On Being the Toast of London

You may have heard the phrases in stories set in the early nineteenth century--the toast of London, the belle of the ball, an Incomparable, a diamond of the first water.  What sort of young lady do those phrases describe?  Well, real-life examples vary, but here are some characteristics to consider:

• She is invited to all major social events and may indeed be the first person on the hostess’s guest list.
• Her drawing room is constantly filled with fawning gentlemen and giggling lady friends because how could they possibly pass the day without a moment of her company?
• She receives the coveted vouchers for Almack’s, London’s famous ladies’ club, without any manipulation or begging on her part.
• She garners more than one offer from an eligible bachelor for her hand in marriage within a short time frame.
• Her very name is synonymous with good taste, elegance, and sophistication.

Rather tall order to fill, isn't it?  Yet Priscilla Tate, the best friend of Lady Emily Southwell in Art and Artifice (formerly La Petite Four) masters each of these traits within the first month of arriving in London. She has to. You see, Priscilla must go big or go home.  Her family is punting on tick, about to end up in debtor’s prison, if she doesn't marry well.

But the toast of London is about to get burned.

Priscilla is well on her way to wringing a proposal out of the Season’s most eligible bachelor, the Duke of Rottenford, when blackmail notes start arriving, threatening to expose a dark secret unless she ceases her pursuit. It’s up to Emily and her dear friends Ariadne and Daphne Courdebas to help her uncover the mastermind before disaster strikes. But more than one secret is waiting to be revealed, not the least of which is Priscilla’s growing attraction for a most unlikely ally, Nathan Kent, the duke’s personal secretary. But will Nathan, no, no, the duke, understand if her secret comes out?

Here’s an excerpt:

Nathan Kent set his top hat on his head and descended the steps of the town house with an unwelcome feeling of defeat. He glanced back with a frown. Lady Emily, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Emerson, seemed such a levelheaded young woman. He had been quite impressed by the way she’d regained her composure after the contretemps at her debut ball a week ago. Between her personality and her place in Society, Lady Emily would have made an exceptional liaison for His Grace the Duke of Rottenford. A shame her interests obviously lay elsewhere.

He allowed himself a sigh. He was running out of suitable matches, which meant Miss Priscilla Tate was going to be a problem. Oh, there was no doubt she had the presence to make an excellent duchess. And no man alive could complain of her looks.

He supposed if he searched in Belgium or Flanders he might find a woman whose hair was as golden or possessed of such luster and vitality that it begged to be touched. It was possible some Irish lass might have eyes a more vibrant shade of green and capable of exuding the warmth that beckoned a man like a fire on a cold winter night. The women who had modeled for the classic Greek sculptors could have had figures that rivaled the one Miss Tate showed to advantage in her stylish gowns.

But somehow he doubted any other woman in England combined those traits with such cunning and will as he had seen in her. She had thrown her considerable armament against the wall of His Grace’s bachelorhood, determined to capture the duke’s affections. Nathan could not allow her to succeed.

He turned to the front again, his duty stiffening his spine, and found the very woman he’d been contemplating standing in his way. Nathan blinked.

Miss Tate blinked.

For a moment, he almost thought he was mistaken in her identity. Stripped away were the polished airs, the coy smiles. The color in her cheeks came from high emotion or exertion, not rouge. The downturn of those rosy lips spoke of dismay.

He put his hand to her elbow before he thought better of it. “Miss Tate. Is everything all right?”

He watched as the woman withdrew behind the mask. Her gaze brightened, her lips lifted, her lashes fluttered.

“Why, Mr. Kent, how nice to see you.” She glanced pointedly around him as if he could have hidden his tall employer behind him. “Is His Grace with you?”

“Alas, no,” Nathan replied, trying to recapture her gaze even as he dropped his hold of her. “Uneasy lies the head that wears that coronet.”

Her smile was no more than polite. “Of course. I admire a man who takes his duty seriously.”

Did she? Somehow, he doubted she would admire him for doing his duty, especially when that duty meant keeping His Grace away from fortune hunters like her.

He tipped his hat. “Then you will not mind if I return to mine. Good-day, Miss Tate.”

She inclined her head. Had he been the duke, she would have dipped a curtsey with effortless grace and humility. As a mere personal secretary, he had not warrant such a response. Indeed, she turned from him so quickly it seemed he did not even warrant her attention. Given the tasks he needed to complete before returning to His Grace, Priscilla Tate did not warrant Nathan’s attention either.

But as he reached the street, he could not help glancing back one last time. She had reached the door to the town house and lifted her hand to the brass knocker. Her back was straight, her head high. The pink satin pelisse was a mastery designed to outline her curves. She was the epitome of a fine London lady.

Yet the hand that reached for the knocker was trembling.

