Considering the summer weather has been strangely warm (one cannot but wonder if someone has been Tampering with the Climate), London is quite full this week. First Monday’s Big Squeeze when more Lady Authoresses than I care to remember brought their heroes to the ball.

<squawk>

Yes, Albert. It was quite fatiguing, though gratifying that the dear ladies understand the importance of presentation at Beaufetheringstone House. I’m happy to see that we are well attended this evening, too. I thought Anyone who is Anyone had gone down to Dorset for the Duke of Wessex’s wedding.

<squawk> Snubbed <squawk>

Silly Albert. Of course we were invited. Lord B insisted on remaining in town for the All English Battledore and Shuttlecock Championship. I don’t know why gentlemen prefer sporting events to weddings. It is one of the great mysteries of life. I see Miss Ashe and Miss Neville over there. Also Miss Caroline Linden and Miss Maya Rodale, lovely gels both with excellent taste in heroes. Goodness gracious! Is that the Duke of Wessex? He is supposed to be newly wed. I must get to the bottom of this.

Miranda: She’s headed this way and she’ll want to know why there are so many of us. Do you suppose Lady B knows what an anthology is?

Katharine: Better not ask. She’ll be insulted either way.

Lady B: I heard that.

Miranda: My God, she has the hearing of a bat.

Katharine: (loudly) An owl. She has the hearing of an owl because she is so wise.

Miranda: Right. Lady B! We need to speak to you.

Lady B: Never mind that. I want to know what happened At The Duke’s Wedding.

Katharine: And we’re here to tell you. You see, four weddings resulted from the gathering at Kingstag Castle. Just none that was expected.

Lady B: You are making no sense. Nothing unusual in that.

Miranda: Let’s make Maya explain. She’s the smallest so Lady B will be kind to her.

Maya: (shuffles forward) Um. It all starts when Lord Willoughby–Jack– picks up the ducal wedding ring in London to bring it to Kingstag for his cousin Gareth, the duke.

Lady B: You cannot have a wedding without a ring.

Lady B is soo wise.

 Maya: I think I’ll let Jack explain. (whispers) He’s good with ladies.

Maya introduces a blue-eyed, chestnut haired gentleman with a particularly winning smile.

Jack: Due to an entirely temporary misunderstanding the ring was, in fact, temporarily mislaid.

Henrietta: He means lost.

Lady B: And who is this young lady?

Jack: This is my beautiful bride, the former Miss Henrietta Black. And thank goodness she had the job of helping me find the temporarily mislaid ring or I might still think of her as Lady Sophronia’s tiresome companion.

Lady B: Sophronia Cavendish? I thought she’d been dead for decades. I can see you are much better off with Lord Willoughby.

Miranda: We love Lady Sophronia, Lady B. She reminds me a little of you, only years–centuries!–older. She’s always ready with a trenchant observation, like when she called Frank Newnham an idiot.

Lady B: All the Newnhams are idiots.

Miranda: I rest my case. Unfortunately Miss Rosanne Lacy thought Frank was intelligent as well as handsome, thanks to his wonderful letters. Little did she know that they were written by his cousin Christian, Earl of Bruton.

Lady B: I recognize Lord Bruton by his scarlet uniform. The Royal Horse Guards, if I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am. Introduce me.

Miranda: (whispers) Don’t mention the scar.

Lady B: (loudly) I would never be so ill-bred as to mention the scar.

Christian: How do you do, Lady Beaufetheringstone. May I present my bride, the former Miss Lacy?

Lady B: I thought she was supposed to marry Newnham.

Were grottos designed for misbehavior?

Rosanne: Thanks to a kiss in a grotto, a cricket match, and a duel, I realized I was in love with the wrong man.

Lady B: I would like to hear about the grotto. It reminds me of an incident from my youth. Is the grotto at Kingstag very dark?

Rosanne: Utterly. Do you know that Christian–

Christian: (blushing through his sinister but curiously attractive facial blemish) – I see several girls in white muslin hovering. Not only must they infest Kingstag, but now they’re in London, too. Can we leave now? You must be very tired, Rosanne, after the journey from Dorset. We should go to bed early.

Lady B: Ah, newly weds! Nothing wrong with young gels in white. Once they’re a little older they can come to the Ballroom and find some rakes to reform.  But now I want to know why the Duke of Wessex is here and why he is accompanied by a woman other than his wife?

