The Official Essex Sisters Companion Guide (3 page)

March 29, 2006

The State
(Columbia, S.C.) is running a review of
The Taming of the Duke
this week. Here’s how it opens:

                       
Eloisa James doesn’t shy away from a challenge. In the third book of her Essex sisters series, she matches a character portrayed in the first two books as selfish, whining and overbearing with a slovenly drunkard with a pot belly.

When I began to read the first paragraph I heard that “Alert! Alert!” siren sound that an author gets when they start to read a bad review. It’s the kind of alert that I imagine you’d feel in a sinking submarine: RUN!—quickly followed by, EEEk! Nowhere to Run!

A second later I calmed down and realized I was being complimented. I got to the end of the review and discovered that the reader really loved the book. And then, finally, I realized that the reviewer had gone straight to the heart of something I deeply believe as a writer: you must continue to challenge yourself. If in your very deepest soul, you’re not a little unsure that your heroine and hero can grow and learn enough to be together, then your readers won’t be unsure either.

And if your readers are utterly convinced of the couple’s happiness from the first chapter . . . what’s the point of reading? The deliciousness of a romance is knowing that two people will fall in love (because it’s a romance) but being unsure that it’s actually possible to overcome the odds. Without uncertainty, the reading experience would be like reading a mystery in which it turns out the dead guy just fell down a [flight of] stairs and there was no murderer. Talk about a let-down! If my hero and heroine are perfectly balanced, rational and rich people who adore each other from page one . . . why keep reading? They’ll be in bed by page eleven, and you’ll be asleep, with the book falling from your fingers and landing on the floor. For me, the challenge is everything in a romance, perhaps because I consider myself just as much a reader as a writer.

While the initial idea and first draft of a book are mine, obviously, I am lucky enough to have a tremendous amount of help along the way to publication. The final draft of a novel reflects my researcher’s suggestions, editorial recommendations, copy editor’s marks, all the way through to readers’ comments and questions about a previous book, which often influence the sequel.

I’ll use
The Taming of the Duke
as my primary example of the stages leading to publication, though I refer at times to all four books. After the initial letter I sent to my editor, the next step was to make character sketches. I’m not sharing the sketches I created for main characters, as they altered so much as to be unrecognizable by the end of the novels (Rafe went from being a middle-aged drunk to a hero!). I am including sketches of some secondary characters, giving you a sense of the kind of incoherent thinking I do before starting a book.

Gillian

Gillian considers herself unsexed. Too clear-sighted, too unable to overlook men’s foibles. So she accepted a true fool (Draven) in a desperate moment. Then she is equally desperate to get rid of him. Got rid of him and is now interested in Rafe because of his kindness, not because she really desires him.

Gabe

Gabe’s mother was very sensual and very in love with Rafe’s father. It was a love affair, albeit with strong hierarchical patterns and illegitimate/adulterous. Gabe came to associate women’s femininity (sexuality/desire) with his mother.

So he loves Gillian because of her obvious distance from the sensual life. She decides life on a logical basis. For her, the brain comes first.

Loretta

Loretta is an absolutely driven, very young woman, who only comes truly alive on the stage. When Gabe’s carriage knocked her down and she briefly lost consciousness, coming to in his house, she knew instantly that she had lost her position. He comforted her and one thing led to another. Nine months later, the baby arrives. She promptly hands
over the child, but ever since she’s had a lot of trouble finding another position and he feels guilty. So he sets up the theater.

I couldn’t find a character note for Lucius Felton, which means I was quite certain about his character, and didn’t need to feel it out on paper. There’s a reason for that! Sometime after
Much Ado About You
was published, a reader named Ashley wrote to me to point out that Lucius Felton and Lucius Malfoy, from the Harry Potter series, seem quite similar in their overall appearance, “snakelike” qualities, and the fact that they both carry canes. She also noted that the movie actor who plays Lucius Malfoy’s son Draco is named Tom
Felton
.

It was news to me, but it all made sense. When J. K. Rowling’s first books were published, my son Luca was not yet reading. I read aloud the first three novels in the Harry Potter series once, then again . . . then a third time! By the time the long-awaited fourth book was published, Luca was reading for himself, but even so, I read all the remaining books aloud. By then, it had become a family tradition. I never noticed this similarity until Ashley pointed it out, but the evidence for literary influence is overwhelming. Of course, Lucius Malfoy is no hero, and Lucius Felton definitely is, so the resemblance doesn’t go beyond the superficial.

