As the women continued to ooh and aah at Nancy’s performance, the former thespian arranged the food carefully on the fancy platters that she had lined with doilies, garnishing each one with a sprig of parsley and slices of fresh fruit. They were spellbound by the way she tended the dishes, making certain that each plate was freshened and re-garnished whenever needed.
Having grown up in a small college town in Kansas, Kathy had never seen such a presentation. Over the years, her mother had entertained countless guests in their Lawrence home, but not once with such pomp and circumstance. For Kathy, Nancy embodied the Martha Stewart touch, years before the home décor queen had become famous. It was a manner that, from that day forward, Kathy and many of the other members would emulate. Nancy had opened their eyes to a world that many had only read about, and they agreed to employ her opulent entertaining style at all of their big events.
But while Nancy was building a reputation as an expert party-planner, her attempts at writing were not going nearly as well. Bolstered by the successes of several more members of the Washington Romance Writers, Nancy continued to struggle with her contemporary romances. Even when it was becoming apparent to her and everyone else in the group that she could not find the winning formula, she continued to dream of the financial rewards a finished and optioned book could yield. It was during one of her many conversations with author Kathy Seidel that she realized that she could not produce a publishable manuscript on a topic for which she had no passion. Yet, she resisted relinquishing her original goal and chose to persevere. Like her husband, Nancy was not one to give up without a good fight.
After several more attempts, however, Nancy finally conceded that she could not write contemporaries on her own. She concluded that her expertise was as a researcher and not a chronicler of human experience, and that her inability to draft a saleable manuscript was due to her lack of emotional maturity. She decided to heed Kathy Seidel’s advice that she switch to Regencies.
Traditional Regencies are smaller books, usually around 200 pages, that contain very little sex. They are set in England during the Regency period, which spanned 1811–1820, when blind, insane George III was king, but the Prince Regent was the de facto ruler. The books focus on the details of the period, rather than the intricacies of a tempestuous love affair between a man and a woman.
Nancy’s party-throwing talents, and the ease with which she catered the small gathering at Kathy’s house, paled in comparison to the feat she would accomplish next. Drawing on her extensive experience working with not-for-profit corporations, she put her unmatchable organizational skills to work to coordinate the first romance-writers’ retreat. Her idea for the weekend conference was to provide writers with a refuge where they could learn from key players in the publishing industry, and, at the same time, be inspired by the tranquility of a getaway in a beautiful country setting.
Nancy was a very political person, constantly aware of the dynamics of a group, whether it was the Junior League or the United States of America. She believed that having just one editor and one agent on hand to give advice and critique members’ work would be more helpful than a roomful of lecturers and a schedule that demanded attending countless workshops.
The two-day event was planned for the Hilltop House Hotel and Conference Center in the tiny Civil War town of Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. Built at the turn of the century, the lovely four-story, brick-and-wood Hilltop House sat perched high atop a cliff in the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains, affording guests spectacular views of the junction of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers and an ambience of serenity. The adjacent small town of vertical streets lined with cafes, antique shops, pottery and craft stores, and an authentic wax museum, made it the perfect site for the weekend respite that Nancy had in mind. She especially liked that members could hike along the river and enjoy fishing, boating, and picnicking in nearby Harpers Ferry National Historical Park. Sightseers could also climb a steep alpine trail to a small cemetery, where, standing amid the graves, they could take in the sweeping view of West Virginia, Maryland, and Virginia. The women especially delighted in a story told to them by members of the hotel staff. They heard that in an amusing turn of events, the town had undergone a permanent name change probably around 1910, or more specifically a permanent name-spelling change. The apostrophe before the “s” in the word Harper’s was forever dropped after the painter who was commissioned by the town to design the official sign accidentally left it out. Unwilling to spend the additional money to have the marker repainted, the town council voted to eliminate the apostrophe forever. The story which could not be verified by local historians, was not lost on the women, who took every facet of the English language seriously.
When members arrived in April of 1985 for the first annual Romance Writers Retreat the breathtaking scenery overwhelmed them. The crabapple and cherry trees were in full blossom, and brilliant yellow daffodils covered the rolling green hills surrounding the decades-old hotel. The site had been chosen by Anita Brown, the director of the conference center and a part owner. She had negotiated an enticingly low weekend package rate for the women of WRW, of which she was a member.
While everyone agreed that the setting was lovely and even more than most could have dreamed of, the accommodations had some members complaining. The hotel had fallen into a state of disrepair, with sinks hanging crookedly from the walls in the bathroom, the hot water running out before they finished their showers, and the wallpaper peeling off the walls. And there were no telephones in the rooms!
But for the most part, the women disregarded the somewhat seedy accommodations and delighted instead in the bucolic setting, and the program that had been planned for them by Nancy. They were aware that Nancy’s idea for the weekend was to provide them with a true retreat atmosphere. And they appreciated that, unlike most writers’ conferences, the workshops would feature only one editor and one agent, speaking directly to their needs. They weren’t disappointed. The workshops were of an academic, almost scholarly, nature, with only a handful devoted to the current status of the romance market.
