Today I am happy to reveal the cover for THE RUIN OF A ROGUE. The male model on this one certainly captures the perfidious sexiness of Marcus Lithgow while …

Lady B: Miss Neville!

Miranda: Good evening, Lady B. I’m unveiling a cover.

Lady B: That man is wearing a boot–

Miranda: Two, actually, though I grant you that one of them is particularly prominent.

Lady B: –in bed.

Miranda: I am sure you have learned, through consorting with writers, that the covers of novels do not always exactly represent their contents. I am bound to say that although there is a scene in The Ruin of a Rogue where Marcus brings Anne dinner in bed and he is wearing boots at the time …

Lady B: Never mind that. I have no objection to boots in bed. In fact [Lady B appears on the verge of blushing, a somewhat alarming sight] I have, in my time, been Duchessed.

Miranda: Uh, has Lord B been created a duke? Seems rather unlikely, though well deserved, of course.

Lady B: I am referring to the activities of the First Duke of Marlborough (an ancestor of mine). His wife reported that “The Duke returned from the wars today and did pleasure me in his top-boots.” Hence, among the cognoscenti, it is known as “duchessing” when the gentlemen is – ahem – too eager to waste time undressing.

Miranda: Wow, Lady B. That is really hot.

Lady B: When John Churchill wed Sarah Jennings it was a true love match. After his death, the Duke of Somerset proposed to her and she turned him down with these words:

 ”If I were young and handsome as I was, instead of old and faded as I am, and you could lay the empire of the world at my feet, you should never share the heart and hand that once belonged to John, Duke of Marlborough.”

There’s nothing like the romantic story of the Marlboroughs to remind us that, whatever anyone says, historical romances featuring incredibly hot dukes are FRIGGING REALISTIC. Also boots in bed. If you haven’t ever seen it, rent the DVD of the TV series The First Churchills. I promise you will enjoy the scene when John Neville, IN HIS BOOTS, leaps on Susan Hampshire ….

 So let’s talk about love scenes. So we like them better with clothes, some clothes, no clothes? Any particular favorites you wish to recommend?

There could not be a better day for me to have Saturday Inspiration! Just yesterday, I was able to post my newest cover. The one for Diana Highwood’s novella, releasing April 30th.  Hooray!  Beauty and the Blacksmith….

In historical romance a lot of our heroes are dukes and viscounts and earls and occasionally untitled officers and/or gentlemen. Throw in a highwayman or pirate for variety.
But I can’t help it. I have a thing for blacksmiths, and I have long thought they are tragically underrepresented in historical romance. I had the best time writing a blacksmith hero of my own.

Just because it’s Saturday…

Here’s Thorin Oakenshield, working it:

Any Game of Thrones fans out there? (MARCH 31 CANNOT COME SOON ENOUGH OMG) How ’bout a little Gendry?

And ladies, I give you the one and only Tony Stark.

So….
Am I the only one who digs guys who aren’t afraid to get a little hot and dirty to get the job done? (Well, I know I’m not the only one — because Miss Diana Highwood is into them, too.)

Which trades and professions would you like to see more often in romance?

It’s unbearably hot and The Ballroom is almost empty. Our heroes are  either enjoying blissful country honeymoons or off behaving badly in anticipation of being reformed. (Except the Duke of Castleton, who never behaved badly in his life until he wandered into the pages of my forthcoming book, The Importance of Being Wicked. I’m showing you the cover because it’s gorgeous and I smile every time I see it.)

Since we are in the dogs days of August, Sarah and Gaelen have smuggled in their dogs. Baxter and Bingley are sacked out under an Egyptian-style settee with crocodile feet. Katharine and Sabrina sit on top, exchanging animal-related furniture tips. The other authoresses chat languidly about nothing very much. I sneak over to the refreshment table, hoping Tessa spiked the ratafia with some twenty-first century American ice cubes.

Miss Neville!

Uh, Oh. Busted.

Lady B (for it is she): Miss Neville. I cannot understand a word anyone is saying this evening. Miss Noble keeps talking about rehearsing dinner. I’ve never required practice before sitting down to dine.

Miranda: Rehearsal dinner. It’s the tradition on the eve of a wedding.

