Tessa here, and I am just so excited to welcome guest authoress Anna Cowan and her hero, Darlington, to the Ballroom today!  Anna is a debut historical author, and I predict her May 10th debut Untamed is about to make a big splash.  We have had a lot of heroes in this Ballroom, but I’m not sure we’ve ever welcomed a hero quite like the Duke of Darlington…

 

“I told you not to do this,” I hiss at him. “The whole point was to impress them with your heroic qualities.”

He looks at me like I’m losing it. “You…created me. I assumed you already knew I haven’t any heroic qualities.”

Oh I am so screwed.

I have just entered a grand ballroom with the Duke of Darlington, and as it’s my first time in a grand ballroom I really didn’t need him to be so utterly himself. Tonight of all nights.

“Don’t worry so,” he murmurs, taking his time to move across the floor in a way that pulls all eyes to him. “They will adore me. And you look lovely in that dress.”

He delivers the compliment with a smile like a kiss and I think, Okay, yes, they will probably adore him.

The ballroom is incredible. I’ve always wondered whether ballrooms were actually a bit tacky. You know, if you were an actual person in an actual ballroom back in the day whether the decorations would look cheap, the big potted plants awkwardly placed, the drapes a vile colour. It makes me happy that the Regency really does have a kind of luminosity about it.

I don’t have much time to gawk, because a lady is walking towards us, and there’s something sharp and assured about her that makes me certain this is our hostess, Lady Beaufetheringstone.

“You must be Miss Anna Cowan,” she says to me. “Miss Dare told me you would be bringing your…” Her eyes flicker to Darlington. “…hero.”

I take a deep breath. Nothing for it but to brazen it out. “May I present the Duke of Darlington?”

He steps forward and takes her hand lightly in his. “What a pleasure it is to meet you at last, Lady B,” he says in that frightening, compelling voice.

She looks at him for a long time without saying anything. Her face is blank – she’s very good at hiding what she’s really thinking. I know what’s coming, though. I brace myself for it. She will be angry. She’ll tell us to leave.

“Your Grace,” she says at last. “Are you aware your dress is at least three decades behind current fashions?”

He looks delighted, which is always a bad sign. “But why would I wear something fashionable,” he asks, looking coyly up from beneath his lashes, “when I could wear something spectacular?”

He does look spectacular.

He is wearing a dress made of heavy lavender silk with birds in cages embroidered across it in yellow, parting at the front to reveal yellow underskirts. He is laced into a rigid corset, and hoops beneath the long skirts add to the effect of a slight figure. A fichu is tucked about his neck and chest, leaving as much of his perfect, white skin on display as possible. His wig is lavender, tipped with actual gold, and one thick coil lies over one shoulder.

His eyes are dark, wicked, complex. He tips his head to Lady B’s and whispers something in her ear.

And now she’s got that look on her face. I know that look. She’s starting to think about what’s beneath the dress. What’s laced and covered and hidden.

I try not to groan out loud. If only he were…vaguely malleable.

If only Katherine were here.

“Where is your duchess this evening?” Lady B asks him.

(I had heard rumours of mind-reading, but that’s just disconcerting.)

“Katherine,” Darlington says, and Lady B shivers at the way he says her name, same as me, “is probably off acquiring half the country’s debt. Or making shady deals with men in low places. Or overseeing the building of her new fleet. She’s naming her finest ship after me, you know.”

He sounds like a boy, all gleeful on Christmas morning. But there he stands: a difficult, beautiful man. He’s a bit much, sometimes.

Lady B opens her fan to hide her surprise. “Your duchess sounds rather unconventional.”

“I have never met a single other person like her,” he says, simply.

I think Lady B wants to know more, but a dashing young man joins our party. He must be Monty, Lady B’s heir. He is alight with interest, and Darlington responds by becoming even more flirtatious.

I can only stand here filled with sincere gratitude that Darlington has found his mate, and will not be luring Monty to any nearby closets tonight. Lady B would surely never forgive me that.

I’m giving away a copy of Untamed to one commenter. I’m wondering what’s the most gender-bendy thing you or your partner have ever done (or wanted to do, but didn’t)?

Anna, thank you so much for joining us today, and bringing along this “difficult, beautiful, spectacular” duke!  I, for one, cannot wait to get my hands on this book when it’s available May 10th.  And on Darlington. 

