It has come to Lady B’s attention that much of the excitement around the Regency stems from a very particular story…one of which she is quite unaware.

Lady B (in a state): What I am trying to say, Albert, is that I’ve never even heard of these Bennet girls, and they seem to be wreaking quite the havoc on all of South England.

squawk! Pride & Prejudice in the Ballroom! squawk!

Lady B (continues): All this talk of Bingleys and Darcys and men in uniform? And Frank Churchill with the dark lady?

squawk! Wrong book! squawk!

Lady B (uncaring): I mean half the world seems to be quite enchanted by these young women. And do I know them? No! The feathers in her hat are quaking. She stalks the ballroom. No one has ever seen fit to introduce them to me. As if I am not Heliotrope, Lady Beaufetheringstone, hostess of the highest caliber!

squawk! The mostest! squawk!

Lady B: Thank heavens for Miss Noble. Without her, I wouldn’t have any idea what the rest of England was on about. Thankfully, she introduced me to something called the Internet.

squawk?

Lady B: Oh, yes. All the authoresses have these magic books that open right up and give you all the information you’d ever need. At any rate. It seems this Lizzy Bennet lives in the New World. And she is something of a scholar.

squawk! Wrong number! squawk!

Lady B: I beg your pardon. It is not. She keeps some kind of magic diary on the Internet. All the authoresses love it.  See for yourself: She’s quite…diverting.

Lady B: I highly recommend watching all of these “videos” in order. I should like for this Miss Bennet to join us for the ball one day.

Miss Tessa Dare comes rushing into the Ballroom, winded and skittering to a halt on the parquet.

Lady B:  Miss Dare,  my word.  I wasn’t sure we’d see you today.

Tessa, catching her breath:  I know, I know.  I’m very late for today’s ball.  But I’m here now, and I’m prepared to grovel, Lady B.

Lady B:  Grovel?

Tessa:  Yes, grovel.  You know, like at the end of a great romance novel, where the arrogant hero has realized the error of his ways, and he makes an impassioned apology to the heroine and begs her forgiveness.

Lady B:  But if groveling is a hero’s task, why would you be engaging in it?

Tessa:  Well, it’s not always the hero.  It just turns out that way most of the time, because…you know… men.  But heroines–and authoresses–make their share of mistakes, too.  And I’m no exception, so I’m here to grovel.

Lady B makes an expansive gesture.  Grovel away, my dear.

Tessa:  Right.  We all know a good grovel always starts with a confession.  You see, I have erred.  I missed the fact that I was scheduled to post today, this being an extra Monday in the month.  Ms. MacLean covered for me with this charming post about Elizabeth Bennet (the heroine of a book with the most delicious groveling on both sides!).

Lady B:  Go on, Miss Dare.

Tessa:  A proper grovel continues with assurances of regret and promises of change.  I heartily regret the oversight.  I feel terrible about letting our guests and my fellow authoresses down.  I promise, I won’t let it happen again!

Albert:  <<squawk>>Words are cheap!<<squawk>>

Tessa:  You’re absolutely right, Albert.  Which is why the best grovels end with a grand gesture.  So I think this situation calls for prizes.  Lots of prizes!

Lady B:  I do enjoy prizes.

Who doesn’t!

So carry on… comment about Lizzy Bennet — or perhaps a favorite groveling or apology scene in romance–book, film, TV.  One commenter chosen at random will win all the authoresses’ books on the sidebar, sent by Tessa. (Print or digital format, as the winner prefers)  Entries open until midnight PT, April 30.  

Lady B: Miss Darby, this no longer looks like Mayfair.

No, it doesn’t, in fact, it doesn’t very much look like Regency London at all anymore, the streets are exceedingly rough, and rather…filthy, and teeming with an exceedly raucous crowd in panniers and tricorn hats, but I’m following the directions given to me by that impertinent Zoë Archer, who has convinced me to pull Lady B away from her usual Saturday pursuits in order to meet her in a not completely respectable locale.

Not just any author can make me risk Lady B’s good (yes, I know I’m stretching the definition of good here) opinion of me. But when it comes to not completely respectable, I trust Zoë. The author of the Blades of the Rose paranormal historical adventure series, she’s now brought us the sinister and sensuous Hellraisers series. The Town’s latest intelligence informs us that the Hellraisers are a group of 18th century rakes who inadvertently free the Devil and wind up literally raising Hell. DEMON’S BRIDE is the more recent book in the series, which is available on May 1. The broadsheets describe DEMON’S BRIDE thusly:

Leo Bailey may have been born to poverty, but ruthless business sense and sparkling intelligence have made money worries a thing of his past. It doesn’t hurt that the Devil himself has granted Leo the ability to read the future.

Bookish Anne Hartfield, daughter of a baron, is hardly the flashiest miss on the marriage market. But her thoughtful reserve complements Leo’s brash boldness in an attraction neither can deny. A whirlwind courtship sweeps Anne and Leo into a smoldering marriage before either can believe their luck. But happiness built on Leo’s dark powers can’t last. Soon, Anne will have to save her husband…or lose her heart.

My goodness, look at that cover!

There is an excellent chance that Lady B will never forgive me once she discovers where we are going but…from what I understand, the gentleman Zoë wants us to meet is worth the trek. I can only hope that it will turn out to be this Leo Bailey…after all, commoner or not, ruthless business sense sounds very heroic! (Not that I’d ever say that aloud to one of these heroes.)

