A Romance Writer’s Guide
to Love and Marriage


by Jacqueline Diamond and Kurt Wilson



Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2007 Jackie Hyman and Kurt Wilson

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Introduction

Kurt and I have been happily married for more than thirty years. We’ve raised two wonderful sons and survived financial setbacks and personal losses, including the death of a child.
Recently, we’ve had occasion to share some of what we’ve learned with young relatives who are contemplating or entering marriages of their own. We hope these thoughts will be helpful to others as well.
In our culture, it is often assumed that romantic love and physical attraction are all we need to have a successful marriage. In reality, other factors are not only equally important but often more critical in the long run.
We’ve divided our advice into topics couples should discuss prior to marriage. They can be revisited whenever the relationship encounters a transition or either member of the couple feels unsatisfied. 
Fundamentally, for a marriage to work, the couple needs a high level of agreement and mutual respect. Working through these topics may help you determine if you share enough qualities to sustain a marriage. 

Key Areas to Discuss

First, spirituality. What are your beliefs about God and how do you expect to express these through the use of your time and talents?
If you have different views, how will you raise your children and respect each other’s beliefs? What moral values do you share? If there are key moral values on which you disagree, you are unlikely to be able to sustain a marriage.
Next, your personal goals and objectives. You should fundamentally agree on these, but also need flexibility because these may change over time.
What do you each want to be doing in one, five, ten or twenty years? How do you plan to reach your goals in such areas as personal growth, health maintenance, education, fun and housing?
Do you want children? How many? What are your views about discipline, education and parenting? If you have different religious views, how will you raise the children?
How will you deal with in-laws? Where will you spend your holidays? How much influence will you allow relatives to exert on your activities, finances and goals? 
You must be able to separate from your parents (or, if you’re older, your grown children), put your spouse first and establish your own home. At the same time, you shouldn’t have to sacrifice emotional ties merely to satisfy your partner’s demand for exclusive attention.
If you already have children at home, how will you handle parenting issues? Who will discipline the children? How will you decide on the rules?

Money and Money Management

Arguments over money are one of the main factors in divorces. Your style of money management needs to be settled before marriage and adjusted as situations change (for example, if one person becomes disabled or quits work to stay home with children). You should have a high level of agreement.  
Who gets to decide how to spend your income and what do you do when there is a disagreement?
How much can you each spend without having to check with the other in advance?
Will you own property and cars jointly? What about existing property? How will you handle inheritances?
Who manages the bills and checkbook? Will you have separate bank accounts? (Note that you can maintain separate credit but still list your partner on your bank accounts so they have access to the money in case of emergency.) 
How will you handle taxes? Will you both keep records and combine them at tax time, or will one person handle everything? Will you do your tax returns yourselves or hire an accountant? Note that it is important that both partners have access to and full information about jointly filed tax returns.

Communicating Honestly

What are your individual communication styles? Some people only feel loved when they receive gifts; others, when their partner does something special for them. Many people don’t feel loved unless the other person actually says the words, “I love you,” on a regular basis.
We recommend reading Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. It’s helpful to read it out loud together and discuss as you go. 
In the important area of conflict resolution, a valuable resource is the book Parent Effectiveness Training. This is not just for parents; it’s about communication in general. You can also read and discuss this together.
Talking about what’s bothering you before you reach the boiling point is vital. It’s equally important to cultivate listening skills, allowing the other person to complete his or her thoughts and responding only to show that you’re really listening (Example: “I hear you saying that when I leave my clothes all over the floor, you feel as if I don’t care how hard you work to keep the house neat”). Only when your partner has truly been heard is it your turn to speak—and receive the same opportunity to express your feelings without interruption.

Respect

Respect is one of the most important areas in a relationship. When partners criticize or belittle each other, whether while alone or (even more damagingly) in front of others, the relationship deteriorates. Do you or does your partner use sarcasm or make snide, low-blow remarks? You must both commit to halting this because it blocks communication and destroys trust.
Don’t try to excuse sarcasm or rudeness by saying, “I was only joking.” Either you are being dishonest, or you are out of touch with your own intentions. 
In truth, there are times when people honestly interpret a remark differently because of their personal experiences, different levels of sensitivity and/or cultural background. However, if the other person feels hurt or disrespected, do not dismiss those feelings as unimportant. 

Personal Space

In our culture, love is often assumed to exist in a realm of its own, to sweep away the participants and eliminate their need for separateness. But in real life, hardly anyone can remain in such a state of fervor and intimacy for twenty years, let alone thirty, forty, or fifty. 
Establishing levels of personal space is trickier than it might seem.
There are five areas of togetherness/separateness that couples must balance. Each person’s needs will vary, often quite widely.
You should explore how much each person needs: 
1)      Time separate from each other
2)      Time together but with other people (such as at a party)
3)      Time together but doing different things (such as being in the same room while one watches TV and the other reads) 
4)      Time together doing the same thing (such as watching a TV show and occasionally discussing it or both reacting to it, such as cheering for a favorite team)
5)      Time together highly focused on each other (such as talking about this article, or making love)
Note that partners rarely require exactly the same amount of togetherness. Are you willing to schedule time together to meet the other’s needs? Each must be willing to meet the other’s true and reasonable need for intimacy, but neither should make such excessive demands that the other feels smothered. 

Other Significant Issues

What attracted you to the other person?
What do you respect about the other person? What do you think they do better than you?  Are you willing to trust their judgment in this area even if their decisions make you uncomfortable? 
What do you not like about the other person?  Are there any aspects of the other person that you do not respect? How could they change this area or these areas? Do you expect them to change? Are they willing to change?
Differences can tear people apart, or they can be a source of strength. For example, one person may be better at interacting diplomatically with other family members in touchy circumstances, while the other person may be better at politely but firmly setting limits and handling unavoidable confrontations. 
Practical matters can be divided also, as long as both partners agree. However, if one person handles all the financial matters, it’s important that the other person stay informed. And while one parent may be better at nurturing children and the other at discipline, don’t let either of you become the bad guy. Your children need a healthy, loving relationship with you both.

Trust and Secrets

People sometimes misunderstand the concept of trust in a relationship, interpreting it to mean that partners should blindly trust each other without disclosure or inquiry. This is the opposite of the truth, and plays into the hands of manipulators who take advantage of their partners.
In reality, love can only flourish in the presence of openness and honesty. Important questions must be answered and secrets revealed. This doesn’t preclude a person from retaining a reasonable level of privacy, such as maintaining a journal in which to record emotions without worrying about how they might appear to a spouse. But there should be no deception and no secrets of a material nature.
Confidences should be respected. It is harmful to the relationship if one party discusses intimate matters or discloses the partner’s secrets to others, even if they are close family members. 
Please note that, while a partner deserves a general idea of the other’s past behavior, neither should require a detailed list of romantic partners and sexual activities. Too much demand for information encourages an unhealthy dwelling on the past. No one comes to a marriage in a perfect state and none of us can change the past. Reasonable disclosure should leave no question of deception or unwelcome future surprises, such as a criminal record or the existence of a child given up for adoption. Yet at the same time, each partner must be willing and able to accept and move past the other’s flaws and mistakes.
Each of us varies in what we can accept. If one partner finds the other’s past too troubling, it is best to avoid marriage and move on. Everyone has a right to watch out for red flags. As an obvious example, a person who has children should avoid anyone with a history as a child molester or abuser. It is not true that everyone deserves a second chance, if that second chance could harm others.

The Toughest Questions

These questions should be addressed frankly. For some people, they will be deal breakers:
Are you or have you ever been addicted to chemical substances, alcohol, gambling or anything else?
Have you ever been convicted of any charge, accused of a serious crime even if acquitted, or involved in a major lawsuit?
How is your health? Are there any continuing or genetic issues or concerns? Do you get regular checkups?
Do you currently have any sexually transmitted diseases or other contagious illnesses?
Have you ever been married or had children? If you had children and they are not part of your life now, why not?
Have you ever had an abortion or had your baby aborted? If so, how do you feel about this now?
Have you ever attempted or seriously contemplated suicide? If so, what have you done about it? Do you have suicidal feelings now?
What is your credit score and do you have unpaid bills? What about student loans? How do you plan to pay these off?
Have you met each other’s parents and friends? If you dislike them or they dislike you, be advised they have the potential to harm your marriage.
Were you ever abused or have you ever been an abuser? If so, what were the circumstances? How have you dealt with the situation?
What are your family’s skeletons in the closet?
If you have children at home, how will you handle parenting issues? How will the rules be made and enforced?
What is the true nature of your work/occupation? If your work is classified by the U.S. government or restricted by a confidentiality agreement, you should at least disclose as much as you are allowed to.
Are you a virgin? If not and this is a first marriage, you must decide between you how much information to share (please see general statement above).

