Were there any special challenges in plotting this trilogy?
Whenever you are working with more than one book, there’s an additional challenge in scripting the overarcing storyline. However, working with a set of three, consecutive-in-time – meaning running directly one after the other in time – books for this trilogy was a lot, lot easier than the work involved in scripting and working with the concurrent villains’ storyline in The Black Cobra Quartet. That was a real headache, and not something I’ll soon do again! In comparison, the trilogy was relatively easy, although of course more work than three entirely separate books. In the case of the overarcing story in this trilogy, the principal decision to be made in progressing through the books is how much to reveal in each book. However, there is, of course, a twist to the tale, as there so often is in my books! – and that, I discovered, imposes additional demands on how much must be revealed of that overarcing story earlier rather than later.
Most of the action in the trilogy occurs in Scotland. Why Scotland?.
That’s one of those questions that I really don’t have an answer for – the truth is that I just always knew that Heather and her hero ended up with Richard and Catriona, their family and household, at
the manor in the Vale of Casphairn. That was one of those “story” things that simply always was – I had no idea how they got up there, or why. I just knew that was where they ended up. Later in the interview, I’ll touch on how that “story fact” for want of a better term played into the rest of the story that unfolds in Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue.
At the opening of the book, Heather is setting out to actively “search for a hero.” How did that concept come about?
This was one of the earliest elements of the trilogy to become clear to me – from the time I wrote the Cynster twins’ stories, On A Wild Night and On A Wicked Dawn, way back in 2001, I knew that this – actively searching for their hero - was what would motivate Heather and Eliza especially in proactively initiating their stories. As schoolgirls, they had seen their older cousins, Amanda and Amelia, go out and seek their heros, both stepping beyond the accepted social lines to do it, and saw them succeed in every respect. After that, of course Heather and Eliza would have similar hero-standards, and once they failed to find their heros in the obvious places, neither would hesitate to look beyond polite circles for their man. From that background, I knew that they would actively do something that would precipitate the action – they would be actively searching for their hero, would do something, go somewhere, and that would lead them to him, albeit in ways neither of them anticipate.
You’ve described these three books as: 1) Errol Flynn rescues Elizabeth Bennet in the wilds of Scotland; 2) Errol Flynn rescues Elizabeth Bennet in the wilds of Scotland; and 3) Elizabeth Bennet rescues Errol Flynn in the Scottish highlands. Why those descriptions?
As authors we are often asked to describe our books – the essence of our stories. As all my heros have a certain swashbuckling charisma, Errol Flynn – or more accurately the heros he depicted on the screen – is in many ways the epitome of the type – a shorthand way of referring to that sort of male character. My heroines, are, likewise, more like Jane Austen’s more assertive heroines, and again it’s the same shorthand way of evoking that concept. As for the “wilds of Scotland” versus the “Scottish highlands” that’s literally correct – the first two books have the heros and heroines unexpectedly and unintentionally exploring two different, wild and rugged areas of the lowlands of Scotland, while the third book takes place almost exclusively in the Scottish highlands.
It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen abducted heroines, yet it is a classic historical romance plot. What prompted you to return to it?
That came about because of another of those muselike flashes of story – like knowing that Heather and her hero end up in the Vale of Casphairn. A few years ago, I “saw” – basically simply knew – that Heather’s hero was Breckenridge, and the way their story started was that Heather – taking her first step to actively search for her hero outside the ballrooms of the ton – was seen by Breckenridge, and he essentially evicts her from a “soiree” she shouldn’t be attending. She gets on her highhorse, of course, and miffed, marches off down the street to her carriage…but is kidnapped along the way, right under Breckenridge’s nose. I didn’t need to see anything more to know that he would of course race after her…and from that initial scene, the rest of their story unfolded. It also gave me the overarcing story, because who on earth would kidnap Heather, and why? That single flash of story more or less gave me the whole trilogy – from that point, all the rest followed.
Were there any special challenges in working with such a classic romance concept?
Not really. I didn’t use an abduction plot because it was a classic plot – I don’t come at my stories that way, by deciding what sort of story I’m going to write and then making my characters up to fit. Instead, as noted in the last several responses, my stories arise organically from the characters I already have, and their already existing backgrounds. The instant I had that kidnap scene with Breckenridge looking on, I knew how and why it was perfect for those two characters. I suspect if it hadn’t been the perfect initiating event for those two characters’ romance, it wouldn’t have occurred to me in the first place, but once it had, it became an integral part of the overarcing story plot – which is the reason behind, and what drives, the abduction. Therefore, in regard to the question, as the abduction plot is driven by the overarcing plot – and therefore doesn’t just “happen” – and also strongly affects and impinges on the hero and heroine, who then react and take the plot and run – meaning because they are not passive but very proactive characters, they react, act, and affect the outcome of the abduction in major ways - then the “classic” plot is transformed into a novel, different experience that’s very personal to these two characters, and therefore fresh and different to any other “classic abduction plot” ever written. These three books, each of the books in the trilogy, are examples of how a “classic” plot is transformed and made fresh by the characters involved.
