mere tool. It is pure magic.

An example of the adventure that can be had with a dictionary:

The Wikipedia page on Edmond Rostand’s 1897 play “Cyrano de Bergerac” notes that the play “is responsible for introducing the word ‘panache’ into the English language.” Aha! I read Bill Bryson’s The Mother Tongue: English and how it got that way; I know that Shakespeare supposedly introduced 1,700 words into English. I shout huzzah for playwrights!

Panache is a wonderful word, isn’t it? Alas, I am hamstrung, unable to allow my characters to speak it because my novels are set many decades before Rostand’s play was published.

But wait… Wikipedia sometimes get things wrong. Is it really true that I mayn’t use this wonderful word? My fingers fly over the keyboard, logging into my university library system then into the great cyber halls of the OED. I search…

Voila! The word pops onto my screen in luscious scarlet. I nearly swoon. I am, to the information displayed before me, like a kitten before a bowl of fresh milk.

Fresh milk

I am breathless. 1546. The date on which this first appeared in English print is 1546. Fifteen forty-six. I am free to go about throwing “panache” into any and all of my characters’ mouths if I so desire!

Then my gaze drops to the definition.

1. a. A tuft or plume of feathers, esp. for a headdress or as a decoration for a helmet, hat, or cap.

This is most certainly not the panache I have in mind. It is a perfectly nice panache, and I will use it, for certain, some day. I scroll my attention down the page, my emotion subdued. There it is, in clean type:

Cyrano, not only the panache is yours, but the very word itself!

Ah me! Ah well…

But then, I consider, just because English people used the word in this manner only beginning in the late nineteenth century doesn’t mean the French hadn’t already started using it in that manner earlier. And an educated English gentleman of the Regency era, likewise a lady, often knew French. He or she might borrow the word, so-used… Perhaps…?

The gentlemen of the Academie Francaise, temple of the French language

I leap from my chair and scamper off to my husband’s office in search of his Larousse. (The OED is not the only wonderful dictionary in the world, after all, and the French have always been word hounds.) The looking-stuff-up begins afresh. If I find the word used in the manner I like in French early enough… If… If… ???

It is probably too much of a stretch. I’m unlikely to find what I wish… with this word at least. Nevertheless, my joy is undimmed. After all, my play with words is all fun. All adventure. And all in the service of love.

I discovered a wonderful word on twitter the other day, in the category of words that had fallen out of usage: mitescent (adj.) – growing mild. I’ll admit this may be a tough one for me to include in a book. (My heroes and heroines are wont to grow less mild with each other as my books progress, after all.) I will shout a hearty huzzah! today for any of you lovelies who can use mitescent in a sentence.

Thanks so much to everyone who dropped by the celebration yesterday!

If your name’s on this list, please email me at

Tessa AT Tessadare DOT com

Or use the contact form on my website.

Let me know what e-reading format will work for you. If you’ve already bought it (thank you!) I will gladly gift a Kindle copy to someone you think might enjoy it.

Infinitieh

Beebs

Julie

B

Lady Susan

Olivia Kelly

Janet W

Susan Knight

Catie

Na S.

Jeanne Miro

Kim

I am so excited to introduce my guest to Lady B today.  So!  Excited!

What’s all this, Miss Dare?

Lady B, I want to introduce you to my friend, Miss Violet Winterbottom.  Doesn’t she look lovely, all dressed in green silk?

Quite lovely, I’m sure.

<<Squawk!>>Fa-la-la-la<Squawk!>>

She’s dressed for a Christmas ball, you see.  And you’ll never believe this, Lady B.  I wanted to bring her to meet you for a very special reason. Violet was born in this very ballroom!

What?  Born in this ballroom? I don’t think so, Miss Dare.  Why, your guest looks no older than twenty.  I’ve been married to Lord B for *mumble* years now, and if ever a live birth should have taken place in this ballroom, I feel certain I would have recalled it.

You see, several months ago, I did another post on wallflowers, and happened to mention that “Some wallflowers bloom at night.”  My dear friend Sara Lindsey thought that would make an excellent story tagline.  I agreed, and suddenly–Violet’s story just blossomed in my imagination.  But it gets better, Lady B!  Not only was she born in this virtual ballroom last summer, but I actually set her happily-ever-after scene in the Beaufetheringstone ballroom of 1814!

What?   The happy couple have a scene in this ballroom? (Lady B looks around)  I know I would have remembered that.  Were they hidden behind a potted plant?

