Historical and Regency Romance UK

Penny Jordan and my post

2012-01-28T15:31:00.000Z

Hi everyone

I just wanted to say how sad I was to hear about Penny's death. I didn't know her well but I loved her books and she was pleasant to talk to at various events where we met. I recently bought her new book as Annie Groves and am looking forward to reading it. She will be sadly missed.

As far as my own writing goes I have a Regency trilogy coming out in quick succession starting with the Disappearing Duchess next month. I hope my readers will enjoy them. There are also two Regencies in a double edition that comes out shortly - so a lot of my books about this year.

Don't really want to say more today. Life is so unpredictable and I was shocked at the news. I think one thing is certain, Penny was very much loved by readers and friends alike. May she rest in peace.

Love to all of you.

Anne Herries, Linda Sole

A Tribute To Penny Jordan

2012-01-22T16:14:00.000Z

Many of you will know by now that bestselling and best-loved novelist Penny Jordan died on 31^st December 2011, having been ill with cancer for some time. There have been obituaries in The Telegraph and The Guardian, as well as on the Mills and Boon website. They have documented the fact that Penny wrote almost two hundred books, selling around 80 million copies worldwide. But I wanted to write a more personal account of Penny here on the Historical Romance

blog, and about her love of Regency romance.

Although Penny was best known for her contemporary romances, she started her career by writing Regency romances under the name of Caroline Courtney. The first, Duchess in Disguise, was published in 1979 and led to a list of other titles. Penny and I bonded over our love of Regencies when we first met about ten years ago.

At the time, I was thinking of starting a local chapter of the RNA, and I posted on the RNA email loop to see if anyone else thought it was a good idea. I received an email from Penny, saying she lived nearby and that she would be very interested. It was typical of Penny that she didn’t say she was a phenomenal bestseller, or that her pen name was Penny Jordan, she simply signed herself “Penny”.

The inaugural meeting went ahead, at which time there were only four of us: (l-r) Penny, Amanda Ashby – who was at the time unpublished, but who went on to write very successful (and very funny) young adult novels – Amanda Grange (me!) and Susan Stephens (right). The fifth person in the photo (second from the right) is a friend of Susan's. We met for lunch in a local wine bar and we hit it off straight away.

Penny and I quickly discovered we shared a love of Georgette Heyer. We immediately started talking about our favourite books – Penny’s was The Grand Sophy whilst mine was Cotillion – and we laughed at all our favourite minor characters and situations, whilst sharing our favourite heroes and heroines. That was when Penny told me that she had started her career by writing Regencies, which she still loved.

She was a very warm, funny person, with a love of books of all kinds. She loved encouraging others and she set up a writers’ group to help aspiring novelists make it into print. She was a very knowledgeable person and she was always willing to share her experience with others. Many of her protégées became successful writers themselves, including Susan Stephens.

But that was only part of Penny. Although she loved books, she had many other interests, too. We often met up to chat about books and writing, but also the other things in life. When I went round to her house I commented on her fabulous decorations and she revealed that she had designed all the rooms herself. Not only that, but she had painted them herself, too. She said that she loved painting because it satisfied her creative impulse whilst also being relaxing.

Now I like decorating, and I’ve decorated a lot of rooms in my time, but Penny’s results were professional. She said that, if she hadn’t been a writer she would have been an interior designer, and it was easy to see that she would have been very successful. Everything in her home was immaculate. All the lamps, cushions and ornaments were chosen with an artist’s eye. Despite this, her home was not a show home. She was a great dog lover and her Alsatian,

Sheba

, was her beloved companion.

Although she had a lot of difficulties in her personal life, with her husband dying of cancer and her own health problems, Penny remained a cheerful and optimistic person, writing until the end of her life. She will be remembered by her readers for her wonderful Regencies and historical sagas, as well as her contemporary romances and blockbuster novels, but she will be remembered by those of us who were lucky enough to know her as a warm, kind, generous, fun-loving person who filled her own life, and the lives of those around her with happiness. She will never be forgotten and she is sadly missed.

Amanda Grange

On Thin Ice

2012-01-19T05:00:00.004Z

There is no snow in London at the moment, and certainly no ice for skating on, but during the early 19thc century skating on the lakes and ponds in the parks was very popular – and could be perilous.

