The Heroine Taking the Side Door In

Regency romance has taught us to recognize a heroine by her entrance.

She appears at a ball. She descends a staircase. Her gown is noticed. Her gloves matter and her fan tells a story. Her dance card is as important as her pedigree. Somewhere nearby, a mother, aunt, companion, or lady’s maid is quietly weighing her prospects against the evening’s eligible gentlemen.

Someone whispers about her dowry, her family, her reputation, or the terrible danger of being seen with the wrong man beside a potted palm.

I love those heroines.

I have written them. I will write them again. There is a particular pleasure in placing a woman inside all those glittering constraints and watching her outwit them.

But Rosine Cassis (the heroine in my new book) arrived in my imagination through a different door.

She came through the kitchen.

Alsace still on her tongue because she’s an immigrant in London. Heat gathering at her back. Flour clinging to her sleeves. Her hands knowing yeast, raisins, cardamom, lemon, sugar, and the kind of survival that must be practiced daily until it begins to look like skill.

That was the first thing I knew about her.

She was working.

And work changes the shape of a love story.

Let me tell you how…