Fashions in Re-Covering

I don’t know about you, but I love Marissa’s fashion posts. It’s fun to see how things changed over the course of the nineteenth century. But clothing isn’t the only thing that changes with time. What’s popular in book covers also changes over the years. That’s one of the reasons I decided to update the covers on my Lady Emily Capers. So, join me on a walk down memory lane. 😊

Secrets and Sensibilities was originally published by Kensington as a traditional Regency romance. I’ve edited and rewritten parts since. Here was the first cover (and title--A Dangerous Dalliance).

Art and Artifice began life as La Petite Four (actually, it began life as Diary of a Duke’s Daughter, but my publisher Penguin Razor Bill didn’t care for that title). I heavily rewrote it after the rights were reverted. Here was the first cover (before the addition of a necklace on the young lady):

When I finished the series on my own, I had silhouette covers created for all five books. To me, they caught the campy fun of the stories and hinted of both mystery and romance. But it was terribly hard to find full silhouettes of ladies in Regency garb, so the looks vary from Georgian to Victorian and even beyond. And they didn’t really shout “If you’re a teen, you might enjoy these too!”

 So, I give you the new and improved covers for the Lady Emily Capers:

Secrets and Sensibilities was challenging for me, because, as I’ve mentioned, the character of Hannah Alexander was based on a dear friend who has since passed away. This model has Nancy’s sleek chocolate-colored hair, pale complexion, and big brown eyes.

Almost as challenging was finding the right Lady Emily for Art and Artifice. Emily describes her nose as pointy and her hair as occasionally frizzy. Difficult to find frizzy-haired models. 😊 But I liked the nose on this young lady.

Priscilla Tate in Ballrooms and Blackmail was easier—just look for the most gorgeous blonde I could find. I think she’d approve of the girly colors as well. (Much more so than Emily, who had apoplexy about her original pink cover.)

Ariadne Courdebas in Eloquence and Espionage took a bit of work. She is the plumpest of the young ladies, and the most well-read. I liked the intelligence in this young lady’s face as well as the smoky background my cover artist used.

Ah, her sister Daphne! How to portray our Amazon in Love and Larceny? This model had a nice “girl next door” look that worked for the most athletic of the group.

So, what do you think? Did my cover artist, the talented Kim Killion, capture the characters the way you imagined them?

Hobnobbing with the Nobs

Ever read a scene where a character wonders which glass to drink from or how to introduce one friend to another? In the early nineteenth century, members of the aristocracy didn’t have to wonder. They had been trained in the art of proper social etiquette since they were born, were surrounded by people who practiced it with some level of success. But the middle classes grew as the century wore on, and more and more people began trying to be seen as polished ladies and gentlemen. Where there is need, there is a booming business for instructions, and instructors.

My heroine, Charlotte Worthington, in Never Kneel to a Knight is one such instructor. Her job is to make sure her charges show to advantage among the aristocracy with whom they are attempting to hobnob. Other mushrooms (as those who suddenly come into wealth were called) turned to books. Etiquette books provided a knowable set of rules that promised to elevate you in the eyes of those around you. “Never dance with a gentleman to whom you have not been introduced.” “Moderate your tone when speaking—neither mumble nor shriek.”

Unfortunately, some of the advice was so specific or so vague as to be useless. I had Lord Snedley’s Guide prove such a diversion in my Lady Emily Capers. This fictious lord advised things like the following:

“On her first introduction to a gentleman, a young lady would do well to keep her eyes on his chin, unless of course he should have a pock or wart there. Raising her eyes to his will make her appear forward and staring at his feet will make the fellow uncomfortable. I also advise against staring at birthmarks or protrusions of any sort.”

“It is the darkest sin imaginable to make your hostess odd numbers at table, especially on a Tuesday.”

“Always treat a guest in your home with the greatest civility, unless of course you catch the fellow slipping silver up his sleeve or ogling the picture of your great-aunt Bess. Then, by all means, throw him out on his ear.”

“The truly fashionable are never found at home unless suffering from bilious gout or the need to hide from creditors.”

You can find more sayings of Lord Snedley here.

And may I practice polite etiquette by alerting you to two upcoming delights? Next Monday, March 25, I will be guest-blogging at Number 1 London.  As you may know, that address was the home of the Duke of Wellington. Online, it’s the home of fabulous historian and travel maven, Kristine Hughes Patrone, and I am honored to be her guest, talking about boxing during the Regency period. Try not to get lost in the gorgeous pictures she posts of England!