In this first book of the trilogy, Gretna Green is a featured spot, one in which the characters spend quite a bit of time, yet there is no wedding over the anvil.
No, indeed. Again, Gretna Green was a serendipitous fact – there were numerous logistical story reasons why the traveling abduction party had to stop at that point in Scotland, just over the border with England. It just so happened that that spot on the map was in fact Gretna Green. So the blacksmith’s forge, which incidentally still stands, and its famous anvil, play a part in the overarcing story, and lend a certain sinister tension to the by then evolving romance between the hero and heroine, neither of whom is at all happy about the abduction party halting and waiting at an inn across the road from the blacksmith’s forge for the to-them-unknown man behind the abduction to arrive. The relevant facts about marriages performed over the anvil in the blacksmith’s forge at Gretna Green were a) that the woman could be much younger than allowed in England, and did not need her parents’ or guardians’ permission to marry, just as long as she freely agreed to the wedding, and b) that such marriages were legally binding in England as well as Scotland. So in this case, rather than Gretna Green being a destination our lovers look upon as a romantic place, because of the story, it’s transformed into a threat – a bit of a twist.
In the first section of this book, the abducted heroine is being driven north in a coach, which stops at various small towns and villages. How do you work out which villages to use?
Determining the speed of a private coach-and-four, driven under various conditions along the highways of England in 1829, was an area I had to research thoroughly for this trilogy. I eventually found sufficient references from that time to be certain of the likely speeds of travel. From that I worked out how far the kidnappers’ coach in the first book would go each day. I then spent quite a bit of time poring over old maps to determine e
xactly which towns the kidnappers, who wanted to avoid notice and therefore wanted to stop in small, out-of-the-way hostelries, would have used. Once I had the likely small towns and villages, I use the internet and satellite maps to drop in on the main streets and check the age of the buildings. England being England, in small villages I can often find inns and taverns that, from their architecture and construction, I can tell would have been there in 1829. That said, I don’t use the same names for the hotels unless those names appear in the historical record for that period.
In this first book of the trilogy, we meet a past hero and heroine, and catch up with their lives, and their now established family. Was it part of your original concept to revisit a previous hero and heroine?
As mentioned earlier, I knew from the first that Heather and her hero ended up with Richard and Catriona in Scotland—presumably because Richard, Catriona, and their family and household had some role to play in the story. I tend to initially assume that it’s just as background, a need to catch up as it were, and any actual role in the action will be incidental, but once I was in the throes of writing the story, I discovered – as I often do – that the real reason the hero and heroine are with Richard and Catriona and company is far more intrinsic amd important to the story. As it transpired, many of the primary characters in the Vale had active roles to play, and for three of them – Catriona, and her eldest children, the twins Lucilla and Marcus – their roles were absolutely vital to the story in this book, and also to a contuing theme that will continue over all the Cynster girls’ books to come. That last was one of those lovely aha! moments in story evolution that writers live for.
VISCOUNT BRECKENRIDGE TO THE RESCUE
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Stephanie Laurens
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Chapter One
March, 1829
Wadham Gardens, London
Heather Cynster knew her latest plan to find a suitable husband was doomed the instant she set foot in Lady Herford’s salon.
In a distant corner, a dark head, perfectly coiffed in the latest rakish style, rose. A pair of sharp hazel eyes pinned her where she stood.
“Damn!” Keeping a smile firmly fixed over her involuntarily clenching teeth, as if she hadn’t noticed the most startlingly handsome man in the room staring so intently at her, she let her gaze drift on.
Breckenridge was hemmed in by not one but three dashing ladies, all patently vying for his attention. She sincerely wished them every success and prayed he’d take the sensible course and pretend he hadn’t seen her.
She was certainly going to pretend that she hadn’t seen him.
Refocusing on the surprisingly large crowd Lady Herford had enticed to her soiree, Heather determinedly banished Breckenridge from her mind and considered her prospects.
Most of the guests were older than she—all the ladies at least. Some she recognized, others she did not, but it would be surprising if any other lady present wasn’t married. Or widowed. Or more definitively on the shelf than Heather. Soirees of the style of Lady Herford’s were primarily the province of the well-bred but bored matrons, those in search of more convivial company than that provided by their usually much older, more sedate husbands. Such ladies might not be precisely fast, yet neither were they innocent. However, as by common accord said ladies had already presented their husbands with an heir, if not two, the majority had more years in their dish than Heather’s twenty-five.
From her brief, initial, assessing sweep, she concluded that most of the gentlemen present were, encouragingly, older than she. Most were in their thirties, and by their style—fashionable, well-turned out, expensively garbed, and thoroughly polished—she’d chosen well in making Lady Herford’s soiree her first port of call on this, her first expedition outside the rarefied confines of the ballrooms, drawing rooms, and dining rooms of the upper echelon of the ton.
