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A DAY WITH JESSICA JEFFERSON – THE MORNING

0615 – Most mornings I wake up with a writing hang-over.  The difference between a writing hang-over and other hang-overs is that one is the unfortunate product of unadulterated fun, while the other is the product of actual hard work.  I try not to write till my children are in bed so I might better keep up my guise as good mother.  I’m convinced my kids are insomniacs, so I often don’t get out my lap top till about ten or later, which can easily lead to an all night writing bender.  It’s a bit like my college days, except I’m old now and don’t rebound nearly as well as I used to.

I’m usually lagging behind so my eight-year old takes on the role of toaster chef and prepares our breakfast.  By this time, my husband is long gone since he has to be at work about dawn o’ clock each day.  He’s an engineer working in a non-engineer leadership role for a utility company doing something rather vague, while I am technically a nurse working as a non-nurse in a kind of consulting role doing something equally vague within a healthcare system.  My kids have no real idea of what either my husband or myself do, and frankly I have trouble putting it into words myself.  We’re certainly not being invited to present at career day anytime soon.

The worst part of my morning is spent arguing about clothing choices.  My two-year old wants to wear her rain boots daily, but if I’m lucky, she’ll opt to wear pants.  My eight-year old will “misplace” the clothes we picked out together the night before in lieu of some sort of inappropriate ensemble.  She can take the most innocent looking clothes and somehow manage to make them look like one of those numbers pop stars wear on the MTV Video Music Awards.  Oy vey.

Sometimes we make it on time, sometimes we don’t.  Getting kids out the door in the morning can be challenging.  Lunch needs packed, shoes need put on the correct feet.  I’d never make it in government since I negotiate with the little terrorists on a daily basis.  I barter using whatever I have on hand – fruit snacks, juice boxes, the promise of new Barbie dolls, whatever it takes to get them in the car.

Once in the car, the two-year old insists on buckling her own five point harness.  That never goes well.  Both children are rather independent and they’re just really bright kids.  As adults, I’ll be glad they possess such qualities.  But as far as children go – I’d give anything for a dopey little people pleaser.

The line to drop the kids off at school usually overflows out onto the road and I end up blocking traffic with my larger than necessary SUV.  I hate driving such a large vehicle, but it was either that or a minivan in order to haul everything and everyone.  For some reason, undoubtedly rooted in our vanity, the SUV makes us feel better about ourselves.  It makes us feel as if we haven’t lost the last semblance of our youth.  In reality, when you see a SUV you can pretty much guess there’s a family in there with parents who dress too young for their age and think their choice in vehicle makes them look far cooler than they actually are.

I drop the toddler at the sitter and she runs happily into her arms.  It warms my heart knowing that she loves the babysitter and that she’s well taken care of, but also makes me insanely jealous at the same time.

Finally, I arrive at work, ready to start my day. Every once in a while I’ll pull into the parking garage, look in my rear view mirror and see that I may have forgotten to drop the toddler off at the sitter’s, but for the most part we all make it to our right destinations.

Who knew the life of a romance author could be this glamorous?

About Compromising Miss Tisdale

Ambrosia Tisdale is the very picture of propriety and the epitome of what a respectable young lady should be. Haunted by a memory and compelled by her family, she pursues perfection to a fault.

The Earl of Bristol, Duncan Maddox, has returned to London after years of familial imposed exile. As the second son, he has led a life filled with frivolity, leisure, and a healthy dose of debauchery. Now his older brother has died, leaving the family’s flailing legacy in Duncan’s unwilling arms.

At the behest of his uncle, Duncan is advised to do the one thing that could provide instant fortune and respectability – he must marry. But there is only one prospect who meets the unique requirements to solve all the Earl’s problems – the lovely Miss Ambrosia Tisdale. But securing the prudent daughter of a Viscount’s hand proves to be more challenging than this scandal ridden second son of an Earl has bargained for.

With scandal, extortion, treachery, and even love itself threatening to keep him from his goal, will Duncan succeed in compromising Miss Tisdale?

Excerpt

James tapped his finger to the cleft in his chin.  “So, I am to assume that you need financial prosperity, respectability, honor, and security virtually overnight?  That is your dilemma?”

Duncan chuckled at the absurdity of the situation.  “In so many words, yes.”

He shrugged.  “Should be simple enough.”

Duncan laughed outwardly now.  “Simple?  You call that simple?”

James arched an eyebrow.  “Such a quandary is hardly original to noble men like us.”

“How do you figure?”

“Your predicament is nothing new.  Men of our station have been combating that very issue for years.  And the solution is hardly novel.  I’m quite surprised someone with your acumen hadn’t thought of it earlier.

“Clearly, I am ignorant, so please-enlighten me.”

“You need to marry.”

Duncan deflated.  “Is that all?”

“Well, you couldn’t just marry anyone.  She must be rich, but not noveau riche.  And her family must be prominent.  She needn’t be from a ducal house necessarily, but with rivaling status in its age and reputation.  And since you’re such a cad, your wife will need to be the picture of morality.  We’re talking the personification of righteousness-no skeletons in the closet, no relatives from the other side of the blanket, no scandals amongst third cousins.  The gossip rags must have nothing on her or her family.”

Duncan felt his nostrils flair.  “Yes, simple indeed.  So, where exactly do you suggest I find this rich Lady Madonna?”

A slow smile crept up James’ face.  “You’ve already met her.”

Confused, Duncan thought for a moment.  Then he smacked into the great stone wall of realization at just what it was his friend was implying.  “Miss Tisdale?  You’re suggesting I marry Miss Tisdale?  The Miss Tisdale who you just finished telling me is waiting for the perfect husband–who no doubt has far more prestige and fortune than I?  You’re cracked.”  Duncan turned and started walking back towards the curtain.

About the Author

Jessica Jefferson makes her home in northern Indiana, or as she likes to think of it – almost Chicago.  Jessica originally attended college in hopes of achieving an English degree and writing the next great American novel.  Ten years later she was working as a registered nurse and reading historical romance when she decided to give writing another go-round.

Jessica writes likes she speaks, which has a tendency to be fast paced and humorous.  Jessica is heavily inspired by sweeping, historical romance novels, but aims to take those key emotional elements and inject a fresh blend of quick dialogue and comedy to transport the reader into a story they miss long after the last page is read.  She invites you to visit her at jessicajefferson.com and read her random romance musings.

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