And be sure to come back on Tuesday, when we have a special guest blogger of our own. “Debut” author Charlotte Henry, also known as the Incomparable Shelley Adina, will be here next week to introduce her new book and share some exciting tidbits about researching her location in Cornwall.

In the Holiday Spirit, Already?

You’ve probably seen it—decorations popping up in shopping centers, festive music playing inside, advertisements of everything you and your loved ones ever wanted online and on television. The holiday season comes sooner and sooner each year, it seems. But while every family has its own traditions, there’s a few that rarely, if ever, were celebrated in early nineteenth century England.

 

One of those is the poinsettia. The gorgeous red flowers are popular gifts and decorations where I live, with owners waiting eagerly for that first bloom to appear. There are even white and pink versions. But the what we now call the poinsettia (after Joel Robert Poinsett, first US ambassador to Mexico) originated in south of the border and did not reach America until 1825. I have not found evidence of its arrival in England until after that date.

Mistletoe is, sadly, almost as rare. It only grows in certain parts of England. So, unless you lived in in the south of England or west in the midlands, you might not have mistletoe either. Holly and ivy were more likely Christmas decorations.

Which is why I asked for them on the cover of my latest re-release, An Uncommon Christmas, which is currently available for preorder and launches next week. Previously published as “A Place by the Fire” in Mistletoe Kittens, and as a standalone novella The Mistletoe Kitten, the book has connections to both the Uncommon Courtships series and the Lady Emily Capers. It explains how the older brother of Jareth Darby (The Unwilling Miss Watkin) and the best friend of Hannah Alexander (Secrets and Sensibilities) came to fall in love, for the second time.

Eleanor Pritchett has convinced herself that love is not for her. She’d dared to love once, a man superior to her in birth, education, and position. His family warned her away. But when his orphaned niece begs her to carry a kitten to him for Christmas, Norrie cannot refuse.

Justinian, Earl of Darby, always wondered what happened to his first love, whom his father claimed was a fortune hunter. Now she returns, bearing a kitten. Can that tiny creature, and the wonder of Christmas, prove that true love never fades, and hearts once closed can be opened anew?

I hope it puts you in the holiday spirit, whenever you read it.

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Free This Weekend!

Looking for something to read this weekend? Secrets and Sensibilities, the first book in my Lady Emily Capers, is free through April 9 at all major platforms in the U.S., UK, Canada, India, and Australia. Already have your copy? I’d be honored if you’d suggest it to a friend.

Interested in hearing about more free, discounted, or newly released e-books? Here’s a few e-mail resources that just might be your cup of tea:

E-Reader News Today--25 categories, heavy on fiction, including young adult, women’s fiction, historical fiction, and historical romance.

Author Lauren Royal’s newsletter, with tidbits about her writing as well as free and 99-cent historical romance books, with an emphasis on Regency romances. 

BookBub--39 categories, fiction and non-fiction, including teen and young adult, middle grade, American historical romance, historical fiction, historical mysteries, historical romance, history, time travel romance, and women’s fiction.

Buy a Historical--the latest historical romances, across heat levels and time periods, but not necessarily free.

Happy reading!

Love and Larceny Launches!

I’m delighted to announce that Love and Larceny, Book 5 in the Lady Emily Capers, is now out as an e-book. This story follows Daphne Courdebas, the last of our intrepid friends, alas, to find a beau.

But even an Amazon can fall hard.

Daphne Courdebas is known for her daring. So when her former teacher now countess Lady Brentfield asks her, her sister Ariadne, and their friends Lady Emily Southwell and Priscilla Tate to return to Brentfield Manor to investigate things that go bump in the night, Daphne is ready. But once again, things are not as they seem at Brentfield, especially when it comes to Daphne’s new friend, Wynn Fairfax. Wynn is determined to prove himself to the lovely Amazon. What’s a lady known for saving the day to do when she finds her own heart in jeopardy?

Here’s a snippet:

Daphne climbed into the secret passage beside Wynn. “Which way tonight?”

He seemed surprised to see her, which was silly given the fact that he had come to find her. Who else did he think would answer his knock?

“Daphne,” he said, tone somber, “I didn’t come to explore. I have something I must say to you.”

“Can you say it while we walk?” she asked, pushing past him. “I have a terrible urge to move.” She lifted her skirts to clamber up the steps to the main passage.

Immediately, the darkness closed around her, and she realized Wynn and his candle had remained behind. Glancing back at the glow below, she called, “Wynn? Is something wrong?”

“No.” She could hear the sigh in his voice. The space brightened as he climbed up to join her.

“I can refuse you nothing,” he said, and for once he didn’t sound all that pleased about the matter.