The carriage stops.

Lady B: A tavern!

18thC Tavern. Cute dogs!

Sabrina: Not just any tavern, Lady B. This one was quite in vogue among a certain set when you were just a child. Or perhaps before you were even born. I’ll be sure to find out from Zoe what year we are in once we find her.

The low-hanging ceiling beams are stained with smoke, and sharp-eyed men at tables huddle over their tankards. Three men in a corner play at dice. All eyes turn toward us as we enter.

A short young man in a full-skirted coat and tall boots approaches us, boldly calling our names. Before I can rebuke the lad for his impertinence, he says, “It’s me, Zoë. I thought it more expedient to wear men’s clothing, so as to avoid unwanted attention.”

Zoë Archer

Lady B: You mean, the sort of attention that Miss Darby and I are currently receiving?

Zoë: Oh, but you’ll be glad of the attention in a moment, Lady B! Please, follow me. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.

Weaving her way through the tables, Zoë leads us to the back of the tavern. She pulls aside a curtain, revealing a small private room. Any words of further reproof Lady B might be preparing to unleash immediate die upon her lips the moment she catches sight of the man waiting for us.

He moves away from the fireplace and approaches us with the sleek movement and determination of a predator. Predatory indeed is the light in his clear, calculating gray eyes, and I realize why this man is one of the wealthiest non-titled gentlemen in England. His blond hair is tied back in a simple queue, and his clothing is of excellent quality. Lady B’s gaze drifts down the man’s leanly muscled legs. Her disappointment is visible when she notes that the man’s calves are hidden by a pair of gleaming boots.

Boots!

Zoë: Lady Beaufetheringstone, Miss Darby, may I present to you Mr. Leo Bailey.

Leo: (with an elegant but curt bow) Ladies. I suppose I’m to murmur some gallantries to you at this point, but I know only plain speaking. A fault of my birth and profession.

Lady B: It’s rather unfashionable to talk of professions, Mr. Bailey.

Leo: Money doesn’t earn itself, Lady B. And ambition such as mine has no concern for fashion.

Zoë: (sotto voce to Sabrina) Leo’s rather sensitive about the fact that he’s a commoner. It’s something that the elite of London Society never lets him forget. Makes him rather…determined. Unstoppable, really.

Sabrina: Sounds perfect. What makes you want to write about men without titles? I mean, Lady B was romantic enough to marry down, much like your Miss Hartfield will be, but she still married a lord.

Zoë: I’m fascinated by men—and anyone, really—who has to forge their own way in the world, rather than having something handed to them. Men without titles take nothing for granted, plus they’ve had to fight for everything. It takes a considerable amount of drive to rise from a saddler’s son to one of the most feared and respected men on the Exchange, the way Leo has.

Sabrina: OK. Another question that I need an answer to, where do you come up with all these delicious heroes?

Zoë: Having created such a band of upstanding gentlemen as the Blades of the Rose, I wanted to see just how bad I could make a bad boy, if he could be both the hero and the villain of his story. Thus, I created the Hellraisers.

Leo: No one created the Hellraisers, madam. We answer to no one.

Sabrina: (In an aside to Zoë): These heroes and heroines always have difficulty comprehending that us authoresses are actually in charge. Although, I have to say, from the look of things, if any hero could wrest control away from you, it might be this Leo Villain/Hero of yours.

Lady B: So you say that this Mr. Bailey frees the devil? That seems…very…unusual.

Sabrina: Zoë writes paranormal romance, Lady B. Devil unleashing and the like is just par for the course.

Lady B: Para Normal? I did have a woman conduct a seance for amusement. But she clearly had no supernatural powers at all.

I’m feeling a bit bad, I mean, I know we are continually stretching Lady B’s patience what with talk of airplanes and the internet, but perhaps this is finally a bit much. Wait! Gaelen did bring the discussion of magic into the ballroom a few weeks ago. Relieved sigh.

Sabrina: I think Mr. Bailey actually does have powers.

Zoë: He does, as do his fellow Hellraisers. Each of them were given a particular magical gift by the Devil in exchange for giving him his freedom. Since Leo deals in futures, he can now actually see into the future. Though…we oughtn’t speak of the powers bestowed upon him and the other Hellraisers.

Leo: Revealing our gifts will result in very unpleasant repercussions. Suffice it to say, there are powers at work. Very dark powers that walk the streets of this city.

Lady B: (To Leo) Here? In London? It really wouldn’t do to disrupt the season.

Leo: (makes scoffing noise)

Zoë: Bad news, Lady B. Those sinister forces are, in fact, here in London. Perhaps now would be a good time to visit your country estate—although, if the danger goes unchecked, not even the most rustic country seat will keep you safe.

Lady B is looking at me with the most alarmed expression and I think this might be the best time to tell her that this all happens several years before the season she cares about. In fact, I am certain, as Miss Archer is a romance novelist, there will be nothing but happy endings all around.

Of course, as usual, Lady B is one step ahead.

Lady B: Mr. Bailey, I suggest you find yourself redeemed by a good woman as soon as possible. If not, I will hold you fully responsible for interrupting my entertainments. (She turns to me.) And yes, Miss Darby, I can see very well from the fashion that you’ve done something with the year again, but that is no consolation.

