Terri Osburn
Meant to Be
Montlake/ May 21, 2013 / $10.36 print, $3.99 digital
Sometimes the next best thing is what you’ve been looking for all along…
Beth Chandler has spent her whole life pleasing others. She went to law school to make her grandparents happy. She agreed to marry her workaholic boyfriend, Lucas, to make him happy. And, despite her fear of boats, she took a ferry to see Lucas’s parents just to make them happy.
While suffering through a panic attack on the ferry, Beth meets a tall, sexy stranger who talks her down from her fear—and makes her heart flutter in the process. Soon, she has a new reason to panic: her gorgeous, blue-eyed rescuer is Lucas’s brother, Joe. But could she ever leave her fiancé for his own brother…even if Lucas is more focused on making partner than on making their relationship work…and even if Joe turns out to be everything she never knew she wanted?
Filled with excitement and delight, Meant to Be is the story of a young woman torn between urban pressures and small-town pleasures.
I am not a fan of love triangles, but, as with most romance tropes that I insist I don’t like, the right author can prove me wrong. Terri Osburn is the right author in this case. And she proves me wrong using siblings in the triangle, something that usually makes me toss a book immediately. The reasons I loved this book, triangle included, are threefold.









On July 20, 2013, at the Awards Ceremony of the 33rd annual conference of the Romance Writers of America, 
Try changing the point of view from first person to third person in the opening of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, and you will understand the power a first-person narrative can have. I doubt that the opening sentence would be among the most famous in American literature had Melville written “His name is Ishmael” rather than “Call me Ishmael.” Or imagine Jane Eyre without the pervasive presence of Jane’s consciousness. The reader’s understanding not only of who Jane is but also of Rochester and other characters would be quite different if the story had been told in a different point of view, as Jean Rhys shows in Wide Sargasso Sea, her deconstruction of Charlotte Brontë’s classic text.
We all know how important clothing is in real life. It functions as a primary means of nonverbal communication to inform a watching world about who we are. Clothing can reveal—or sometimes conceal—gender, class, occupation, age, economic status, and group affiliation among other things. How often have you heard people define themselves or others in terms of their clothing? An actress describes herself as a “jeans and tee shirt kind of girl,” and the public understands a great deal about how she sees herself, or at least how she wants the public to believe she sees herself. One man mocks another for being a “Brooks Brothers type,” and we draw conclusions about both the mocker and the object of his mockery.
Alison Kent
Susan Mallery
When offered the chance to propose a “core curriculum” for historical romance, I eagerly accepted, knowing full well the problems I would have narrowing the list to a reasonable length. After long consideration, I have a list (in chronological order)—not of my favorites (although some are books I cherish) but rather twelve books (thanks to a gracious editor who allowed me to include two beyond the desired maximum) that seem to me to be “foundational;” that is, they either illustrate a convention or trope fundamental to historical romance (representative book) or mark a significant change in the subgenre (unique contribution), and they all provide rich material for discussion on key issues.
Vicars appear regularly in romance fiction as secondary characters. Who can forget Jane Austen’s clergymen—the obsequious Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice, the vain and greedy Philip Elton in Emma, the admirable Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park? Less memorable is the worthy vicar in Georgette Heyer’s Arabella whose character is best revealed in the values he has imparted to his daughter. Heyer set the precedent here as in so many ways; vicars in popular romance are most commonly fathers or, somewhat less often, deceased husbands of the heroines. A quick count of just my personal catalog yielded more than seventy historical romances that feature a vicar’s daughter or a vicar’s widow.
In the spring of 2008, I received a rare you-must-read-this email from my friend PJ. The book she was urging me to read was The Duke of Shadows by 
If I could fill a Christmas basket for each of you with my favorite Christmas historical romances of 2012, I’d include a book for each day of Christmas week: four new releases and three reissues.
If I were headed for a desert island and were allowed to take only one Christmas romance, I’d take one by
One of the first new Christmas books I read this year was Mischief and Mistletoe, an anthology that includes stories by eight romance authors who blog together as the Word Wenches. They are (in the order in which they are listed on the cover) Mary Jo Putney, Jo Beverley, Joanna Bourne, Nicola Cornick, Anne Gracie, Patricia Rice, Cara Elliott, and Susan King. It’s an interesting collection on several counts, not least because this is a gifted group of writers. Among them, the Wenches have written 231 novels and 74 novellas, made every bestseller list in the genre, and amassed a string of awards that include several RITAs and one RWA Hall of Fame inductee (Jo Beverley).
Decades before it became trendy for romance fiction authors to adopt different pseudonyms to reinvent themselves or to publish in a new subgenre, Eleanor Alice Burford Hibbert was publishing under eight names. Romance readers may not recognize her legal name, but chances are most of them have read at least a novel or two by Jean Plaidy, Victoria Holt, or Philippa Carr.
Skim romance or women’s fiction novels in any bookstore—online or brick and mortar, new or used—and you will probably notice that small-town settings abound, most of them as part of a series. A search for “romance small town” on NoveList yields more than 2400 titles. More than fifty series set in twenty states are represented on my own bookshelves (not counting mysteries, which have some of the best small towns). Texas is an easy winner among my books, with nine series set there, including Susan Elizabeth Phillips’s Wynette, Jodi Thomas’s Harmony, and Meg Benjamin’s Konigsburg, three of my favorite series. California is next with five, but among the five is Robyn Carr’s Virgin River series, which at twenty books may hold the record for the longest running small-town series. Some people credit it with starting the current trend.