Attitudes Toward Sensuality

Before marriage, should you have sex? Do you want to live together as lovers, or live together as roommates, or neither? 
As for lovemaking, without going into a lot of detail, what do you enjoy and not enjoy, or think you’ll enjoy and not enjoy? What are your fantasies about the perfect romantic encounter (such as a coupling on the floor after a candlelight dinner at home in front of a fire, or fighting and making up passionately)?  
Do you have any tastes or serious fantasies that involve violence or restraining the other person? Or anything that the other person might find objectionable, such as involving a third participant or spouse swapping?
Discuss what gets you aroused and what does not. Some people love having their ear nibbled. Others dislike it intensely.
Do you watch pornography? Do you read erotic books? If so, how often? While these activities may be part of some healthy relationships, they can also become addictive and create unrealistic expectations of your partner. 
A healthy marriage allows platonic (non-romantic) friendships with members of the same and the opposite sex, but not to the extent that either partner has reason to feel threatened. It is important to avoid well-intentioned situations that can lead to infidelity, whether emotional or sexual or both. Example: a friend of the opposite sex going through a hard time (such as losing a spouse or a job) may seek advice from one of you. Such meetings should take place in public, such as at a restaurant, and should not occur frequently or involve lengthy phone conversations or text/email exchanges. 

Give Your Marriage a Tune-Up

As circumstances change, it is important to touch bases with your partner. How are you both feeling? Have your interests or hopes for the future changed?
Major life alterations that need to be discussed may be positive (having a child, being promoted, landing a new job) as well as negative. We each tend to assume that what worked in our childhood family will work in our new family, but this can lead to false assumptions about the other person. 
When major problems arise, counseling and marriage encounter weekends can be very valuable. However, it’s also important to talk on a day-to-day, casual basis. If the two of you are alone in a car driving somewhere or are relaxing after putting the children to bed, take the opportunity to chat about what’s on your mind, positive as well as negative. If you notice that something is bothering you—for example, feeling isolated with the children or saddled with too many chores—talk about it before you build up a lot of anger.
Frequent, frank but positive discussions can improve matters for both marriage partners. Resolutions should not involve one person winning and one person losing. Both should feel that they’ve won something, even if they’ve also made a concession.

Conclusion

There is no one-size-fits-all recipe for success in marriage. Some people simply aren’t able to stay together. But even partners with a high degree of compatibility will find that, by discussing the areas we’ve outlined, their marriage will have a better chance of withstanding the curve balls life throws at us all.
Please remember that a loving relationship has to be a two-way street. Both partners must care deeply about the other person’s happiness, and neither should feel coerced, fearful or afraid to ask tough questions.

Checklist and Outline

Here’s a brief outline of this article that you can use for quick reference. Afterwards, you’ll find short bios of the authors and sample first chapters from some of Jacqueline Diamond’s books.

1) Spirituality
What do you believe about God? What do you believe about salvation?
If you have different religious views, how will you raise your children and respect each other’s religious beliefs? 
What moral values do you share? 

2) Goals and Objectives
What do you each want to be doing in 1, 5, 10 or 20 years?
What is your plan to achieve your goals for spiritual growth, personal growth, health maintenance, education, fun and housing?
Do you want children? How many? What are your views about discipline, education and parenting?
How will you deal with in-laws? Where will you spend your holidays? How much influence will you allow relatives to exert on your activities, finances and goals? 

3) Money Management 
Who gets to decide what to buy and what do you do when there is a disagreement?
How much can you each spend without having to check in with the other before spending it?
Who manages the bills and check book?  Do you each have separate bank accounts but with each other as signers on them? 
How will you handle taxes?

4) Conflict Resolution
What makes you feel loved? 
Are you willing to learn to communicate openly and to listen without interrupting?
Read Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, preferably out loud together, and talk about it as you go through it
Read Parent Effectiveness Training and discuss it as you go through it

5) Respect
Do you or does your partner ever use sarcasm or make snide, low-blow remarks? 
If you do this, how do you plan to change?

6) Personal Space
How much alone time do you need? How much time exclusively with the other person? How much time with the other person while involved in other activities?
Are you willing to schedule time together to meet the each other’s needs? 

7)  Other Issues
What attracted you to the other person?
What do you respect about the other person that you think they do better than you? Would you be willing to trust in their judgment in this area even if their decisions make you uncomfortable?
What do you not like about the other person?  Do you expect them to change this area?
Are there any aspects of the other person that you do not respect? How could they change this area?  Do you expect them to change this area?

8) Tough Questions
Are you or have you ever been addicted to chemical substances, alcohol, gambling or anything else?
Have you ever been in jail or involved in a major lawsuit?
How is your health? Are there any continuing issues or concerns? Do you get regular checkups?
Do you currently have any sexually transmitted diseases or any contagious disease?
Have you ever been married or had children? Have you ever had an abortion or had a girlfriend who aborted your baby?
Have you ever attempted or seriously contemplated suicide?
What is your credit score and what are your unpaid bills? What about student loans?
Have you met the parents and/or the children? How do you get along with them and, if not well, how do you plan to deal with this?
Were you ever abused or have you ever been an abuser?
What are your family’s skeletons in the closet?
What is the true nature of your work/occupation?
Are you a virgin? If not, how much information are you willing to share? 

9) Sensuality
Should you have sex before marriage or live together?
Lovemaking - what do you enjoy and not enjoy, or think you’ll enjoy and not enjoy?  
What are your fantasies? What gets you aroused? 


About the authors

Jacqueline Diamond has sold more than ninety novels, including romances, paranormals and mysteries. A former Associated Press reporter and TV columnist in the Los Angeles area, Jackie teaches writing and has served on the national board of Romance Writers of America. She writes the Safe Harbor Medical miniseries for Harlequin American Romance and has reissued some of her early books in digital editions. She offers monthly specials on her website, jacquelinediamond.com, and at her Facebook page, JacquelineDiamondAuthor. On Twitter, she can be followed @jacquediamond.

Kurt Wilson is a Senior IT Business Systems Analyst with more than a dozen years of experience in the real estate industry domain. He is actively involved with his church and leads a Bible study group. He is open to new opportunities, as a business analyst, to add value to your organization. Connect with kurt007wilson at Linkedin.

Books you might enjoy by Jacqueline Diamond

Regency romances
 (traditional, light love stories set in Jane Austen’s era)
A Lady of Letters
A Lady’s Point of View
Lady in Disguise
Song for a Lady
The Day-Dreaming Lady
The Forgetful Lady

Romantic comedies
A Warm December
Capers and Rainbows
Old Dreams, New Dreams
Swept Away
Unlikely Partners
Yours, Mine and Ours

Murder mysteries
Danger Music
The Eyes of a Stranger 

Paranormal and speculative fiction
Out of Her Universe (alternate history/s.f.)
Shadowlight (fantasy)
The Ghost and Cheri (light Gothic romance)
Touch Me in the Dark (Gothic romantic thriller)

Below, we hope you enjoy sample chapters from three of her books: a Regency romance, a romantic comedy and a light Gothic romance.