For Nancy and the others, it was an opportunity to learn first-hand from important people in the industry, and a chance to laugh, sip wine, and tell stories at impromptu pajama parties that snowballed in the hotel rooms of the WRW members. Many of the women had already forged friendships during the Saturday sessions, but much of their conversation had been focused solely on their professional goals. Being away for an entire weekend afforded them time to talk on a more personal level.
But Nancy was not one to mix her private and professional life, and did not share a lot in the way of personal information. Most of the women knew very little about her background, and even less about her husband. When the meetings were held at her home on Reservoir Road, members would catch little more than a glimpse and a grin from Nancy’s craggy, blonde-haired, blue-eyed spouse.
One woman in particular had a negative image of Nancy’s relationship with Jeremy. Kathy Seidel frequently got together with Nancy to discuss their careers. However, their conversation often digressed into more personal topics, becoming a chance to air typical complaints about married life. The two women found it a relief to complain to each other about their husbands’ failure to participate in the household chores, and to commiserate about how much more they could get done when the men were not underfoot. Kathy’s impression was that her friend’s husband was “controlling and prickly.” She was therefore surprised by Nancy’s report of Jeremy’s response to her homecoming at the end of the retreat weekend.
She listened in amazement as Nancy related the details of the romantic evening her husband had planned for her upon her return. Jeremy told his wife just how glad he was that she was home by drawing her a hot bubble bath in a darkened room illuminated only by candles, then serving her a glass of wine as she luxuriated in the steamy tub. Nancy used the word “caretaking” to describe her husband’s welcoming gesture, surprising her with the realization that there was another
side to the Akerses’ marriage.
* * *
Making a calculated change of paths was sobering. While Nancy had heard the earning potential on contemporaries was unlimited, even reaching six figures, Regencies had a definite ceiling. But Nancy’s main concern was getting published—no matter what the financial rewards.
Around the time that Nancy decided to try a different tack, she learned that an author of several published contemporaries named Mary Kilchenstein had joined the Washington Romance Writers. She was thrilled when the successful writer telephoned her to say she would be attending the Writers Retreat at Harpers Ferry in April that Nancy had dreamed up and decided to organize. While they had spoken briefly over the phone, discussing Mary’s room reservation at the Hilltop House, she could hardly wait to meet her in person. She knew that Mary, who was writing under the name Jean Fauré, had had success writing contemporary romance. Nancy was desperate to learn her secrets.
For Nancy, the high point of the retreat was meeting Mary Kilchenstein. Upon arriving in West Virginia, Nancy immediately introduced herself to the tall, woman with the straight brown hair, who was pretty in an understated way. She began plying her with questions about her burgeoning writing career. The course of the conversation revealed that Nancy and Mary shared many of the same interests. Both women had enjoyed a musical childhood, with Nancy studying dance and Mary the piano. Nancy had majored in international relations in college, while Mary held a degree in American studies.
Nancy listened attentively as Mary explained that her older son, Peter, was four and a half years old and she had been pregnant with her second son, David, when she sold her first book in February of 1984. Bed of Roses was released under the name Jean Fauré and was published by Second Chance at Love, a Berkley imprint that several years later would be discontinued. The two women talked about Mary’s most recent works, which included several contemporaries and an historical. As the evening wore on, Nancy asked to take a look at some of Mary’s writings. Flattered by her acquaintance’s interest, Mary went to her hotel room and pulled out a few manuscripts she had written that had not yet been published, and gave them to Nancy to take home.
Several days later, Mary received a telephone call from her newest fan. Nancy lauded Mary’s ability to develop a plot and liked the way she effected characterization. As the two women chatted about the various scenarios Mary had written, Nancy boldly confessed that she had all but given up on writing contemporaries. She explained that she had worked for nearly two years with no success, and admitted that she believed the reason was that she lacked the kind of insight necessary to be successful in the lucrative genre.
To Mary’s surprise, Nancy revealed that, after much contemplation, she had concluded that her inability to succeed was directly linked to her own emotional immaturity. She told Mary that she thought of herself as an emotional adolescent, and worried that her naiveté was what was hindering her chances for success. Then she suggested something that caught Mary completely off guard. Nancy proposed that they work together on a manuscript—hoping that collaboration with Mary would provide her with an opportunity to learn from an accomplished pro.
Astonished by the offer, and flattered by Nancy’s honesty and praise, Mary agreed to work with the bold and seemingly capable woman. Pulling four or five synopses from her files, she presented them to Nancy at their next meeting. She explained that they were various stories that she was considering developing, and advised Nancy to take them home and look them over, and then choose one that struck her fancy.
Excitedly, Nancy reviewed the outlines and then called her new mentor to say she had found a storyline that had captured her imagination. The two women agreed to meet and hold a plotting session. They spent hours sitting together in Mary’s backyard in Rockville, Maryland, exchanging ideas and acting out a variety of scenarios. Every so often, they would take a break to speak about the flowers in Mary’s garden and to check on Peter, Mary’s eldest son, and Finny playing together on the swing set that Mary and her husband had set up on the lawn.
