Researching the Living Past

I’ve always been fascinated with history. Growing up in England, in the historical market town of Huntingdon, I was surrounded by it. Huntingdon was the birthplace of Oliver Cromwell (who became Lord Protector in England after the civil war and execution of Charles I) and it was also once home to families like the Montagus – the Earls of Sandwich. Chartered by King John in 1205, the town has been around for a while! It’s just a short meander over a medieval bridge to the village of Godmanchester, where one of my sisters still lives with her family. There are 17th century half-timbered houses along the ancient causeway in Godmanchester. My sisters and I used to walk along to see if we could fit under the beams supporting the second floor of one house that hung over the pavement. I remember fitting under it until I was eleven and then I was too tall already and had to stoop unless I wanted to bang my head. Made me realize how much shorter people were once!

So I suppose, as a child, a lot of that historical detail seeped in without me actually realizing it and long before I ever thought I might use it to write historical romance. Later, living in Cambridge for a while and also in Nottingham and York, I spent a lot of time dawdling through my favorite museums, revisiting them whenever I could and had pennies to spare. I was very fortunate to live in those wonderful cities where history is preserved and celebrated. With a mind like a sponge I gleefully absorbed every drop.

Devouring books all my life has also helped stockpile quite a mass of historical detail in my little mind. I love biographies and recently read a wonderful one about Jane Austen. Whenever I read, I take notes. Tons of notes.

For me, these glimpses into the past —whether they came by reading a book, touring a castle ruin, or simply strolling down an amazing street like ‘The Shambles’ in York, where fourteenth century houses lean in as if a strong gust of wind might blow them down—have all contributed toward the treasure chest of research I open when I sit down to write. Once that knowledge is there it can pop out at me in the oddest moments and suddenly cause a jolt of inspiration.

Of course, when I’m in the midst of a story, I also research certain facts, phrases and details to make certain they are accurate for the period. For this purpose I’ve accumulated stacks of material and dog-eared books. There is one thing every writer has in common—they’re all voracious readers. They have to be.

At my bedside, while I was working on Miss Ellie Vyne’s story, I had the following pile of books: The Regency Underworld; Everyday Life in Regency and Victorian England; National Gallery of Art; The Mirror of Graces; Harriette Wilson’s Memoirs; A History of Food; An Elegant Madness – High Society in Regency England; Jane Austen Her Life; Six Centuries of Verse; Secrets of the Gypsies (hmm not sure why that’s there) and Change Your Underwear Twice a Week (hilarious book, nothing to do with Miss Ellie Vyne! Or is it?) I never know where I might find something that sparks an idea and with my eclectic tastes in reading…well…

Researching the period in which we write is incredibly important, not only so the reader can fully immerse themselves in the story without jarring anachronisms, but to bring our characters to life in a world of three-dimensional detail. Like an artist creating an oil painting, or a watercolor, a writer creates their world in layers and shades of light. It can’t be done without an enjoyment of history and that comes not just from books, but from breathing it in, from touching and tasting the past. In a sense, we have to walk that world and live with our characters in order to know them.

Most of all, I think, research has to be fun. If it isn’t, writing becomes a chore and I have enough of those to do already!

I’d like to leave you with a small excerpt from THE WICKED WEDDING OF MISS ELLIE VYNE. Ellie Vyne also has a love of books and wants nothing more than to retire to a room full of them, as she tells her childhood nemesis James Hartley in this scene. Naturally, she wouldn’t usually bother to tell the rake about her dreams for the future, but they’re both wearing masks and disguises tonight. And James is pickled. Since he doesn’t appear to recognize her, she feels free to spill her true thoughts for once.

           “I don’t really want a husband,” she said. “If I wanted one, I could have had one by now.”

           She had a heart-shaped face with a very determined chin. Her lips reminded him of sweet, fancy little sugar cakes served on fine china and handed around by silent butlers at very exclusive hotel teas. Delicate confections he would get a slap ’round the cheek for swallowing three at a time when his grandmother caught him in the act.

           The ice queen’s neck was slender and long, accen­tuated by that ridiculously tall wig. She most definitely had all her parts in their place, he thought, slowly admiring every inch of her swanlike neck and the jutting swell of bosom below it. Hoisted inward and upward by a tight corset, her shapely flesh was almost bursting out of its lace.

           A moment ago he’d been running away from women and conversation. In just a few short minutes he’d changed his mind about both. Could be the drink, he reasoned. Things often seemed most awe inspiring when under the influence of brandy.

           So, if she didn’t really want a husband…

           “Then what do you want?”