Caroline: Oh, but this is his wife, the former Mrs. Cleopatra Barrows.

Duke of Wessex: How do you do, Lady B?

The French term for a lightning bolt, a coup de foudre, is also used for love at first sight

Lady B (aside, to Caroline): I know full well he was betrothed to Miss Helen Grey. Mrs. Barrows is her sister, for heaven’s sake! What happened?

Duchess of Wessex: I think we should blame it on the lightning, don’t you agree, darling?

Duke of Wessex: Er—yes. And possibly lawn bowling, but one must also credit a very timely elopement.

Lady B: An elopement! That sounds like a fascinating story…

Caroline: It’s all in the book, Lady B.

Lady B: But what happened at the Wedding?

Caroline: I think we’ll let Katharine answer that.

Katharine: (now gazing fondly across the ballroom at a gorgeously fit blond gentleman dancing with a dark-haired lady) Huh?

Maya: (elbowing Katharine) You’re supposed to answer that.

Katharine: Answer what?

Lady B: (with an intolerant eye) Miss Ashe, you can be—

Katharine: Replaced. I know. I know. So… (looking around) What am I supposed to answer?

Maya: (whispering) What happened at the wedding?

Katharine: Oh! Right. Our purpose here today! (purses lips) But actually I can’t do that. It’s like telling someone Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker’s father. However, I can tell you about that attractive couple over there.

Lady B: The American gel clumsily dancing with “Crash” Ascot?

Katharine: Yes, that’s Angela Cowdrey from America, who dances clumsily because she’s–well–she’s–that is to say–she’s not from around here. (whispering aside) Or now. (louder) And the man with whom she is dancing so romantically is indeed Trenton “Crash” Ascot, Viscount Everett.

Caroline: Not “Crash” anymore…

Lady B: Miss Rodale, why are you grinning?

Maya: Er… Um…

Katharine: Well, you see, Lady B, there was this really nice carriage at the wedding—

Lord Willoughby’s possesses the world’s greatest equipage

Jack: (puffing out chest and flashing his famous smile) My carriage.

Duke of Wessex: A fine sporting vehicle, really.

Jack: (reverently) Hippolyta.

Lady B (lifts her lorgnette)

Miranda: He named it.

Katharine: So there was this phaeton—

Miranda: And a challenge to duel.

Christian: Two challenges. (smiles at Rosanne)

Katharine: Two challenges. And a gentleman’s club in the stables.

Maya: And a lady in the hayloft.

Katharine: And another lady speeding off in the dead of night to Gretna Green.

Caroline: And a ball at which nobody seemed to be dancing but at which there may have been some activity in dark corners.

Miranda: And a lot of sneaking around late at night.

Katharine: And so, Lady B, the wedding didn’t exactly go as planned. Voilà!

Lady B: As usual, Miss Ashe, you have managed to obfuscate matters thoroughly.

Katharine: (grinning) I aim to please.

Lady B: I still don’t know what happened at the wedding but at least I now understand why you are all here. Four authoresses, four stories, all set At The Duke’s Wedding. I particularly like the bit about the phaeton. Lord B would enjoy Hippolyta.

All gentlemen present, in unison: Hippolyta rocks!

Lady B: Will I be able to buy this anthology at Hatchard’s?

At The Duke’s Wedding is available only as an ebook (details at www.atthedukeswedding.com) but the Lady Authors plan to have a print version ready for order in a few weeks. We invite you to enter a contest to win a spot at the Bachelorette Party of the Season. Be one of the 6 lucky readers to join The Lady Authors for an exclusive online chat about At The Duke’s Wedding. Entering the contest is easy: just read the anthology and post a review on either Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Goodreads. Then send us an email with the link to your review to be eligible to win a spot at our party! We’ll chat, spill secrets and mail you a gift bag (Contest details are here.)

No, I don’t mean spicy pictures of Nathan Fillion. I mean bona fide castles.

