Hi everyone,

This is Marie-Claude. We are right in the midst of the American Title V competition now with the contestants trying to get as many votes as possible. Edie is handing flyers to local merchants, while writing partners Tamara and Barbara have teamed for their promotion efforts and while I remain chained to my laptop while my boys are in school!!!

Don’t forget to cast you vote for the first line at:

www.romantictimes.com/news_amtitle3.php

And we have a winner from Monday………Shari C. Congratulations!!!!!

So without further ado, let’s welcome Jessica recount her visit with her character from A SERPENT’S TOOTH, Gladys.

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The kitchen is spotless, like every other room in the Baxters’ town home, even in the unforgiving gray light of winter. The young woman across the scarred pine table from me wears a dress the color of the rain-heavy sky, broken by the white of starched apron and the warmer hue of her hands—much softer than they should be—folded in her lap. This is London. This is 1855. And this is Gladys, ladies’ maid to the Baxters. Confidant of Reba MacKenzie.

Strange. I don’t know her last name.

“Another cup of tea, miss?” she asks, as if speaking to a child, deceptively serene. It was Nate who noticed for me that Gladys was Welsh. The eiderdown “o.” An “i” like a dagger.

I look at the milky dregs in their chipped porcelain cup, the rose-garden rim robbed of a bloom. “No, thank you. And thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

“Of course, miss.”

“I know that you’re very discreet, but I’m going to ask you to be frank with me.”

“I’ve nothing to hide, miss.”

I manage not to smile. “What was your first impression of Miss MacKenzie?”

“She’s a fine young lady. Good manners, good education, and a generous heart.”

I look over my glasses at her. She doesn’t quaver. “You do know who I am.”

“Yes, miss. You’re the Author.” She shifts in her seat, sitting a little straighter, a little taller, a most un-servant-like gesture of defiance, which is part of what I like about her. “And as that’s the case, you already know all about Miss MacKenzie.”

“And I also know all about you.”

She goes saucer-eyed. “You mean . . . are you offering to tell me—”

“What was your first impression of Miss MacKenzie?” I repeat.

Her eyes dart to the door behind me. Then she leans forward, lowering her voice. “I met her on the docks in Baltimore, not a quarter hour before we were to leave for England. She looked . . . . You’d expect a young lady about to set off on such an adventure to have an air of excitement, wouldn’t you? She looked like she was off to the gallows. We withdrew a bit to let her and her uncle say their goodbyes, and the way they looked at each other . . . .” She sits back, shaking her head. “She didn’t cry. You could see it. It was breaking her heart, both their hearts. But she didn’t cry. I liked that about her.”

“You know how that feels, leaving your family.”

“Yes, miss, though I was a bit younger myself. Fifteen when my family sent me to service. Still—” She looks away, not smiling. “Leaving home. It’s a grand adventure, isn’t it?”

“So now that you know her better, what do you think?”

“I think she could stand to cry a bit more often. She’s got so much anger locked away inside. Not that she doesn’t have cause. But she could stand to let a little of it go before it poisons her.”

“And what about Lord MacDonnell?”

She turns back to me with a small smirk. “My first impression? I thought he must have weak eyesight.”

It takes me a moment to realize what she means. Then I laugh. “The waistcoats!”

“The waistcoats. He was a sight. Must’ve been seventeen shades of vermillion in the one he wore that first morning at sea, the morning after he and . . . well, you know.”

“Want to know something funny? I had no idea why he dressed like that when I wrote it. Turns out, it was a plot point. Is. Will be, I mean, from your perspective.”

“It could hardly be anything else.”

“Okay, but seriously, what else did you think of him?”

She shrugs. “I thought he was a gentleman.”

“You don’t say that like it’s a complement.”

“Do you know what ‘gentleman’ means to a girl like me? It means a man who doesn’t have to listen to ‘no.’” Her smile turns hard, and I wonder if I know as much about her as I thought.

“And yet, when Mrs. Baxter put you on chaperon duty on the ship, you let Reba sneak out of her cabin and visit him in the middle of the night. When Mrs. Baxter banned him from this house, you helped them arrange their secret meetings—”

“I saw how he was around her. I thought he might be different.”

My eyebrows rise. “Thought? So you believe the rumors? You believe he could be involved in Reba’s uncle’s death? Because last night, you told her it couldn’t be true.”

“But then he didn’t deny it, did he?” Her eyes narrow at me, as if the whole mess were my fault . . . which, of course, it is. I can’t even claim I never meant to hurt anyone. My stomach clenches with guilt, and not for the first time.

I look away and turn my teacup in its saucer. “So if you could talk to them both, right now, give them advice, what would you say to them?”

She is quiet long enough that I brave a look at her. She is chewing the inside of her cheek, lost in thought. “I would tell Lord MacDonnell that . . . that she wouldn’t be so angry if she didn’t truly love him, and that someone who loves him like that deserves to hear the truth, whatever it may be. And I would tell Miss MacKenzie that a young man can be a foolish, prideful beast. But so can a young woman.”

I smile at her. “Thank you, Gladys.”

“You’re quite welcome, miss.” She looks at me expectantly.

“You’re sure you want to know your future?”

She smirks again. “Will it be as horrid as what you’ve put them through?”

“Yes and no,” I reply, and I tell her my plans for her.

I know she won’t remember a word.

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What a brilliant interview Jessica. Very witty. I can’t wait to read this book!! You have such wonderful characters.

Thank you so much for sharing them with us. And thank you Sylvia again for hosting us here today.

Next week, we will hear all about Michelle Lauren and her urban fantasy, HOW TO TAME A HARPY.

Please, don’t forget to join us next Monday and please leave a comment for a chance to win!

Best to all,

Marie-Claude Bourque

www.mcbourque.com

Tags: american title, contest, dorchester, romantic times

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