I am on the downward slide of a deadline, so no real post this week! But check next Tuesday, when I’ll talk about a great exhibit I just saw of a selection of decorative arts from the V&A (including this gorgeous portrait of Madame de Pompadour)….
Wish me luck! I am now ducking back into my hole…
First, here’s the new cover for Dedication, coming from Loose-Id next month, and you’ll hear all about it as time goes on. There’s more information on my site. Isn’t it pretty!
My task of the day is coming up with a blurb for another book that will be out sometime … soon. It’s called The Malorie Phoenix and was originally written as an option ms. for Signet Regencies (remember them? Polyester dresses, no sex?). So on p. 7 the hero and heroine (who was, uh rather young, but the age of consent then was 12… No, of course she’s not 12! But she’s not 21 or 31, but inexplicably she’s a virgin) are at it. And I was going to send this to Signet? Thank goodness the line ended.
I can’t but help think of this in tabloid language which isn’t helping me with the blurb.
Earl’s Son Bonks Virgin at Vauxhall Gardens
“I didn’t ask to see ID,” says Benedict de Malorie, officer in some regiment or other. “I thought she was doing her bit for the Napoleonic war effort.”
Suspected Criminal Tangles with Aristocracy
Alleged pickpocket Jenny Smith, who refused to give her age, today accused the younger son of the Earl of T— of fathering her child. “And he was pretty incompetent in the sack,” Miss Smith reported as she emptied her pockets of three handkerchiefs, a fob seal, and a cravat pin. “Where the heck did these come from? I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
Vauxhall Gardens Shock Horror
… and so on.
So let’s take a look at a few tabloid interpretations of favorite books
Red Carpet Shocker at Meryton Assembly
Neither Fitzwilliam Darcy nor Elizabeth Bennet were available for comment following their encounter at the Meryton Assembly. Ms. Bennet, described by close friends as “in remarkably good shape following a night of dancing” has been seen working at her embroidery.
Willoughby Does It Again!
“I’ve no idea what her problem is,” John Willoughby said after accusations made publicly last night by Marianne Dashwood. “She obviously came out of rehab too soon.”
Just Friends
Pooh and Eeyore denied any romantic entanglement again today after they were seen sharing honey and thistles in an intimate thicket. “I think we should give them their privacy to work things out,” commented John Watson, long time companion of hottie Sherlock Holmes.
OK, now it’s your turn…
I’ve been reading the Letters of Harriet Countess Granville, daughter of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, who married Viscount (later Earl) Granville. She moved in the highest circles, lived an active social life in England and abroad, for her husband served as ambassador to France for intervals between 1824 and 1841. There are lots of interesting tidbits in her letters and I’ll probably talk more about them in future posts.
This week I’d like to talk about how often she wrote about the dangers of carriage travel.
At one point she writes to her sister:
“Let me warn you of Alconbury Hill, that is, of a horse there that will not back. Off we pelted from the middle of a hill with a curl at the bottom, and would not stop for ages. In short, Granville owns that we were run away with. I never met with such a dreadful danger before.”
In another letter she writes:
“As I was turning into Berkeley Square I met four soldiers carrying a litter covered with a sheet. I asked Samuel what it was. He said they were carrying a dead man home. I tried to avoid it, but the people got round me and I was obliged to stop whilst they passed quite close to me. I asked one of the crowd how it had
happened and he said he had been squeezed by a mob in Pall Mall. A sort of nervous horror made me scarcely able to get on, when I saw Granville Somerset galloping up to me. He said, ‘You must have seen Worcester’. ‘No.’ ‘You must, they were taking him this way.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘They say he has had a dreadful accident, and I am going to my mother.’ I leave you to imagine with what feelings I almost ran to Brook Street. Here I found the lobby full of soldiers and servants, the men standing by the litter, and the Duke of Beaufort above, leaning his arms and head on the banisters. To end my story, they found him on examination only stunned, and severely bruised, but not dangerously hurt. I staid whilst they shaved and probed the head. He had been bled on the spot eighteen ounces by a surgeon who fortunately passed at the time. My first account was incorrect. His horse took a fright, ran away and threw him out of his gig against a door-post.”
In historical romance, we authors sometimes use carriage accidents to kill people off, usually so someone can inherit something: a title, wealth, debts or other serious responsibilities. I’ll admit to killing off the hero’s parents in one book, in an accident going down Kirkstone Pass in the Lake District. My husband and I drove down that pass while on vacation. Later, when I read a historical account of an accident there, I wasn’t surprised. It must have been quite treacherous during the Regency and probably still is, in bad weather.
Other times we use carriage accidents in a more fun way, to force our characters into situations where they’re forced to get to know one another better. Georgette Heyer used the combination of a snowstorm, a curricle-and-pair and a donkey to strand the hero and heroine of Sylvester at a secluded country inn.
What I think is great about these plot devices is they are totally believable. Much as I love horses—I used to ride regularly—some can be a bit nuts, and even the gentlest horse can be spooked. I’ve only once been run away with. Though I managed to stay calm and in the saddle until the horse tired, but it brought home the dangers of the sport to me in a very real way.
To me, the occasional horse-related accident in romance feels realistic, far more so than scenarios in which the hero’s black stallion gallops for hours without rest or teams of horses transport characters from London to Cornwall in less than a day.
Here’s a great page I found at the Regency Collection on the dangers of carriage travel, which apparently ranged from floods and snow to escaped lionesses.
What do you think of horse-related accidents in romance? Do you find them realistic, or do you think they’re overused? Any favorites?
I’m excited. Our guest today is Harlequin Historical author and pal Deb Marlowe, talking about her March release, Tall, Dark and Disreputable. Deb, Amanda, and I have known each other for years, even before Deb and I had books out, but we became especially good friends after the 2003 Regency Tour to England. When Harlequin gave the three of us an anthology, The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor was born, complete with its spin-off books and short stories. (the last of the Welbourne Manor books, A Not So Respectable Gentleman? is mine, coming out in August, by the way)
Deb will be giving away one signed copy of Tall, Dark and Disreputable to one lucky commenter, chosen at random.
In Tall, Dark and Disreputable, Deb again brings her unique characters, a mystery to be solved, and rich historical detail to a great story, but don’t just take my word for it. Look at what the reviews say:
Marlowe pens another winner full of memorable characters, authentic historical details and lots of action, mystery and passion. Regency historical fans are in for a treat–RTBook Reviews.
A beautifully written tale of two people’s struggle for independence and freedom of choice, Tall, Dark and Disreputable turns into so much more–Cataromance
I didn’t want to put this book down. The pace is fast and the chemistry between Portia and Mateo sizzles off the page–Rakehell
In June I have a new release: Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick. It’s the tale of a reclusive nobleman and the woman he hires to help him organize and display his incredible weapons collection. It’s a rollicking story with such disparate elements as a mysterious Hindu spear, party planning, an obsession with men in boots and the very difficult feat of dropping the masks we hide behind in order to embrace love.
