Maggi Andersen, author of
A Baron in Her Bed, has agreed to join us today to talk about Barons, Earls and other denizens of British nobility, who could have existed during the Regency period, even if they didn't. We're so glad you could join us and encourage you to grab your favorite beverage and relax with your feet up.
Okay, Maggi, why don't you start off by telling us how
long you wrote before you were published?
Some years, but
it was time well spent learning about the industry, improving my writing and
finding my voice.
I
gather you love Regency England, and it's one of my favorite time periods,
too. But what other genres do you write
besides Historical Romance?
I write contemporary romantic
suspense, mysteries and young adult novels/novellas and short stories.
Research
is essential for Historical Romances.
Tell us what sort of research you did for your book? An enormous amount. Writing a historical
requires a lot but my contemporary romantic suspense, Murder in Devon needed plenty
too as it was set in England. I have shelves of research books here and there’s
heaps of good sites on line. You can find some links on my blog.
What
were the challenges you faced in bringing your latest book to life?
I had to make sure my facts about
Regency customs, history, food, costume, houses, society were correct. I needed
to know what a woman could get away with back then. Morals were strict, very
different from today, and a woman’s freedom was limited. Horatia fought against
these things by turning her back on the idea of marriage. She is a romantic who
wants only to marry for love.
Who
or what inspired your main characters?
I think reading Georgette Heyer
ingrained a love of certain characters. Horatia is a bit Heyeresque in character.
She’s energetic,
sometimes rash, hurls herself into anything and is brave to the point of idiocy
at times, but you can’t fault her good heart or her determination. She’s honest
and loyal too.
For
a little more personal flavor, tell us where you write.
I have a cozy little study off the
kitchen. Bit close to the refrigerator unfortunately. The view from the window
is lovely. I look onto a nice old house, a Himalayan Dogwood tree and a creek filled
with ducks.
Confession
time. What is your best guilty pleasure?
(And by best I mean worst, of course.)
Dark nutty chocolate. Once I eat a
piece I have to have several more. It’s good for you isn’t it?
What
are your current projects?
With
Murderous Intent, a contemporary romantic suspense was recently released on
March 16th with Black Opal Books. It’s set in Ireland and the
Australian Outback. I’ve just completed Taming
a Gentleman Spy – The Spies of Mayfair, Book Two, which will be released in
September. I’ve begun to write What a Rake Wants – the third book in
the series.
Sneak
preview time. Can you share a little of
your current work with us?
What I’m writing now? Here’s a taste
of What a Rake Wants, featuring
Althea, Lady Brookwood and Flynn, Lord Montsimon:
Her
aunt’s bright violet eyes fastened on hers. “I’ve seen the way Montsimon looks
at you. If you play your cards right, you’ll be the one to tame him, my dear.
Well worth the effort, I’ll wager.”
Surprised
and curious despite herself, she asked, “How do you suggest I do that?”
“You
take him into your bed. Eventually. But first, you play him like a salmon on a
hook. You never promise what you won’t deliver, mind. That would not be
sporting.” Her aunt fluttered her fan as if the thought made her too warm. “At
first let him get to know you. Let him begin to want more from you than merely
someone to warm his bed. When he can’t live without you, then….”
Althea
gasped. “Aunt…”
Her
aunt laughed. “You’re surprised?”
“I
knew you to be wise and shrewd, but I never suspected you capable of such….”
She fell silent.
Snapping
her fan shut, her aunt nodded with a wink. “I’m as crafty as a fox, my dear.
And you are my niece, just as intelligent and smart yourself.” She gazed over
Althea’s shoulder. “The prey advances. No doubt to ask you to dance. I would
advise you not to shun him.”
Althea turned. Lord Montsimon made his
way towards her.
Did
you learn anything special from writing your book?
I discovered I love to write series.
I like my characters to appear at least briefly again in the next book. It
gives a glimpse of how theirs lives have turned out after their happy ending.
What
advice, if any, do you have for other writers?
Most new writers lack confidence and need
to develop a thick skin. We are subjected to criticism and rejection during our
careers. No one escapes, not even the bestselling writers. If there’s a nugget of truth in the criticism,
take it on board and ignore the rest. Take every opportunity to study and
refine your craft, and never let go of your dreams.
Lastly,
is there anything specific that you'd like to say to your readers?
If you get the opportunity to read A Baron in Her Bed and enjoy it, I’d
love a comment or even a rating on Goodreads or Amazon. If you like the series,
the next book Taming a Gentleman Spy
is to be released in September with Knox Robinson Publishing. John Haldane,
Earl of Strathairn, appears first in A
Baron in Her Bed with gun smoking. Strathairn shows up when Guy Trusedale,
Baron Fortescue, is waylaid by footpads in a London alley:
A Baron in Her Bed Excerpt
He’d come here to claim his
inheritance, and claim it he would. There was no returning to France now.
Dusk turned to evening, hastening
his footsteps. Guy decided on a shortcut and hurried down a shadowy laneway
which, by his calculations, would lead into a main thoroughfare.
He
was halfway along it when the sound of running feet, made him spin around. Two
men appeared out of the gloom and advanced towards him.
Guy moved back until his shoulder
brushed the wall. “What is it you want?”