Leo: Though I’m a man of quick temper, I can assure you, Lady B, that if someone earns my respect, I can be exceedingly…generous.

Lady B: (raising her eyebrows) Generous. How intriguing. Next time, Mr. Bailey, you will call on me in my ballroom. If it still exists after all the trouble you seem to cause. (Aside to Zoë:) I don’t think I’ll mind if you create more like him, but do assure me you’ve concocted just the right woman for him.

I have no doubt that Zoë has done just that. After all, every hero (even villain/heroes), commoner or noble, deserves a heroine. How about everyone else? Do you have a favorite non-titled hero of romance? While Demon’s Bride releases on May 1st (Which also happens to be my birthday!), Zoë is generously giving away a copy of her steampunk romance Skies of Fire (set in The Ether Chronicles steampunk world she co-created with her husband Nico Rosso) to one commenter.

I’m in the card room, playing a particularly good hand of whist with three of my fellow authoress’s heroes.  Colin Sandhurst, from Tessa Dare’s latest, keeps trying to look down my bodice and therefore is not concentrating on his cards.  Katharine Ashe’s Blackwood is here, but his thoughts are obviously elsewhere by the state of his play – likely on his dogs.  And Sarah MacLean’s Cross is here as well (he got here early).  I can tell that he’s counting cards, and he can tell that I have the superior hand.

I enjoy spending time with heroes.  After all, I am expecting one of my own to put in an appearance at any moment.   But hopefully not before I take all of these gentlemen for all the money in their pockets.

However, it is not to be.  I am about to lay my final trump when I am tapped on the shoulder by our hostess.  Rather forcefully, too.

Lady B:  Miss Noble, would you join me please?

Kate:  Happily, just let me play this hand –

Lady B: NOW, Miss Noble.

Oh dear.  Am I not permitted to fleece other Authoresses’ heroes?  I quickly excuse myself, and follow Lady B as she turns briskly around and heads toward the dancing.

Lady B:  Miss Noble, are you expecting any guests this evening?

Kate:  Is that what this is about?  Lady B, I apologize – I am still quite new to the Ballroom, but I was told that I was allowed to invite people to the festivities.

An English 6th Rate Ship Firing a Salute as a Barge Leaves; A Royal Yacht Nearby. By Willem van de Velde, the Younger, 1706

Lady B:  Yes, Miss Noble, you are allowed to invite people.  Not ships.

Kate: Ships?

I follow the line of her angry gaze.  And there, halfway in the middle of the ballroom, as if it had crashed through the wall from the garden, was a ship.  Not just any ship though, one bearing the flag and insignia of the British Navy.

Lady B:  I assume you can tell me why this ship is here?  And destroying my new ballroom?

Kate:  Lady B, I’m afraid, that I do not know…

Albert:  <squawk> Uniform proves false! <squawk>

Lady B: Quite right, Albert.  Do you mean to tell me, Miss Noble, that gentleman does not belong to you?

I find where she’s pointing.  On the bow of the ship in his beautiful naval uniform, is Lieutenant Jackson Fletcher, the hero of my latest, If I Fall.  He is looking down at the glittering crowd, some still dancing on the far side of the room, but most are staring up at the ship, and dodging the occasional falling bit of sail… or drapery, at this point I cannot really tell.  Dirty river water pools around our feet – it seems that Jack has not only brought an entire ship into the ballroom, but he sailed it in.

(I wonder briefly about how the laws of physics were broken to allow for the Thames to come running into Lady B’s Mayfair mansion, but then again, I am a 21^st Century authoress fleecing fictional characters in Regency London. Obviously Lady B has some wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey abilities that break those rules.)

Kate:  Jack!  Jack, what are you doing?

Lady B:  Miss Noble, if you do not know, God help us all.   As it is, I would appreciate it if you would get this ship out of my ballroom!

Lady B walks away, muttering something about recent expansions and ruined stucco facades, Albert parroting on her shoulder.  But I can’t worry about her right now, because it seems that Jack has finally spotted me, and is waving furiously.

This is exactly what it looked like. Just more, you know, 19th Century.

Kate: Jack, what on earth are you doing?

Jack: I got your invitation!  Come on up!

He kicks down a rope ladder.  I awkwardly tie up my skirts, shocking no end of guests, I am sure, with a scandalous view of my ankles.  But there is no help for it, because someone has to talk some sense into Jack, and he is my creation, after all.

Suddenly a pair of very strong, very tanned hands grabs my arms and pulls me up over the railing.

He’s smiling at me.  And Jackson Fletcher has a particularly disarming smile.  But no!  I will not fall prey to that grin.  Or that sun-streaked hair… or the way his uniform cuts across his shoulders…

Kate:  Stop smiling at me Jack!  And explain yourself.  Why is there a ship in the middle of Lady B’s ballroom!  Are you trying to get me kicked out of the authoresses?

Jack: (utterly befuddled) You told me to bring her.

Kate: I most certainly did not!

Instead of the courtesy of a verbal reply, Jack simply reaches into his pocket and produces a letter.  The letter I sent him.

               Dear Lieutenant Fletcher –

               I have lately been made an Authoress of the Ballroom, and am issuing you and your lady love an invitation to stop by, and hopefully make an impression, at a time of your convenience. 

               Yours, etc.

  Jack:  You see?  You told me to bring the HMS Amorata.  Isn’t she beautiful?