Lady B: In America, I suppose. How quaint. Listen to Miss MacLean. She’s talking nonsense.

Sarah: I texted my husband and asked him to pick up take-out.

Miranda: Let me try and put it in terms you can understand. She sent a footman around to White’s with a note for Mr. MacLean that the cook is indisposed and he should dine at the club.

Lady B: That seems quite normal. Why can’t you gels speak English? And there’s no need to look smug, Miss Neville. You may sound like me, but I distinctly heard you saying that you missed a connection and the airline lost your bag. What did you mean?

Miranda: Hm. The mail coach had already departed and I had to hire a post chaise. Then [and I take great pleasure in saying this] I was held up by highwaymen who stole my valise.

Before Lady B can react, Lauren, who is not given to panic, raises her voice in near hysteria.

Lauren: My hard drive crashed and I thought I’d lost the back up.

Gasps of horror arise from the assembly.

Lady B: Now that sounds quite exciting. Tell me what happened, Miss Willig?

Lauren: Not exciting but potentially disastrous. My amanuensis passed out drunk and I couldn’t find the only copy of my manuscript. But it was all right because I’d also backed up in the cloud.

Lady B: I’m not even going to ask what that means. Any other exciting news?

Tessa: The Darelings went on strike and refused to load the dishwasher. Does that count?

Lady B: Only if I understand it.

Tessa: It’s as though you had a problem in your scullery.

Lady B: I am happy to say I have never seen my scullery.

I’m beginning to feel like a character in one of those Monty Python sketches that wander on too long without a punchline. So I offer an everyday scene from modern life.

Your task, dear Ballroomies, is turn it into a story that Lady B would understand. What other modern phrases can you translate into Regency terms? Google? Twitter? Lactose Intolerant?

Dear guests, I bring you now — for the first time anywhere — the cover of How To Be a Proper Lady, coming June 26.

 

 

This glorious cover — so completely perfect for Jin and Viola — inspires me today to wax eloquent on The History of Man Chest Art.

Man Chest Art goes back to “the dawn of time.” (That quote is from my history class undergraduates, by the way, for which I give them very poor grades.) Take this cave painting discovered in Altamira, Spain, for instance:

Just look at those fantastic four packs! (Back in the Ice Age they didn’t have those little plastic six-pack holders, because, well, plastic. Anyway, a man could only reasonably carry two cans of beer in each hand at a time. Thus, four-pack abs instead of six-pack abs.)

[Note: I am a Professional Historian. I know these things.]

Then there were the Greeks, of course (because the Greeks always come into every conversation if you chat for long enough. Go ahead. Try it some time. Start with some really innocuous topic — like breakfast cereal. Mark my words, within an hour someone will mention the Greeks. Or is that Kevin Bacon?) And speaking of meat, the ancient Greeks adored Man Chest Art.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Greeks made lots and lots and lots of Man Chest Art that the Romans then copied because there was only one thing Romans loved more than Man Chest Art: the Greeks. (See? Back to the Greeks. I told you.)

Actually, I made that up. The Romans were insanely jealous of the Greeks so they conquered them then copied all their best art and pantheon and empire and Other Important Things Like That.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Incidentally, like the Greeks, the Romans also liked heaving bosom art. But really incidentally, because this post isn’t about heaving bosoms [which is why this bit is in parentheses, obviously]. So refocus, kay? Here’s some inspiration to help with that.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More recently (roughly five hundred years ago, so not exactly recent, though in geological terms it was just this morning), Michelangelo Buonarroti simply adored creating Man Chest Art.

Here’s another Michelangelo, this one from 1505, shifting us from stone to a softer medium, though I will venture to note the obvious: THERE IS NOTHING SOFT ABOUT THIS MAN.

 

Finally, just a bit later (the aforementioned five hundred years-or-so-ish), romance novel publishers started producing Man Chest Art with vim and vigor. And what vim! What vigor! A few cases in point, beginning with our lovely Sarah’s St. John.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And since men with ink are my secret weakness (though I suppose it’s not so secret anymore… now… er…), I bring you Maya Rodale’s Sebastian, the Duke of Wycliff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lest we ignore the flip side — literally — I invite you to feast your eyes on my favorite Man Back cover of all time, featuring Miranda’s delectable Cain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

So there you have it. Man Chests are an old and venerable artistic tradition. I hope your Saturday is now as inspired as mine.