One of the best lakes for skating was the Serpentine in Hyde Park. It was formed in 1730 by damming the Westbourne, one of London’s lost rivers flowing down from Hampstead, and snakes between the Park proper and Kensington Gardens. It was in this water that Harriet Shelley drowned herself in 1816. The print on the left shows skaters in St James's Park with the Queen's House, later Buckingham Palace, in the background.

The Picture of London for 1807, a particularly handy guidebook (and one that I tend to prefer to modern volumes when exploring!) has this to say about the dangers of thin ice and the steps taken to deal with them:

In severe winters, when the Serpentine River is frozen over, the ice is almost covered with people. One winter there were counted more than 6000 people at one time on the ice. A number of booths were pitched for the refreshment of the populace; and here and there was a group of six, eight or more, fashionable young men, skating, and describing very difficult figures, in the manner of a country dance, with particular neatness and facility of execution… From the number of accidents which happen annually on this river when frozen over, his Majesty gave the Humane Society a spot of ground on its banks, on which they have erected a most convenient receiving-house for the recovery of the apparently drowned; it cost upwards of £500 and is worthy of inspection by the curious. The Society, during the times of frost, keep men on the river to guard the unwary from danger, and to relieve those who may require their aid.

The Humane Society, which later received its royal charter, and which still exists as the Royal Humane Society to reward acts of courage in saving life, was founded in 1774 by two doctors who were concerned about reports of apparently drowned persons not being resuscitated and then either dying or being buried alive. The society was at first called the Society for the Recovery of Persons Apparently Drowned. They set out to publish information on reviving the drowned, paid rewards to anyone attempting a rescue, paid pub keepers if they allowed their premises to be used during a resuscitation attempt and provided volunteers, such as the Icemen around the Serpentine, with life-saving equipment in key locations.

They also established other Receiving Houses around the Westminster area so that drowning victims might be treated. The Hyde Park building survived until it was demolished in 1954 and branches of the Society were set up around the country, mainly in ports.

Valuable as this work was, the methods used to revive the drowned were strange by today’s standards. Draping the body over a barrel was supposed to drain the water from the lungs, which might have had some effect. Spirits were often administered, which probably made the choking worse, but oddest of all, was the application of tobacco smoke.

This was supposed to be blown into the rectum of the unfortunate person, and, I suppose, the indignity of the operation might have brought round the merely semi-conscious. Fortunately for the person who was puffing away on a pipe as part of the procedure, devices like little bellows were invented to introduce the smoke into the rectum. At one time these were placed at strategic locations around London’s lakes and along the Thames and one rare survivor is shown in the photograph above.

If the weather is good and you are in London, a walk through Hyde Park taking in Apsley House at one end and Kensington Palace at the other, is described in Walks Through Regency London, available from www.louiseallenregency.co.uk

Louise

On Thin Ice

2012-01-19T05:00:00.002Z

Louise

The past in the present

2012-01-17T07:00:00.003Z

In Cornwall, past and present are very much intertwined. This milestone and very ancient Cornish cross mark the junction at the small hamlet of Crows-an-Wra, Cornish for Witch’s Cross. Behind the cross is a chapel - now converted into a home. The small graveyard just beyond the back garden contains perhaps a dozen graves neatly laid out amid the grass. The road beside it leads up to Chapel Carn Brea, the most westerly hill in Cornwall.

This plaque in the car park beside the gate leading up to the top of the hill tells the history of the cairn and the burial monuments. At the top of the hill on 21st June a bonfire is lit - the first of a chain of bonfires stretching right across Cornwall - to celebrate the summer solstice.

Across the road from the car park a track leads across gorse and heather moorland to the holy well a short distance from the Iron Age village of Carn Euny.

Mothers used to bring their children to be dipped in the water which was said to have healing powers. People still come - the equinoxes and solstices are favourite times - to touch the water, leave an offering on the tree or tucked between the mossy stones of the well, and make a wish for the year ahead. The tree is festooned with ribbon, crystals, bits of cloth, keyrings: in fact whatever people have on them and feel inspired to leave, perhaps hoping to return, maybe moved by the evidence of so many wishes made over so many years. Many of the offerings tied to its branches are covered with lichen and barely distinguishable from the tree itself. A special place with a powerful atmosphere it's not easy to reach, but well worth the effort.

Jane Jackson.

What makes a Keeper?

2012-01-15T16:33:00.003Z

First of all, a very Happy New Year to all our visitors and bloggers.