“That’s because you’re a good friend,” she assured him, reaching out to take the candle from his grip. “Perhaps we should remain here in the west wing, as that is where Emily is concentrating her efforts.”

“Indeed,” he said, still with that defeated tone. “Lead the way. You can count on me to follow. That seems to be my role.”

Daphne frowned at him, then held out the candle. “Do you want to go first? You can have the light.”

“No,” he said. “I need to find the light inside me.”

Daphne shook her head. “You’re in an odd humor tonight. Perhaps we’ve stayed up too late. I’ll try to get you back by a reasonable hour.”

“I’m no invalid,” he snapped.

“Well, certainly not.” She turned and raised the candle high so they could both see their way. “But everyone needs a good night sleep now and then. You can’t expect to be at your best if your brain is muddled.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with my brain either,” he said behind her. “What I seem to lack is conviction.”

“About what?” she asked, remembering to lower her voice. They were passing over her mother’s room, and she doubted she could be convincing as a dream two nights in a row. Then she felt Wynn’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her to a stop.

“The only place I lack conviction is about you, Daphne.”

Balancing carefully, she turned to face him. “About me?”

In the candlelight, she could see that his dark brows were down, those sea-green eyes intent on her face. Indeed, every part of him seemed tense, as if he were about to jump a fence or shoot a bow.

“Daphne,” he said, “there is so much I want to tell you, but I know how difficult it can be for you to stand still and listen. Perhaps it’s better if I show you.”

He pulled her close and kissed her.

Once again her world exploded, and she found herself trembling with the sheer wonder of it. The sweet pressure of his lips, his arm stealing about her waist, made her head spin in the most delightful way. Was this how all young ladies felt when they were in love?

Wait. She wasn’t in love. This was Wynn.

She broke from his embrace and shoved him away from her. “What are you doing?!”

He teetered on the beam, off balance and leaning hard on his bad leg. As she watched, horror dawning, he toppled to one side and crashed through the plaster to disappear into the darkness below.

When the daring Daphne first appeared in A Dangerous Dalliance, the original version of Secrets and Sensibilities, I knew I wanted to tell her story someday. It’s taken years (a lot of years!) to finally have the opportunity. I hope you’ll agree her story was worth waiting for.

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Free! Oh, and a Preorder Too

Yes, it’s true. I have joined the ranks of authors offering entire e-book novels for free. For a limited time, in preparation for the fifth book on my Lady Emily Capers, Love and Larceny, coming out in May, I’ve made book one, Secrets and Sensibilities, free.

When art instructor Hannah Alexander agrees to accompany four of her students on a country house visit before Easter, she never dreams of entering into a dalliance with the owner David Tenant, the handsome new Earl of Brentfield. But one moment in his company and she’s in danger of losing her heart. There are secrets aplenty at Brentfield, enough to challenge any lady’s sensibilities, even those of Hannah’s protégé, Lady Emily Southwell. As events unfold at Brentfield, Hannah quickly learns that loving David comes at a price, to her future plans of being a portrait painter, to her position as a teacher, and to her very life.

You can find a free copy at the following retailers through April 29:

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But wait, there’s more! J

I’m pleased to announce that “An Engagement of Convenience,” in the Timeless Regency anthology Summer House Party is available for preorder. The book, which also features stories by acclaimed Regency authors Donna Hatch and Sarah M. Eden, will release on June 7.

Pretty chaperone Kitty Chapworth has foiled five elopements, four proposals of ill intent, and the worst first kiss in history, so she isn't about to believe a gentleman's silken promises. That is, until charming rake Quentin Adair returns to her life. Ten years ago, Kitty was instrumental in causing the poor fellow to be exiled to Jamaica in a tragic case of love gone wrong. When he requests her help to prevent his father's ruin, she cannot refuse, even when helping requires her to pretend she is engaged to the handsome rogue at a summer house party.

Quentin has spent the last ten years becoming the man his father always hoped. Now he will not allow an old enemy to harm his family. Kitty is the perfect conspirator--sharp, witty, fearless. But as danger threatens, Quentin finds that his priorities have changed. Can a reformed rake convince the perfect chaperone to overlook propriety for love?

Preorder now. 

Goodness, after confessing all that, I feel so free!

Revising a Favorite Book for a Favorite Person

Good authors are known for polishing and polishing their writing before ushering it into the world. But times change, and careers advance, and sometimes a book gets left behind. Such was the case with Secrets and Sensibilities, the first book in my Regency romance mystery series, the Lady Emily Capers. So I rewrote it. Why?