And speaking of man chests, the first chapters of How To Be a Proper Lady are now posted on my website. There’s nothing like a gorgeously ripped sailor… in the rain… tied up… to inspire a lady to undress him. Enjoy!

What is your favorite example of Man Chest Art — from any century?

Lady B: Where on earth did I set my reticule?

Miss Carissa Portland: Funny you say that! I seem to have misplaced my jeweled lorgnette, as well.

Sebastian Walker, Viscount Beauchamp: Blazes, my fob watch is missing. It was right here in my pocket!

Carissa (discreetly to him, but with an arch look): Checking the time already, my lord? I suppose you have an assignation to keep with your latest femme du jour, hmm?

Beau: Well, if you weren’t so absorbed in exchanging gossip with Lady B, perhaps you’d have paid attention to where you left your–thing.

Carissa: I didn’t leave it anywhere! How am I to spy on everyone and find out all the latest on-dits without my spyglass? (Turning to him prettily.) Will you help me find it?

Beau (sigh): All right. Where do you last recall having it? –Hold on. (His eyes narrow as his stare homes in on a distant quarter of the room.) I think I just saw . . .

Carissa: Yes? Did you see it somewhere?

Beau: No. A hand.

Carissa: What?

Beau: Never mind. Stay here. (He starts off.)

Carissa (grabbing his arm): Wait! What did you see, Beauchamp?

Beau (He bendsto murmur in her ear, rousing a small shiver which she diligently tries to ignore): Do not tell Lady B. She will fly up into the boughs higher than her blasted parrot. But I believe an intruder has entered her house. Right here in the ballroom. Don’t look now! Act natural. Keep everyone calm. I will attend to this.

Carissa, to herself: Well, he’d better not have taken my lorgnette.

Lady B returns: No sign of it anywhere! Ah, well. One of the servants probably put it away for me. As for you, my dear. Hmm, did I just see you talking to Lord Beauchamp?

Carissa (blushing): Er, yes, my lady, but only for a moment–

 Lady B: La, you needn’t look so guilty, dear! He is altogether naughty, so I hear, but there are plenty of chaperones present should that rogue attempt to menace you with his advances. It’s so refreshing to find a young lady with a such nice sense of decorum as yourself, Miss Portland.

Carissa (If she only knew.): Lady Beaufeatheringstone, I am humbled by your praise.

 Lady B. gives her a gracious smile and is off once more, whisking off to greet Ladies Sarah and Katharine, who have just arrived on the arms of their latest dashing heroes.

Meanwhile, Lord Beauchamp [who is a Professional Spy – so don’t try this at home, kids] has now drifted over, ever so casually toward the refreshment tables. Carissa watches him [at least at the moment she has an excuse to do so – normally, she just can’t help herself in this regard, he is do devastatingly handsome].

Something seems amiss. While Beauchamp scans the room, waiting for the intruder to make his next move, the sound of muffled coughing comes from somewhere behind the farthest couch.

“Blimey! Wot’s this? Disgustin’! Salmon…patties? Blech!”

Beau leaps around the couch with a manly “Aha!” ~ but no one is there. Carissa stares, seeing the bottom few inches of a figure quickly crawling on hands and knees behind the adjacent row of chairs. Beau cannot see this from his angle and has a look behind the curtains. She tries to get his attention with a discreet gesture, but then she is distracted.

For an extraordinary thing happens.

One of the beautiful, flowery cakes from Gunter’s levitates off the sweets table for no apparent reason, and then begins floating in the directly where Carissa can still see the feet hiding behind the scrolled side of the divan.

She blinks a few times rapidly, wondering if she’s had too much of Lady Tessa’s spiked ratafia. But when her vision clears, the cake has disappeared altogether. It is neither floating in midair, nor is it back on the table where it ought to be.

Beau seems as confused as she. He turns and gives her an eloquent shrug from across the room.