I came across a request recently from a reader who wanted book recommendations that would give her "action packed adventure, romance, mystery, a touch of amusement". I should have recommended my own trilogy, The Aikenhead Honours, but being a Brit, I didn't. Like many Brits, I'm generally not that good at self-promotion, especially when it feels really pushy. Yes, a failure on my part, I admit.

However, that request got me thinking. What is it that makes the difference between a book we like and enjoy reading, and a book we absolutely love and put on our precious keeper shelf? (I'm told that a good rule to preserve your keepers is only to let houseguests read them if they do so while inside your house. And also to threaten to search their luggage for "inadvertently" packed books when they leave!!)

I'd love to hear what other lovers of historicals think about this. What is the special aspect of a historical romance that moves it over the line from "liked/enjoyed" to "keeper"? Or are you, like me, one of those who can't quite put her finger on it, but knows it when she reads it?

Joanna
http://www.joannamaitland.com

The intrepid traveller

2012-01-13T09:17:00.001Z

I recently read a book purporting to take part in the Regency where the hero, the testosterone-loaded, aristocratic leader of fashion went tooling around the countryside in a landau.
For those of us in the UK, a landau means the Queen at Ascot, a posh four-seater pram on wheels, with outriders. In the era of carriages, the landau was little different. It was a vehicle popular with widows and married ladies of a certain age, and it was strictly a town vehicle, since it was low-bodied. The rough roads of that time would have ripped the vehicle to shreds. And it was definitely a carriage to be driven in, not to drive oneself. I could see a hero driving a curricle or a phaeton, or even taking a turn at driving his own travelling carriage.
Georgian roads were rough and rutted. Vast improvements occurred later, and slowly, with the various Turnpike Acts and the improvement of road structure, with macadaming, but for most of the period, the roads were bad. Even the relative luxury of a post-chaise, a privately hired vehicle, was limited, because the carriage was running on the same roads.
By mid century, suspension had improved greatly, so at least people could sit instead of being thrown around like eggs in a basket. For the most part. But the quality of roads was extremely variable. It depended on the remoteness of the place, the wealth of the people living there, and the local terrain. A stony environment might have better, if rougher, roads than a sandy one. Roads were largely the responsibility of the people living in the vicinity, so if there was a wealthy farmer, or an aristocrat who wanted the road, then they would pay for it, or contribute towards it. Hence the turnpike.
They were companies who required investors, and they recouped the costs by charging travellers. There are still toll-roads around today, and toll-bridges, too. The toll road movement helped enormously to improve the quality of the roads.
Travelling carriages had to be robust, for the most part. Young gentlemen taking high-perch phaetons on a normal road were literally taking their lives into their hands. The fall could kill them, but a low-bodied vehicle would be torn apart. On smooth, well-kept roads like the one from London to Brighton in the Regency, you might see such vehicles, but not on the outlying country roads.
Many travelling carriages started to be fitted for comfort with padded seats, but few meant for long distance had glass in the windows. In an accident, glass was a serious hazard, and if you survived your carriage overturning, you might die from the broken glass slicing you. They did have leather blinds that could be pulled down.
And passengers had portable comfort stations, small bordeloos they could use as discreetly as you can in the close confines of a carriage, and then tip the contents out of the window, always being careful of the wind direction, of course! They carried blankets, had hot bricks made up for them at the coaching inns, and thick, practical cloaks. Very few people travelled any distance in their best clothes, because they would be a mess by the end of the journey.
Journeys weren’t to be taken lightly, either. London to York took three days for much of the period, with stays at sometimes very ropey inns. Wealthy passengers would travel with their own sheets and linen to avoid bedbugs.
Then there was the stagecoach. This carried passengers at a reasonable price to and from all the major cities and towns in the country. Travelling inside was more expensive than travelling outside, but the coach crammed people in, together with some merchandise like luxury goods, and all the luggage. They were built for durability and strength rather than comfort or attractiveness. Coachmen were notorious for their stamina and their rich use of the language, adding to the characters who thronged the Georgian stage.
It’s very surprising that any travelling carriages survive, but they do. They can be seen in all their variety in museums and stately homes, and some old gigs are in use even today.