A Lady’s Point of View

Chapter One


Miss Margaret Linley was variously known as high in the instep, a dull piece of business, and a great gawk. None of these terms was meant to be flattering, despite her passingly fair figure, soft brown hair, and large blue eyes. For if she was not slighting a gentleman altogether by her inability to see him properly, she was tripping over his boots or ignoring his conversation in her attempts to avoid collisions.
On this particular night the young lady, in her second season and garbed in cherry-red silk, stood holding a glass of lemonade in her gloved hand and trying not to squint. The month was May, the evening was Wednesday, and the place, as any of London's elite could not have failed to discern, was the fashionable if plain assembly rooms known as Almack's, in King Street.
Through the tapestry of the gathering wove gentlemen in finely cut coats in subdued colours as decreed by the master of style, Beau Brummell. Ladies, each the proud possessor of a voucher that permitted her entry to the premises, danced and laughed and flirted behind painted fans, displaying an almost shocking amount of bosom above their lace-trimmed, embroidered gowns. Those in their first season wore white, while their older sisters displayed themselves in lilac, apricot, peach, and primrose. 
The anxious mamas formed a dark border of blues, greens, and purples as they hovered about the dance floor, each hoping for her daughter to make a fine match. The assemblage overall presented a fabric of rich colours that delighted Meg, who could perceive little beyond the bright hues.
Several ladies strolled by, nodding politely, and Meg nodded and smiled back. But when the ladies turned away without speaking, she wondered if she had mistaken headshakes for nods.
She felt exceedingly uncomfortable. Her mother, Lady Mary, had insisted on dampening her petticoats to make the gown cling to her slender form, and Meg wished fervently that she might change into the old, modest bombazine she wore about the house. Dampened petticoats might be alluring, but they felt deucedly clammy.
Meg's musings halted as a figure in black approached and asked for a dance. She agreed with enthusiasm until, after setting aside her lemonade, she recognized her partner as a confirmed old bachelor who had no doubt made the offer out of respect for her late father.
Walking across the floor took far more courage than others might suspect, for the whole of the room posed a giant blur for Meg. She attempted to move forward with grace, dreading one of the hideous stumbles that plagued her life.
She must keep her weak vision a secret. No one, so Lady Mary insisted, would marry a chit who at nineteen already required spectacles, although Meg suspected this was more a fancy of her mother's than a dictum of society. Men were known to use quizzing glasses, often raising the single lens to gaze in a quelling manner at those of whom they disapproved. A few fashionable ladies wore lorgnettes, a pair of framed lenses with a handle. Still, Lady Mary was not a figure her daughter cared to cross, even when, with the unconscious arrogance of one who could spot a paste jewel or hennaed hair across a ballroom, Meg's mother insisted that anyone could see well with a bit of effort.
She refused to permit her daughter any sort of lens, and had it not been for the generosity of the nearsighted housekeeper, Mrs. Pickney, who was willing to share her eyeglasses, Meg's needlework would have been speckled with blood from her pricked fingers, much the way her life in society thus far had been blotched by her bumblings.
"Are you enjoying the season, Miss Linley?" her partner asked as he guided her awkwardly through an approximation of the waltz, that daring new dance which permitted a man and a woman an almost indecent amount of intimacy.
"Indeed." She gave a silent prayer of thanks for this new dance, however it might distress her elders. With a man's hand on her waist and the other palm-to-palm with her own, she felt far safer than trying to navigate unaided through the intricacies of a quadrille.
"Have you not a sister in town this season?" the man continued. For the life of her, Meg could not recall his name.
"Yes, Angela." Meg bit her lip as her heel brushed the ankle of another whirling young lady and won her a reproving glare. "She's but eighteen months younger than I." Being halfway through one's second season and still unmarried was not yet cause for alarm, but neither did one wish to appear any older than one was.
"Is she here?" he asked.
"Oh, no, she's not yet out," Meg said.
"Not out? Then surely her ball must be due soon, and I've not received an invitation," the fellow complained. Mr. Crotchety, she decided. That name would do as well as any.
"It's not set," she admitted. "Angela turned eighteen only last week, and it may be she won't enter society until next spring."
Mr. Crotchety seized upon this statement to elaborate at length on the desirability of ladies marrying early and the foolhardiness of keeping them in the schoolroom past the age of sixteen. Meg was tempted to ask him why he felt so strongly about the subject, but she managed to refrain. 
Privately she agreed that Angela should be brought out this year, but debuts into society were expensive. The painful truth was that the Linleys could not afford it.
Anthony Linley had been the eldest son of a viscount, and Lady Mary the daughter of an earl. Who could have foreseen that he would die in a carriage accident before succeeding to the title, and who would have guessed that his widow would be left with only a small pension and the remainder of her dowry?
The family fortunes might yet be saved if Meg were to make a wealthy match, but young men with full purses had a way of preferring ladies of equally substantial means. Moreover, Meg did not think she could bear a loveless marriage, perhaps to some old man such as Mr. Crotchety, with his cracked voice and onion-laden breath.
For herself, she would not have minded suffering through half a dozen seasons without a husband, but Lady Mary could not afford to have two daughters out in society at the same time. The cost of gowns alone was prohibitive, and until Meg married or retired from the field, her flaxen-haired and much more comely—to Meg's mind, as well as her mama's—younger sister must wait at home.
"Meg!" The music had scarcely ended when Helen Cockerell was at her side, pulling her away from Mr. Crotchety. "I haven't seen you all night."
"And I most certainly haven't seen you," Meg returned with a laugh, for her friend was privy to her closest secrets.
"Wait until you hear..." Helen possessed a talent for gathering the latest on-dits like spring flowers in a bouquet. As the two girls adjourned to the refreshment table for lemonade, Helen kept one arm linked helpfully through Meg's and her tongue buzzing with gossip of engagements, fallings-out, and scandals of every sort, all of which she relayed without a trace of malice. 
As they strolled, Meg kept a vague smile playing about her lips, for she dreaded giving offence and knew that she often did so by failing to see a gesture of greeting.
"There is Lady Jersey, nodding to you," murmured Helen, and Meg bowed her head politely. One dared not antagonise the patronesses of Almack's. They held the power to deny one a voucher, a punishment that meant exile from the cream of London's ton.
"Now here is my favourite titbit," Helen continued. "Do you recall my cousin, Germaine Geraint? The Friday-faced chit who liked to race her carriage in Hyde Park?"
"No, but she sounds enchanting," Meg teased, nibbling at a bit of stale cake. Almack's was noted for its poor refreshments.
The response failed to make a dent in Helen's monologue. "No, of course you wouldn't, but she had a season seven years ago, for she is five and twenty now, and created such a scandal with her carryings-on that she was sent away to rusticate." She paused for dramatic effect. "Well, she has a suitor!"
This bit of news did little to excite Meg, who had never met the lady in question. "How fortunate for her."
"But you haven't heard who it is!" Helen cried. "Lord Bryn!"
The marquis was known to Meg by reputation, for he often figured in the general gossip. Formerly a rake and a hell-raiser, he had changed considerably after joining Wellington's forces on the Peninsula and suffering a gunshot wound to the leg.
The injury had left him with a limp. Furthermore, the gossips had faithfully reported, he declared upon returning to London that after what he had seen on the battlefield he had no patience with the empty frivolity and wasteful excesses of the fashionables. With that, his lordship had retired to his country home near Stockport in Cheshire, where he lived with his orphaned niece and nephew and had for the past two years ignored the world in general.
"I've heard that he's quite handsome," said Meg, who could rarely tell whether a gentleman was attractive or no. "Why should he court your cousin, if she's as plain as you say?"
Helen shrugged. "Needs an heir, I daresay. Besides, Germaine's a great gun in her own way."
A gentleman appeared at Miss Cockerell's elbow, claiming the next dance, and Meg watched regretfully as her friend departed. In the battlefield that masqueraded as the social season, it was rare to find an ally, she reflected as Lady Mary bore down on her.
The widow wore a black dress that she often complained was frayed around the edges, although Meg was unable to determine if this was so. A small silver turban sporting a single ostrich feather topped Lady Mary's elegant head.
"Let me see your dance card," she commanded, and Meg handed it over reluctantly. "What? But this is blank!"
"Mother," she said, "I've been giving the matter some thought. Perhaps it would be best if I left London for the season and gave Angela a chance. If she were to make an advantageous match, it might help me, as well."