He stares at the ship so lovingly, I mentally berate myself for even attempting casual language when I should have been completely specific.

Jack:  She’s a 6th-rate banterer class post ship, made during the height of the war – she has 20 nine-pound guns, and we added some brass howitzers – a heartier girl you never will find!

Kate:  Jack, by ‘lady love’, I meant Miss Forrester!  Sarah, remember?  The Golden Lady?

Jack looks befuddled yet again.

Jack:  Sarah Forrester?  I haven’t seen her since we were children.  (His brow comes down) What’s this Golden Lady business at any rate?

Oh no.  This is another miscalculation on my part, and one I must chalk up to being new to the ballroom.  (At the rate I’m going that excuse is going to be used up faster than a bar of soap after a mud-fight.)

I hadn’t realized that when I invited a hero to the ballroom, it would be the hero from the beginning of the book!  The one who had not yet gone through all the changes of heart and mind that comes with meeting and winning his true love!  The one who very well could be in love with someone – or something else.

And this Jackson Fletcher is very much in love adventure, the sea, and his ship, the HMS Amorata. Without a second thought for his childhood friend Sarah Forrester.  I groan and put my head in my hands.

I survey the mess around us.  The wall of windows, shattered by the Amorata’s entrance.  The parquet floor, torn up beneath us, and soaked through.  And I don’t even want to contemplate the stern of the ship, and the state of Lady B’s garden!

Kate:  Well, Jack, I’ll give you this: you certainly know how to make an impression.

While we pick through the rubble, tell us: what is your one true love, that is NOT another human being?  (And, if anyone has any advice on how to remove a ship from a ballroom, it would be most appreciated.)

It’s a quiet afternoon in the Ballroom, and I’ve just taken advantage of a lull in the dancing to slip off to a corner and quietly flip through a magazine a friend just sent me.  I’m trying to muffle my laughter, when….

Lady B:  What are you reading, Miss Willig?

Lauren (trying to whisk a glossy, paper-y thingy behind her back): Er, nothing!  Nothing at all.

I’m not really lying, am I?  Magazines don’t count as reading, per se.  They’re more flipping and browsing.  Reading involves large chunks of unbroken text—or something like that.  Yes, yes, I’m grasping at straws here, but Lady B can have that effect on one.

It’s also that we all have guilty habits we don’t like to admit to, the sorts of things we whisk away when we see other people coming: the slightly stale Twizzlers from the vending machine, the Starbucks when we’ve sworn we’re cutting down on coffee, the Cadbury Crème Eggs bought five for a dollar (and slightly sticky) from the supermarket sale table, or, in my case, the guilty Cosmo read.

Every so often, when the sky is gray and my characters aren’t behaving, there’s nothing like reading about Ten Things Guys Wish You Knew!  Preferably while eating a Cadbury Crème Egg.

Today, the sky isn’t particularly gray and I’m all out of Crème Eggs, but this isn’t your normal Cosmo—it’s Eighteenth Century Cosmo.  Yes, Eighteenth Century Cosmo.  And that means it counts as research, right?

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let Lady B see it.  So I do my best to cram it behind my back, wishing I were wearing one of those eighteenth century gowns with broad panniers instead of a flimsy little muslin number.

Lady B:  That’s a lot of rustling for nothing, Miss Willig.  You aren’t reading poetry again, are you?  We already spoke of this.  Poetry encourages excessive emotion and contributes to an appalling tendency to communicate in rhyme.

Albert:  <<squawk>> All the time! <<squawk>>

Lady B (silences him with a glare):  Miss Willig, I’m waiting.

Lauren (beginning to squirm):  It’s not really poetry per se….  (Unless one counts the alliteration that so frequently pops up in their titles, but I’m not even going to start down that road with Lady B.)  I guess you could call it an improving tract?

Albert:  <<squawk>> Cosmo! <<squawk>>

Lady B:  The Cosmopolitan Lady’s Book!  (fixes Lauren with stare through her lorgnette)  You don’t allow your characters to read this periodical, do you?

Um….  My character Henrietta, heroine of The Masque of the Black Tulip, not only has a subscription, apparently she’s been writing a column for them, Lady Henrietta’s Advice for the Lovelorn.  I hate it when my characters keep these things from me.  Sometimes, the author is the last to know.

I also suspect Miss Gwen of being the author of the rather spicy serial novel, The Abbey of Otranto, that’s been running in the back of the magazine, right next to the ads for pointier parasols.  It’s true potboiler stuff—creaky floorboards and brooding heroes and just a whiff of vampire—but it seems to be awfully popular with the ton at the moment.

I’d seen more than one copy sticking out of a lady’s reticule, magazine folded back to the Abbey of Otranto page….

Including Lady B’s.

Now that I came to think of it, one of the Dear Lady Henrietta letters in this last edition had been signed “A Harassed Hostess”.  (See?  I told you there was alliteration.)  Could our harassed hostess be none other than… Lady B?

I also had my suspicions about the letter signed “A Perturbed Parrot”.

Lady B (happily holding forth):  Really, Miss Willig!  Play His Heart Like the Harp?  101 Ways to Drop a Handkerchief?  I despair of you.

Lauren:  What’s that in your reticule?

Lady B:  It’s—er….

Albert:  <<squawk>> Busted! <<squawk>>

Time to ‘fess up.  Do you slip Cosmo in among the groceries at the supermarket?  Or do you have other guilty reading treats?

