Haven and Sera’s story has haunted me for longer than I can say—since long before they had names and took center stage in The Rogue Not Taken as the catalyst for Sophie and King’s love story. The Day of the Duchess is a story of finding hope from sorrow—from a marriage that might never work and a loss that might never be overcome—and when I sat down to write it, I had no idea that it would become the story of so many women I’ve known, women who have amazed me with their strength and their ability to face an uncertain future. I could not have predicted that, over the course of writing this book, I would be so inspired by so many—friends, family, readers, strangers—all made of beauty and steel. Sera is for all of you.
While it may seem as though Sera and Haven’s divorce was too easily obtained, the events in the story are a surprisingly close reflection of divorce proceedings in the House of Lords during the early 1800s. Until 1857, women were largely excluded from petitioning for divorce, as wives had no legal personage. What’s more, wives were not allowed to testify on their own behalf in Parliament, which made divorce on the grounds of anything but female adultery tricky. In the late 1700s, however, a shift came in the way Parliament and society viewed marriage—as less a requirement for property and more a possibility for happiness—and divorce petitions rose significantly . . . along with spousal collusion. Essentially, men and women trapped in unhappy marriages worked together to achieve their common goal—usually with an unsuspecting bystander being dragged into the ruse as a witness to a wife’s adultery. A quick (albeit expensive) Parliamentary vote resulted in the dissolution of the marriage, and everyone was free to head off and marry their lovers. I was shocked by how easily a rich and powerful couple might obtain a divorce—and fascinated by the idea that husbands and wives might work together to get it done. For a rich, riveting history of divorce in England, I recommend Lawrence Stone’s Road to Divorce, which was a constant companion while I wrote—much to my own husband’s trepidation. The extensive Parliamentary collections at the British Library were also essential to this part of the story.
A note on Sera’s music: “The Spanish Ladies” is an old sea shanty, predating the 1700s when it was finally written down; I’ve also used Thomas Moore’s “Oft in the Stilly Night” and “The Last Rose of Summer.” “She Was Born That Day in the Heart of a Boy” is mine, with many thanks to a long-ago French café wall for the titular inspiration.
Sometimes, a piece of history grabs hold of you and won’t let go. For several years (and several books), I’ve searched for a way to put an underwater ballroom into a story. The ballroom is real! There is a nearly identical underwater ballroom at Witley Park in Surrey, a massive estate built in the late nineteenth century by Whitaker Wright, an eccentric millionaire scoundrel. While Witley’s underwater ballroom was built in the 1890s, there’s no reason why it could not have existed in the 1830s at the hands of a man desperate for a monument to his love, as metal and glass submarines had existed for more than a century already. Though I swapped Witley’s Neptune for Highley’s Orion, I borrowed liberally from photos and first-person accounts of visits to the Witley ballroom, which, remarkably, remains intact. I’m deeply indebted to Atlas Obscura and numerous Reddit users for their commitment to understanding the physics and engineering of the ballroom.
As always, I am endlessly grateful to Carrie Feron, Carolyn Coons, and the outstanding team at Avon Books, including Liate Stehlik, Shawn Nicholls, Pam Jaffee, Libby Collins, Tobly McSmith, Carla Parker, Brian Grogan, Frank Albanese, Eileen DeWald, and Eleanor Mikucki. Thank you, also, to Steve Axelrod, who has all the best stories.
I am lucky to have a husband who has never once made me want to storm Parliament and friends who are the very best. Thank you to Eric for unflappable calm; to Lily Everett, Carrie Ryan, and Sophie Jordan for unwavering friendship; and to Bob, Tom, Felicity, and everyone at Krupa Grocery for keeping a table free for me.
And to you, wonderful readers, thank you for trusting me, for reading me, and for sharing so much of yourselves with me. These books are nothing without you. I hope you will all join me in 2018 for my next series, featuring the Bareknuckle Bastards, and some young women you’ll find familiar.
Oh, and as for Sesily and her American, stay tuned.