"Nonsense!" Lady Mary returned the offending card to her daughter. "The first must be married before the second, unless she is unmarriageable, of course. And you are not."
"But why?" Meg protested. "I don't mind. I like Derby, and even though the cottage is rented to our cousins, surely the Barkers could spare me an attic room." 
"Hush!" Her mother stared about to see if anyone had overheard. "You have more hair than brains, girl!"
A rotund fellow stumbled against them, alcohol shading his breath during his stammered apology. Lady Mary pretended to misunderstand. "Why, of course you may dance with my daughter, Sir Manfred," she proclaimed, and stepped aside. The two unhappy young people had no choice but to comply, and so Meg bounced her way through a country dance in uncomfortable silence.
Toward the end of the dance, she heard voices calling out and a general stir from afar, and concluded that someone of note had arrived. It was nearly eleven o'clock, after which time even the Prince Regent himself would be denied entrance.
Meg glanced toward the doorway, but as usual could make out only indistinct forms. She blushed, remembering one humiliating occasion on which she had crossed a room in full public view, only to find herself greeting a valet.
The music ended with a flourish. "Thank you, ma'am," said her partner, sweeping into a bow. Meg bobbed a small curtsey, to discover when she lifted her head that Sir Manfred had vanished, leaving her stranded in the midst of assorted bodies that were already forming sets for a Scottish reel.
If only Helen would appear! But there was no sign of her. With a sigh, Meg lifted her skirts and stepped carefully across the dance floor. She must make her way to safety on her own this time.
Using great care, she approached the haven of the sidelines. As Meg well knew, it would be impossible to concentrate on her path if she observed those around her, and so she could only hope that no one was nodding a salutation.
Where was Lady Mary? Meg lifted her head for a moment, seeking her mother's aid without success. But even if her parent had been watching, she might have refrained from helping her daughter in the belief that, under duress, Meg would suddenly acquire the necessary vision.
With an exhalation of relief, Meg stepped past the last of the couples now contorting on the dance floor. Vaguely she noted a cluster of gentlemen ahead and swerved to make her way around them.
A collective gasp of horror from these same gentlemen was her first clue that she had committed a major faux pas. Meg turned abruptly, hoping against hope that whatever had occasioned this outpouring of shock had nothing to do with her.
That was, unfortunately, not the case. The assemblage broke into fluttering fans and gossiping voices that lingered over such phrases as "I never!" and "The brass of that girl!" Worst of all, from a massive woman with a voice like a trumpet: "I daresay there will be no more vouchers for that miss, or her family!"
Lady Mary approached. "What have I done?" Meg pleaded, near tears.
Her mother stared at her reproachfully. "You have cut Mr. Brummell! He nodded to you and you swept by without so much as a word."
"But I didn't see him!" Meg protested. "I was too busy trying not to bump into anyone. I shall go back and apologise."
"Too late." It was Helen, joining them at risk of bringing scandal upon herself. "He has gone off in a temper."
Nothing remained to be said or done, save gathering their pelisses and walking with bowed heads through the throng. Meg knew her disgrace was complete. Everyone would say she had always been arrogant, slighting even her closest acquaintances, and finally she had gone too far.
Meg and Lady Mary forced their way through the crush of carriages until they reached their faded barouche, taking refuge within on the velvet squabs. 
"I don't know what we shall do," cried Lady Mary once they were under way. "We are ruined. There will be no more vouchers for you or for Angela."
Her own shame Meg could bear well enough, but it hurt her beyond measure to have done harm to her sister. "Perhaps all is not lost," she said. "I could send round a note of apology to Mr. Brummell in the morning, explaining about my weak eyesight."
"Then you will be the laughingstock of the town!" lamented her parent. "That is scarcely better."
"Well, I shall write a note to say I did not see him," Meg said without much hope, for she recognised that a mere letter could never atone for creating a public spectacle.
"No one will believe it, for he was directly in front of you, but perhaps he will spare us the worst of his anger," Lady Mary said. "Still, had I not already rented the cottage to the Barkers, I should consider packing up the three of us posthaste	" The older woman's voice trailed off with an unaccustomed tremor.
Leaving London would greatly distress Angela, Meg knew, for the younger girl eagerly anticipated entering society. And where was the guarantee, once they departed, that next year they could afford to return?
The time had come to renew her earlier suggestion, Meg decided as the carriage rattled through the dark streets. "I shall go back to Derby alone, after penning my apologies to Mr. Brummell and the patronesses. Under the circumstances, surely no one will condemn Angela for my actions. We might even be spared the expense of a ball, and Angela can come out quietly at a tea party. Everyone will think we are acting with discretion."
Lady Mary frowned as she considered this notion. Meg hoped her mother would see it was by far the most expeditious solution.
Angela was not so easily persuaded when they arrived home and told her of the night's catastrophe. On hearing of their contemplated course of action, she cried out, “You cannot! Meg, how can you go to live with our cousins? The Barkers are a pair of old grumbletonians. They'll stuff your ears with Fordyce's Sermons until you run screaming down the street."
"I'll never run screaming down the street," said Meg. "I would collide with a milk cart."
"You're not so bad as that!" objected Angela loyally.
"To your beds," said their weary mother. "We'll discuss this in the morning."
Seeing the sleepiness of the little maid, Karen, who attended them in addition to her other duties, the girls sent her off with assurances that they could make their own toilet. As she allowed her sister to brush out her hair, Meg reflected that what she would miss most was not the balls or outings to Vauxhall Gardens, nor boxes at the Opera, but her family's companionship.
"Is it truly so difficult for you to see?" Angela asked, gently untangling a knot in Meg's curly locks.
"In spite of what Mother believes, I can't simply force my eyes to function properly." Meg toyed with a pink velvet ribbon on the dressing table. "If only she didn't insist it's so shocking to be seen with a glass."
"I can't imagine what good it would do," said Angela. "I looked through Mrs. Pickney's spectacles once and they gave me the most frightful headache."
Impossible to explain to someone with good vision how a few tiny lenses could open up a new world of sharp edges in place of fuzzy ones, where furniture and faces no longer faded to obscurity, Meg mused as she climbed into bed. How she longed for the simple freedom of movement that others took for granted.
*
Despite the silence that fell over the premises, no one slept well that night in the Linley household.
In the servants' quarters, the coachman spread the gossip he had overheard about the evening's mishap. In addition to their distress at Miss Linley's fall from grace, the staff worried that Lady Mary might retreat from London, leaving most of them to seek out new positions.
The maid, Karen, lay awake for a different reason, one sufficient to overcome her exhaustion. She was concerned not so much for her mistresses—what real harm could befall members of the nobility?—but for how she might reach her childhood sweetheart, Peter, a valet who worked in Liverpool. His master intended journeying to Canada, and Peter had written to beg that she come and marry him so that they might go together. But how was she to get north by herself?
One storey below, Angela also lay sleepless, hurting for her sister and trying not to dwell on her own disappointment. How her young heart had swelled, the times she was allowed to accompany her family to Vauxhall or Hyde Park, where handsome men doffed their hats to her. Would she never dance in the arms of a beloved suitor?
Lying beside Angela—for the sisters shared a bed—Meg longed heartily to be done with the whole business. She could bear even the Barkers' endless sermonizing; at least she need not fear that the least misstep would lead to disgrace. Perhaps in Derby she might even acquire a pair of spectacles.
As for Lady Mary, she had a difficult decision to make. Since her husband's death, she had been forced into a situation for which her gentle birth and upbringing had never prepared her. At each turning point, she discovered with amazement new sources of strength within herself.
So it must be now. Only she knew the truly threadbare state of the family finances. She had refrained from baring the whole sad situation even to her elder daughter, but there would be no season the next year, for either of the girls, unless one of them found a wealthy husband this summer.
It was only sensible that Angela be given a chance. As Meg said, after a written apology and the offender's retirement from London, the ton would soon forget this tempest in a teacup. And within a few weeks, Angela might take her place in society.
Meg would rub on well enough with the Barkers, Lady Mary reflected, and if Angela made a good match, it would pave the way for Meg's return to society next year. It was the best one could hope for under the circumstances. 