I know, I know. You’re going to say Miranda posted about a big house just last week. So really I should begin with a disclaimer that we here at the Ballroom enjoy Architectural Porn. A lot. (I think I’m going to create an Architecture category for tagging posts. There, I just did it. See below.) We can’t seem to get enough of it, which isn’t to be wondered at because, well, who doesn’t dream of living (or at least vacationing for many, many weeks) in a spectacularly large and luxurious house with extensive gardens and plenty of servants to do one’s bidding at a moment’s notice (then gossip about it when they’re belowstairs like in Downton Abbey)? It’s one of the reasons Miranda, Caroline Linden, Maya Rodale and I decided on a wedding house party at a duke’s estate as the setting for our anthology At the Duke’s Wedding. We pretty much want to go to a party like that. So we wrote one. 

Ah, authors!

But I digress!

For today, you see, I’m not focusing on English grand homes but French castles. Châteaux, to be more precise. This is because the second book in my Prince Catchers series, the book I am now writing, takes place almost entirely in a castle. My wanna-be princesses must have their tiaras! But they also must have castles. At least this one does… though not at all for the reason everybody thinks.

But I digress again! She and her hero (whom you lovelies have in fact seen here before, disguised as a footman in Lady B’s house in the country) are a story for another day.

So, French châteaux!

Chenonceau. Words fail. (Because I used them all in the book.)

I know! I’ve posted this before, but it was the inspiration for the chateau in  I Married the Duke in which for several chapters my heroine finds herself–shall we say?–unexpectedly married to the wrong man, and I LOVE it. So I bring you again Chenonceau: my favorite chateau of all.

Alrighteo, now that I’ve taken care of that, I’ll move on to my current inspiration.

Next week I’m flying off to the Franche-Comte. That’s the region of eastern France that kisses Switzerland and includes breathtaking Alpine peaks as well as the beautiful Jura Mountains. It also happens to be chock full of châteaux.

From turreted fairy-tale castles like Château de Menthon-St-Bernard, which some say inspired Disney’s Sleeping Beauty castle,

Prince Philip! Prince Philip! Where are you?!

to châteaux we might instead call manor houses, like the Château de Candie,

Elegant and austere. Looks awfully Swiss to me.

the Franche-Comté offers it all.

So I am going to see it all. In four days.

Okay, not all of it. But several castles. I promise to take loads of photos so you’ll know precisely what inspires the shenanigans that ensue in this book… what inspires them, that is, other than a handsome bad-ass master of disguises and a girl who really has no place at all being in a prince’s castle.

(Oops! Did I say bad-ass? No, that wasn’t me. That must be the time-traveling heroine from my latest novella slipping into the ballroom before she’s due here Thursday. Hush, Angela! Sorry, lovelies!)

Inspiration for shenanigans

And now to leave you with two more wonderful châteaux .

First, I offer you the Château de Cléron, a modest 14th-century beauty perched over the River Loue that happens to be one of my favorites. I’m a scholar of the 14th century in particular, and there’s something about French architecture in that era that moves me… possibly because it’s all about massive strongholds to keep out the English usurping kings. Cléron is in fact the direct inspiration for the book I’m currently writing. A spirited, out of place heroine and a bad-ass– eh em– that is to say, an intelligent and powerful hero can find lots of trouble to get into in such a place. And do!

And finally, I give you everybody’s favorite completely outrageous castle of all, Chambord.

This is not a toy or model. It really does look like this.

Robert Crawley, eat your heart out.

What’s your favorite fairy tale story that takes place in a castle? 

The carriage draws to a halt before Lady B’s house, I hurl myself out before the step’s even down, and rush up the stairs to the door. Hurrying inside I run to the ballroom. I throw open the doors, dash in, and skid across the shining floor to a halt.

“Lady B! I’m home! I’m home! Everybody, I’m home!!!”

My voice echoes. The ballroom is completely empty. No ladies splendidly gowned. No dashing gentlemen dressed to the nines. No spiked punch. Nobody hiding behind potted plants. Only a pale, misty light filters in through the windows.

It’s only 6AM. In my excitement, it seems I am a wee bit early.

“Did everything he did backwards… and in high heels!” -Bob Thaves

“Miss Ashe?”

I swing around to Lady B, who is standing in the open ballroom doorway. She’s wearing a fantastically frothy get-up a la Ginger Rogers in “Top Hat” and a cap pinned to her hair.

“Lady B!” I sweep into my best curtsy (on a good day, a dismal display indeed) and my sea-habituated legs get all wobbly again. “I’m home!”

She lifts her lorgnette to her eye (God love her, she wears it to bed) and looks me up and down. “I see that.”

I’m confused. “But didn’t you know I was coming home today? I wrote! Did you get my last letter?”