All of a sudden, the entrance hall beyond the ballroom erupts with the yipping bark of a toy-sized dog. A great panicked squawking and a whoosh of plumage fans the air overhead as Albert swoops past the chandeliers.

<Squawk! Intruders! Help! Mama!>

A little ragtag Norwich terrier comes racing into the ballroom, quite uninvited, leaping for the bird, and not even coming close to catching him (but having a good time trying).

“Teddy! Teddy! Come back ’ere! I’m sorry, ma’am! It’s just the bird got his attention–”

The wee scruffy dog chases after the affronted parrot; the parrot darts to a safe perch atop the head of a marble goddess in a statuary niche; but the third in this line of noisy new arrivals is stopped in her tracks by the glower on Lady B’s face as Her Ladyship towers before the redhaired ragamuffin child.

 Lady B: What Is This?

Carissa approaches cautiously, sensing the need to support a fellow redhead.  ”I believe it is what is commonly called a Street Urchin, ma’am.”

 ”In my ballroom?” Lady B’s eyes roll up into her head. The butler beckons to the footman to fetch the smelling salts, post haste.

Carissa quickly steps toward the small, rumpled girl. “What are you doing here, child? What is your name?”

“I’m Dani O’Dell.” She’s a mix of sass and defiance. She can’t rest easy until Teddy is safe. “Just let me get my dog and we’ll be on our way. He don’t mean no ‘arm, ma’am. I don’t know why he ran in here. Maybe he smelled the food.” She casts a brief longing glance at the refreshment table. “He wouldn’t really eat that bird. Teddy, come back here, now!”

The whole ballroom watches as Dani O’Dell goes and collects the errant Teddy, scooping the wee terrier up in her arms – everyone, that is, except Lord Beauchamp. He is keeping watch for the owner of that hand. His vast and worldly spy experience leads him to expect the miscreant will try to slip away amid the distraction.

And he’s right.

“Now I’ve got you!”

He suddenly hauls a lad out from behind the furniture.

Lady B: Another street urchin!

This one fights Beau’s grip like a fish on a line.

Beau: What are you thinking, coming in here stealing?

“So, you’re the reason Teddy ran in here! I should’ve known!” the girl bursts out. ”Why do you always have to get me in trouble, Jake Reed? One these days, you’re goin’ to get us both hanged!

“No, I’m not, you worrywart. Never mind these toffs. Let’s get out of ‘ere. I got us a cake!” he adds in a whisper.

You’re not going anywhere until you explain yourself, young man!

At last, Gaelen comes rushing in. “Wait, wait, don’t call for the constable, my lady–I can explain!! Please don’t have him arrested!”

Lady B: And why should I not?

Gaelen: “Because he’s the hero of my very first children’s novel that I’ll be releasing this summer!!!”

Beau and Carissa gasp. “You’re going to write something other than romance?”

Gaelen: On the side, yes. Don’t worry. It won’t take anything away from you, darlings. Trying my hand at children’s literature has long been a dream of mine.

“Ha,” says Jake, shaking Beau’s grasp free with a savvy harrumph. Then the blond-haired lad, age 12, with sooty smudges on his face and a devilish gleam in his blue eyes, strolls over to join Dani O’Dell and her dog. They both start backing up toward the door, trying to look casual… But they are headed into a most interesting series of scrapes and adventures among all sorts of magical creatures — ghosts, fairies, shapeshifters, Thames water nymphs, and of course, a fierce Gryphon. (seen below)

To learn more about The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1: THE LOST HEIR, please visit www.gaelenfoley.com, or you can go to the website we just launched last night for the pen name that my husband and I, cowriting these books, will be using, E.G. Foley. Visit www.EGFoley.com to check it out. Set in Victorian England, this is a fantasy adventure series–with a hint of steampunk–that’s as much fun for grownups as it is for kids. Jake is a scrappy orphaned pickpocket who discovers over the course of the story that he is, in fact, the longlost heir of an aristocratic family–with magical powers!

Hope you’ll check it out. Both websites have the back cover copy and more details on the upcoming summer release, but this is a really exciting day for me that I finally get to announce my big news, and I wanted my Ballroom friends to be among the first to “meet” Jake. I don’t have an exact date yet, but it’ll probably be  June/July…that’s one way to get your Foley fix before the October release of Beau and Carissa’s story, MY SCANDALOUS VISCOUNT. For now, check out this cover!!!