(If you’d like to read more from 18^th Century Cosmo, my talented readers have prepared a sampling of articles over on my website.  Come on over and browse through…. )

I did something really fun just the other day.  I impulsively planned a trip to New York, to take place in just a few weeks.  I’m flying overnight on the red-eye, and I’ll be there for just one day.

Seeing as how I live in Southern California, this is no short distance.  Mostly it’s a business trip, but I plan to sneak in fun, too.  I’m just in love with the idea of getting off the plane in New York with no hotel to find, no suitcase to lug around, no week-long budget to ration, and no pacing myself for the long haul.  It’s all-out for one day.  Sleep is for tomorrow.

It got me thinking about some great romances that take place while the hero and heroine explore a city for only one day (or night).

Like Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn capering around scenic Rome.

Or Before Sunrise, with Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy wandering through Vienna, falling in love.

Let’s say I hand you an airplane ticket, good for round-trip travel to any city in the world–but you can only spend 12 hours there.  Where are you going?  What do you plan to do and see?  What will you pack in that carry-on?

It’s April. In fact, this month is the first time all of us authoresses have been at one of Lady B’s balls during the London Season. Of course, I’ve missed the last two (which I have heard were fabulous!), but now I’m returned and ready to cause mischief.

Not that you heard me say that.

Sabrina: “Atchoo!” Excuse me, that wasn’t the sort of mischief I meant.

Lady B: Are you ill, Miss Darby?

Albert: << Squawk! >> The plague! << Squawk! >>

How embarrassing! I caught this cold while travelling and as I didn’t want to miss another ball, I fortified myself with every remedy known to man. (In 2012 at least. Not limiting myself only to the medical knowledge of 1810 or 16 or whatever year it happens to be in the Ballroom at the moment.)

Sabrina: I’m recovering. I feel much better, however, only the errant sneeze. And cough. And you must know that illness is very important to romance! After all, without certain near deathly ailments, many heroes and heroines would never be in close enough quarters to discover their love.

Albert: << Squawk! >> Edward and Lily in Julianne MacLean’s Love According to Lily

Sabrina: Yes, one of my favorites! And illness often pushes heroes and heroines to at long last confess their love.

Albert: << Squawk! >> Valancy and Barney in The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery.

Albert is being a surprisingly useful wingman. No pun intended. Or every pun intended?

Lady B: That hardly counts. Her illness isn’t attached to the crisis that makes Barney confess his love.

I’m not going to argue that one. And I’m happy to know Lady B has read that book too.

Sabrina: Well, illness also is the reason many heroes and heroines are caught in compromising positions. Think of Raine and—

Albert: << Squawk! >> and Alyx in Velvet Song by Jude Deveraux

Who knew Albert was so well read?

Sabrina: Exactly! (To avoid spoilers I will not mention how the device is used in the plot.) Oh! And I cannot forget one of my favorites: Marianne and Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibility. Even though it isn’t to the letter of the book, I love the way that relationship is portrayed in the Ang Lee film adaptation.

(Start around the 4 minute mark.)

Lady B: (Glowering at me) That is all very well and good, Miss Darby. I certainly concede that illness can be an important element of a budding romance but nonetheless, I insist that you rest yourself. I will not have 1812 (Aha! We have a year for tonight.) be known as the year that all of London grew ill at a Beaufetheringstone ball.

So with many apologies and a very red-face (and red nose that I couldn’t quite conceal with powder), I’m off to bed. But I do think Albert would be happy to squawk a bit more about his favorite books. How about everyone else? Do you have a book you love that uses illness as a way to get the hero and heroine together?

The Rake in Question

I guess it’s about time I brought Colin Sandhurst, Lord Payne, to The Ballroom.  His book did come out two weeks ago, and there’s nothing he enjoys more than a roomful of ladies.

But I must admit, I’m a little worried about how this will all go.

You see, there’s something about a roomful of women that inspires Colin to excesses.  If they were merely excesses of drink and vice, he might be easier to manage, but his particular excesses tend toward charm and flattery.  He enjoys female company in the evenings.  Needs it, really, for deeply personal and surprisingly heart-wrenching reasons.  And therefore he’ll say just about anything to secure feminine approval.

Upon entering the Ballroom, Colin stops midstep and presses a hand to chest.

Colin: My word.  What a staggering display of beauty.

Tessa (under breath):  Here we go.

Colin:  Truly.  I can’t recall the last time I was in the presence of so many enthralling women.  Ladies of such obvious intelligence and spirit.

Tessa:  I would hazard a guess that it was in Spindle Cove.  Not very long ago.

Colin:  There, Tricia.  In the far right corner.  It’s an angel.  Her hair is a halo of spun gold.  I hear a choir singing.

Tessa:  That’s Miss Noble, one of our authoresses.  And yes, her hair is remarkably pretty.

Colin:  You must introduce us.

Tessa (weakly):  I must?  Wouldn’t you rather look behind the potted palms?  Maybe find an overlooked, unconventional girl with her nose in a book?  One who wears spectacles?

Colin:  Spectacles?

Tessa:  Yes.  You have a real penchant for girls who wear spectacles.

Colin:  I do? (He swivels his head, and his gaze sharpens.)  I do.  My dear Tamara, you’re so right.  I see her over there.  A stunning beauty with flaxen hair.