“The one in which my housemaid eloped with a ship captain on a Hellenic hill? Yes. Splendid matchmaking, Miss Ashe. You outdid yourself.”

“But I sent a letter after that about– Oh, forget about that. I’m home!” I spin around the ballroom, reveling in the comfort of familiar, beloved surroundings. I do love to travel. There’s so much fun to be had in great adventures. But I’m a homebody at heart. “And I’m so happy to be back!”

Lady B purses her lips. “I daresay. Now, Miss Ashe, I will return to my bed where any sane person should be at this hour.”

My euphoria deflates a bit. “But don’t you want to hear about my trip?”

“I’m certain I’ll read about it in your books.”

Well, she has something there.

“Okay!” I wave her back off to bed. “Sleep well! See you at the ball later!” When she’s gone I spin around the ballroom again a few times in the pearly dawn. I can’t wait till later when my sister authoresses and everybody else are here and this room is filled with music and laughter. I’ve missed it so much.

But that’s not all I’ve missed. I’ve missed events! Gossip! Scandals! Guests! New books! Everything! Oh no — I’m going to be completely and utterly in the dark when everybody shows up for the ball today.
I beg of you, lovelies, fill me in. What’s happened in the ballroom since I’ve been gone — ulp — the past four months? I know it’s insane to ask, but can you fill me in on what I’ve missed since January? The highlights will do, or whatever you can remember! Even more importantly, what have you all been doing lately, in or out of the ballroom?  I’ve missed hearing all your news so much, I’d love an update. Please dish!

Greetings from the land of Mount Olympus, the home of thunderous Zeus and jealous Hera, clever Hermes and bright Apollo, bellicose Ares and beautiful Aphrodite, wise Athena and wild Artemis. Greetings from Greece!

What a tumultuous journey we’ve had since I last put pen to paper and wrote to you lovelies. Between stopping off in Bengal to visit the former haunts of the hero of my upcoming novella How To Marry a Highlander, and navigating the Arabian Sea amidst brigands and wiley merchants, and posting cross country or alternately hugging the coasts of the powerful Ottomans until they gave us leave to sojourn at leisure in their lands, our little band of Englishmen and two women are exhausted and in need of a holiday.

We disembarked in Thessaloniki. Hosted by a splendid family of ancient Macedonian lineage—artists and musicians, the lot of them—we dined upon fresh fish, caviar, squid, grape leaves, olives, lemons and delicate pastries to our hearts’ content. But the great capital city was not to be our final destination in these lands of ancient cultures mixed in a delightful mélange. Not at all! Our hosts took us deep inland to the magnificent Metéora.

Saint Nicholas of Anapausus in the Metéora, Greece

Pillars of sandstone, for centuries they have supported monasteries in complete isolation from the chaos and materialism of the world. One word: WOW. Do you know, when the monks wanted to contact the outside world, they would lower one of their own down the side of the cliff in a basket? (Talk about extreme sports!)

After this lovely jaunt, our hostess, a renowned grand dame of the Greek theater, noticed a certain glow to Penny’s eyes and a jaunty lift in Captain Frye’s stride.

Ashamed as I am to admit it: I, the resident romance author on this journey, had missed the crucial moment. Enthralled as I’ve been during these past weeks by the scenery, the history, the pageantry and danger and sheer epic landscapes of sea and earth through which we have passed, I had made myself blind to the tender moment of reconciliation, the blossoming of affinity, and the entwinement of two souls into one.

I did not, however, miss the epic kiss at the feet of the monastery of Saint Nicholas, the kiss that signaled the ultimate union of hearts. (I’m not that distractable.)

They kissed—tangled, locked, bound in all the right ways—until Penny fainted from near-asphyxiation. Captain Frye swept her into his arms and carried her into the shade of the branches of a sycamore maple to the excited singing of warblers and the applause of me, our hostess, and the crew, where he then kissed her some more.

Our hostess insisted upon a wedding. Naturally.

And so here we are, upon an outcropping (a cliff, I might call it, if I weren’t scared to death of cliffs) before a tiny chapel painted in brilliant white with a solitary bell in its tower. A garland of flowers upon her head, Penny circles Captain Frye thrice, but neither say a word in this ancient Orthodox rite. Backed by an azure sky, with the golden sun of Achilles and Hector and Socrates and Aristotle upon their glowing cheeks, this pair looks like just about the happiest bride and groom I’ve ever seen.