It’s been a real joy for me writing a story for “all ages.” [I think of this book as the novel equivalent of a "family movie" in tone.] Children’s literature was so meaningful to me growing up, and formative for me as a writer.

Some of the books that I loved the most were Black Beauty, the Narnia books, Nancy Drew mysteries, and classics by Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, and the stories of Edgar Allen Poe. My ultimate favorite as a kid was the Prydain series, by Lloyd Alexander. I must have read those books 6 times each at least!

My question for the day is, What were your favorite books when you were a kid? And in what ways do you think those stories influenced you?

Lady B, brace yourself.  Fill a cup with ratafia.  What I’ve brought to the ballroom today is rather  shocking.

Shocking, Miss Dare?

You might even say salacious.

Salacious?

Or scintillating.

All I will say is that you are entirely too fond of alliteration.

‘Struth, I confess.  But I have one more S-word to throw at you, and it is this:

STEPBACK.

I am nonplussed.

Albert: <squawk>What the feathers?<squawk>

Let me explain.  Sometimes romance novels have a tw0-part cover.  The reader flips open the outer cover, and there is a deliciously glossy, often mildly naughty image inside, and that is known as a “stepback.”   And I have one–a real one–for the very first time.

But I thought A Night to Surrender had a stepback.

It did, yes.  But the picture inside was a closeup of the picture on the front, so it didn’t have quite that naughty factor.  Colin and Minerva in A Week to be Wicked have the real deal.

You are such a tease, gel.  Post the image on the InnerNetting already, so all the Ballroom guests can see.

Gladly!

 

 

I’m inordinately thrilled about it.  In fact, I have gorgeous coverflats with said stepback, and I’m giving away a whole slew of them to people who enter my website contest. Isn’t it exciting, Lady B?

Why.  Yes.  It is, rather.  My goodness.  I’m…

Shocked? Scintillated?

Speechless.

Well, that’s new.  :) What do the rest of you say?  Do you find stepbacks scintillating, shocking, scandalous, or something else that starts with S?  Have any particular favorites you’d like to mention or post in comments?  Or perhaps they are too much for you, and you prefer to leave such things to the imagination?

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.

 

Today, I’ve snuck a bit of contraband into the ballroom.  I’m hoping Lady B won’t take notice… But as usual, nothing escapes her ladyship’s attention.

Lady B:  Miss Dare, am I mistaken, or are you reading the newspaper? In my ballroom?

I’m sorry, Lady B.  I’m just so engrossed by the news of the royal wedding.

“Still?” says Lady B.  ”I thought that was all finished months ago.”

No, no.  Not Wills and Kate–

Lady B gives me a stern look.  ”Miss Dare, tell me you did not just refer to the Prince of Wales as ‘Wills’.”

Er… Of course not.  Anyhow, I’m reading about a different royal wedding today.  The wedding of King Jigme, the Dragon King, to 21-year-old Jetsun Pema, a commoner.  Isn’t it romantic?  He married down, just like you did when you fell madly in love with Lord B.

Lady B’s cheeks color slightly.  ”I’ll have you know, there was nothing ‘mad’ about my courtship with Lord B.”

<<Squawk! Cuckoo!>>

Really, Lady B?  Albert seems to have other ideas. But here, before you turn positively crimson, have a look at these highlights:

(If you’d like to see even more beautiful footage from the wedding and celebration, including the king and queen’s first kisses, click here. The video can’t be embedded, sorry!)

Lady B peers hard.  ”What pageantry.  Their attire is remarkably colorful.”

Gorgeous, isn’t it?

“Indeed.  I’ve never seen the like.  Where did you say this was, again?”

Bhutan. It’s a tiny Himalayan country.  The only nation on earth to take a routine measurement of Gross National Happiness.

Lady B lifts an eyebrow. “I’d say those two look quite happy indeed.  They’re likely skewing the average.”