Tessa:  Flaxen hair?  But Minerva’s hair is–

Colin:  She’s enchanting.  And those spectacles!  I’ve never seen spectacles such an intriguing shade of red.

Tessa:  Oh, that’s Miss Ashe.  She’s another of our authoresses, but she’s happily–

Colin (looking about the Ballroom):  All these ravishing beauties are authoresses?

Tessa:  Or readers.

Colin:  Hm. I never realized how alluring bookish women could be.

Tessa:  Now we’re getting somewhere.  I’m sure I saw Minerva around here just the other…

Colin (nudging me):  Tabitha, look.

Tessa:  Really.  You KNOW my name is Tessa.

Colin:  Tell me at once, T.  What is the name of that glorious creature?

Tessa (looking about, worried as to his next intended target):  Glorious creature?  Where?

Colin:   I’ve never seen such striking plumage.  Like a living rainbow.  Rhapsodic, even.

Albert:<squawk!>Insufferable rake!<squawk>

Tessa:  Oh.  The glorious creature is Albert.  And may I introduce the living rainbow’s owner, Lady B.

Colin (bowing and kissing Lady B’s hand):  The honor is mine.  Many a lady has found her beauty underwhelmed by a poor choice of plume.  It takes a formidable woman indeed to carry off an entire bird.

Lady B:  My goodness, Miss Dare.  This guest of yours is excessively fond of flattery.

Colin:  But my dear Lady B,  a woman of your exceptional intelligence, keen discernment, and breathtaking fashion sense must admit–I’m rather good at it.

Lady B (blushing a little, I think!): Indeed.

Tessa (aside):  You see, this is Colin P.M, or Pre-Minerva.  He’s rather full of it.  Never worry, he will have the chance to redeem himself with some heartfelt, genuine compliments on the road to love.  The compliments might involve jungle beetles and nap-inducing scientific lectures, but I promise it all comes out rather swoony.  And he means every last word.

Lady B (quietly):  I do understand the power of an unconventional compliment.  Lord B. might never have set his sights on me, had I not been so bold as to compliment the turn of his calves in mixed hearing.

Tessa:  Do you know, that reminds me of one of my favorites books from girlhood–and possibly my first romance.  It was about a Swedish young woman named Kati who took a tour of Italy, and her path kept crossing with this suave man named Lennart, who was as impossible to read as he was handsome. Kati went crazy trying to figure out whether he was interested in her–and as the reader, I went crazy too.  When Lennart finally, finally paid her a compliment, it was to say to their companion, “Kati has quite nice ears.”

Lady B:  Nice ears?

Tessa:  I know.  The poor thing.  But then he did eventually propose to her while treading water in the Mediterranean, so it was all right in the end.

Colin: Your ears are like seashells, darling.  Delicate.  Exquisite.  All those lovely shades of cream and pink.  Smooth whorls of translucent–

Tessa:  Really, Colin.  Save it for Min.  She actually likes seashells.  Especially if they’re fossilized.

What’s the most unusual, meaningful, or memorable compliment you’ve ever received?  Or read in a book, or seen in a movie, or…?  

If I know Colin, the scoundrel may circulate around the ballroom and distribute some compliments of his own.  ;)

Dear Ballroomies/Ballroomarians/Ballroom Nation:

With tax day dead ahead, I thought we all could use some laughter. So there is only one purpose to today’s post–to start your weekend off with a giggle. How? By simply smashing two unlikely ingredients together: Hilarity ensues. Enjoy!

“JANE AUSTEN FIGHT CLUB”

 [Visit http://www.janeaustenfightclub.com/index.html to view their official website.] On to more Unlikely Pairings…

“THE BEST OF MERGED BOOKS”

What happens when you smash two classic (or not-so-classic) literary works together? 

[Note: This was from some sort of contest held years ago. Attribution given where known.]

Green Eggs & Hamlet – Would you kill him in his bed? Thrust a dagger through his head? I would not, could not, kill the King. I could not do that evil thing. I would not wed this girl, you see. Now get her to a nunnery.

The Invisible Man of La Mancha – Don Quixote discovers a mysterious elixir which renders him invisible. He proceeds to go on a mad rampage of corruption and terror, attacking innocent people in the streets, all while singing “To fight the Invisible Man!” until he is finally stopped by a windmill.

Machiavelli’s Little Prince – Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s classic children’s tale, as presented by Machiavelli. The whimsy of human nature is embodied in many delightful and intriguing characters, all of whom are executed. (Erik Anderson, Tempe, Ariz.)

Planet of the Grapes of Wrath – Astronaut lands on mysterious planet, only to discover that it is his very own home planet of Earth, which has been taken over by the Joads, a race of dirt-poor corn farmers who miraculously developed rudimentary technology and evolved the ability to speak after exposure to nuclear radiation.

PAUSE & WATCH… (now don’t strain yourself laughing too hard. Take a moment to breathe and watch the book trailer video for my first book for kids, THE LOST HEIR. The video is brand new and I am so excited I had to share with my Ballroom friends. Thanks for indulging me! Or just scroll down to more Merged Books below.) 

Paradise Lost in Space – Satan, Moloch, and Belial are sentenced to spend eternity in a flying saucer with a goofy robot, an evil scientist, and two annoying children.

The Exorstentialist – Albert Camus’ psychological thriller about a priest who casts out a demon by convincing it that there’s really no point to what it’s doing.  