No, no.  It’s hard to explain unless you read the whole thing.  Suffice to say, from start to finish, lobster patties to ratafia,  this novella was very much a Ballroom Blog creation.  To celebrate the spirit of collaborative inspiration, I thought we would have some fun with polls.

<<Squawk!>>Margin of error!<<Squawk!>>

Albert is right.  They’re rather meaningless polls.  But who doesn’t love a quiz?

Let me get my quizzing glass.

You see, Miss Violet is a wallflower.

We’ve said time and again, there are no wallflowers in this ballroom, Miss Dare.

I know, I know.  And Violet’s about to quickly bloom in the space of one night.  But she has very good reasons for being a wallflower, you see.

Just as we’re debating Violet’s wallflower tendencies, there’s a horrific crash.  The garden door fly open, and in stumbles a man.  He’s large.  He’s dripping wet.  He’s stumbling straight for us…until he collapses at Violet’s feet, bleeding and shivering and speaking in a strange language.  

As Violet kneels at the intruder’s side, Lady B eyes me with suspicion.

Miss Dare.  Have you been tampering with the ratafia again?

Whoever he is, he’s making a true mess of my parquet floor.  Can she understand him, Miss Dare?

A little.  Violet happens to be very good with languages.  But she’s also stunned, because this intruder looks oddly familiar.  In fact, he very closely resembles a man she’s come to think of as The Disappointment.

The Disappointment?

You see…. (In the interests of delicacy, I lean over and whisper in Lady B’s ear.)

No.

Yes.

 The bounder!  If it is him, she should kick him in the shins.

He’s already bleeding, Lady B.

Just the same.

But it might not be him at all.

What a situation.  Whatever is she going to do?

I think we will have to leave the rest of this particular Winter’s Eve to Violet and her mystery man.  If you like, you can read the first chapter and go from there.

In all sincerity, I am endebted to The Ballroom Blog for this book, and I want to thank all my fellow authoresses and our guests for being part of its creation!  I have it on good authority that this is not the last time the Beaufetheringstone ballroom will make an appearance in one of our books.

As another way of saying thanks,  I’m giving away 10 (ten) copies of this e-book  (Kindle or AllRomance gift certificate, redeemable for various formats).  Since it’s on sale for just $0.99, that’s easy enough to swing!  And if you’re a winner but you’ve already purchased the book, I’ll gladly send a copy to a friend of your choosing, as an early holiday gift from you.

To enter, just comment by midnight PST.  Winners posted tomorrow!

As for what to comment…?  You could suggest an interrogation technique.  Or maybe tell me about the worst thing that ever happened at your holiday party.  Any party crashers?  

CONFESSIONS is the fourth volume in the Burgundy Club series, though that may be a misnomer. Neither Minerva nor Blake is a member of the club. A complete lack of interest in rare books is one of the (few) things they agree on. I’m moving on to a new series, with brand new characters but in the meantime….

Lady B: Miranda. Three young ladies have arrived and I don’t recognize them. I believe they must be friends of yours.

Miranda: I was just getting to that. I’d like to introduce some of the secondary characters from previous books. You see, heroes and heroines have siblings and friends and they can’t all get their own book. Yet we would like these agreeable people to find their HEA so I’ve invited them to The Ballroom for a spot of matchmaking.

Lady B: Splendid news. There’s nowhere better than a Ballroom for meeting one’s future spouse, even though my authors ladies insist on having their heroes and heroines meet in Unsuitable Places like ships, moors, country lanes and the tops of ladders. And there’s no one better at assessing a couple’s compatibility than I. And darling Albert of course.

<squawk> Tea and crumpets <squawk>

Miranda: Allow me to present Lady Felicia Howard. A pretty girl with a slightly vacant expression comes forward and curtsies. You may be acquainted with Lady Felicia’s older sister Lady Georgina Harville.

Lady B: Unfortunately, yes. I remember her Season. Georgina was thwarted in her pursuit of various peers and settled for a mere baronet

Miranda: I should have known you’d remember, Lady B. She transferred her marital ambitions to Felicia, who is, to put it politely, a little on the dim side. She was not up to the weight of hunting and bagging a major prize, especially not Lord Blakeney, however much Georgina pushed her in his direction (See The Dangerous Viscount). But not every heroine has to be super smart and Felicia is sweet natured. She was one of the few ladies who was kind to Celia at the Mandeville house party (The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton). If she escaped from her bossy sister I believe she would flourish.

Lady B: Poor girl. We must see what we can do for her. Who is the young lady in the very startling costume? You know I like bright colors, but a gown of purple and fuchsia trimmed in scarlet is not suitable for a young gel.