Someday I shall have to set a novel here. It’s sublime.

After the celebration, shortly, we will make our way back to the coast and our ship, then again to sea. Our next stop: home! I’ve had a marvelous time on this journey. Still, I’m ready to be back in Lady B’s ballroom with all of you. Quite simply, I miss you.

Until then, I wish you all new dancing slippers and waltzes at least every other set. And, as always, happy romance and adventure!

~ Katharine

Greetings from the Indian Ocean!

It’s Saturday, which means it’s writer’s inspiration day. So as I lounge under the canopy that Captain Frye constructed for me and Penny on the quarterdeck and we sail ever westward, stopping at ports to trade pearls here and there for barrels of exotic spices and bricks of tea, I am reminded of the inspirations for my novel In the Arms of a Marquess (which SHAMELESS PROMOTION ALERT is now on sale at Amazon for $2.99 on Kindle). Authors are never supposed to tell you their favorite novels they’ve written (I have no idea why), and I’m actually not sure I have one out of my own. But I do have a very soft spot in my heart for Ben and Tavy’s love story, which was in my heart and head for many, many years before I finally wrote it. So today, since our ship is in the region, I give you three of the inspirations for that book:

Brave Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (from Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book) confronting his foe, Nagaina.

The heroine of Marquess, Octavia Pierce, goes by the nickname Tavy. Not a coincidence.

And…

The first epic historical novel I ever read, upon which I imprinted like a duckling chick.

And…

Bollywood star Arjun Rampal, because if noblemen had worn sunglasses and white t-shirts in the early nineteenth-century…

In the novella I’m currently writing on board ship, there also just so happens to be the faintest whiff of the British Empire at sea, which is central to the story in In the Arms of a Marquess. (More news on that novella to come!)

And now for your Penny and Captain Frye update:

There has been progress … of the intimate sort! From a distance I witnessed a starlit stroll on the deck at midnight during which two silhouettes briefly became one, followed by the silhouette in skirts running away. I have no idea why Penny is such a ninny. But they’re back to casting each other longing, slightly confused glances across deck. We shall see… We shall see…

That’s all I can fit on the page this time, lovelies. I wish you well and will see you soon. Until then, happy romance and adventure!

~ Katharine

Greetings from the East! I must write quickly today. An English merchant vessel is preparing to leave port within minutes and I want to put on board this note to you lovelies.

Our journey across the Pacific on our new ship was largely eventless. Certainly much less eventful than Monty’s; we encountered no Amazons and erupting volcanoes. I suspect Captain Frye would have been fine with the former, though Penny would not. Apparently they’ve had a quarrel — I don’t know about quite what because I rarely see them actually speak to each other. But she’s been flirting with the ship’s doctor and the captain is in a raging jealousy.

But I digress!

Want.

We’ve stopped among the sultry islands of Melanesia (in the 21st century, New Guinea) to trade our cargo of llama wool blankets for pearls. This happened somewhat by accident. You see, on one particularly eventless day crossing the ocean I was busily scribbling away at my latest book and wrote the sentence “lips satiny as [fill in the blank] pearls.” Which pretty much meant that I had to spend three days researching the sources of pearls in the early nineteenth century. [Note: This story is true.]

So here we are in Pearl Central! Unfortunately we encountered a ship of Portuguese pirates who relieved us of half our cargo before Captain Frye put his foot down and blew their ship to smithereens, blowing up all the llama wool blankets the pirates had stolen in the meantime. Thus, our cache of pearls is rather smaller than we’d hoped, but I’m still planning on bringing a few home to you ladies.

Ah! I hear the merchant ship’s bell! I must be off to post this letter. I hope you’re all well and prospering. Happy Easter, happy Spring, and as always happy romance and adventure!

xoxo

~ Katharine

p.s. I’ve just learned that Captain Frye is cousin to a character in my next novella! What are the chances, right?

Greetings from the Isthmus of Darien! Also known as the Isthmus of Panama, this little strip of land is all that is keeping me, Penny, Captain Frye and the crew from the deep blue Pacific Ocean.