What had happened to so discompose the redoubtable Miss Tate? And why, when he was certain she was a clever fraud, did he feel compelled to help her?

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Introducing the Duke of Harksbury

Today we are joined by Miss Priscilla Tate, the most fashionable member of La Petite Four, who is interviewing a very special guest. Miss Tate, I shall leave things in your capable hands.

PT: Thank you. I am thrilled to be given this prestigious honor of interviewing Alexander Thornton-Hawke, Duke of Harksbury. Welcome to Nineteen Teen, Your Grace! I must say you are the most presentable gentleman we’ve had to visit. Lady Emily reminded me that you are the only gentleman who has visited, but that is beside the point. I have researched the aristocracy quite extensively, and I can safely say that no one has your unique set of credentials.

How exactly did you manage to be so handsome er so young and still be a duke?

ATH: I must thank you for your kindness, for not all are awed by my title. Miss Rebecca, an American visitor at Harksbury, was rather unmoved by my credentials. She seems to think inheriting a title is unimpressive. I have to confess I was flummoxed by her reaction.

PT: I should think so! Imagine not being impressed by your muscles, er title. And you have quite an estate too. Please tell us about Harksbury and what you love most it.

ATH: Harksbury is a grand estate of 12,000 acres. Much if it is rolling meadows, but there is also quite a bit of forested land ripe for hunting, a favorite pastime of mine.

The home itself is made of exquisite stonework, though much of the eastern wing is covered in ivy. It is nestled on a hill and centered around a large courtyard. My mother enjoys roses, and the courts are positively brimming with them. If you asked her, she would say her favorite part is the large ballroom, for she is constantly finding occasions to host a dance or ball. As for me, I prefer the grounds rather than the home, and I intend to ride every acre of the estate before I turn twenty.

PT: And where do you get those stunningly handsome jackets of yours made?

ATH: I employ a very talented tailor, of course. He is in high demand but worth his exorbitant prices.

PT: I am rather impressed with how seriously you take your duties. What do you think a duke’s most important duty might be?

ATH: I must take my duties seriously, for it is my responsibility to see that Harksbury prospers. It is vital that I make the correct investments and choices. I am the seventh Duke of Harksbury, and I must ensure that there will be a eighth and ninth.

PT: Your dear cousin, I believe, was recently threatened with an arranged marriage. Do you have an idea of the young lady you would see as your duchess? And is she by any chance blond?

ATH: Oh, I am far too busy to think of such matters, though my mother would like to disagree. Perhaps in another few years I’ll enter the marriage mart. For now, I indulge her whims by dancing with an eligible lady or two, but I do not intend to settle just yet.

PT: [Grumbling is heard in the background, something to the effect of the good ones being unwilling to commit.] Ahem, well, I understand you are considered an expert horseman. What is your favorite mount and why?

ATH: I have a new and spirited thoroughbred stallion named Ghost. He is a challenge, but faster than any other horse at Harksbury. I’ll be taking him on his first hunt soon.

PT: Now, I must know, when Rebecca returned to Harksbury for the first time in years, what did you think?

ATH: She seemed quite out of place! Her English accent had disappeared. I’ve not had the chance to meet many Americans, but I have to wonder if the rest are like her. She’s quite outspoken. Is that the way of Americans? I must confess that the two of us did not get along well in the beginning.

PT: No, no, no. What did you think of her shoes? I understand they were amazing!

ATH: She does have odd taste in shoes, does she not? I’d never seen anything like them.

PT: Neither had I! Ah, well, our time has gone all too quickly. Thank you so much for this interview. If you, dear reader, would like to know more about our delightful duke and the shoes that brought a certain young lady to his attention, please look for him in Mandy Hubbard’s Prada and Prejudice, out this week from Penguin Razorbill!

Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present . . . Persephone Leland

Marissa and I are very pleased to welcome two guest bloggers today, kicking off our week of celebration for the release of Marissa’s Bewitching Season. Ladies?

Priscilla: Perhaps we should start by introducing ourselves to our many fascinated readers. I’m Miss Priscilla Tate, best friend to Lady Emily Southwell, the daughter of the Duke of Emerson, and related to all the finest families in England. Our adventures are chronicled in the book La Petite Four. And you are?

Persephone: My goodness, if you're related to the finest families in England we must be cousins, then. I’m the Honourable Persephone Augusta Caroline Leland. My papa’s Viscount Atherston, and my maternal grandfather is the Duke of Revesby--Mama is his eldest daughter. We live at Mage’s Tutterow, in Hampshire, and I do believe you can learn more about us in Bewitching Season.

Priscilla: And speaking of Seasons, here we are on our first. What did you wear to your debut?

