A Contrast in Venuses

I enjoyed the comments when I posted the Goya Maja paintings here. I've drawn from elements of both these Titian portrayals of Venus in my current work in progress.  Which do you prefer, and why?

Venus and Cupid with an Organist

Venus of Urbino

Mini-Excerpt from Confessions From An Arranged Marriage

This brief snippet has already appeared on my Facebook page. It's a glimpse of the first meeting between Minerva and Blake in the book. (They already know each other quite well, to their mutual disgust.)

 ***

A gentleman staggered through the double doors and skidded on the polished parquetry floor. At a distance of twenty feet, Minerva saw the newcomer preserve his balance by grabbing the shoulders of a large-bosomed, open-mouthed matron. Swinging her aside, his backward slide was arrested by the wall. Without a hint of embarrassment he slouched against a pilaster and scowled at the assembly.

He was as gorgeous as ever. A lock of dark blond hair with glints of gold flopped over a noble brow. No nose had ever been more perfectly carved, no jaw as firmly etched. The shapely mouth was full, sensuous and sulky, matching the expression in his dusky blue eyes.

He’d always been a handsome devil but the sight of him filled Minerva with disgust.

Lord Blakeney had arrived.

Surveying the room, his glance came to rest on her. His lips twisted into a derisive half smile and their eyes met in mutual displeasure. He shoved his back away from the wall and ambled over to her

“Our dance, I believe, Miss Montrose.” He hadn’t changed a bit.

Minerva felt a strong desire to slap his arrogant face. “Lord Blakeney,” she said with the merest hint of a curtsey. “I believe our dance was over half an hour ago.”

“This one will do just as well.”

 ***

Confessions from an Arranged Marriage releases March 27, 2012.  I will post a longer excerpt in about a month.

A "Bold Piece"

The book I'm writing now involves a lot of research into the art of the period, something I enjoy very much. I thought I'd share this pair of Goya portraits from the Prado Museum: The Naked Maja (c. 1797-1800) and The Clothed Maja (ca. 1803). The model may have been the Duchess of Alba, rumored to be the artist's lover. She certainly looks like a very sexy woman.  By the way, I love the lace-trimmed pillows, but doesn't the nude appear to be occupying a Lazy-Boy recliner?

How I Name Characters

I’m doing a lot of it these days. I’m well into my next book and it’s the first of a brand new series. Each character–major or minor, hero or butler–has to be named. So does every village, house, and street. It’s exhausting. I have a lot of ??? in the manuscript, indicating a name to be named later.

When I name a character, the first thing I consider is his/her parents. Who were they and what were they thinking come christening time? I try and come up with something period appropriate, but if I was being realistic the odds are most characters would be named John or George, Jane or Mary. So I branch out a bit and search for names that were in use during the period and are suitable for the character’s background. And of course the name must suit the character. The heroine of The Dangerous Viscount was originally named Marianne. But she just wasn’t a Marianne. Half way through the writing process I sat down with a yellow pad and wrote down names until I hit on Diana. Her younger sister had been Arabella, but I decided her father had a thing for goddesses and Arabella became Minerva.

If a name is unusual, I usually explain it in the book. The heroine of my first book, Never Resist Temptation, was named Jacobin. Her English mother named her for King James I, the founder of her family fortune. Her French father, a moderate revolutionary, appreciated the irony that she was named for the extreme party.

But I don’t believe I ever explained how Tarquin Compton, hero of The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton, got his name. The truth is, I’m not sure. I know how I settled on his surname (not an interesting story) but Tarquin? WTF? Tarquin has been with me for a long time. He was the hero’s best friend in my first book, a work of genius that will remain forever unpublished. When I jettisoned the book and the hero, I kept Tarquin. By the time I wrote his book he was so real to me I didn’t worry about his name. There was no way I would change it. I could say his father had a passion for Roman history, but it doesn’t seem right. Besides, the Roman Tarquin was a bit of a rapist (see picture above). What I now know about the older Mr. Compton is much more down to earth. Since hindsight is 20-20 I shall now disclose that his mother had a futuristic dream about Lawrence Olivier and decided to name her son after his son. No? Never mind.

A Deranged Marriage: A Christmas Short Story

I wrote this for a 12 Days of Christmas celebration on Rita and Dani's blogs. My theme was Five Gold Rings ... Stolen by a Highwayman. In case you missed it, here it is again.

Insanity must run in the family. How else to explain her father’s obsession with Mesopotamian antiquities and her own current escapade? Disguising herself as a highwayman and holding up a coach in the December 23rd twilight was hardly a rational act, but Harriet had a good reason: to save herself from a forced marriage to a much older man, a collector even dottier and more ancient than her sire. He probably drooled.