I borrowed from myself when I was giving the sisters their final names. When I wrote
Fool for Love
, I gave the hero two little sisters, Annabel and Josie. And I gave the heroine one sister, Imogen. Sound familiar? I can hardly believe myself that I started the Essex Sisters series a few years later by naming three sisters Annabel, Josie, and Imogen. There is absolutely no connection between the series and those earlier characters.

After character notes come plot notes for the specific novel I’m writing, often edited in the midst of creating a book. What follows are my notes for
The Taming of the Duke
. As an aside, during the year I worked on the companion, I was also writing the manuscript of
Four Nights with the Duke
(2014), a book whose heroine is a romance writer. Forced to think about my own process, I deliberately structured the notes that open every chapter of
Four Nights
—Mia’s writing notes—to echo my own process. Mia’s annotations to her manuscript,
An Angel’s Form and a Devil’s Heart
, include incoherent character descriptions, plot ideas, and bits of dialogue as they occur to her.

Initial Plot Notes for
The Taming of the Duke

Imogen is finally over grieving for Draven, and wants to have an affair. She chooses Rafe’s illegitimate brother, Gabe. Meanwhile Rafe quits drinking and kisses Imogen. He wants to marry her, but she refuses, laughing. So he has an affair with her while disguised as his brother Gabe, thinking that he will lure her to the point at which she will accept marrying him, because she’s seduced. Imogen discovers the truth somewhere in the middle of the first time they make love, but says nothing. So after two nights, she tells him that she wants to end the affair. He is struck dumb with shock.

I need some sort of climactic scene in which it is made clear that Imogen knew all the while, and that she only wants to marry Rafe, not Rafe-in-a-mustache/Gabe.

They could end up in bed together and she could tell him he looks better in his mustache.

They could get together and she would ask him to wear a mustache because that reminds her of happy times and he would be miserable but it would be a joke.

In
Daddy Long-Legs
, Judy refuses Jervie, then is miserable because she doesn’t hear from him . . . after she confesses by letter, she is summoned into his presence and discovers that DLL and Jervie are one and the same.

Here, she refuses Rafe and he is miserable about it . . . doesn’t hear from her . . . confesses love by letter . . . is summoned into Imogen’s presence and discovers that she always knew he was Rafe (not Gabe).

Important point
: why didn’t she say something right away? For some reason, she wanted Rafe to tell her himself. Why?

Perhaps to do with her first marriage to Draven: she thought she had a huge passion and it wasn’t really anything: it wasn’t sex, it wasn’t communication, there was no romance. She thought she had a huge passion and it turned out to be emptiness.

She needs to know that this is going to be different. She needs Rafe to behave in a certain way that shows it’s going to be different.

So Rafe steps up to the plate and does the communicating. She doesn’t want to take the lead. With Draven, she did all the chasing. Maybe pretend he’d broken his leg? Some gesture. Willing to put himself in the position that she put herself into. Dropping all pride.

He hasn’t been able to be completely emotionally available with her. Disguised as his brother—pretending to be someone else. There’s a fundamental way in which he’s not emotionally there. Drank in order to make it clear to everyone that he wasn’t his deceased brother.

Set it up so that pretending to be Gabe has to do with bolstering his own self-confidence . . . maybe the ultimate thing for him to come to her as himself. Risking rejection as himself.

He doesn’t initially have the courage to let her know. And she wants him to tell her himself. He eventually realizes the truth about her first marriage. She needs a formal proposal. He is going to want to drink (why he was drinking in the first place). Does he love her more, or is he more afraid of being himself?

He’s hiding behind the ducal proposal.

Why did she refuse him in the first place? Because it’s old Rafe . . . drunken Rafe . . . Rafe who could never be mysterious or loverlike. Because she had a crush on “Gabe,” who isn’t Gabe. Did she get cross at Rafe for not telling her? For tricking her?

Maybe Rafe decides that he cannot confess. Asks her to marry him, and she agrees, and everything is great and they make love and then, right at the end of the book, she rolls over, says sleepily, “But I miss your mustache.”

One of the most interesting parts of these introductory notes is how vague they are, signaling how much the writing process actually changes a novel’s plot. I deviate into a note about one of my favorite romances, Jean Webster’s
Daddy Long-Legs,
published in 1912.
Daddy Long-Legs
is an adorable tale of love and disguise, written entirely in letters. If you haven’t encountered it, do take a look. Like
Rose in Bloom
,
Daddy Long-Legs
is out of copyright, and available through Project Gutenberg at
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40426/40426-h/40426-h.htm
.

One can’t be quite so vague with the fourth and last book in a series, since most of the moving pieces (i.e., character motivations) have been established. Readers howl if a previously shy heroine is suddenly dancing the waltz wearing a corset and nothing else!

