Why I “Choose” to Write About Regency Gentleman
What is this word “choose?” It implies I could have written, say, a medieval paranormal or a contemporary romantic suspense. I wish! From my perspective, I didn’t choose to write Regencies, they chose me.
But they chose me for reasons.
First, from little up, I have been afflicted by the Horse Girl Gene. This is a mutation affecting a certain number of females which causes them to spend inordinate amounts of time, money and energy on securing the company of equines. The Horse Girl has never met an ugly horse (because there are none), never met one that didn’t smell divine, never met one unworthy of treats and pats and scratches and much affection. The condition knows of no cure, and the only treatment is to provide a pony as early as possible (or so I repeatedly told my dad, until my mom took pity on him and got me a horse).
Regency fellows had cool horses. Wellington’s preferred battle mount was named Copenhagen, Wellington’s given name was Arthur, (though he was drop dead gorgeous). Go fig.
Second, from little up, I have also had the Flower Lady Gene. I plant flowers. I do not know the first thing about stringing beans, staking tomatoes, or keeping the deer away (this is a topic of much conversation at the local farmer’s co-op), but I do love me a bed of flowers. Spring and fall are not seasons, they are excuses to plant flowers and shrubs and trees. Christmas is for poinsettias, Easter is for lilies, and so on.
Those Regency estates had boss gardens. Some preserved the old baroque formal gardens, some were the work of the first real landscapers, Lancelot “Capability” Brown and his followers. In any case, those people took cultivation of natural beauty seriously. Scent gardens, color gardens, spice gardens, cutting gardens, knot gardens… Gardens! And I’m supposed to write contemporaries and content myself with a few pots of petunias?
I think not.
Third, I am a sucker, s-u-c-k-e-r for British accents. I recently found myself in York, where I would stand on a corner looking confusedly at a street map just to hear the passing fellows ask, “Wot yew lookin’ for, loov?” Yes, they really called me loov. Me. Hooboy. I didn’t even bother with the street map in Scotland. Just sat in the train station grinning like fool. Close your eyes and that’s Sean Connery asking if you’re done with your tea.
In Highland regalia with nothing but a breeze under his kilt.
So… why do I write Regencies? Sean Connery’s accent, Wellington’s horse, acres of flowers and I get to play with all of it for 100,000 words. That’s my kinda book.
THE HEIR BY GRACE BURROWES – IN STORES DECEMBER 2010
An Earl Who Can’t Be Bribed…
Gayle Windham, Earl of Westhaven, is the first legitimate son and heir to the Duke of Moreland. To escape his father’s inexorable pressure to marry, he decides to spend the summer at his townhouse in London, where he finds himself intrigued by the secretive ways of his beautiful housekeeper.
A Lady Who Can’t Be Protected…
Anna Seaton is a beautiful, talented, educated woman, which is why it is so puzzling to Gayle that she works as his housekeeper.
As the two draw closer and begin to lose their hearts to each other, Anna’s secrets threaten to bring the earl’s orderly life crashing down—and he doesn’t know how he’s going to protect her from the fallout…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Grace Burrowes is the pen name for a prolific author of historical romances whose manuscripts have so far won, finaled, or garnered honorable mention in Romance Writers of America-run contests in Georgia, Indiana, New Jersey, and Florida. Burrowes is a practicing attorney specializing in family law. She lives in rural Maryland and is working on her next book, The Soldier, set to release in July 2011.
My sincere gratitude to Grace Burrowes and Sourcebooks for this guest author blog post.
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