In my area, the peerage is as common as unicorns, hobbits, and Cujo. Except, on occasion it does seem an occasional Cujo might sneak in.
So, it would stand to reason that I would avoid writing about characters who are of the peerage. After all, there is that adage, write what you know.
But, I believe people are basically the same. As one of the female aristocratic types in one of my books said, "We put on our bejeweled slippers the same as anyone else."
The hero in It's Marriage or Ruin is Marcus, Lord Grayson.
Excerpt:
Lord Grayson remained perfectly still for several moments before he moved. He rearranged the hem of his sleeve and his eyes fell over Emilie, making the air she swallowed fill her with a fresh warmth. ‘We meet again.’
‘You knew I was out here,’ she said.
‘Whether I did or not, it doesn’t matter.’
Even in the darkness, Emilie could imagine him plainly. Nature had sculpted a visage which could have inspired Michelangelo to do better work.
Her hand wanted to caress, to run over the planes of his cheek so she could experience him with the feeling of touch as well as sight.
Inwardly, she berated her traitorous thoughts. She pulled herself from the momentary stupor, blaming it on her fascination with form.
How unfair that someone such as Lord Grayson, a man who said he liked frivolities, would have such a pleasing appearance. Her mother had been so wrong about which of Avondale’s sons had been graced with handsomeness.
The humour on his lips faded. ‘Miss Catesby, you are an accident waiting to happen.’
She tossed the words out. ‘Accidents do happen and I am not the cause of any of them.’
‘You cause things to happen on purpose.’
‘Occasionally.’
So, it would stand to reason that I would avoid writing about characters who are of the peerage. After all, there is that adage, write what you know.
But, I believe people are basically the same. As one of the female aristocratic types in one of my books said, "We put on our bejeweled slippers the same as anyone else."
The hero in It's Marriage or Ruin is Marcus, Lord Grayson.
Excerpt:
Lord Grayson remained perfectly still for several moments before he moved. He rearranged the hem of his sleeve and his eyes fell over Emilie, making the air she swallowed fill her with a fresh warmth. ‘We meet again.’
‘You knew I was out here,’ she said.
‘Whether I did or not, it doesn’t matter.’
Even in the darkness, Emilie could imagine him plainly. Nature had sculpted a visage which could have inspired Michelangelo to do better work.
Her hand wanted to caress, to run over the planes of his cheek so she could experience him with the feeling of touch as well as sight.
Inwardly, she berated her traitorous thoughts. She pulled herself from the momentary stupor, blaming it on her fascination with form.
How unfair that someone such as Lord Grayson, a man who said he liked frivolities, would have such a pleasing appearance. Her mother had been so wrong about which of Avondale’s sons had been graced with handsomeness.
The humour on his lips faded. ‘Miss Catesby, you are an accident waiting to happen.’
She tossed the words out. ‘Accidents do happen and I am not the cause of any of them.’
‘You cause things to happen on purpose.’
‘Occasionally.’
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