Dig my ride

We had a fabulous time flitting about the Caribbean for a bit, principally tasting the rums of different islands. Penny got tipsy one night off Barbados and wandered into the captain’s quarters. Like a perfect gentleman — which, let’s face it, Frye isn’t, so I’ve got to give him credit for this one — he escorted her back to our cabin and never spoke about it again. But he’s been watching her a lot since. A whole lot. I can’t help thinking… But, no, I’m getting ahead of myself. I think…

In any case, we’ve left our ship behind and are trekking across land on donkeys — smelly creatures, but so far friendly and relatively painless, if you don’t count saddle sores and fleas. Still and all, this shouldn’t be too arduous a journey, and on the other coast we’ll board a vessel that Captain Frye says is already waiting there for us. Then it’s off to Tahiti, or to whatever balmy Pacific island we bump into first!

Until then, I miss you all dreadfully, and wish you were here, but I look forward to being back in the ballroom anon. Happy dancing, lovelies!

xoxo

Katharine

Greetings from the Caribbean!

I’m here in the sand and sun in the spanking new Republic of Haiti. I’ve got a glass of rum in my hand and my hat off and the tropical breeze is ruffling the page I write this letter on. I’m trying to get a little sun in my hair as I write, but Penny keeps pushing the hat back on me, the dear girl. But she’s stealing so many surreptitious glances at Captain Frye that her efforts at saving my complexion are kind of half-hearted. (For the record: she’d be sunburned by now if our positions were reversed.)

We’re docked for the sennight at Môle Saint-Nicolas, known in the eighteenth century as the Gibraltar of the Antilles. It’s a really impressive spot: a port on a strait between Cuba and Haiti through which ships must pass in order to sail to Central America. The peninsula is marvelously fortified, and right beyond it is a huge crescent bay in which you could hide an entire fleet (if you had a fleet to hide, which of course Britain did in this era, including the HMS Victory, former command of the hero of the first book in my new Prince Catchers series, I Married the Duke, Luc Westfall, whom you lovelies helped create!)

Dramatically beautiful Môle Saint-Nicolas, Haiti.

Later in the 19^th century, some years after Lady B’s time [it's hard to imagine, I know!], Haiti was a globally strategic location for another reason. Every place else in the Caribbean except Haiti and the Dominican Republic were European colonies. Now, once everybody started using steamships [fools, all of them! didn't they know how wonderful tall ships were?!], vessels passing from North America to trade in Central America needed coal stations for refueling. So the U.S. started looking for spots to do that everywhere on the route, and they chose Môle Saint-Nicolas. The U.S. tried to pressure Haiti into leasing it to them, going so far as to send the great African-American abolitionist Frederick Douglas to negotiate terms.

Frederick Douglas, escapee from slavery and subsequent famous American abolitionist

The Haitians were amenable; they were savvy businessmen like everybody else on the high seas back then. But just to be sure, the U.S. demanded that Haiti promise not to lease any other part of their island to any other country.

Well, the Haitians didn’t like that. Not one little bit. Some years back, the slaves of the French colony Saint-Domingue had risen up in arms, and in the only successful slave revolt in history those revolutionaries created a nation. So, you see, the descendents of those folks weren’t too keen on letting another nation dictate what they could or couldn’t do with even a square foot of their land. It violated their sovereign rights.

So the U.S. sent over a handful of big old warships to sit in the harbor and put a bit of pressure on the Haitians to agree to their terms.

But the Haitian ambassador in Washington had been carefully analyzing the situation. He sent the Foreign Minister on the island a secret message telling him not to worry about the warships, that the Americans were bluffing. The Foreign Minister turned down the U.S. offer, and the warships turned around and disappeared. It came to be known famously as the only time in history that one man’s signature had defeated an entire navy.

Surf’s up!

The U.S. was still desperate for a coal stopover on the way to Central America, though. So it invaded Cuba instead, snatched up Guantanamo Bay, and secured it with a perpetual lease. We’ve had it ever since.

And there you have it, a little inspiring history about my first stop on my journey around the world!

Oh, if you’re wondering how I know this nifty history, I have beside me on my beach blanket two great reads. Paul Clammer is an English adventure-travel guide writer and his brand new Bradt Travel Guide: Haiti is the first travel guide written about this nation in twenty-five years. The other book [commence bragging] is my own handsome and brilliant husband’s Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, which just so happens to have been on the top of the New York Times Book Review’s recommended paperbacks list last Sunday.