If she had any sense, she’d go home now. Though a little hazy about the laws of marriage, she was pretty sure the bride had to consent. But she wanted her beloved, exasperating father to have the Christmas gift he was expecting, the Assyrian warrior’s ring Lord Ashburn had offered in exchange for a wife forty years his junior. And since Lord Ashburn had proposed this despicable arrangement, she felt little compunction about robbing him.

The sound of hooves told her the visitor to Holton Hall had turned off the main road. A pair of horses, she thought. She cocked her pistol and hoped Ashburn hadn’t bothered with an armed escort for the short drive out of London.

“Let’s go, Argent,” she whispered, and propelled her horse round the laurels into the road. “Stop!” she shouted, in the deepest voice she could manage. It came out a bit croaky, as though she had a sore throat.

The vehicle was a curricle, not what she expected an elderly earl to drive. On the other hand, the fact that the driver was alone, without even a groom, must be an advantage when it came to daylight robbery. She’d have the treasure off him in no time, and gallop home with plenty of time to change into her oldest, plainest evening gown to greet their guest for dinner. Since Ashburn wouldn’t have the ring, her father wouldn’t insist on the marriage. Still, it was safer to make herself as unalluring as possible.

“Stand and deliver!” she cried, which she understood was the correct greeting for a highwayman. “Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off,” she added for good measure, in case the poor man didn’t understand. He might well be weak in the brainbox to have agreed to such a ridiculous marriage contract.

The chestnut pair drew to a halt, snorting breath into the frigid air. “Are you sure you can hit me?” the driver asked. “I’ve never yet encountered a woman who could shoot worth a damn.” Disobeying her order, he leapt down from the bench and Harriet got a good look at him: a tall, powerful figure with windswept black hair, a penetrating pair of dark eyes, and a faint smile on very nicely shaped lips. His face was not much below hers, even when she was mounted on Argent, and he didn’t appear frightened, or even mildly alarmed.

A couple of things became clear. Lord Ashburn, if this was he, was unlikely to suffer any symptoms of senility. He wasn’t old – twenty-five or thirty at a guess. Neither was he weak-minded. He’d penetrated her disguise with insulting ease.

#

Being held up, in daylight, on the approach to a private manor house in a quiet part of Surrey, seemed delightfully improbable. The fact that his assailant was female greatly improved a dreary journey to a dull visit duty. The highwaywoman (if that was a word) has a good seat on a horse and long graceful legs, revealed by well-fitting breeches. Though she wore a back mask over her eyes, he could tell she was young and pretty.

“I’m an excellent shot,” she said, no longer troubling to disguise her voice. A lady of quality and, if he judged correctly, slightly peeved.

“In that case,” he replied, “I’d better do whatever you ask.” He let his gaze slide down to her bosom, hidden, alas, beneath a heavy riding coat. “I can think of a number of ways I’d be happy to accommodate you.”

Well-shaped red lips pursed in shock at his deliberate leer and suggestive words. She recovered gamely and brandished her weapon. “What you can do is empty your pockets.”

“Don’t wave your gun that like that. Keep it pointed at me. That way, if it goes off by accident you’re bound to miss.”

“You underestimate my shooting.” Definitely peeved now.

Not really wishing to test the truth of her assertion and curious to see where this adventure would lead, Ashburn fished his purse from his pocket and held it out, but she shook her head. “What else do you have?”

“Besides my handkerchief? Only this.”

The reason for his visit, the curious antique ring, five strands of gold intricately braided and topped with a lion’s head, lay on his open palm. The girl would have snatched it, but he closed his gloved fist. “No. I must deliver it to Sir John Holton as my uncle commanded. They were friends and rival collectors and he wanted Sir John to have it. Even a desperate villain like yourself must respect a deathbed promise.”

#

How typical of her father! No doubt the death of an earl had been reported in the newspapers, but Sir John lived in an extremely distant past. Harriet doubted if the new Lord Ashburn was aware of the agreement his predecessor had made.

She looked at Ashburn again and, with a pang of regret, lowered the pistol. “Take it to him, then. I wouldn’t wish to thwart a man’s last wish.”

“A rogue with a conscience.” He smiled as he replaced the ring in his pocket and she felt an odd tightness in her chest.

“I should go,” she said but their eyes met and she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

Neither did he make any move to return to the curricle and complete his journey. His smile widened. “I had an odd letter from Sir John,” he said. “He offered me his daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange for the ring.”

Her mouth felt dry. “Very odd. He must be quite eccentric.”

“There’s no need for the girl to make such a sacrifice.”

“It would be a sacrifice. A terrible sacrifice.”

“I’d never demand it. I’ll give him the ring anyway.”