Well, you see, S&S has a special place in my heart. It is actually the third Regency romance I ever had published. Originally titled A Dangerous Dalliance, it hit the shelves in the spring of 1999 through Kensington’s Regency line. Back then, I had a tendency to write my friends into stories, and my heroine Hannah Alexander was no exception. Hannah is based on one of my dearest friends. Her name was Nancy Robak. We met in high school, both transplants to the Tacoma area, and bonded instantly over a shared infatuation with the actor Roddy McDowall. Like Hannah, Nancy was an artist, only she preferred the expression of anime-style charcoal drawings before anime was truly “cool.” Her creativity inspired me, and she honored me with her friendship.

Unlike Hannah, Nancy didn’t get a happy ending. She never met her David (who was based on Brent Spiner, the talented actor who played Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation, another shared infatuation, as was Hugh Jackman). She saw only minimal return on her talent. She contracted lung cancer, though she had never smoked, and passed away many years ago now. But a day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of her. 

I originally wrote S&S with sections from the point of view of the villain. I thought that upped the stakes by making the reader aware of things the hero and heroine didn’t know.  But that pattern doesn’t match what I did with the other Lady Emily stories, and I felt as if the villain was actually upstaging Hannah and David’s story. So I cut out those pieces, found other ways to incorporate the necessary information, and added depth here and there. The result is a tighter love story, and a slightly more entertaining mystery.

I think Nancy would be pleased. She loved happy endings.

To celebrate the rebirth of Secrets and Sensibilities, I’ve dropped the price to 99 cents through October 24. Enjoy!

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Waxing Eloquent about Eloquence and Espionage

Sometimes, your heroine takes over the book.

When I first started writing the Lady Emily Capers (and didn’t realize that’s what I was doing), I made Ariadne Courdebas the girl who perpetually has her nose in a book and her hand on the dessert. The first book in the series, now titled Secrets and Sensibilities, was published before I had read any of the Harry Potter series, but I certainly recognized Hermione Granger as a kindred spirit. So with Ariadne’s love for all things literary, it wasn’t surprising that her character had a great deal to say in, Eloquence and Espionage, which launched on June 22. Take the moment she met the man of her dreams:

Ariadne would always remember the moment her life changed. She’d been with her dear friend, Priscilla Tate, whose betrothal to the Duke of Rottenford was to be announced that very night. Such a momentous occasion would have been cause for celebration, but for two things: Priscilla had decided she loved someone else, no less than the duke’s personal secretary, and someone had been blackmailing her with vague threats of dire consequences. Quite clichéd, actually. Ariadne would have added more specifics: demands for her family jewels, perhaps an order to walk naked past St. George’s Hanover Square on Sunday morning. Still, even with unimaginative threats, it had taken the combined forces of Ariadne’s older sister Daphne, Priscilla, and their acknowledged leader Lady Emily Southwell to uncover the culprits and bring them to justice.

But that night, while trying to outwit their nemeses, Ariadne had noticed a gentleman following her and Priscilla. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and he carried himself like a celebrated thespian, full of brash confidence and bravado. He’d been dressed like a Roman centurion, hair black as midnight streaming down to his shoulders and face hidden by a dark leather mask. And Ariadne had offered to distract him so Priscilla could make her escape and save the day.

He’d been standing at the top of the stairs where a balcony braced His Grace’s massive ballroom. Ariadne had approached cautiously, trying to conceive of the appropriate opening gambit in this sort of situation. Priscilla was the one gifted with the ability to sway a gentleman’s thoughts. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she had long curly hair of a lustrous gold, green eyes bright as emeralds, and considerable curves that she dressed to accentuate.

Ariadne was not so blessed. Her straight hair was merely light brown, and she generally wore it in a bun at the top of her head with a few contrived curls framing her round face. That night, she’d worn it undressed and flowing down her back, in keeping with the white diaphanous silk robes and laurel wreath that made up her costume of Athena, goddess of wisdom. Her eyes were an ordinary blue that was not dark enough to be termed sapphire or bright enough to be called cornflower. And her figure, to her ongoing consternation, tended to look more plump than perfect.

Had she been cast in one of Mr. Sheridan’s wonderful plays, she would likely have been the understudy to a minor character. So she thought it particularly bold of her to sashay up to the powerfully built centurion and say, “Have you no legions to lead that you must chase after us, sir?”

He was surveying the ballroom, bare arms crossed over his bronze breastplate, scarlet cloak draping his back, quite as if he had not noticed her approaching. Now his gaze swung to meet hers. The mask shadowed his eyes, but she thought they were dark, brooding.

Quite suitable, actually.