Catch-22 in the Rye – Holden learns that if you’re insane, you’ll probably flunk out of prep school, but if you’re flunking out of prep school, you’re probably not insane. (Brendan Beary, Great Mills)

The Remains of the Day of the Jackal – A formal English butler puts his loyalty to his employer above all else, until he is persuaded to join a plot to assassinate Charles deGaulle.

Of Three Blind Mice and Men – Burgess Meredith has his limbs hacked off by a psychopathic farmer’s wife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life?

2001: A Space Iliad -The Hal 9000 wages an insane 10-year war against the Greeks after falling victim to the Y2K bug. (Joseph Romm, Washington)

Jane Eyre Jordan – Plucky English orphan girl survives hardships to lead the Chicago Bulls to the NBA championship. (Dave Pickering, Bowie)

Lorna Dune – An English farmer, Paul Atreides, falls for the daughter of a notorious rival clan, the Harkonnens, and pursues a career as a giant worm jockey in order to impress her.

The Scarlet Pimpernel Letter (this one’s for you, Lauren!) – An 18th-century English nobleman leads a double life, freeing comely young adulteresses from the prisons of post-Revolution France.

(I wonder if this would work for romance novels??) What do you think would make a good combination? Books? Food? I hear Elvis liked peanut-butter & bananas. Then there’s people. I love writing about mismatched couples in romance. Are YOU an unlikely pairing with your significant other or best friend? Well, if not, that’s ok, lol–hang out anyway and tell us what you’ve got going on this weekend! Got something good to read?

A story is like a diamond. Depending on which way you hold it up to the light, you can see into a whole different facet of that story world. Each character has his own perspective on the fictive world that he inhabits, but as writers, it’s our job to keep the focus on the main narrative – in this case, the romance.

At least that is how it normally works. 

But since we don’t have to be normal in The Ballroom, I thought it would be fun to look into the other facets of a romance novel, the stories NOT told. To that end, I have invited some of the secondary characters, bit parts, and walk-on players from one of my past novels to stop in for a visit to try to make the case for why their stories should be told.

But first–before I summon these visitors into the Ballroom, I must remind our glitterati, as exquisitely well-mannered as you all are, please, for gentility’s sake, do not mention their true status to our visitors, if you please.

None of them has the slightest idea that they are secondary characters. I can assure you, they view themselves as the undisputed stars of their own lives, as do we all. And so it must be. Even the liveried footman has a mind and a soul beneath that powdered wig…      

Liveried Footman: This dashed wig is so itchy. I wish she’d call us in and get this over with. It’s not easy standing here like a statue when I already have to pee.

Gaelen: Oh, guests? Get the door, please, footman. I’d like to present our first visitor… Come in…that’s right, make yourselves at home. No, Mara and Jordan aren’t here. Today is all about YOU…

[By the way, I decided to focus on a few of the secondary characters from my 2011 release, My Irresistible Earl, because it's part of Avon's big April E-Book Sale on selected "Earl" themed titles all month long. The full listing of Earls for Girls can be found at http://www.avonromance.com/2012/04/09/april-early-bird-specials/. Throughout the month of April, these selected titles are only $1.99!]

Only $1.99 throughout April!

Gaelen (as they shuffle in): Well then, let’s get started! Please tell us a little about yourself and what genre you feel are best suited for. 

1. Mrs. Busby – Literary Fiction.

 ”No rest for the weary… Ah, but you’ll never hear me complaining. I know how lucky to have such a fine position in these hard times. Lady Pierson is an easy mistress to work for. Pay no mind to the rumors about her ‘scandalous’ behavior. It’s all lies! Bless ‘er, she’s had a hard time with her husband dyin’ young like that, and of course, little Thomas is a dear. Still, it troubles me sometimes thinking of how lookin’ after Her Ladyship’s boy when I’ve got thirty grandchildren of my own scattered round. I’m 65 years old and I should hope when Thomas is old enough for a governess, I may be able to retire and help my daughters look after their wee ones instead.”

Gaelen: Thank you, Mrs. Busby. I think in the handsof the right author, yours could be a fascinating story and certainly pertinent today. Many grandmothers these days face a similar situation to yours, whether it’s having to work a fulltime job longer than expected or finding themselves the primary source of childcare that their grown children rely on to take care of their kids.  

Mara's mystery-solving cat scanning a letter for clues...

2. The Cat.- Mystery. We all know cats solve mysteries on a regular basis these days. Mara’s cat doesn’t solve mysteries and doesn’t actually havemuch of a stream of consciousness. It spends most of its days trying to escape the toddler in the house, Thomas, Mrs. Busby’s charge. But if the cat were a feline sleuth, perhaps it could have helped with the next Secondary Character to come sidling in from a shadowy corner of the Ballroom, his favorite silver flashing in his grip. 

3. Dresden Bloodwell. – Serial Killer/Suspense Novel. - “Get it straight. I don’t answer to you, and I don’t expect that someone like you could ever begin to understand me. I will respond to your questions only because it amuses me. But if you were to cross my path in a darkened alley some night, don’t be surprised if you don’t make it home. 
          Why did I choose the name Dresden Bloodwell when I re-created myself with my new identity, you ask? No, you’re quite right, it isn’t the name I was born with. That blind fool is dead and gone. I chose Dresden because it was the city where I killed for the first time, and Bloodwell… I just like the sound. It helps inspire fear in others, and that’s what the Prometheans pay me to do.” 