“Very noble. The right thing to do.” She tried not to sound disappointed.

“You sound peeved.”

“Why would I?”

“I doubt Miss Holton and I would suit anyway. And besides, I had no desire for a bride.”

Did she imagine the slight emphasis on one word? “Had?”

“Have. I have no desire for a bride. Especially not Miss Harriet Holton who must be an elderly spinster with a face like a cod if she has to get a husband this way.” The blackguard stood with his hands on his hips, laughing at her, and looking impossibly handsome. “Touched in the head, as well, “he continued. “Mad as a march hare. One knife short of a canteen.”

“I’m glad to see you amuse yourself.” She gathered her reins, anxious to get home and change into the new gown she’d been saving for the Twelfth Night assembly. “I must leave.”

“Places to go, people to rob?” he asked, seizing the cheek strap of Argent’s bridle to prevent her escape.

“I must be home for Christmas,” she said

“I doubt I will.” Ashburn unclasped her right hand from the reins and tugged off her riding glove. His lips were warm and his breath hot against her wrist, and then her palm. “I have a sudden desire to spend the feast at Holton Hall.”

Copyright 2011 Miranda Neville

Confessions Has a Cover

Confessions From An Arranged Marriage (coming in the spring) now has a cover. I'll be posting it here soon, but in the meantime you can get a sneak over at The Ballroom Blog. I'm also looking for ideas for future stories involving some of my secondary characters. There are three lades over there, each in need of a hero.

A Pair of Noble Volumes

Kate at the RWA Conference
book signing in New York.

Kate Noble is witty, talented, funny, kind, and has naturally curly hair. Because her name begins with "N", I often sit next to her at book signings and that makes me happy. She's a wonderful neighbor. She also writes wonderful books (with beautiful covers) which are definitely not the run of the mill historicals. Her settings and characters will surprise and charm you every time.


Here's the blurb for THE SUMMER OF YOU.

Lady Jane Cummings is certain that her summer is ruined when she is forced to reside at isolated Merrymere Lake with her reckless brother and ailing father. Her fast-paced London society is replaced with a small town grapevine. But one bit of gossip catches Jane’s attention – rumors that the lake’s brooding new resident is also an elusive highwayman.

Jane must face the much discussed mysterioso after he saves her brother from a pub brawl. She immediately recognizes him from London: Byrne Worth, war hero and apparent hermit – who she finds strangely charming. The two build a fast friendship, and soon nothing can keep this Lady away from Merrymere’s most wanted. Convinced of his innocence, Jane is determined to clear Byrne’s name – and maybe have a little fun this summer after all…

I loved this book. And who can resist a hero described as a "mysterioso." Did you notice the "reckless brother." Aha! A reckless brother needs a books of his own and he gets it.


FOLLOW MY LEAD

Jason Cummings, Duke of Rayne is feeling the weight of his responsibilities – one of which is to get married. Being the most sought after bachelor in London can be trying, so who can blame him if he seeks refuge from the voracious hordes of young debutantes at the decidedly female-free Historical Society? Female-free, that is, until Winnifred Crane marches up to the door, demanding entrance.


Despite her prowess as a historian, Winn is denied membership to the Society. So she daringly offers an unusual bargain: if she can prove the authenticity of a certain painting, she’ll be granted recognition, fame, and respect. But to do that, she must go abroad. And to go abroad, she must have an escort, even a stubbornly unwilling one…


Jason has no desire to accompany Winn on her adventure across Europe, but even he is not immune to Winn’s passion for her profession. As the journey proves more difficult than planned, they must work together to stay one step ahead of their rivals… and the closer they get to the proof Winn seeks, the closer she and Jason become. But as their adventure turns dangerous, can Jason keep this headstrong bluestocking safe? And what will become of their growing bond when the adventure ends?

A duke and a bluestocking. Sigh.


I have signed copies of both these books to give away. I'll also throw in a signed cover flat of my next book, CONFESSIONS FROM AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE, and a selection of gorgeous bookmarks from other historical authors.

In addition to Kate's other talents, she has a brilliant name. How can you resist a historical written by someone whose name is NOBLE? What would your romance novel name be? Either make a comment here (include your email address) or use my contest entry form. If you have a preference for which book to win, let me know. I’ll select the winner at random on November 18th, no earlier than 8 am EST.


Contest ends November 18, 2011 8 am EST.  Void where prohibited. Sorry, US only, no international entries. No purchase necessary. All my contest subject to these contest rules. 

The Agonized Confession of Miranda Neville

I awoke in the middle of the night screaming. The Trial of Queen Caroline was in the summer! 