Miranda: You will have to forgive Lady Esther Godfrey. She was brought up by very strict religious parents and as a result she has the desire to Behave Badly. (Ever heard of convent girls run wild?) She now lives with her brother, Lord Chase (formerly known as The Wild Marquis) and his wife Juliana, who is a much better judge of a book than a gown.

Lady B: Clearly the girl needs a match. And a chaperone with better taste. Perhaps I shall take her in hand. Does she like parrots?

Miranda: History does not record her opinion of the Psittacidae family but she is fond of bulldogs.

Lady B: Speaking of Unsuitable, that lady, I would venture to say, has not been a debutante in many years and her garments have a distinctly Parisian air. She must be foreign.

Miranda: Countess Julia Czerny. Very chic, as we say these days. She was born English but her late husband was Hungarian. Besides her extreme beauty and elegance, she is clever and charming and gentlemen find her very alluring. She makes her own living buying and selling antiquities and jewels.

Lady B: I am intrigued. With Christmas approaching, Lord B will be shopping.

Miranda: Julia may have some exceptional gems on hand but I warn you, she strikes a hard bargain.

Lady B: On second thoughts I shan’t introduce her to Lord B. He’s much to susceptible. I’ll just have to find her a husband.

Perhaps our visitors can help. We have three ladies – Felicia, Esther, and Julia – in need of heroes. What kind of man would suit each of them? No promises, but I may even write novellas for one or more of them in the future.

A few weeks ago a friend of mine handed me a book that she thought would amuse me. The title of the book is a bit indelicate for the Ballroom, so I’ll just link to the book here. I had read He’s Just Not That Into You, I’ve heard about The Rules… I’ve even watched that awesome movie––If A Man Answers with Sandra Dee and Bobby Darin based on Winifred Wolfe’s novel––in which the girl uses a guidebook on how to train a dog to train the guy she wants.

Apparently a 2008 book thought this was a new idea… http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/23127234/ns/today-relationships/t/done-right-even-your-man-can-learn-new-tricks/  In fact, if you search “how to train a man like a dog/pet/animal”, there are numerous books on this topic!

But where did our Regency heroines go for advice on love, marriage and courtship? (And for that matter, where did our heroes go? –but saving that for another day!)

If Mr. Collins of Pride and Prejudice were to believed, it would be James Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women, a text peppered with lines such as: “…I would exhort and enjoin Christian women, always to dress with decency and moderation; never to go beyond their circumstances, nor aspire above their station…”

Of course, Fordyce’s Sermons is more of a conduct book than a courtship book.

At the beginning of the 18th century, a Mrs. Manley started the Female Tatler. In that gossip sheet, “Mrs. Crackenthorpe, A Lady that knows everything’, thought to be Manley’s alias, gave advice on public conduct. According the fascinating book, Scandal, by Roger Wilkes, Mrs. Manley was the one who noted that many women were then dressing as men and sneaking into men-only establishments. (Shakespeare and romance novelists––equally inspired by true life!) While the Female Tatler was short lived, the idea of advice columns most definitely has lived on.

As an example, we may turn to our own Miss MacLean’s matrimonial advice column, “Lessons for Landing a Lord”, from her novel 10 Ways to be Adored When Landing a Lord.  There heroines gain such excellent pearls of wisdom as, “Knowledge of his schedule is the very best tool for ensnaring a true gentleman.”  (So true!)

But what about advice specifically for the Regency romance heroine? For all those unusual situations in which she finds herself, whether living in a female-dominated cove, dealing with a pirate or gallivanting across the country with barely any clothing and an amnesiac hero?

Yes, what then?

How does she handle the lord who seduces her as revenge for her brother’s/father’s/neighbour-twice-removed’s actions?

How should she respond when her careless and cruel father/brother/mother/guardian has just lost her in a card game?

Just what should a virginal and innocent (not always the same thing) young lady do when, after accepting help from a kind old woman who runs a home for young women, she’s mistaken for a courtesan?

And heavens forbid, what if a young lady is at a house party, and has been mistakenly compromised?

Or… in the case of a certain couple near and dear to me, how should a lady of dubious repute proceed if she’s been hired to seduce a handsome injured man who has locked himself far, far away in a crumbling castle…and she’s in danger of losing her heart?

I think we need to create a new advice list today for our special Regency heroines and heroes.

Lady B has promised to stop by a bit later with her contribution.  In the meantime, dear Ballroom denizens, what are yours?