Lynne Connolly
http://lynneconnolly.com

An Interview with Anne Gracie

2012-01-10T17:29:00.031Z

Today it is my very great pleasure to welcome award-winning Regency author Anne Gracie to the blog! Anne's fabulous new book, Bride By Mistake, is out now. Described as "a love story with an unforgettable twist" by Romantic Times, from whom it garnered a four and a half star review, and as "an incredible stand-alone read" from Night Owl reviews where it was a Top Pick, it is indeed a terrific read. Now, over to Anne!

"Anne Gracie here, thanking you for allowing me in to blog with you.

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep... (Robert Frost)

One of the most important qualities I look for in a hero is honour. Of course it goes without saying I also want him to be devilishly attractive in his own unique, masculine way, but I look for honour in a man, even though I suspect it's regarded by some as a bit old-fashioned.

I don't care how handsome, strong, passionate, driven or tortured he is, without honor he's a hollow man. And for me, a particular focus of that honour has to be directed toward women in general and the heroine in particular. I'm not a fan of the kind of romance where the hero hounds and mistreats the heroine for three quarters of the story and then discovers he loves her and magically changes his ways. I don't believe in that kind of happy-ever-after.

I've read and written romances in which a young boy will appear as a minor character and he'll do something and I'll think, "he'll make a hero when he grows up." I think the seeds of honour are planted young and while they might go astray for a while they'll return when the chips are down and a choice has to be made.

An honourable man is sexy. Think of The Mountain, guarding his Prudence's sleep in Heyer's The Masqueraders. And what about Eva Ibbotson's Guy Farne, in Magic Flutes, who is almost ready to sacrifice his own happiness because he gave his word, and his word is his bond. Almost. . . Yes, he wouldn't be a hero if he actually did sacrifice his own and the heroine's happiness, so he does escape, and in such a clever way that you almost cheer as you read. And still, he doesn't break his word. That's a hero to rely on.

You could tell Guy Farne was going to be a hero from the time he was a little boy, vigorously, if erroneously, defending his foster mother. I've read and written romances in which a young boy will appear as a minor character and he'll do something and I'll think, "he'll make a hero when he grows up." I think the seeds of honour are planted young and while they might go astray for a while they'll return when the chips are down and a choice has to be made.

In my latest book, Bride By Mistake, the hero, Luke, comes across a young girl being attacked in the mountains of Spain. It's wartime — Napoleon. My hero is just nineteen, a young Lieutenant, and of course, he rides to her rescue. Then he learns she's orphaned and alone —thirteen years old and fleeing a forced marriage. What's a young hero to do?

"I promise you I will look after you. No-one will take you, no-one will force you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You promise?"
"On my honor as an English officer and a gentleman." What the hell was he doing, promising such a thing?
She gave him a long, searching look, then gave a satisfied nod and mounted up behind him. As they moved off, she laid her cheek against his back and her skinny little arms wrapped trustfully around him.
Luke felt it with a sinking heart. What had he done? And how the hell was he going to keep his rash promise?
The answer came to him as they rode into a small village. The first building they saw was a small stone church. A priest stood by the doorway, as if expecting them.
It was Fate, thought Luke. Fate had looked after him so far in this war. He would trust it again. He pulled up by the church and handed Isabella down.

Yes, Reader, he married her, and eight years later, when my book starts, Luke must break the news to his mother that he's not actually available for her matchmaking, that he's already married. It's not an easy conversation.

"But Luke... Thirteen, a mere child! How could you?" She looked at him with faint horror.
"Don't be ridiculous, Mama," he said with asperity. "Of course I never touched her. What do you take me for?" And because he could still see the confusion and anxiety in his mother's eyes, he continued, "I married her to protect her, of course. And then I gave her into the care of her aunt, who is a nun."

So a promise made in haste eight years before binds Luke to a woman he scarcely knows, and sends him on an unexpected adventure. He doesn't want this marriage, but he's a man of honour and will do his duty. . .
But his bride, Isabella, has promises of her own to keep, and is just as determined as Luke. Far from the demure and obedient convent-raised girl he's expecting, Bella is resourceful, loyal, courageous and vulnerable and she leads Luke a right merry dance — which is exactly what he needs.

So, do you think honour is a prerequisite for a hero, or do you do you think a man can learn to become honourable and achieve hero status in the process. I must admit, it would be an interesting premise for a story. The trick is in making it believable, I suppose. What do you think?

Thank you so much for letting me visit.