A big problem in this series had to do with the characters’ ages. I had to play around with birthdates as the series progressed. The truth is that Josie ought to be seventeen in
Pleasure for Pleasure
, based on being fifteen in
Much Ado About You
. I couldn’t countenance that, even though it would have been historically appropriate for a seventeen-year-old to debut. So Josie became eighteen, going on forty (i.e., far too wise for her age). Her husband traveled in the other direction; Mayne became a little younger from
Much Ado
to
Pleasure for Pleasure
. Think of him as a time-traveler. Or as a more appropriate husband to an eighteen-year-old.

I thought it would be interesting to include the plot notes for the final book in the series,
Pleasure for Pleasure
, because you can see how much the three previous novels shape what I have to work with. This note was written when I was about halfway through
Pleasure for Pleasure
. I often like to pause in mid-writing and make sure I’m going in the right direction. I ask myself questions about the characters in order to make sure that I’m not changing them. By this point Josie, in particular, had a very large fan club who knew her very well indeed. So I ask myself, “Is Josie the type to sacrifice herself?” The answer? “Not necessarily.” Those notes segue directly into a bit of dialogue. The scene made it to the book, although not in these words.

What do I have to work with?

Josie is sarcastic and has a repertory of animal drugs she could use.

Lucius Felton is in London and uses his money to make things work. He always makes things work.

Annabel will have gone back to Scotland, and Imogen is on her honeymoon. That leaves Tess in London.

Darlington wrote the
Memoir
and will be desperate because Griselda finds out.

Griselda finds out and is outraged and horrified and in love.

The book horrified Josie as well.

Sylvie is leaving with her lover for France. Josie thinks Mayne is in love with Sylvie (since he said so). She thinks his heart is breaking because Sylvie is going to France. She thinks he kissed the handkerchief.

Is Josie the type to sacrifice herself? Not necessarily. And would Sylvie want an “affair” with Mayne? I don’t think so.

Could I give Sylvie feet of clay so that Josie decides all Mayne needs is a long voyage with her in order to fall out of love? NO: risking an unsympathetic gay portrayal.

Could I use Mayne’s turret or magic garden somehow? Could Mayne find Josie in the turret? Or in the garden? If she drugs him that would be like
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Love-in-idleness.

SHOULD BE INVOLVED:

Darlington’s book

Griselda

Lucius and his ability to save things with money (perhaps he helps Mayne?)

Could Josie decide to “burn” his infatuation away by putting him on the boat with a note from her, all the time intending that his love for Sylvie would be worn away by the long voyage? That sounds OK. Would work for the drug.

Lucius could hear Josie telling Tess and leave the room. He could send a boat off to get Mayne. The Royal Navy will take him off (favor owed to Lucius).

Griselda is afraid that Darlington is going to turn her into a book.

Mayne assures her that he would kill Darlington. D. doesn’t have a death wish.

Josie could come up with a complicated plan, worthy of a novel. She’s going to drug Mayne and put him on the ship with Sylvie. Then he’ll figure out by the end of that long voyage who he really loves. Because Sylvie is boring. She’s thin but boring. Josie needs help. She needs Tess and Lucius.

Josie and Mayne split up when they reach London. Josie to Tess’s house. Mayne to Griselda. When Mayne comes back, I’ll drug him and send his carriage to the docks.

Tess: No, send the carriage to my house. Our footmen can put him on the boat with Sylvie. She leaves at 8 pm in the evening. No problem.

Mayne wakes up a little groggy to find Lucius grinning at him. She actually drugged me? Only so as to clear your vision. Read your letter, why don’t you?

What I didn’t understand is that love is more important than anything else. If you love Sylvie, then you should be with Sylvie. Even if she won’t accept your hand in
marriage—I would guess not, since I’m already married—you can be with her. I cannot be responsible for the despair in your heart.

Mayne: God, I’m surrounded by florid writers. This could have been written by Darlington.

Finds her in the garden. Who are you?

A ghost?

Josie thinks she’s been reading too many novels.

She throws a glass of water over his head. Who are you?

“They dropped me in the rowboat and I drowned but I had to tell you—”

She faints. Dead on the ground.

“Damn it!”

Picks her up.

Shakes her. “You drugged me! You tried to get rid of me!”

“I didn’t; I love you, I love you.”

“Then how could you let me go?”

“Because I love you too much to keep you away from Sylvie.”

I never bothered to mention the biggest plot point of all—the fact that
Pleasure for Pleasure
is shaped around a marriage of convenience: Mayne marries Josie thinking that she has been raped by the despicable Thurman; she marries him believing that he’s still in love with Sylvie.

Jody found a blog in which I discuss the whole question of convenient marriages, so we decided to include it here.