Inspired by Haitian history (tho, it’s true, the priest part was all my idea)

Years ago my dh wrote another book on Haiti, specifically about the Revolution, which of course was especially inspiring to me. Who knows, maybe this great nation will find its way into my Prince Catchers series. We shall see!

Okay, wait just a second. Penny is now at the water’s edge lifting her petticoats to dip her feet into the waves. And I think I just spied Captain Frye ogling her ankles.

This is getting interesting . . .

See you all on my next stop. Happy sailing, lovelies!

What little known tidbit of history do you especially love to tell? 

Once again I find myself in an upper chamber of Lady B’s house — this time not the country estate but in town — in a mad frenzy of packing. A huge traveling trunk is open on the floor, and Lady B’s maids are helping me fold gowns and petticoats and pelisses and what-have-you’s between sheets of tissue paper. Excitement buoys me.

Who *doesn’t* want this steamer trunk? I mean. Want.

“Miss Ashe,” Lady B says from the doorway. “Why are you not downstairs with the others at the ball?”

“I’m going on a journey!” I toss a tangled bundle of ribbons (I can never keep my ribbons neatly sorted) into the trunk.

She lifts her lorgnette and studies my overflowing luggage. “A journey to where, precisely?”

“Everywhere! I’m going around the world.”

“Good heavens, you have been reading your own books again, haven’t you?”

“No! Monty inspired me. His adventure simply enthralled me. I’ve been dying to see so many places I haven’t yet had the chance to visit, and to revisit old favorite spots. So I’m taking a page from his book and I’m going. Today!”

“My nephew is not precisely an ideal example for a gentlelady, Miss Ashe.”

Young Hugh. Add a pistol sash, cutlass and naval tricorn and . . . Oh captain, my captain!

“Why not? This is the 21^st cen— that is, the nineteenth century! Women were adventurers and explorers and ship captains then. And I’m not even going to do any of that. I’ve engaged a gorgeous ship, a fine crew and a tall, handsome and slightly autocratic shipmaster to carry me all over the place. I shan’t have to do any really dangerous work myself.”

“You will be traveling with dozens of men aboard a ship alone?”

“Uh . . . Um . . .” I grab a maid’s arm. “I’m taking Penny along as a chaperone. She’s really excited to go, isn’t she? I mean, aren’t you, Penny?”

Poor Penny’s eyes are as round as saucers (a line I’ve always wanted to write in a book but it’s so clichéd I can’t, so there, I’ve satisfied that urge).

“Yes, miss.”

She bobs a curtsey (another overused line, but now I’m on a roll . . .). But then she gives me this smile that says she’s been dying for an adventure too. We both wink.

“Penny! Miss Ashe! I won’t have it.”

We stare at her.

“Why not?” I say.

“Miss Ashe, you are an author. Authors do not hare about the seven seas on grand adventures.”

I exchange glances with Penny.

“Research!”

Lady B does not appear cajoled into True Belief.

La Recouvrance, a French topsail schooner. I know, I know, I’ve posted this photo before. But I really, really love this ship. Really.

“But you have responsibilities to attend to here. I imagine a journey around the globe requires months and months of travel.”

“Oh, a few. But that’s okay, you’ll all have a splendid time without me, of course. And I’ll send postcards to let you know how Penny and I are doing.”

“Post cards?”

“Letters! I’ll keep you updated.” I nudge Penny back toward the trunk. “So . . . if we’re all finished here, my lady, I’ve got to get this packing completed. My ship sails at dusk, and Captain Frye doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Very well. Good-bye, Miss Ashe.”

“Ciao, Lady B. See you in a few months!”

I throw another chemise into the trunk but my attention strays to the window. Outside it’s a fine and gentle English day, even here in London. But I’m dying for tropical sands, palm trees, snow-capped mountains, wild animals, exotic foods, bright sun on my face and ocean breeze in my hair.

“Now . . .” I murmur, because I can’t resist, “bring me that horizon.”

I’m off!

If you were packing for a months-long trip around the world, what one single item could you not do without? 

Welcome to all our new visitors! We had so much fun with you yesterday. We hope to see you often.

Congratulations, Jennifer McQuiston!

Jennifer wins autographed books from each of the Ballroom’s authoresses!

And congratulations to Julie Hinz, winner of a $10 gift card. Special thanks to everyone that invited friends to join us. We love it that you share the love!