We hope you enjoyed this excerpt from A Lady’s Point of View. Here is the first chapter of a romantic comedy.


A Warm December

Chapter One

Weary from a long Saturday—of which the highlight had been extracting birdshot from the rump of an overeager cocker spaniel—Meredith McGregor, D.V.M., was shrugging off her white coat when an angry male voice from the front office broke into her thoughts.
"What do you mean, you closed ten minutes ago? It's only five after six!"
"All right, we closed five minutes ago." Patience strained against irritation in the voice of Alida Reese, who doubled as a receptionist and animal technician.
"I was held up in traffic," he snapped, as if Alida were somehow to blame. "You'd think they could design the roads in Nashville so the traffic flowed instead of clogged once in a while. Well, I'm here, and I've come to collect my dog."
"I'll see what I can do." Tight-lipped, Alida appeared in the hallway of the old house that had been remodeled into a veterinary clinic long ago. "Dr. McGregor? Can you release"—she checked the dog's name on a card in her hand and pronounced it sarcastically—"Champion Reeves Philton Conqueror?"
Merrie groaned inwardly. She'd been looking forward to kicking off her shoes and relaxing over a hot meal, the sooner the better. Still, she didn't like leaving an animal in the center over a Sunday if it wasn't essential. "Didn't Dr. Brown leave instructions? It must be his patient."
"Oh." Alida consulted the card. "Yes. It's okay." The phone rang. "Darn! We're shorthanded—Jenny went home sick." She raced out of sight around the corner.
Champion Reeves Philton Conqueror. Merrie immediately pictured a clipped, high-strung poodle and an owner to match. She would let Alida handle this one.
Merrie had other things to think about. Like Christmas coming up on Friday. And a waif of a little girl who needed her help. And—
"Miss?" The masculine voice made her turn sharply. "I'm Dave Anders, and I'd like my dog, please. Your friend seems to be tied up on the phone."
The man standing in the doorway fixed her with steely gray eyes, obviously accustomed to commanding obedience. From his height and the way his tailored coat fit over broad shoulders, she guessed he would intimidate most women. But most women weren't five feet nine and fully capable of administering antibiotics to a horse.
Without her coat, Merrie realized, he must have mistaken her for one of the technicians. "I'm sure Alida will be finished in a minute."
 "Look, I'm in a hurry. Do you mind?"
Yes, she did mind, but it would probably be easier to release Champion Reeves Philton Conqueror to his owner than to stand here arguing about it.
"All right. This way." She led him into a room lined with steel cages, mostly empty now. From nearby came the high-pitched gabbling of Britches, a spider monkey that had accidentally slashed his hand when he grabbed his mistress's cooking knife. Merrie clucked to the animal as she passed, and reminded herself to check that Britches had enough food and water. Jenny, the teenager who worked here on Saturdays, had been exercising Britches just before she went home sick, and might have forgotten something.
An excited bark came from a large cage at the end, arid Merrie saw that it was not a poodle but a doe-eyed collie, his feathery tail fluttering with excitement.
"Hey, Buster." Dave Anders dropped to one knee after a quick glance at the linoleum to make sure his crisp wool pants wouldn't be spoiled.
"Buster?" Merrie couldn't help being amused. "You call Champion Reeves Philton Conqueror just plain Buster?"
The man went right on talking to his dog as if he hadn't heard. "Did they take good care of you? Poor fellow, we were worried about that lump, weren't we? But it wasn't anything serious, after all." Finally, he noticed Merrie again. "Would you please let him out? I haven't got time to—"
The rattle of metal behind her made Merrie pivot just as the door to Britches's cage swung open. Hurrying toward it, she fumed silently at Jenny. Even illness was no excuse for not making sure a cage was latched properly. Monkeys were notorious escape artists.
Fast as she was, she wasn't quick enough. The tiny, long-armed creature slipped through the opening with a triumphant shriek and shimmied across the face of the cages, the bowed bending of his arms and legs emphasizing his resemblance to a spider.
"Alida!" Merrie could see she was going to need help with this one. Monkeys were not only hard to catch, they could make a mess if they began throwing bottles of medication, and they could inflict some nasty bites.
Dave Anders straightened up, his mouth twisting in annoyance. "I had no idea things had gotten so slipshod around here. Old Dr. Brown would never have allowed it"
This was no time to argue. "Just step out of the room." Merrie felt a twinge of pleasure when her authoritative tone brought a look of surprise. "Out!"
"Don't be ridiculous." To her dismay, he reached for the monkey. Visions of injuries and lawsuits danced through her brain.
"Stop it right now, Mr. Anders! I don't know what you're used to, but I'm in charge around here."
Too late. Man and monkey met, and monkey conquered—not with a bite, but by leaping onto the shoulder of Dave Anders's expensive coat, executing a caper across his stylishly trimmed brown hair, and using his arrogant head as a launch pad from which to attack a shelf full of equipment.
"Damn it! See what you've done?" Merrie pushed past the man and snatched up a blanket from the shelf. Chittering happily, Britches was hurling supplies onto the floor as she approached. But as Merrie poised to envelop him with the blanket, the monkey leaped again and scampered straight toward the door that led to the rest of the building.
Diving after him, Merrie flung the blanket over the reddish-brown form and stamped on two sides of the cloth to halt the little creature. A pair of Italian leather shoes snapped down on the other corners, and Britches was trapped.
'Thank goodness." Only then, did Merrie realize that Dave Anders was standing almost toe-to-toe with her, his face inches from hers. The scent of his after-shave lotion tingled across her senses. "You... Thanks. I..."	
Without warning, his mouth closed over hers, and his strong hands caressed her shoulders. The touch was gentle, almost playful. Dazed, Merrie took a moment before she drew back.
"Sorry." A lazy grin told her Dave wasn't sorry at all. "I guess you bring out my jungle instincts."
As if on cue, Britches hissed angrily from below and struggled against his blanket covering. "Alida!" Merrie called again, and this time the assistant came running. Donning protective gloves, Alida soon had the monkey back in the cage, and Champion Reeves- Philton Conqueror—alias Buster—out of his.
"I'm really sorry, Dr. McGregor," Alida said as she replenished the monkey's food and water and headed back to the front office. "I should have double-checked everything after Jenny left."
"Just go ahead and close up for the day," Merrie called after her. "And thanks for your help with Britches."
Dave, ruffling his collie's fur affectionately, studied Merrie with interest. "So you're a vet. I've never kissed a vet before."
Heat stung Merrie's cheeks. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Anders."
"Oh, I did. And so did you." Teasing gray eyes stared into her hazel ones. "If I didn't have a commitment for tonight, I'd suggest we explore this interesting subject further."
"I think we've explored it quite far enough." She tried to regain a measure of composure. "And it so happens I also have a commitment for tonight, for which you've made me late." She saw no reason to add that the commitment was to have dinner with her grandmother, who lived next door to her.
He straightened, snapping a leash to Buster's collar. "As I see it, you owe me something."
"I beg your pardon?"
"If it weren't for me, this place would have been empty when the monkey got out. He'd have had a fine time going AWOL overnight, wouldn't you say?"
The very idea sent shudders down Merrie's spine. "I'll concede that the timing was fortunate, but I believe you've been amply rewarded."
. "I'm not trying to get out of paying my bill, you know." He looked amused at the notion. "Perhaps we could make it another night. I'm tied up through Wednesday—"
"So am I," Merrie said, although what she planned to be busy with was wrapping gifts. "And also on Thursday night, which happens to be Christmas Eve. So—"
"Too bad." Dave Anders clicked his tongue at Buster, who panted appreciatively. "I happen to be free Christmas Eve. Sure you couldn't change things around?"
The nerve of the man! "Absolutely sure." Merrie moved decisively toward the door. "I believe Alida would like to get home, if you'd care to settle your account."
"My pleasure." Dave followed her out the door. "Merry Christmas, Dr. McGregor." 
"Merry Christmas."
As she changed from her rubber-soled work shoes into a pair of low-cut boots, Merrie was embarrassed to discover that her lips were still tingling. How could she have stood there as stunned as a schoolgirl? Dave Anders might be handsome, but she wasn't impressed.
Well, all right, she was impressed, she admitted silently as she slipped on her fake-fur coat. And he was just the sort of man her mother would approve of: rich and good-looking. Georgia Hixton McGregor Aston Lemoins, better known as Gigi Lemoins since her third
marriage two years ago, had approved of a few too many men, in her daughter's opinion.
Locking the back door of the clinic behind her, Merrie set off through the crisp winter evening to her house two blocks away. There was a poignant sadness to Nashville at this time of year, the trees bare and black against the dark sky, the air smelling faintly of old leaves and fireplaces. She hoped it would snow. Steffie deserved a special Christmas.
Merrie had spent most of the previous evening buying toys for the five-year-old: a giant Big Bird, a coloring book with the largest box of crayons in existence, and a Dr. Seuss book. No need to buy clothes. If there was one thing Steffie would have, it was lots of expensive clothes.