I think their happiness is contagious.  There’s nothing like the tale of a king marrying a commoner to capture the public’s imagination — especially when the bride in question is so lovely and the king is so obviously adoring.  Just listen to this bit from the newspaper article, Lady B:

Others admire the apparent impact the daughter of an airline pilot has made on the king, who talks openly of his love and admiration for her, even holding her hand at public functions.

“He really loves her,” said 16-year-old schoolgirl Jurme Choden as she waited to practise a dance routine for the public celebrations on Saturday. “Wherever he goes he holds her hand. Now young people are starting to copy.”

The royal couple apparently met when aged 17 and seven respectively at a family picnic in Thimphu.

The then-prince got down on his knees and said “when you grow up, if I am single and not married and if you are single and not married, I would like you to be my wife, provided we still feel the same,” he told students in August.

Lady B looks amazed.  ”Seven years old?  My word.  How precocious.”

If that’s not fairy-tale material, I don’t know what is!

Do you know any real-life love stories that bear a resemblance to fairy tales?  Your own, maybe – or the stories of parents, grandparents, friends or acquaintances?

Speaking of fairy tales, you might have heard that I have a Christmas novella coming out!  It’s a Spindle Cove story, and it’s called Once Upon a Winter’s Eve.  When my agent read the story, she called it “a fairy tale for nerdy girls.”  I quite like that description, since I consider myself the nerdiest girl of all.  I just got the cover art late last week and couldn’t resist sharing today.  Isn’t it lovely?  It’ll be available November 15th!

Albert, have you seen Lady B around?

<squawk!> She’s piddling. <squawk!>

You really shouldn’t say that so loud.

<squawk!> No volume control! <squawk!>

Um hm. Anyway, I wanted to tell her that my post today is going to be pretty brief because I have a book manuscript due to my editor in about five minutes—  Hey, wait, wow! I just noticed, you’re wearing a necklace.

<squawk!> My lady’s bracelet. <squawk!>

You filched a bracelet from Lady B’s jewelry box to wear to the ball today?

<squawk!> Prefer the term borrowed! <squawk!> 

I’ll bet you do. It looks great, though. The diamonds glimmer in your feathers really beautifully. You sure do know how to accessorize.

<squawk!> Naturally handsome! <squawk!>

I’ll give you that. But honestly, I’m a little jealous. I wear glasses because I need them, but I’m not an avid accessorizor. And it’s not because I don’t like accessories, you see. It’s because I’m not a talented accessorizor. I wrinkle scarves hopelessly and I always mismatch necklaces with bracelets. I’ve even been known to wear black belts with brown shoes.

<squawk!> Fashion travesty! <squawk!>

Which is why I usually try to keep it simple. For me simple is safe. I often just don a pair of loop earrings, though lately I’ve been wearing teal plastic bracelets too. But I’d love to be able to accessorize decoratively like Lady B does. I adore her peacock gloves.

<squawk!> Not that bird again! <squawk!>

Oh, sorry. Have a lobster patty. Anyway, it’s so fun that you’re wearing jewelry today because I’ve been thinking about how a great accessory can be really useful for drawing attention when attention is particularly desired. Especially a strategically placed accessory.

<squawk!> Fashion and function. <squawk!>

Actually, I wasn’t thinking fashion. Or function. I was thinking more along the lines of seduction.

<squawk!> Now you’re talking! <squawk!>

Since seduction is most assuredly on the minds of the hero and heroine of my next book, When a Scot Loves a Lady, I’m so excited to reveal today — right here for the first time — the gorgeous cover!

 

I can’t deny it, Albert: I adore that necklace.

<squawk!> It directs the attention! <squawk!>

It’s definitely directing a certain Scottish lord’s attention. I love the gown too.

<squawk!> The Scot would prefer it gone! <squawk!>

That he would. But that, dear Albert, is a story for another day. February 28, 2012, to be precise. In the meantime, I’m glad I had the chance to chat accessories with you today. You really should wear jewels more often.

<squawk!> Rubies tomorrow. <squawk!>

In honor of my heroine’s necklace! Thanks, Albert. You’re a darling.

But what about our guests? Ladies and gentlemen, what is your favorite accessory to wear, and what do you usually wear with it? All accessories (including dukes, earls and other dashing gentlemen worn upon the arm) are admissible in the Ballroom.