Thank you for joining us today, Anne! Anne is offering a copy of Bride by Mistake to one commenter on the blog today!

Anne Gracie
www.annegracie.com

Join me on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/1annegracie

Tweet with me: https://twitter.com/#!/AnneGracie

For every promise, there is price to pay. ~Jim Rohn

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep...
~Robert Frost

A promise is a debt. ~Proverb

A promise made is a debt unpaid. ~Robert Service

We promise according to our hopes, and perform according to our fears. ~Francois duc de la Rochefoucauld

Promises are like babies: easy to make, hard to deliver. ~Author Unknown

Promises are the uniquely human way of ordering the future, making it predictable and reliable to the extent that this is humanly possible. ~Hannah Arendt

When a man takes an oath... he's holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then - he needn't hope to find himself again. ~Robert Bolt

Essex Coaching Days

2012-01-09T06:47:00.000Z

Essex Coaching Days by J.Elsden Tuffs

A good friend of mine, knowing my interest in the Regency, sent me a wonderful little book called "Essex Coaching Days". As I live just outside Colchester this was an ideal gift.
I thought I'd share a few nuggets of information with you.
Firstly a little about the coachman himself: a typical coachman would have had to be a rugged individual as he spent his entire life been buffeted by the elements.He expected his tip, as did the guard, at the end of each stage. (This must be why taxi drivers make the same demand.)
The coach route was usually in three "grounds". The first section, called the "upper", the next section called the "middle" and the final stretch was the "lower". The upper and the lower provided the biggest tips so the middle ground was never very popular with coachmen.
Tuffs provides an amusing quote from John Wesley who travelled from London to Norwich in 1779. "I went to Norwich in a stage-coach with two very disagreeable companions, called a gentleman and gentlewoman, but equally ignorant, insolent, lewd and profane."

Essex coaching map.

The outside passengers were at risk not only from the elements but also schoolboys with pea-shooters. If the coach overturned in a snowdrift, or was held up by foot-pads, these unfortunate individuals were targeted first. Outside travellers also ran the risk of freezing to death. Inside was almost as bad; "the windows were hermetically sealed and the atmosphere fit to choke in," is the way Tuff describes it.
In the winter extra horses were often needed to get the coaches up a particularly difficult hill. For instance, Brentwood hill, on the London side, was somewhere passengers were often asked to walk. Also an additional couple of horses would sometimes be harnessed to help drag the coach forward. A postilion would ride the nearside one.

Another drawing form Tuff's book.

The journey from London to Colchester took six hours and that was considered fast. Coaches were uncomfortable, often dangerously overcrowded, and expensive. To travel by public transport 200 years ago one would have to have been resolute and fit.
Mind you, on more than one occasion it has taken me several hours to get from Liverpool Street to Colchester because of problems on the trains. The A12, more or less the same route the stage coach would have used, is notorious for accidents and delays. On occasions you still have to be tough and determined to get from Colchester to London nowadays.
best wishes
Fenella Miller
www.fenellajmiller.co.uk

Dauntsey Park

2012-01-07T08:07:00.009Z

I’m very excited that MIRA Books has re-issued my 2008 Edwardian historical romance The Last Rake in London. It has a new title – Dauntsey Park – and a gorgeous new cover!

Writing about the Edwardian era was a new departure for me. The book is set in 1908 and the research was fascinating. In may ways the time period reminded me of the Regency, almost 100 years before. Not for nothing was the Edwardian era know as “The Gilded Age” with its opulence and excess, at least in the higher strata of society! Like the Regency it was also a time of huge change, both in society and in terms of technology. It was the era that saw the first mass-produced cars most famous which was Henry Ford’s Model T. The telephone was a novelty (as anyone who has seen the struggles of Carson the butler with it in Downton Abbey will know!) and the first flying machines were taking to the air. Parts of the London Underground were built and it was already known as “The Tube.”

Fashion was also as glamorous as in the Regency period. Both women and men in the upper echelons of society changed their clothing several times a day depending on the social occasion. Men wore the “sacque suit,” a three-piece suit including waistcoat, worn with coloured shirts and a silk tie. The tuxedo was coming into fashion, replacing the tail coat for formal evening wear. In The Last Rake in London, the hero’s great-aunt comments unfavourably on his “modern” outfit when he appears wearing a tux. For sporting pursuits the knickerbocker was fashionable, worn with a Norfolk coat of tweed.