The last thing Merrie had expected from her flighty sister Lizabeth, a New York model who took after their mother when it came to evaluating men, was for her to adopt a little girl. At thirty-one, two years older than Merrie, Lizabeth had never been interested in children, not even during her brief marriage.
Then recently, although she looked no older than she ever had, Lizabeth had begun talking about the biological clock. No doubt some of her friends were having babies, and suddenly Lizabeth wanted one, too. Not at the diaper stage, of course; instead, she'd adopted a five-year-old this fall.
Merrie had gone to New York for Thanksgiving— Lizabeth had the dinner catered—and fell in love with shy little Steffie. She'd been dismayed to learn that the child was spending most of her time with one hired nurse after another. And then, this past week, Lizabeth had announced she simply couldn't resist an invitation to go skiing in Switzerland over Christmas and visit their mother in the south of France.
So Steffie was coming to Nashville. One of Lizabeth's friends was keeping the little girl for a few days and then would fly down and drop her off Thursday en route to Florida. Merrie muttered angrily to herself, at the thought of Steffie being shuffled here and there as if the child had no feelings.
It was up to Merrie, with the aid of Grandma Netta, to make sure Steffie had the best Christmas ever. She wished she could think of some way to make the holiday really special, some surprise that Steffie would remember happily after she went back to New York.
Anger carried Merrie rapidly home. She was due at Netta's, but first she stopped off in her own two-story brick house to feed her pets.
As always, a sense of peace flowed through her as she stepped through the front hall into the living room. She'd purposely decorated it with the softest pieces she could find—a big fluffy rug, low comfortable couches, shaggy wall hangings. By the window stood the Christmas tree Merrie had wrestled home Friday evening with the help of her partner, Bill Brown, and his wife, Sue. Hung with candy canes and tiny wooden soldiers, the old-fashioned tree spread its branches above Merrie's collection of stuffed animals. The small perky rabbits, the inquisitive bears, and the droopy-antlered moose she'd brought back from a vacation in Canada made the room come alive.
A movement to her right caught Merrie’s attention. It was followed by a plaintive meow.
"Okay, Homebody." She went into the kitchen to open the cat food and nearly tripped over Snoozer, who was lying by the stove soaking up the warmth from the pilot light. "Where's Wanderer?"
As if on cue, a black nose poked through the cat door from the back porch, followed by the splotchy black-and-white form of Wanderer. Merrie would have sworn that Wanderer had a Dalmatian somewhere in his background, if he hadn't been a cat.
They needed no urging to gather around the food bowl and dig in. Only Snoozer hung back, reluctant to give up his prime spot. "Suit yourself." Merrie ran a hand over his thick orange fur. "I'm going to Netta's for dinner."
She'd coveted this house ever since she lived next door as a teenager, imagining herself moving in here someday with a husband and children of her own. Well, that part hadn't come true yet, but a least she'd been able to afford the mortgage payments when the house finally came up for sale four years ago, just after she and Bill took over his father's old veterinary clinic.
Inexplicably, Merrie found herself wondering what kind of house Dave Anders lived in. Probably a condominium, although that wouldn't leave much room for Buster to romp in.
She wished she hadn't given in to his kiss. He was right; she had enjoyed it. If only Merrie could respond that way to one of the men she dated from time to time. At least they fit in with her casual lifestyle. Somehow she couldn't picture Dave popping over to help her cook meat loaf or plant tomatoes in the spring or enjoy a Saturday night at the Grand Ole Opry.
After running upstairs to feed the guinea pigs, Munchkin and Grumpus, Merrie bounced over to Grandma Netta's house. She could smell the gingerbread as she crossed the yard.
Letting herself in by the kitchen door, Merrie inhaled deeply. "Smells wonderful."
Her grandmother turned away from the stove. Salt-and-pepper hair framed a handsome high-browed face, remarkably unlined at seventy-six. Merrie could still see
traces of the beauty her grandmother had been as a young woman. "About time you got here. Emergency?"
"Not exactly." Merrie gave her a brief description of the monkey’s escape. "I did promise to check on things tomorrow, though. After all, I'm taking off early on Thursday to pick up Steffie." Fortunately, since the Nashville Pet Emergency Center was open overnight and on weekends to take urgent cases, she and Bill didn't have to worry about being called out late at night the way Bill's father had before he retired.
Without being asked, Merrie set the kitchen table and helped her grandmother serve up the beef stew and gingerbread. It tasted heavenly.
"Say." Netta regarded her over a spoonful of stew. "Aren't you going to that Christmas party tomorrow? The one for the kids?"
Merrie nodded. She'd promised to bring the guinea pigs to a party for a group of foster children at a recreational center. "I'll only have to be at the clinic for half an hour. Alida will take care of the feedings."
Her grandmother poured herself a second cup of hot tea. "I'm not sure I shouldn't cancel out for Christmas Eve. I ought to be here with you and Steffie."
Each year, Netta and a group of friends sang carols at convalescent homes. "Don't be silly. You can't let your friends down. We'll see you Christmas morning."
They talked over some ideas for surprising Steffie but failed to come up with anything exciting. Finally, a comfortable silence fell between them, an easy familiarity bred of years spent in each other's company. It was with Netta that fourteen-year-old Merrie had stayed when her mother married for the second time and moved away from Nashville, after years of flitting in and out of her daughters' lives while Netta held down the fort.
Lizabeth, then sixteen, had been eager to move to Manhattan with her mother, but Merrie had stayed right here until she finished high school. Then she'd joined her mother and sister for a year in New York, a year that almost resulted in a disastrous marriage.
Now, secure in her grandmother's kitchen, Merrie's traitorous thoughts returned to Dave Anders. He obviously didn't place much value on holiday celebrations, the way he'd tried to make a date with her for Christmas Eve. He ought to be home with his family, if he had one.
Grandma Netta had lived in Nashville most of her life. Maybe she knew something about him.
Hoping her grandmother wouldn't notice the catch in her voice, Merrie said, "By the way, that man who helped me with the monkey was named Dave Anders. You don't happen to know him, do you?"
Netta wasn't fooled for an instant by Merrie's pretended casualness. "Piqued your interest, did he?"
"Netta! It's just idle curiosity."
"Hah." Her grandmother brought out a bottle of sherry and poured them each a splash in sparkling crystal glasses. "Nothing about Dave Anders is idle. Or you either, my girl."
"So you do know him." Merrie sipped the rich liquid. The warmth of the large kitchen was making her sleepy.
"Know of him, more like." Netta regarded her glass thoughtfully. "And his parents. Father's dead now. Ever heard of Anders Enterprises?"
Merrie had a sinking feeling. "You mean that big building out on Thompson Lane? Don't they make computers or something?"
"They make something like just about everything," her grandmother said. "Computers, software, computer games, so I read in the paper. Rich enough to turn even your mother's head, if she'd been lucky enough to meet 'em."
Or Lizabeth's, Merrie thought with a pang. Yes, with his tailored suit and wealthy background, Dave Anders would suit Merrie's sister perfectly. Except that the dog would have to go. Lizabeth didn't like animals.
"But Georgia—I just can't call my daughter Gigi, even if she is married to a Frenchman—she's just never been in the same league as Sarah Anders," Netta went on. "Guess they might have known each other at school; they both went to Harpeth Hall. But Sarah—well, she's old Nashville, a real society lady. I wouldn't be surprised if she still wears white gloves and a hat whenever she goes out. I'll bet she'd like to see that son of hers married off to some debutante at the Belle Meade Country Club."
"Well, he's got a nice dog," Merrie said.
Her grandmother laughed and pushed her chair back from the table. "That's my girl! I never met a more down-to-earth child than you were, Merrie, and heaven knows how you got that way, raised from pillar to post as you were."
"I got it from you." Merrie smiled fondly. "And he does own a nice dog, even if it has a name as long as your arm." She began clearing the dishes away before Netta could rise. "You cooked; how you rest."
"Never thought I'd say it, but you could do a lot worse than Dave Anders."
The remark was so unexpected that Merrie wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "I wasn't planning to marry the man! I just met him, and I'll probably never see him again." The words rang hollowly through her mind. That lazy grin, that commanding presence of his...Dave Anders wasn't going to be easy to forget, even after one encounter.
"I'm not the type to push, " Netta said. "And I'm in no hurry to have a great-grandchild next door. But he's got a mind of his own, that fella, and I respect him for it. Gets his name in the paper for one cause or another all the time."
"Rich people are always making donations. For the tax write-off." Years of listening to her mother's friends had taught Merrie a certain cynicism. "Well, I'm bushed. Thanks for a fabulous dinner, as usual, Netta."
She kissed her grandmother good night and went next door. Home to her guinea pigs and her cats.
The house felt larger than usual and a little bit lonely. Waiting for Steffie, Merrie told herself firmly. And someday for a man, too, of course. But not one like Dave Anders, who lived in the glitzy, brittle world coveted by her mother and sister.
Nevertheless, she sat for a long time staring at the winking light of the Christmas tree, her heart swelling with a bittersweet mixture of nostalgia and yearning.