Once Nancy and Mary had decided upon a scenario to their mutual liking, they agreed to divide the work: Nancy as researcher, Mary as writer. The women spoke almost every day, with Mary calling in to advise Nancy of her progress and Nancy helping to fill in any holes that she noticed as she reviewed the drafts. But with little involvement in the actual writing of the book, Nancy continued to work on her own manuscript, a Regency romance entitled The Mayfair Season. She had advised Mary that she planned to continue her efforts, and was pleased when Mary agreed that it would not interfere with their collaboration.
The story that Nancy was concocting was set in 1816. It was the tale of Miss Mina O’Keiffe of Thornhill Park, Kent, a seventeen-year-old maiden who was eleven years old when her mother, Lady Elaine, died. She was then forced to live with her quick-tempered older brothers in a rambling Tudor manor house in the English countryside.
“In her innocence, Mina did not realize that she had been welcomed into Society merely out of sympathy for her mother,” Nancy wrote. “Mama, gay and beautiful, had been the only child of the Marquess of Thornbury, a thoroughly dissolute nobleman, who, having gambled away the family fortune, bartered his daughter to a wealthy Irish merchant.”
The story contained remarkable similarities to Nancy’s own life, in which she grew up a modern-day maiden with two petulant brothers and a society mother in a Tudor manor home. Even Miss Mina’s love interest, Lord Compton Cavendish, the Seventh Earl of Brierly, with his fair hair, sky-blue eyes, and cool, detached attitude toward love and everlasting relationships, resembled Nancy’s own husband.
With two years of writing under her belt, Nancy was determined to make this book her big sale, and as her collaboration with Mary progressed, she paid close attention to her co-author’s style, especially the way she developed the plot and fleshed out the characters. Mary understood Nancy’s determination and provided her with help whenever she asked. She was aware that many authors spend much more than two years honing their craft and collecting rejections, and encouraged Nancy to persevere. Mary was impressed by her new associate’s playful sense of humor, and believed that Nancy’s natural flair for storytelling, and her literary ability to paint vivid images that described events and places like no one she had ever known, would ultimately land her a publishing contract.
Yet while Mary liked Nancy personally, she was keenly aware that her new writing partner was accustomed to a lifestyle that was very different from her own. Nancy did little to hide the fact that she had been raised in an upper-crust world, but while she routinely dropped names of the important people she knew, she also poked fun at the aristocratic people she had grown up with. After attending a breakfast meeting of one of her society clubs, she jokingly employed a wide range of hilarious voices as she described the expensive alligator shoes and lengthy false eyelashes that were flaunted by the women in attendance. That they found it necessary to dress to the nines so early each morning was endlessly amusing to Nancy.
When the plotting sessions were held at Nancy’s home, Mary noted that the residence was accented with expensive, hand-enameled Cloisonné eggs, distinctive blue-and-white Spode china, and fancy snuff boxes that her family had purchased over the years at Sotheby’s auctions. The glass etageres in her colorful living room showcased a collection of fine bric-a-brac items that were clearly worth hundreds and even thousands of dollars.
For Nancy, holidays—especially Christmas—offered the opportunity to celebrate in grand style, and her friends marveled at her elaborate preparations. Just days before Christmas Eve, the aspiring author waved her husband and son farewell as they jaunted off to the country to cut down a fifteen-foot white pine and cart it back to Washington, where it was elaborately bedecked with fanciful ornaments and sparkling tinsel, and proudly displayed in the family’s well-appointed dining room. When she couldn’t bear to part with the fragrant tree, she redecorated it with crimson hearts that she had cut out by hand in honor of
St. Valentine’s Day. Another aspect of holiday celebrations was the opportunity to showcase the expensive silverware she had inherited from her grandparents, a family heirloom of which she was particularly proud.
But the contradictions in her relationship to possessions and formality remained, extending far beyond holiday celebrations. While she counted membership at a yacht club on the Long Island Sound among her many childhood affiliations, and often chatted about her ongoing association with the Junior League, she continued to serve her guests drinks out of the recycled jelly jars.
Despite the great amount of valuable appointments, the overall impression given by Nancy’s home was one of complete chaos. Several of the couple’s friends described the Akers residence as “a wreck.” Every surface was cluttered, not only with fine objets d’art but also with papers, date books, clothing, toys, and the artifacts of everyday life. According to those close to Nancy, Jeremy was the culprit. While Nancy viewed his frequent absences as an opportunity to restore order in the house, upon his return he would immediately create disarray. He would dump his legal papers on the dining room table, then go into the kitchen and pull a box of his favorite cereal and a can of the coffee he drank every morning out of the cabinet, insisting they be kept on the compact kitchen counter for his own convenience. Jeremy’s friends told a different tale. They claimed that Nancy was “no housekeeper” and that Jeremy often complained about the state of their home. At any rate, money was short in the Akers household, and Nancy’s attempts to juggle the raising of her children with the fulfillment of her aspirations left little time for the non-stop demands of housekeeping.
Fatal Romance: A True Story of Obsession and Murder Page 13