For years she’d searched through those more refined reception rooms for her hero—the man who would sweep her off her feet and into wedded bliss—only to conclude that he didn’t move in such circles. Many gentlemen of the ton, although perfectly eligible in every way, preferred to steer well clear of all the sweet young things, the young ladies paraded on the marriage mart. Instead, they spent their evenings at events such as Lady Herford’s, and their nights in various pursuits—gaming and womanizing to name but two.
Her hero—she had to believe he existed somewhere— was most likely a member of that more elusive group of males. Given he was therefore unlikely to come to her, she’d decided—after lengthy and animated discussions with her sisters, Elizabeth and Angelica—that it behooved her to come to him.
To locate him and, if necessary, hunt him down.
Smiling amiably, she descended the shallow steps to the floor of the salon. Lady Herford’s villa was a recently built, quite luxurious dwelling located to the north of Primrose Hill—close enough to Mayfair to be easily reached by carriage, a pertinent consideration given Heather had had to come alone. She would have preferred to attend with someone to bear her company, but her sister Eliza, just a year younger and similarly disgusted with the lack of hero-material within their restricted circle, was her most likely coconspirator and they couldn’t both develop a headache on the same evening without their mama seeing through the ploy. Eliza, therefore, was presently gracing Lady Montague’s ballroom, while Heather was supposedly laid upon her bed, safe and snug in Dover Street.
Giving every appearance of calm confidence, she glided into the crowd. She’d attracted considerable attention; although she pretended obliviousness, she could feel the assessing glances dwelling on the sleek, amber silk gown that clung lovingly to her curves. This particular creation sported a sweetheart neckline and tiny puffed sleeves; as the evening was unseasonably mild and her carriage stood outside, she’d elected to carry only a fine topaz-and-amber Norwich silk shawl, its fringe draping over her bare arms and flirting over the silk of the gown. Her advanced age allowed her greater freedom to wear gowns that, while definitely not as revealing as some others she could see, nevertheless drew male eyes.
One gentleman, suitably drawn and a touch bolder than his fellows, broke from the circle surrounding two ladies and languidly stepped into her path.
Halting, she haughtily arched a brow.
He smiled and bowed, fluidly graceful. “Miss Cynster, I believe?”
“Indeed, sir. And you are?”
“Miles Furlough, my dear.” His eyes met hers as he straightened. “Is this your first time here?”
“Yes.” She glanced around, determinedly projecting confident assurance. She intended to pick her man, not allow him or any other to pick her. “The company appears quite animated.” The noise of untold conversations was steadily rising. Returning her gaze to Miles Furlough, she asked, “Are her ladyship’s gatherings customarily so lively?”
Furlough’s lips curved in a smile Heather wasn’t sure she liked.
“I think you’ll discover—” Furlough broke off, his gaze going past her.
She had an instant’s warning—a primitive prickling over her nape—then long, steely fingers closed about her elbow.
Heat washed over her, emanating from the contact, supplanted almost instantly by a disorientating giddiness. She caught her breath. She didn’t need to look to know that Timothy Danvers, Viscount Breckenridge—her nemesis—had elected not to be sensible.
“Furlough.” The deep voice issuing from above her head and to the side had its usual disconcerting effect.
Ignoring the frisson of awareness streaking down her spine—a susceptibility she positively despised—she slowly turned her head and directed a reined glare at its cause. “Breckenridge.”
There was nothing in her tone to suggest she welcomed his arrival—quite the opposite.
He ignored her attempt to depress his pretensions; indeed, she wasn’t even sure he registered it. His gaze hadn’t shifted from Furlough.
“If y
ou’ll excuse us, old man, there’s a matter I need to discuss with Miss Cynster.” Breckenridge held Furlough’s gaze. “I’m sure you understand.”
Furlough’s expression suggested that he did yet wished he didn’t feel obliged to give way. But in this milieu, Breckenridge—the hostesses’ and the ladies’ darling— was well nigh impossible to gainsay. Reluctantly, Furlough inclined his head. “Of course.”
Shifting his gaze to Heather, Furlough smiled—more sincerely, a tad ruefully. “Miss Cynster. Would we had met in less crowded surrounds. Perhaps next time.” With a parting nod, he sauntered off into the crowd.
Heather let free an exasperated huff. But before she could even gather her arguments and turn them on Breckenridge, he tightened his grip on her elbow and started propelling her through the crowd.
Startled, she tried to halt. “What—”
“If you have the slightest sense of self-preservation you will walk to the front door without any fuss.”
He was steering her, surreptitiously pushing her, in that direction, and it wasn’t all that far. “Let. Me. Go.” She uttered the command, low and delivered with considerable feeling, through clenched teeth.
He urged her up the salon steps. Used the moment when she was on the step above him to bend his head and breathe in her ear, “What the devil are you doing here?”