When neither of the men answered,
cold sweat gathered on his brow.
His glance flicked ahead to where
the laneway joined a busy road. “Répondez-moi,”
he demanded. His throat tightened in fear.
“’e’s the one all right,” one of
them murmured. They separated and each took a menacing step closer, blocking
off any avenues of escape.
The moon sailed above the narrow gap
between the buildings and shone on the knife held by one of the footpads.
Guy drew his swordstick. “Back
away.”
At the sight of it, they stepped
back apace, hesitated, and stood regarding him.
A feint might work. When he had them
off guard, he would run for it.
He moved away from the wall and drew
circles in the air with his sword. “Come on, you want to fight? I’m willing.”
“’e can’t take both of us,” the
tallest of the two said.
“Yer, but he could run one of us
through,” the other replied. “And we weren’t paid enough for that.”
“Shut up, you fool.”
Surprised, Guy stilled, his heart
thudding in his ears. “Who paid you?”
“Say nothin’,” the tall man warned.
He then whispered something to his companion.
He watched them, his swordstick at
the ready. Did they mean to kill him?
As the taller man raised his arm to
throw the knife, Guy lunged to the left. A pistol shot blasted through the
confined space, rattling the nearby windows, and the knife clattered to the
ground.
The tall man shrieked. “I’ve been
shot.”
“Hey, you there!” Highlighted by the
light from the street behind him, a caped figure strode towards them from the
main thoroughfare, a pistol in each hand, one smoking. “Next time I’ll aim to
kill.”
The injured man snatched up his
knife and the pair scuttled back the way they’d come.
As their footsteps faded into the
night, the gentleman tucked the pistols into the pockets of his multi-caped
greatcoat. He walked towards Guy. “I saw them follow you. I’m sorry I didn’t
get here faster, but I turned the corner and wasn’t sure which way you went.”
With a swell of gratitude, Guy
sheathed his sword, shelved his suspicion, and bowed. ”I am indebted to you,
monsieur, one obviously needs to be well armed in London.”
“It is wise to be on your guard;
footpads will tackle an unarmed man.”
Guy clutched his cane. He had been
armed, and it had not deterred them.
“We’d best get out of this dark
place.” The man led the way towards the lit street. “New to London? I don’t
advise you to walk alone around these parts.”
“Oui.
I arrived from France this morning.”
“You can’t think much of us, an
attempted robbery on your first day.”
“There was more to it than a
robbery.” Guy studied his rescuer. He was of a similar age to himself,
mid-thirties.
The big, fair-haired man raised his
brows. “The war might be over, but not all of the English can forgive and
forget.”
A grim smile tugged at Guy’s mouth.
“I’m sure that’s so, my friend.” He remembered the footpad’s words, he’s the
one. It was him they were after. Who would want him dead here in England?
“Where are my manners?” His rescuer
held out his hand. ”John Haldane, Earl of Strathairn.”
Guy shook his hand. “Guy Truesdale.”
The earl’s brows met in a perplexed
frown. “Truesdale? Why, that means you’re a…”
Guy nodded. “Fortescue, oui.”
“A relative of the baron?”
“I am Baron Fortescue.”
“Why this is grand news! Your father
and mine were close friends.” John frowned. “But this means, of course, that
your father is dead. I’m sorry. Not by the guillotine one would hope.”
“Not directly.” They crossed the
road. Under the circle of light from an oil lamp, Guy gazed into John’s smiling
eyes. “I am indebted to you. I hope to repay you should we meet again.”
John slapped him on the back.
“Nonsense, Fortescue. Where do you stay?”
When Guy told him, John said, “Not
one of our best hostelries. You must come home with me.”
“I couldn’t presume . . .”
“Not another word. Father, if he
still lived, would have been justifiably angry if I failed to offer you hospitality.
We reside in Berkley Square and have plenty of room. Feel free to stay as long
as you wish. I’ll send a servant around for your luggage.”
“Merci. I plan to travel to the
country in a day or two.”
“Your seat is to the north,
Hertfordshire I believe.”
Guy nodded. “It borders Sherradspark
Wood in Digswell.”
An empty hackney turned the corner,
and Strathairn stepped into the road to hail it. As the jarvie pulled up the
horse, Strathairn gave directions and whipped open the door.
Guy settled on the squabs beside
him. “Je suis dans votre dette,” he
said with warmth. “You are most généreuse.”
“In my debt?” Strathairn dismissed
the sentiment with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense, Baron. It’s been my pleasure.
But once my sisters get a look at you, I may change my mind.”
Guy frowned. “I’m not sure of your
meaning.” He had always been proud of being half English, but since he arrived
in England, he’d felt terribly French.
“My dear fellow. If you aren’t used
to ladies fighting over you, you soon will be.”
Guy shook his head.
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| Maggi Andersen |
I am an Australian author with a
BA in English and an MA in Creative Writing. My lawyer husband and I live in a
pretty, historical town in the Southern Highlands with our spoiled Persian cat,
plus the assorted wildlife we feed: chickens wander in from next door and give
us lovely eggs, ducks swim in our pool, parrots and possums line up for bananas
and seed. I write historical romance, contemporary romantic suspense and young
adult novels.
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