We hope you enjoyed this excerpt from A Warm December. Here is the opening of another romantic comedy, Yours, Mine and Ours.


Yours, Mine and Ours
Chapter One

When Flint Harris descended the front steps of City Hall, Robin Lindstrom was waiting for him.
Before his sharp gray eyes could register what was happening, before he could even fling up a muscular arm to protect himself, she showered him with stars.
"Beachside is a magical place to live!" Robin shouted. "How dare you try to ruin it?"
Tiny silver stars cascaded from Flint's trim brown hair onto the broad shoulders of his suit. Without showing a flicker of emotion, he plucked one of the stars from his lapel and examined it.
"You must be a teacher," he said.
Behind her, Robin became aware that her fellow picketers had fallen silent. Even her outspoken mother, Gigi, stood frozen in concentration. Robin felt all alone in this.
"Good guess, Doctor," she said. "Did you deduce that scientifically?"
"First of all, I may have my Ph.D. but I don't use the term 'doctor." Flint's calm baritone did nothing to steady her nerves. "And, second, since I have kids, it was an easy guess. Teachers use these as rewards. I'm honored that you find me worthy."
Robin felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It wasn't meant as an honor, it was meant to get your attention. The changes you want to make in this town will destroy its character. Beachside is a fun and funky place to live, and we want to keep it that way."
Behind her, people stirred, and she heard a few chants of "Save Our City!" and Everything's Peachy in Beachside!"
"Why is a teacher leading a protest against revising the city's earthquake standards?" Flint's high cheekbones, firm mouth and tanned skin made him resemble a rancher more than a seismology expert. Robin supposed he must spend a lot of time prowling the unbaked fault lines of Southern California.
"My mother has a business on the beachfront," she said. "You'd wipe out her sign and her facade."
"As would an earthquake." Flint had an irritating way of holding himself erect to his full six-foot-plus-a-few-inches height so that he talked down at Robin. At five-foot-seven, she wasn't accustomed to feeling short.
"You're a zealot," she challenged. "You'd have us all go back to living in caves. That would be a lot safer, wouldn't it?"
"Not at all," said Flint. "Falling rocks are a serious hazard in an earthquake. We’ve learned a lot in recent years, and the old earthquake standards need updating, as do the buildings around here. Now if you'll excuse me?"
As he brushed by, she could feel the hardness of his body. It matched the fossilized condition of his brain, Robin thought angrily. He had dismissed her arguments almost before she opened her mouth.
Of course, that might be because of the stunt with the stars. Throwing them had been her mother's idea, and Robin had reluctantly gone along. But she hadn't expected to end up arguing with a man this rigid and full of himself. She shuddered to think how he must treat his children.
By sound alone, Robin could trace Flint's path down the steps and along the sidewalk. The crowd's chanting rippled into a wave that peaked as he passed. After a few minutes, the normal buzz of conversation resumed, and she heard a car start in the parking lot.
Robin turned to see a Volvo exiting onto the street. Naturally, she thought, Flint Harris had chosen a car renowned for safety over style. The man was so compulsive, he probably had air bags in his bathtub.
Nearby, her mother fiddled with her frizzy red hair. Gigi had been unconventional as far back as Robin could remember, and had reached a peak of eccentricity in her late fifties. She wore a riot of eye shadow and rouge, a fluffy pink sweater over a bright peasant skirt, and gold thong sandals.
"What an infuriating man," Robin said.
"I thought he had a cute aura."
"A cute aura?" Robin couldn't believe her mother had said that. "Mom, spare me."
"He likes you," Gigi continued confidently. "You made an impression."
Robin groaned. The problem was, her students would be giving a dance presentation at the school board meeting tomorrow night. Flint and his earthquake report were also on the agenda, and Robin couldn't avoid running into him.
She'd just have to tough it out.
*
As he headed north toward the suburbs, Flint mentally catalogued the hazards. He spotted an oversize sign with weakened supports that looked likely to topple in a strong shaker. A life-size plastic cow dating from decades ago sat atop a drive-through dairy. He frowned at an unreinforced brick building with a splashy mural of a whale painted on the side.
Flint had been hired by the City Council to make recommendations on updating its standards, and he was doing his job. Why did people react with such emotion?
The issue was safety. Flint had toured the devastation of quakes around the world and he’d hate to see such misery here. Not only did he earn his living as a structural engineer and earthquake consultant, he considered improving public safety a personal mission. He meant to protect as many children as possible, including his three.
He detoured on a route that took him by the tree-shaded campus of Serena Academy, a private school. Although its mostly stucco buildings had satisfied the earthquake requirements of some years back, he doubted that all the structures met the latest standards. However, since examining the private school wasn't part of his contract with the city, Flint had so far conducted only a preliminary assessment. He was scheduled to make a presentation to the school board, seeking their business in addition to the city’s.
An image of the young teacher at the demonstration popped into Flint's mind Maybe it was because he'd heard that Serena hired individualistic staff members, gifted teachers who chafed at the restrictions of public school life.
The lady struck him as a prime example. The way her blue eyes lit with fury and the impulsive manner in which she'd doused him with stars implied an undisciplined nature. He wondered how she could possibly work well with children.
Still, Flint found the woman's energy appealing. She deserved credit for loyalty to her mother, as well. But people who worked with children ought to keep their feelings under control and set a good example.
Take, for example, his nanny. He relaxed behind the wheel, thinking about Mrs. Strich, whom his three children had nicknamed Mrs. Strict. In the month she'd worked for him, she had followed his itemized instructions to the letter and run the house like a tight ship.
He was pleased that she made no attempt to mother the kids. No one could replace the wife Flint had lost in a water-skiing accident three years ago, and he didn't want some hired housekeeper to try.
With a sense of homecoming, Flint turned in to the residential development where he lived. The two-story houses were painted in earth tones, as required by the home owners' association. All vegetation was clipped, no trash cans were visible from the street, and the only dog in sight was a Pomeranian on a leash.
He had come home to order and restraint. For the first time that day, Flint allowed himself a smile.
Then, as he reached for the garage door opener, he noticed his Aunt Maureen's Cadillac in front of the house. Had Mrs. Strich left early? Maureen was his emergency backup sitter, but Flint couldn't imagine what she was doing here today.
He soon found out.
"Maybe," Maureen intoned from the kitchen, where she stood whipping mashed potatoes, "your nannies might stick around longer if you didn't treat them like robots."
Flint pinched a couple of silver stars off his sleeve. "I thought you agreed with the way I raise the children."
"I do. But you don't hand me a schedule first thing every morning. And I don't have to live in the same house with you." At sixty-five, Maureen seemed to have grown rather than shrunk with age. She stood stiffly erect, only a few inches shorter than Flint. Her hair had turned a steely shade of gray, and the frown wrinkles in her forehead had etched themselves in stately parallel lines.
According to family legend, Maureen had been a sunny, outgoing girl, but she had never married. Recently retired from her job as an office manager, Maureen would have been the perfect housekeeper, Flint reflected. He was grateful she lived nearby and was willing to help in emergencies.
"But to walk out like this is unforgivable," he persisted. "Mrs. Strich owed me two weeks' notice."
In the family room, he could hear the familiar music of an educational game on the computer. The children were behaving themselves, probably in hopes of escaping his wrath.
"She sounded hysterical when she called." Wearing two padded mitts, Maureen removed a roast from the oven. "Brick put worms in her spaghetti at lunch."
"He's studying them for a science project." Flint couldn't believe his stocky son, the oldest of the triplets by several minutes, would have deliberately committed such a disgusting act. "They must have sneaked out."
"Caitlin's been stealing the mail again," Maureen went on. "Apparently Mrs. Strich has a gentleman friend who doesn’t believe in e-mail. He wrote her a rather personal letter."
"Caitlin read it?" Flint gritted his teeth. Dealing with a child whose IQ soared into the genius range was more of a trial than he would have expected.
"She posted a copy on the Internet," said Maureen. "Then Aaron—well, you know how much he wants a puppy." 
"He can't have one." Flint wouldn't mind a watchdog, but the children would spoil it to the point of uselessness.
"Well, he decided he was going to be a puppy." Maureen tossed the salad with crisp efficiency. "He kept trying to bite Mrs. Strich on the leg."
"Was she hurt?" Flint tried to recall how much liability insurance he carried.
"No, thank heaven." Maureen set plates on the table. "Mrs. Strich told him seven-year-olds don't bite, so he stuck out his tongue and gave her a Bronx cheer."
A headache was building in Flint’s temples. "How have the kids been since you got here?"
"Perfect angels." Maureen folded the napkins and laid the flatware with military precision. "They know better than to pull that crap with me, pardon my French. I'll watch them for a few days, Flint, but you have to hire a replacement."
"I'll call the agency." Then Flint remembered that the agency had warned him this was the last nanny it would provide. The last two had threatened to quit the field entirely. "I mean, I'll advertise."
Maureen used her apron to wipe a fingerprint from the salt shaker. "Also, I can't baby-sit any nights this week. I've volunteered through the Senior Center to stay with a lady who just had surgery. Her daughter works the swing shift." 
Flint had to make an evening presentation at Serena Academy. Who was going to watch his children then? He wasn’t sure he trusted the teen-age girls who lived on the block. They'd probably smoke or invite their boyfriends over, or both.
He was being paranoid, he told himself. One of them would be fine for a few hours.