“And how could a gentleman fail to follow where beauty leads?” he countered with a practiced drawl. The perfection of it sent gooseflesh up inside her long white evening gloves.

“Yes, my friend is particularly lovely,” she acknowledged with a smile. “I would offer to introduce you, but she is promised to another, I fear.”

He straightened, raising his head above hers and making her feel surprisingly petite. “Why would you think I meant your friend?”

His Grace’s elegant ballroom was terribly warm from all the bodies crushed inside it, but she didn’t think its coziness was making her face feel as if she were on fire. For a moment, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. That was generally the case with her and boys. She remained tongue-tied; they tended too often to speak of unimportant matters such as horses and carriages and hunting.

As if he knew how his words had affected her, he leaned closer, raising his hand to touch her cheek below her mask with tender fingers, and she found herself trembling.

“You do not give yourself enough credit, my dear,” he murmured, and her breath hitched in her chest. “I imagine entire legions would march to the ends of the earth at one word from those pearly lips.”

Her nerves evaporated. Ariadne sighed. “Oh, and you were doing so well. My lips are not pearly, sir. No woman would appreciate that compliment. Who wants to think of her lips as white and round?”

His fingers touched her lips, soft as a feather, then withdrew. “I meant because they are delectably plump.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Plump? I cannot think why I would approve of that adjective being applied to any part of my person.”

He straightened. “So you are proof against seduction.” She thought he sounded disappointed.

“I am proof against poor imagery,” she replied. “Syntax too. And don’t get me started on misplaced modifiers.”

Ariadne may be proof against poor imagery, but will she truly prove immune to the charm of her centurion? Find out in Eloquence and Espionage, on sale now from

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And be advised, Marissa and I intend to spend next week being less than eloquent, as in we will be off celebrating with our families. Look for the next post on July 7.

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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Stories That Won't Let Us Go

It seems an odd thing to say, but some stories simply won't let go of an author, even after those books have been published.  Authors are some of the only people who are generally not deemed mad for listening to the voices in their heads.  Books haunt us, calling, beckoning, until we give in and dive in.  It's the same for passionate readers.  And then we're never sure how the book, and our very selves, will turn out in the end.

Such was the case for my 2008 young adult novel, La Petite Four.  I know some of you were first introduced to my writing through that book, and I've received a number of lovely e-mails from readers about it.  But the thing was, I was never entirely satisfied with it.  No, that's not quite true.  I was glad to see it published.  Lady Emily wasn't entirely satisfied with it.

Lady Emily, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Emerson and the heroine of La Petite Four, remains the loudest character I have ever written, even after finishing more than 25 manuscripts for publication.  It isn't that she runs about shouting.  She tends to have a great deal more class than that.  But she speaks in my mind so clearly that I could swear she was standing right next to me.

Here's the first thing she ever said to me:  "I despise pink.  It neither makes the bold statement of red nor whispers the purity of white, yet I am convinced that I would make my father the happiest of all men should I dress in nothing but that color.  Pink, he thinks, is singularly feminine.  It is simply not me."

Opinionated much?

She wasn't content to recite narrative or dialogue.  During the process of completing La Petite Four, she argued quite strenuously with me over certain parts of the story my editors felt were very important.  For instance, the editors wanted a more exciting first chapter.  Sounds reasonable enough; good advice, actually.  I was on my third revision, struggling, fighting with Lady Emily every step of the way, when she said, purely out of spite, I might add, "I want to run away."  So, in the version of La Petite Four that saw publication, I had Lady Emily run away from her boarding school to reach her father before her betrothed so she can change the duke's mind about her having to marry.

Lady Emily was not amused.

When the rights to the story were returned to me, I decided to revise the story to her liking and reissue it along with its prequel, the former A Dangerous Dalliance and now Secrets and Sensibilities, where Lady Emily first learns her sleuthing skills.  Here was her chance, her opportunity to tell her story, her way.  Did she cooperate?

"I am tired of being rewritten," she complained, pointed nose in the air.

I promised her this was the last time.  And so, in hopes of finally doing Lady Emily's story justice, this week I published the ebook, Art and Artifice, a retelling of La Petite Four that I am happy to say Lady Emily endorses heartily.  Perhaps that's because this time I let Bow Street Runner Jamie Cropper say a few words as well.  He's a gentleman, for all he's been raised in poverty.  He wasn't nearly so strident about how he was portrayed, but then, he likes to have a little fun.

Have I finally silenced Lady Emily?  No.  Now she won't let me be until I finish the sequel, Ballrooms and Bribery.  That will have to wait until next spring. 

This time I get to listen to my own voice for a change.   

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