“Miss Darby, what on earth are you doing?”

At Lady B’s voice I look up, and accidentally drop the sheaf of papers in my hands. They drop to the floor, joining the other thousands of pages that are in semi-assorted piles about the floor of my writing room at Beautheringstone House.

“Yesterday was the Equinox and the first day of spring. So I’m doing Spring Cleaning.” I feel quite proud of this because when not at Lady B’s, my tendency towards cleaning of any sort is very latent.

“It looks to me as if you are creating spring chaos.”

“Oh no!” As I am ensconced on the floor, I invite Lady B to sit down in my favorite writing chair, the one that is quite plush and velvety and allows one to daydream comfortably for hours. She picks her way across the cluttered floor. “Each of these piles represents an unfinished manuscript. And the only way I can consider them “cleaned” this year is if I finish them. So… one by one I shall make my way through these piles.”

“Are you saying that you will leave these piles on the floor until you finish the story within?” She’s looking around and I follow her gaze. There are probably two-dozen piles of varying heights. Oh…and then the assortment of unorganized papers I accidentally pushed under the bed. Hmm… what is that?

“Stand and deliver!” The carriage jolted to a stop and Livia winced as her head slammed against the padded wall of the carriage and her legs collided with Elizabeth’s.

“Miss Darby!”

“Oh, hmm?”

“Will the maids be able to clean this room or not in the next five years?”

Five years? I think she’s underestimating me. But at the same time, everyday a new pile of ideas does seem to appear in the room…

“And I thought today was the day you would bring your newest hero to visit. A Daniel something or other?”

Oops. That’s right. I was supposed to bring by Daniel Hartmann of Entry-Level Mistress. But I became so engrossed in the idea of “cleaning” that I completely forgot to summon—er—invite him.

“Next time?”

Lady B is giving me an extremely disapproving stare. But as all of us authors have learned in the last nearly two years, one way to distract her is to provide her with new reading material full of yummy heroes and heroines.

I pick up a story at random and hand it her. She arches an eyebrow but begins to peruse the pages. Then she makes a small noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. She puts the manuscript to the side and suddenly Lady B is down on her knees on the carpet beside me, nosing through all my piles.

“Lady B?”

“Well, I certainly think as your benefactress, I have the right to choose which one you work on next. And to do that, I need to look at ALL of them.”

I glance once more at all the piles around me, wondering what will excite her. A valet hero? A duke in disguise story? A heroine who has been rejecting all her suitors only to discover the perfect man is the one she can’t stand? What do you think Lady B will choose? And what type of Regency do you want to read next?

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 isn’t Saturday, you know, Miss MacLean.”

I know this, of course, because I have about thirty different ways of looking at a calendar, but I know better than to say that to Lady B. “I thought it might be fun to show some of my inspiration for my books today, Lady B. I know it’s an unexpected thing for a Thursday, but who needs a Saturday Salon for a slideshow?”

“A what now?”

“A slide show. It’s a…” I hesitate. “Nevermind. Have a look at this.”

“Oh, my.”

“I know.”

“He’s quite handsome.”

“He is. And he’s the inspiration for Temple.”

“You mean the Killer Duke?”

“Precisely.”

“The fighter.”

“The very same.”

“My goodness, Miss MacLean, you do always bring the scandal to the ballroom.”

“I do what I can, my lady.”

“I’m afraid I can’t have the Killer Duke in the house. Lord B would have a difficult time with it.”

“I assure you, Lady B, Temple wouldn’t dream of coming here.”

Lady B’s gaze narrows. “And why is that? He can’t possibly think he’s too good for us.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t,” I rush to assure her. “He just knows…well…his place.”

“And that is?”

“The boxing ring of The Fallen Angel.”

Her voice goes quiet and fills with scandal. “The casino.”

“The very same.”

“You’re familiar with it?”

“I am…it’s very…memorable.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, the art for one.”

Lady B looks skeptical. She hadn’t been looking for that answer, clearly. “The art.” She’d been looking for something more scandalous.

“Absolutely. Take this painting, on the wall of Cross’s office.”

“Good heavens! The Earl could use something slightly less…macabre now that his wife is increasing, don’t you think?”

I smile. “Well, the Countess of Harlow doesn’t exactly mind it.”

“No,” Lady B says, “She’s an odd enough girl that she would like it.”

I’m pointing to another picture. “This one is in a room off the Duke’s chamber.”

Her brow rises. “And why would you know anything about the Duke’s chamber?”

I blush. “Suffice to say, I’ve spent some time in there.”

“With a killer?”