"I'll handle it," he said, and then noticed that only four places were set at the table. "Aren't you staying?"
His aunt removed her apron and hung it on a hook inside the pantry. "I help out because that's what families are for," she said. "But I prefer to eat alone."
Flint walked her to the door. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this." 
"Hire a new nanny." Maureen marched down the walkway like a drill sergeant about to break in a platoon of raw recruits.
Flint stopped by the bathroom, downed two aspirin and went to face his children.
They were sitting in the family room working at activities they knew he approved of. Brick was trying to induce worms to negotiate a maze. Caitlin was playing a math game on the computer. Aaron lay flopped on the couch, his nose in a book called My Teacher Is an Alien. A borderline choice, but at least he was reading.
"We need to talk," Flint said.
Three pairs of wary eyes flicked toward him Caitlin's were cool and gray, like his own, Brick's a piercing shade of blue and Aaron's a light aqua.
"Dinner sure smells good." Brick dropped his worms into their box of dirt.
"We wouldn't want it to get cold," said Caitlin.
Aaron burst into tears. "We didn't mean to drive her away, Daddy. But she was so mean!" 
The other two glared at him.
Flint sat in his recliner and gathered the little boy onto his lap. "You kids have to stop this. Maureen can't always take care of you. Now I have to find a new nanny."
"We don't want a nanny," Aaron said, snuffling against his chest. "We want a mommy."
"He can't go out and hire a mother," Brick said quickly, trying to avert a lecture. "We know that, Dad."
"On the other hand, Flint, it is time for you to think about remarrying." Caitlin's use of his first name bothered Flint, but he couldn't think of a logical objection.
He did, however, object to her point. "No one can replace your mother. Perhaps someday I'll meet a wonderful woman and fall in love. If that happens, terrific. But it isn't the sort of thing one can order up like a pizza."
"What if we found the right woman for you?" asked Caitlin. Her brothers stared at her, Brick with disdain and Aaron in amazement. 
"Could we?" said Aaron.
"No." Flint set the little boy on his feet. "This conversation is over. Let's eat dinner."
Once all hands were washed and everyone was sitting straight with napkin in lap, they ate their meal. Tonight, silence reigned. 
Flint found himself thinking about the merry dinners they’d enjoyed when Kathy was alive. Intelligent, forthright, quick to laugh, she'd brightened Flint's life from the day they met in college until her death eleven years later. She'd been a once-in-a-lifetime love.
What bothered him most, in a way, was that Kathy had struggled for years. Just when her hard work was beginning to pay off, a meaningless accident had taken her life.
First she'd knocked herself out earning a law degree. Then, eager to get pregnant, she'd run into one obstacle after another. When fertility treatments resulted in her carrying triplets, she spent months in bed to postpone a premature birth.
After the tiny trio entered the world two months early, Kathy had nursed them night and day until they thrived. Then, to supplement the money from Flint's fledgling business, she’d worked part-time at a law firm while juggling diapers and day care.
Finally his income had increased and Kathy decided to take a year off before the triplets entered kindergarten. To celebrate, she treated herself to a weekend of water-skiing at Lake Havasu. Flint volunteered to stay with the children while she went with a girlfriend.
The phone call from authorities had caught him off guard. A drunken boater had run square into Kathy while she was skiing. She'd disappeared into the water, and hours passed before her body turned up. Even now he could hardly believe it had happened.
Flint gazed at the children. Caitlin was cutting her roast beef with precise slices. Brick hacked his into chunks. Aaron poked his meat as if expecting it to divide by magic.
He wished Kathy were here to see them. 
They'd grown so much these past three years. He didn't blame them for missing her, but she couldn't be replaced, and he didn't care to try. He simply had to find a nanny with more starch in her backbone.
"Daddy." Aaron pointed to his plate. "Will you cut my meat, please?"
As he helped his son, Flint felt a wave of love for the youngsters. While they might act up occasionally, they were sweet little people. He couldn't stay angry with them for long.
"Listen, guys," he said. They all blinked as if snatched from private reveries. "Tomorrow night I'm addressing the board at Serena Academy. I'm going to hire a babysitter and I expect you to behave while I'm gone."
"Serena Academy?" Caitlin brushed a strand of brown hair off her cheek. "Listen, Flint." Seeing his glare, she changed that to "Dad," which meant she must want something "You've been talking about putting us in a private school, haven't you?"
"Not Serena Academy," said Flint. "It's too indulgent."
"But they have day care before and after classes," Caitlin said matter-of-factly.
"You mean we wouldn't need a nanny?" asked Brick. 
"Yes, you would. What about all those evenings and weekends I have to work?" Besides, the idea of changing their school had been a casual one, motivated by the latest state report on test scores. "I thought you hated the idea of private school."
"We should take a look while you’re at the meeting." When Caitlin became this intense, the freckles stood out on her pale skin. "We'll be real quiet. And if we like the place, you can sign us up."
This change of heart struck Flint as suspicious. "I'm not sure." 
"Anyway," Caitlin pressed, "you won't have to hire a baby-sitter."
"We'd like to watch you work," Brick said. "We might learn something." Aaron nodded vigorously.
"I'll think about it." Flint had to admit, he preferred to keep the children under his stern eye rather than entrust them to a teenager. But he didn't plan to enroll them in Serena Academy. Not if it employed teachers like that disturbingly pretty young woman who bestowed her stars too freely.
After dinner, the children cleared their dishes. Aaron rinsed while Caitlin loaded the dishwasher and Brick attacked the table with a sponge.
Flint appreciated their cooperation as he settled into his recliner with a newspaper. He appreciated it even more a few minutes later when the three filed quietly to their bedrooms, leaving him to read in peace.
He bit back an impulse to go play with them. Too much fraternizing wasn't good for discipline. He'd take them all to the park this weekend. Their pitching needed work.
Confident that everything was under control, Flint resumed reading the business section.
*
"What was all that stuff about Serena Academy?" Brick draped himself across the bed in Caitlin's room. "You're up to something."
"She is?" Aaron, who curled at the head of the bed hugging his favorite bear, always seemed to lag a beat behind the others. Maybe that was because he'd been born last.
Caitlin's eyes narrowed as she perched on the corner of a child-size table. "You guys are so slow."
Brick took a guess. "You’ve been poking around on the Internet." They were only allowed to go to a few approved sites. 
"Don't tell Dad." In private, Caitlin never referred to their father as Flint. "Both of you, hold up your hands and swear."
Brick didn't like letting his sister boss him around, but this sounded promising. He held up his hand and swore himself to silence. Aaron did, too.
From a chest so jumbled with toys that baseball cards could disappear into it forever, Caitlin retrieved a crumpled envelope. "This started a few weeks ago," she said. "I was flipping through the mail and there was a letter from a medical clinic."
Brick tried to fake a yawn to hide how fascinated he was. Didn’t work. He gave in and sat there bug-eyed like Aaron.
"I opened it because it was addressed to Mom," Caitlin told them. "It said the clinic was closing and under California law, Mom had a right to her medical records. There was a form to fill out."
"You forged her name?" Aaron sounded awestruck.
"No big deal," said Caitlin. "Well, the records arrived today. That's why I set up the diversionary tactic with Mrs. Strict. I needed her out of my hair."
Brick wondered how his sister could pronounce "diversionary tactic" without stumbling. He also wondered what it meant.
"You're not going to believe this," Caitlin said. "Mom had a problem with her ovaries." 
"Ovaries?" said Aaron.
"It means she couldn't have kids," Caitlin explained impatiently.
"We're adopted?" Aaron asked.
"No way," scoffed Brick. "There's a picture of Mom in the scrapbook when we were in her tummy."
"Not her tummy, her uterus, but that's right," Caitlin said. "She did get pregnant, but another woman gave her the eggs."
The two boys stared at her. "You mean like bacon and eggs?" said Aaron.
Brick knew better. "No. People eggs."
"That's right," Caitlin said. "You see what this means?"
They didn't.
"It means," she said, "that we have another mother who’s still alive."
The boys sat in silence, trying to puzzle this out.
"An other mother?" Aaron asked.
"Biological mother," amended Caitlin. "It has to do with genes. She's what they call an egg donor."
Biological had to do with animals at the zoo and stuff like that, but what was this business about jeans? "Somebody gave her pants with eggs in them?" Brick asked.
"Not that kind of jeans," snapped Caitlin. "G-e-n-e-s genes."
"She said egg doughnuts," Aaron ventured. "Is that like egg bagels?"
"You guys!" Caitlin's voice got shrill. "Listen to me. Mom carried us in her tummy, okay? But we started growing inside another mommy, and we're also hers."
"Who is she?" Brick demanded. "Did the clinic tell you?"
"Not exactly." Caitlin favored him with a superior grin. "I had to hack into their records. It wasn't easy, but I found her name."
Brick had no idea how to hack anything. Some mornings, he could barely persuade his fingers to tie his shoe laces. On the other hand, he noted a flaw in his sister's reasoning. "Isn’t there more than one lady with the same name?"
"That's what I thought," said Caitlin. "So I Googled her. I only found one lady who’s local, so I called her."
Aaron’s mouth dropped open. "You told her about us?"
"Of course not. I pretended to be hunting for someone else by that name." Caitlin looked like she might burst with pride. "I said I had this aunt who was an astronaut."
"An astronaut? That's stupid," Brick scoffed.
"No, it isn't," said Caitlin, who planned to be an astronaut herself. "Besides, it got her to talk. She told me she isn't an astronaut, she's— Oh, you guys don't really want to hear this."
She had them where she wanted them. Brick joined Aaron in saying, "Yes, we do. We do." 
"Okay." Caitlin beamed at her own brilliance. "She's a teacher, and guess where? Serena Academy!"
*
Thank you for reading this excerpt from Yours, Mine and Ours. For a complete list of Jackie’s books and to see her monthly specials, please visit jacquelinediamond.com or JacquelineDiamondAuthor on Facebook.