Persephone: Our presentation dresses were white silk…oh, pardon me. When I say ‘our’ I mean my twin sister, Penelope, and me. Mama chose many of our dresses the same but with differing trims so that we wouldn’t be completely alike. They were our first silk dresses...don’t you love the way silk rustles over petticoats?

Priscilla: Absolutely! But a twin sister? What fun! Do tell us what it’s like to have a twin.

Persephone: Only if you can tell me what it’s like not to have one! It must be rather lonely for the rest of you, not to have your best friend near you all the time…and Pen is my best friend, even though we’re often very different. And yes, twins can be completely different…we might have the same hair and eyes and nose and everything, but we’re not the same underneath. Our little brother Chuckles--um, I mean Charles--can always tell us apart, even when we intentionally try to fool him.

Priscilla: What’s your favorite part of the Season?

Persephone: Oh dear…you won’t laugh if I say ‘the end’, will you? I would so much rather stay at home and read and study. Besides, I…well, I don’t much care for all the strangers because I just can’t seem to chat and be sociable, the way my sister can. And besides, they’re dull as ditch water after the tenth or eleventh ball. The one time I tried slipping a book in my reticule before we left for a reception then sneaking into the hostess’s boudoir for the rest of the evening so I could read earned me two scoldings--one from Lady T., whom I surprised in the middle of a rather intimate moment with a gentleman that I’m not entirely sure was Lord T. (he hid his face rather quickly), and one later on from Mama.

But I must admit that I did love the clothes…the dresses and the gloves and slippers and shawls and everything. How can any girl not?

Priscilla: What do you think is the most important thing a young lady should remember on her first Season?

Persephone: There are several things, actually:
a. She should learn how to yawn without opening her mouth.
b. She should practice smiling for months before the Season starts. Do you know how tiring it can be to smile non-stop for two months? My cheeks began to positively cramp after the first few parties.
c. She should be careful about drinking too much brandy punch at the Gilley’s house…or anywhere, for that matter.

Priscilla: Most of us are burdened with practicing the usual pastimes--embroidery, watercolors, singing. You chose something rather unusual--magic. Why?

Persephone: We didn’t choose magic--it chose us. Magic runs in our Papa’s family, but chiefly in the females…and my sister and I were the first Leland daughters in the direct line born since King Henry VIII’s time. We were astoundingly lucky that the governess Mama hired for us, Miss Allardyce, just happened to be a witch as well, though from what I’ve recently learned it may not have been such a coincidence.

And we didn’t just learn magic. Our dear Ally is a very accomplished woman--her father is a bookseller and scholar--so we were taught Latin as well as history and arithmetic and orthography and dancing and drawing. I just wish we could have learned Greek as well. I hope to study it someday. My sister says she wishes we could have been taught to fence, if only to help keep our brother in line.

Priscilla: And I hear you cast love spells. Have you had much success? How would I, er, our readers go about that?

Persephone: My dear Miss Tate, please don’t ask! I didn’t intend to cast that love spell--really I didn’t. But I’d just gotten back from our first party and had consumed rather more of the Gilley’s punch than I should have (Freddy just kept refilling my cup) and I felt so dreadful because I thought Lochinvar Seton was starting to like my sister Pen…not that I’d blame him, because she’s so lively and fun and not at all shy…but I know she wouldn’t care for him in that way, whereas I…well, you know what I mean. And then I found that spell in Ally’s room, and I thought, “Well, why not?” I didn’t understand the “why not” till later: do you want the man of your dreams to love you because he was enchanted into it, or because he really does love you more than anything else in the depths of his soul? Do you see the difference?

Priscilla: Oh, yes! How romantic! And I understand you’re a close personal friend of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. How did that come about?

Persephone: Gracious, I wouldn’t presume that far! But I hope Her Majesty knows how much Pen and I like her as well as revere her. Did you know we all have the same birthday? That’s part of why Pen and I were so fascinated by her, growing up, and were quite excited whenever there was mention of her in the illustrated magazines. And as for how we became friends…it’s not something that I can discuss in public…you see, we all swore mutual silence after the horrifying events and narrowly-averted disaster at Her Majesty’s coming-of-age ball…but Pen and I are thrilled and proud that we were able to be of service to her. I’m sorry to be such a tease, but really, I can’t break my oath.

Priscilla: Well, I for one want to know more! We’ll have to have a little chat another time. And if you all want to know what really happened at Victoria’s birthday ball, how Persy’s love spell ended up, and the other exciting event of the London Season of 1837, you’ll simply have to find a copy of Bewitching Season, available now in bookstores nationwide!

Thank you , my dears! And I quite agree with Priscilla! If you’d like an autographed copy of Bewitching Season, be sure to leave us a comment! Everyone who comments this week will be entered into a drawing for a free copy of Marissa’s delightful debut novel. And she didn’t even wear white silk to write it!