“He’s a very nice killer.”

She does not look like she believes me. “Nice.”

“Well, to me.”

“I hear he likes ladies of a…certain ilk.”

I’m fairly certain I’ve been insulted, because Temple is a halfway decent guy and doesn’t mistreat the prostitutes as the club, but I decide not to get into it with Lady B. “The point is, Lady B…I’m writing, and I need stuff like this to help move me forward. In fact, I keep them all in one dedicated location.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard you all speaking of that. Thanks to your Inner Netting. And your Parasols.”

I am used to Lady B discussing the Internet, but the rest…I blink. “Our parasols?”

She waves a hand. “Or your petticoats. Or pincushions. Something like that.”

My brow furrows. And you didn’t think that sounded off?

She cuts me a look. “It’s not as though you authoresses haven’t sounded off before, Miss MacLean.”

It’s a fair point. “I think you mean Pinterest.”

“Oh, and that doesn’t sound off?”

**

Do you guys use Pinterest? I’m obsessed with it. If so, what do you use it for? If not, what social media stuff do you use? (Besides hanging out here, of course!)

I’m currently working on the third Rules of Scoundrels novel, No Good Duke Goes Unpunished.

The book is Temple’s story — Temple, the broad-shouldered, broken-nosed bare-knuckle boxer who handles security at the casino. Oh, and who is known across London as the Killer Duke. Needless to say, Temple’s like no other hero I’ve ever written — extraordinarily physical and filled with emotion that he can barely hold on to, which makes for a rather unpredictable hero.

As I’ve been writing about a fighter, I’ve been doing a lot of research on fighting in the 1830s and in general. I’ve learned some wild things–some of which will end up in this book and some of which will likely never see the light of day: The way fighters used beeswax to stop their teeth from cutting their cheeks; the way they wrapped their knuckles in long strips of linen in precise, perfect patterns; the fact that true bare-knuckle matches lasted 80-100 rounds and that boxing gloves were actually designed to pack heavier punch and make fights more quick and brutal–not to to protect fighters as you might imagine.

I’ve been reading books and watching movies and thinking about fighting a lot as I craft Temple and his story. Movies like Snatch and Knuckle (the Irish travelers have kept bare-knuckle boxing alive and held most closely to its original origins) have been a huge inspiration, and I must confess I’ve watched this clip from the first Sherlock Holmes movie more than I’d like to admit:

Colum McCann writes in his introduction to At the Fights: American Writers on Boxing:

“Writers love boxing, even if they can’t box. And maybe writers love boxing especially because they can’t box. The language is all cinema and violence….what you have with a fight is what you have with writing, and they each become metaphors for each other: the ring, the page; the punch, the word.”

It’s true, of course.

When I came at Temple’s story, I knew I would have to learn about fighting…I just didn’t know I would learn to love it so much.

–

Is there a sport that really speaks to you, either as a spectator or a player? 

Ballroom guest Ashlyn Macnamara looks about the ballroom, admiring her handiwork. In honor of the season, she’s arranged to have things redecorated just a tad…

Lady B (approaching): And what is all this? I’ve heard you’re responsible for it.

Ashlyn (smoothes down a silver garland decorated with pink and red metallic hearts): I do hope you like it. I thought the decor could use some freshening up, and it is St. Valentine’s Day.

Lady B (sniffing at an arrangement of marble cherubs): St. Valentine’s Day is no excuse for such a garish display. Bad enough this fashion of sending cards.

Ashlyn: Where else are you going to get an impassioned declaration like: Plenty of love, lots of kisses, hope one day I’ll be your Mrs.?

Lady B: If all you aspire to is to be a Mrs…. (eyes narrow) Are you another one of those authoresses from across the pond?

Ashlyn: Right you are. And if you saw what people did for St. Valentine’s Day where I’m from, I’m sure you’d like to be ahead of fashion.

<squawk>Trendsetter!<squawk>

Ashlyn: Too bad they’ve not invented the procedure for making chocolate bon bons yet.

Lady B: Chocolate bon bons?

Ashlyn: They’re sinfully delicious. Just think, a sweet made of chocolate that melts in your mouth. Or perhaps if I called them chocolate truffles. You recall those from Christmas?

Lady B: Ah, yes. Miss Foley was kind enough to gift me a box of them (waving a hand at the garlands) But that’s no excuse for the rest of this, ahem, display. Even the lobster patties are heart-shaped.

<squawk>Carrying things a bit too far.<squawk>

Ashlyn: I daresay you’ll eat them anyway.

<squawk>Never waste food.<squawk>