Gaelen: Egads! I marvel that there are authors out there who, despite being very nice people, love writing about creepsters like you, Mr. Bloodwell. They must really love writing about their fictional detectives–maybe that makes up for having to spend months on end working on a novel with a sinister villain like that. 
          But as a strange, chilly breeze moves through the Ballroom, raising the hairs on the back of our necks, I realize things are about to get even creepier…   

4. Ghost of the Heroine’s Dead Husband. – Paranormal. – “Mara… Mara…”

Gaelen: Oh, look! The curtains are billowing. Do you hear that?

Ghost of Viscount Pierson: “Mine…”

Gaelen: Pardon? Could you speak up please? (A vase goes crashing off the mantel.) That wasn’t nice! What do you think you’re doing, Lord Pierson?

Ghost: Mine… She belongs to me…

Gaelen: No, my lord, I’m afraid you have been dead for two years. It’s time for Mara to move on. She’s got another chance to get back together with her first love–her true love–the one she met before you ever came along. Now, shoo! 

Cat (eyeing Albert): Meow.

<Squawk!>

Gaelen: Indeed, Albert. We definitely need to lighten things up a bit after that! I know just whom to call in–Mara’s glamorous but thoroughly cynical best friend…

5. Delilah – Chick Lit. – (Dressed to the nines, she swirls Champagne in a crystal flute.) “Ah, so many men, so little time! Agreed, ladies? I admit, I love a handsome face almost as much as good day’s shopping. Of course, you won’t find me falling into such a state over any man as Mara has over Falconridge.
       What’s that? Am I jealous?
       Fustian! I’m thrilled to see her happy, naturally. It’s just, she used to be so much more fun when she was single like me. (Sigh) There is no happier state than to be a wealthy widow in Town who is still possessed of beauty, youth, and fortune. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. It only leaves more available gentlemen for me.”   

So, you see, one set of characters could result in an untold number of different stories. It all depends simply on which character’s eyes we are viewing the story world through.

Authors have had phenomenal success in recent years taking a secondary character from classic fiction or history and telling their stories. (The Other Boleyn Girl, Mr. & Mrs. Darcy mysteries, Wicked, Rhett Butler’s People, etc.)

Which secondary character inspired a spin-off story that you enjoyed, OR, which secondary character that you’ve read deserves his/her own story?  

I enter the Ballroom bleary eyed and find Lady B looking hideously alert. Unfortunately the state of my head is due not to anything interesting, like an all night carousal with a rake, but rather the end product of a marathon book finishing session.

In my efforts to placate the wrath of our hostess I looked for pictures of gentlemen with legs

Lady B  Miss Neville. I wish to speak to you.

Miranda (winces) What have I done?

Lady B You have been interfering with the past.

Miranda Is that all? I am an historical novelist. It’s my job.

Lady B You had the temerity to invite a couple of unsavory characters to one of my balls in the spring of 1800. Neither Lord Lithgow nor the Duke of Denford is the kind of gentleman I prefer to introduce to delicate young gels.

It so happens that I did set a scene at one of Lady B’s assemblies. And I may have allowed my hero and heroine to attend. And it’s just possible I may have admitted two other men of somewhat shady reputation. But as far as I know not even my editor has yet read the book. Has Lady B somehow got into my laptop? Has she trained Albert–frightening thought–to be a hacker? I decide to bluff.

Miranda I would never do such a thing.

 Lady B (with a jaundiced eye in my direction) I have proof. I just read my diary for the year 1800. You’ve tampered with it.

Miranda I didn’t even know you kept a diary.

Lady B Of course I do. One should always have something sensational to read in the carriage.* The account of a ball I gave in the spring of that year has unaccountably acquired some new guests

I find the time-space implications of this revelation too much for my tired brain.

Miranda Rumbled. All right, I plead guilty. But Lithgow and Denford are both extremely good looking with lower limbs of the very best quality.

Lady B So I gather from my diary entry for the occasion. The diary entry I don’t remember writing. Legs aside, are you trying to tell me their presence in my Ballroom was entirely innocent? That this pair of rakish gentlemen are, in fact, reformed?

Miranda Not exactly. But they will be – in later books. Assuming I ever write another word which at this point is by no means a foregone conclusion.

Lady B Harrumph.

I think about mentioning that I allowed my two badly behaved, not-yet-reformed, future heroes to attend Lady B’s ball because I know she has a soft spot for rogues, but I’m not sure she’s in the mood for what she will almost certainly deem impertinence. I switch to mollifying tactics.

I have no idea who these guys are but I love them

Miranda The hero of this book is a very proper gentleman.

Lady B And the heroine?

Miranda Uh oh. I’m not going there.

Lady B What is the title of the book?

Miranda The Importance of Being Wicked.*

Lady B I rest my case.

I beg you, Ballroom denizens, help me! Divert Lady B’s wrath! Now we know she has years worth of diaries and we are able to alter them, write your own entries about a fascinating occurrence. This is your chance to be Lady B and give her something sensational to read in the carriage. Then perhaps she will come and yell at you, instead.

Or, if you prefer to remain on our hostess’s good side (probably a wise decision) tell us about your own diary experience. Have you ever kept one? Do you still? Do you share it with others?

*Stolen, with gratitude, from Oscar Wilde