           “Isn’t it strange no one has ever asked me that before?” She looked down at her lap. “You’ll laugh.”

           “I most certainly will not.” He slammed a hand to his heart, hiccupping again. Inwardly he cursed himself for prompting her to tell. Now he’d hear all about a man who wouldn’t or couldn’t marry her. Or some such nonsense. And he’d listen patiently then reassure her that the fool didn’t know what a mistake he’d made. Finally, after spilling a few tears and borrowing his kerchief, or his sleeve, she’d run off back to the ball.

                Why couldn’t he have told her he didn’t care about her problems? No. He had to open his stupid mouth and ask, didn’t he?

                Softly she said, “I want a little room filled with books. There should be a fireplace and an old dog sleeping in a basket beside it. A few comfortable chairs with lots of pillows. All of it overlooking a pretty garden. A little place of my own, where no one ever bothers me. That’s all.”

                The pearls hanging from her ears were still now, her words forced out as if shy to be heard. Moonlight touched the smooth orbs of her bosom above the bodice of that elaborate ball gown, and James wistfully followed the rapid lift and fall with his woozy gaze.

                “Is that too much to ask?” she added.

                He hastily quelled another hiccup. “No. Not at all. Not at all.” That was all she wanted? He’d give her a house full of such rooms, he mused. Anything she wanted. “It seems you’d be a vast deal more economical to keep than most women I know.”

                “Do you mock me, sir?”

                “No!” he replied, wounded.

                “Kindly stop staring at my bosom.”

                He felt his face heat up. It was unusual for James Hartley to be flustered by a woman, and he didn’t like the sensation. “You chose to wear that style gown, I assumed you wanted them to be looked at.”

                Expecting a slapped face, he was surprised when she laughed. It was a delightful, smoky sound, deep and more than a trifle lusty. He didn’t know any women who laughed like that, unguarded and naughty. Or did he? He squinted hard at her lips, trying again to think coherently.

           “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded eventu­ally, her eyes two warm beacons of reflected starlight through her mask. “I wouldn’t have dressed this way if I didn’t want to be noticed.” Again he sensed she would never normally admit this. Because they were both hiding behind masks, it was permissible to speak with honesty.

           “And you wanted to be admired,” he pressed.

           “And…yes”—she inclined her head—“I wanted to be admired.”

           Leaning closer, he crushed her silk skirt with his thigh. “What’s your dog’s name?”

           “My dog?”

           “Old fellow. In the basket. By the fire.”

           “Oh.” She flushed prettily under the edges of her mask, and he got the sense she was surprised he’d paid attention. It ruffled her proud feathers to be proven wrong about him. “I haven’t got one yet.”

           “Why not?”

           “I haven’t got a home to keep him in.”

           He frowned, grasping her lacy sleeve tighter in his fist. “Where do you live then?”

           “Nowhere,” she said. “I wander.”

THE WICKED WEDDING OF MISS ELLIE VYNE

BY JAYNE FRESINA – IN STORES JANUARY 2013

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When a Scandalous Lady…

By night Ellie Vyne fleeces unsuspecting aristocrats as the dashing Count de Bonneville. By day she avoids her sisters’ matchmaking schemes and dreams up torments for her childhood nemesis—the arrogant, far-too-handsome-for-his-own-good James Hartley. Her latest prank: “winning” the Hartley diamonds in a card game from James’s mistress.

Steals from a Notorious Rake…

James finally has a lead on the thieving Count de Bonneville, tracking him to a disreputable inn. He bursts in on none other than the brazen, irritating, nearly naked Ellie Vyne. Convinced she is the count’s mistress, James decides it’s best to keep his enemies close. Very close. He must get those diamonds back, and seducing Ellie will be the perfect bait.

It Can Only End in a Wicked Wedding…

Praise for The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne:

“[The characters] banter and quibble with comic perfection…” —Publishers Weekly

“Readers who adore wickedly funny, fast and sassy romances will delight in Fresina’s latest. The naughty desire-in-disguise theme, coupled with sharp, hilarious repartee, steals the reader’s heart…” —RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars

“Fresina brings a unique voice and perspective to the 1820s romance novel. Fans of Grace Burrowes and Amanda Quick will especially appreciate Fresina’s intriguing characters and humor.” —Booklist

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four girls.  Entertained by her father’s colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters— all with far more exciting lives than hers— she’s always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines. Her next novel in the Sydney Dovedale regency romance series, Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts with Scandal, will be in stores in June 2013. For more information, please visit www.jaynefresina.com and check out her blog: http://jaynefresinaromanceauthor.blogspot.com/.

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