For ladies the most glamorous gowns came from the House of Worth in Paris. Sumptuous clothing in silk, satin, chiffon, tussore, faille, crepe de chine, mohair, and cashmere was all the rage. For full effect, it needed to be trimmed with lace, fur, feathers or braid. Hats got larger and larger during the Edwardian decade. Even the food was trimmed with added decoration; roast pheasant would be served with its tail feathers! The dinner table was a work of art. It would be adorned with flowers, perhaps in gold or silver wicker baskets, with roses a particular favourite, entwined with ferns and ivy. The table flowers were often chosen to match the hostess’s gown! Such attention to detail required a huge hall of servants to carry off. At Ashdown House during the Victorian and Edwardian period there were forty outdoor servants attending to the garden and grounds, the potting sheds, flowerbeds and hothouses. There were another forty indoor servants keeping the house going.

There is an excerpt from The Last Rake in London, much more background research, and a special contest here on my website!

Are you a fan of Downton Abbey? Do you enjoy historical fiction set in the Edwardian era? I’m offering a copy of Dauntsey Park: The Last Rake in London to one commenter today!

What's in a name: top female first names in 1800

2012-01-05T09:36:00.000Z

I’ve been fascinated by first names ever since I was a child: where they came from, what they meant, and which names were fashionable when, and why. When I came to write historical novels, this was even more important.

So which female names were most frequently used in 1800? My information comes from research into English parish records undertaken by The Names Society, founded in 1969 by Leslie Dunkling.

The top fifty names are as follows:
1-10: Mary, Anne, Elizabeth, Sarah, Jane, Hannah, Susan, Martha, Margaret, Charlotte
11-20: Harriet, Betty, Maria, Catherine, Frances, Mary Ann, Nancy, Rebecca, Alice, Ellen
21-30: Sophia, Lucy, Isabel, Eleanor, Esther, Fanny, Eliza, Grace, Sally, Rachel
31-40: Lydia, Caroline, Dorothy, Peggy, Ruth, Kitty, Jenny, Phoebe, Agnes, Emma
41-50: Amy, Jemima, Dinah, Barbara, Joan, Joanna, Deborah, Judith, Bridget, Marjorie

It’s interesting to see that most of Jane Austen’s female characters’ names are here. I was surprised to find Lydia at number 31, I had supposed it to be an uncommon name. I also expected to find Henrietta, Louisa and Isabella, which aren’t there.

What can we learn from this list? First, nearly half originate in the Bible, like Susan, Martha, Rebecca, Esther, Lydia, Ruth, Jemima, Dinah, Deborah and Judith. Some come in several versions, for example, Mary/Maria/Mary Ann; Anne/Hannah/Nancy; Elizabeth/Betty/Eliza; Sarah/Sally and Jane/Joan/Joanna/Jenny.

It’s noticeable that a number of what were once pet names have become independent names: we have Peggy and Marjorie as well as Margaret; Kitty as well as Catherine, and both Fanny and Frances. It’s, perhaps, significant that these names have been used by Royalty, together with Charlotte, Harriet (from Henry), Sophia, Isabel, Eleanor and Emma.

Phoebe is a classical Greek name, as is Ellen (a variant of Helen). Grace is a ‘virtue’ name which came in with the Reformation. Remove all these and you have only Amy, Dorothy and Bridget to explain. All three had been popular since the Middle Ages. Dorothy and Bridget were saints’ names which managed to survive the Reformation which swept away many saints’ names as being ‘too papist’. The name pool is actually quite small.

The question for historical novelists is: how far do we want to take historical accuracy? Personally, I don’t necessarily want my heroines to have ordinary names. On the other hand, I don’t want to give them anachronistic names, either.

I allow myself to use any Bible name – it helps is I’ve found it on a tombstone. I’ve called a heroine Merab, for example. I also use names familiar from the Classical world, like Cassandra and Phyllida. I think ‘virtue’ names are fine: I have a Clemency. Italianate variants of popular names are justifiable, too, for example Dorothea instead of Dorothy, or Emilia instead of Emily.

I wouldn’t be happy giving my heroine a name which would never have been used at the period in which the book is set, though I try to use names on the above list for minor characters to give a feeling of authenticity. How about you? Does an anachronistic name worry you? What criteria do you use when naming a heroine?