As for gender-bendy…Mr. Dare works in a profession where most of his coworkers are women, and he has a first name that can go either way, male or female … so we are always getting calls and letters from confused people.    How about you?

 

 

Jennifer McQuiston is in hiding.

Which wouldn’t be a problem, really, if she weren’t in hiding at the precise moment she is supposed to meet Lady Beaufetheringstone, who happily invited the debut darling of historical romance and author of the hilariously funny What Happens in Scotland to today’s ball.

Jennifer accepted the invitation with pleasure, but now appears to be having second thoughts.

“Jenni,” Sarah says, attempting to coax her from her spot, “you don’t have a choice. You have to talk to her.”

“Not if I stay here.”

Sabrina peeks her head around the potted fern that is so often her hiding place. “This won’t save you. At some point, she’s going to find you.”

“And she is your hostess,” Lauren adds, ever polite.

“Yes, she’s a bit…” Miranda begins.

“Nerve wracking? Intimidating? Terrifying?” Jennifer offers.

“Overwhelming,” Miranda says.

Tessa extends a little flask. “Nip? Ratafia helps.”

Jennifer accepts, taking more than a nip. When finished, she runs the back of her hand across her lips. ”One isn’t supposed to admit you are afraid of your hostess.”

“Well…no…” Sarah says.

“And yet, here I am, *this* close to casting up my accounts at the thought of meeting Lady B,” Jennifer drinks again. “Is she even real? I mean, isn’t she more of a figment of someone’s imagination?”

“Er…” Miranda says.

“It’s best not to ask questions like that,” Lauren adds.

“Does one curtsy to a figment? Offer to pen her a hero?”

“She likes men with nice calves.” Sarah says. “It will be useful for you to remember that.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jenni says, moving to drink again.

Tessa snatches the flask back before she can. “I think you’ve had enough of that.”

“Surely if Lady B is real she will see right through me.”

Brows snap together around the little space. “See right through you, how?” Lauren asks.

“I do not belong here among the more seasoned authors.”

“Ridiculous!” Sarah says.

But Jenni’s already around the bend. “No! It’s true! I am not worthy to step across the polished parquet floor that is the Ballroom Blog, much less reveal my ineptitude in an actual waltz.”

The authoresses blink. Jennifer McQuiston clearly has a flair for the dramatic.

But she’s still talking. “Which leaves me with only one option.”

“Which is?” Sabrina prompts.

“If she is real—and I am not saying she is—”

“She is.” Miranda says.

“Mostly,” Tessa adds.

“Then I must distract the old dragon.”

“Well, I’d make sure she never hears you refer to her like that,” Sarah offers.

“I have just the thing! James!”

“Very good choice,” Sabrina says.

“There, see!” Lauren adds, “I knew you’d come up with something.”

As far as distractions go, James MacKenzie is a delicious one. If you get him drunk enough, the Scot has been known to wake up in ladies’ beds wearing only his beard. James is the hero of Jennifer’s first book, What Happens in Scotland. Everyone says he can keep a lady well-occupied, even when deep in his cups, and if you are willing to indulge in a little fun, he’ll make it a night worth remembering.

“Oh, my…” Tessa says, taking in the tall Scotsman.

“Lady B won’t know what hit her.” Miranda adds, transfixed by the man.

“About the hitting…” Jennifer says, “The last lady he woke up with cracked him over the head with a chamber pot and disappeared with his money. MacKenzie’s been in a foul temper ever since, claiming he’s tracking down a thief, but secretly I think he’s out for revenge. Hopefully, Lady B can soothe his wounded pride?”

“I’ll soothe his wounded–” Sarah says.

“Sarah!” Lauren says.

Sarah has the grace to look sheepish. “What? Have you seen that man?”

Jennifer is still going. “James can keep Lady B busy so I can become better acquainted with everyone at the Ballroom Blog without her peering at me through her quizzing glass.”

“Genius. She’ll be too busy using the quizzing glass to peer at something else,” Tessa says.

“Someone else,” Lauren corrects.

“Mmm,” Tessa agrees. Sort of.

“I can promise you she won’t need a quizzing glass,” Jennifer says.

All the authoresses turn to the bearded man across the ballroom.

“Reeeaaaallly….”

–

Every romance reader has a secret love of Scotland. And Scotsmen. Share your favorite thing about those charming rogues to the north (or your favorite of the charming rogues to the north) for a chance to win a copy of Jennifer’s What Happens in Scotland! (US Only)

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>