That seminal event of 1820 may have given some people nightmares: the peers who had to spend August listening to scurrilous testimony in the stuffy Lords chamber, instead of relaxing on their country estates. But why did I care? Why did I rush with trembling hands to my history books praying that I’d remembered the date wrong, or the date in my book was wrong, or somebody else was wrong.

The Trial of Queen Caroline by Sir George Hayter. All my characters missed it.

Alas, no. I was wrong. The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton is set in summer 1820 and a good part of the action takes place at a very grand political house party. In July/August 1820. When the entire English political establishment was stuck in London.

 How did I come to make such a mistake? I’d written the book, revised the book, gone through copy edits and galleys. And it never occurred to me. Ouch.

To be fair, national events don’t impinge on the plot. The story could equally well have been set a year or two sooner, or later. The opening bears the date 1820 because it follows on from two books in the same series, the first of which was set in 1819 for a reason I cannot now remember.

I passed from shock to resentment. Why do we have to put dates in our books anyway? Jane Austen didn’t. Georgette Heyer didn’t. Unless one includes a real event, like the Battle of Waterloo, the exact year doesn’t matter.

I was already working on the next book which has a political setting. Looking at the events of that year I came up with “the great cabinet reshuffle of 1822,” not words to thrill anyone but the most dedicated political history geek. Also, I’d invented a family (loosely based on the dukes of Portland) at the very center of English politics. So I decided to liberate myself from the day to day reality of history and select a few broad themes around which to weave my romance. I didn’t even name the family's political party, though the savvy reader will spot them for Whigs. 

In Anthony Trollope I have an illustrious example. His novels feature a couple of politicians whom contemporary readers certainly identified as Disraeli and Gladstone. No, the Duke of Omnium was never Prime Minister. Heck, Trollope even invented the entire county of Barsetshire.

I’m thinking of omitting dates from future books. Meanwhile, my mistake really irks me.

P.S. The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton was published over three months ago and not a single person has pointed out my mistake.

The Elgin Marbles and the Acropolis Museum

I blogged at The Ballroom Blog about the debate over the Pantheon Marbles in the British Museum and whether they should be returned to Greece. A commenter brought up the fact that the new Acropolis Museum in Athens was built over the remains of an ancient building. The excavations are visible and will eventually be accessible to the public. Here's a photo I took from above.

Who's Up Next?

I've made no secret of the fact that Minerva Montrose is the heroine of CONFESSIONS FROM AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE, coming in late March. But who's her hero? His identity is revealed today at The Ballroom Blog where I have convened a special meeting of The Burgundy Club. 

I'm frantically doing final edits on the book now. As soon as I've sent them to my editor, I'll sort out the winner of my current contest, for NEVER RESIST TEMPTATION. I also hope to have news of future projects very soon.

Letters: the Ultimate Souvenir

Heather Snowe is a new Regency author whose debut romance, Sweet Enemy, will appear in February 2012. That's one to look forward to: check out her website to learn more. When Heather interviewed me  for her Get Lost in a Story blog, she asked about my former career in rare books and manuscripts and inspired me to ask a question. If you could own a letter written by a famous person, past or present, who would you choose? Jane Austen? Mozart? Johnny Depp? Come on over and tell me. One commenter will win a copy of The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton.

The Ballroom Blog: Party On

This week saw the launch of The Ballroom, a new group blog devoted to ...  hmm. What are we devoted to? In a single word, I’d have to say partying. Regency style partying complete with dashing rakes, gorgeous ladies, and lots of gossip. The authors are Katharine Ashe, Sabrina Darby, Tessa Dare, Gaelen Foley, Sarah MacLean, and me.


I cannot tell you how privileged I feel to be in company with such a talented group of historical romance writers. Plus we are all having TOO MUCH FUN. But the true belle of the ball is our hostess, Lady Heliotrope Beaufeatheringstone (pronounced Batman), commonly known as Lady B. She’s outrageous, she’s opinionated, and she has a parrot named Albert who adds his own unique comments to the passing scene.

We will be holding a ball every Monday, Thursday and Saturday but these events go into the wee hours and beyond so stop by anytime. You’ll have fun.

This week, to celebrate our launch, I’m giving away a copy of NINE RULES TO BREAK WHEN ROMANCING A RAKE by the totally fabulous Sarah McLean. This debut historical was one of the best and most talked-about books last year. If you haven’t read it, you need to! And if you have, you need a signed copy. So comment here (with email address), giving me one (or nine) reasons why you'd like to win,  or enter via my contest entry form. I’ll select the winner at random on July 22nd.

Contest ends July 22, 2011. Open to residents of USA and Canada only. Void where prohibited. No purchase required, though certainly appreciated on July 26th when my new book comes out. (With apologies for the shameless self-promotion)