Elizabeth Hawksley

NEW YEAR, NEW E-BOOK

2012-01-03T12:04:00.000Z

Happy New Year to everyone! This time fo the year is always one for new ideas and projects, and the year has started at a gallop for me!

Robert Hale has just published one of my all time favourite Melinda Hammond books as an e-book!

The Belles Dames Club was first published in about 2007 and is a sparkling comedy/adventure/romance that seemed to fly onto the page - such a joy to write a book like that! It started with my thinking about the gentlemen's clubs that abounded in the 18th century, and I wondered "why should the men have all the fun"? So The Belle Dames Club was born - a secret club for gently-bred ladies to enjoy some of the less genteel amusements, like smoking, gambling, watching naked wrestling....

And of course, when problems threaten any of the ladies, they band together to sort it out.

I am delighted to see this book as an e-book and I hope it will now be available to a much wider audience. In fact, looking at the stormy weather outside the window, I think I might just curl up with this book again myself.....

Melinda Hammond

Sarah Mallory

The Belles Dames Club

By Melinda Hammond

Miss Clarissa Wyckenham comes to London to join her pretty step-mama and finds that Mama-Nell has formed a discreet club for ladies. Soon she is pitched headlong into the deliciously wicked antics of the Belles Dames Club, and finds herself in conflict with the disapproving Lord Alresford…..

A sparkling comedy of romance and adventure set at the end of the eighteenth century.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Belle-Dames-Club-ebook/dp/B0063A9A4I

Happy New Year!

2011-12-31T22:24:00.000Z

This is my very favourite reason why we love writing - and reading - historical romance so much. Because it takes us to different worlds. We all hope to do a lot more of that in 2012.

Wishing everyone the New Year that you truly want.

Jan Jones

[This cartoon is by 'Bestie' and was allowed to be used by the Romantic Novelists' Association on postcards. I have never seen anything that better conveys the pleasure of reading and writing.]

How exciting!

2011-12-28T16:48:00.001Z

How fabulous! Two of our authors are in the Top 10 Historical Romances on Kindle. Darcy's Diary by Amanda Grange is at number 5 and Regency Pleasures by Louise Allen is at number 7. What a way to end the year!

Jane Austen, The Unseen Portrait

2011-12-28T14:23:00.000Z

There’s been a lot of controversy recently about a portrait of Jane Austen which may, or may not, have been drawn from life. When I first heard about it I was sceptical for many reasons, the main ones being that the portrait is not mentioned in documents of the time, eg family letters, and that the inscription on the back reads Miss Jane Austin, not Austen. The consensus of opinion seemed to be that it was an imaginary portrait, ie one drawn by a fan who had never met Jane, and that it had probably been done many years after Jane’s death. But Dr Paula Byrne felt it could have been drawn in Jane’s lifetime, by someone who knew her, and a BBC programme, “Jane Austen, the Unseen Portrait”, set out to investigate the theory.

I tuned in with the expectation of being entertained and nothing more. However, against my expectations, I found myself being won over to some degree by the arguments in the documentary. Whilst there is no direct evidence that the portrait was indeed drawn from life – no handy letter discovered which said, Dear Cassandra, This afternoon I sat for my portrait – I found the theory put forward interesting, at the very least, and surprisingly compelling. So much so that I would like to see further investigation undertaken because I think it is actually possible that the portrait was drawn from life.

Much of the evidence was circumstantial and I’ll briefly summarise it for those who didn’t catch the programme (which can be seen again here http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b018nz2x/Jane_Austen_The_Unseen_Portrait/ ) My own observations are in brackets.

1) The costume in the portrait is right for the period. (This doesn’t mean very much, since it would be easy for the artist to copy a fashion plate from the era, but if the costume had been wrong then it would have disproved the theory very quickly.)

2) The type of white ink used for the highlights was used as a matter of course in 1811 but had fallen out of favour by 1869. (This again doesn’t mean a lot but it helps the theory that it was drawn in Austen's lifetime rather than working against it.)

3) There is a family resemblance to other Austens of whom we have verified portraits. (Again, an artist drawing Jane from their imagination could have looked at these and made their portrait a good match. It’s another piece of evidence which doesn’t prove anything but seems to help rather than hinder the theory. However, one thing I found very interesting was that the woman in the portrait is noticeably very tall and slim, much more so than in the authenticated portrait of Jane by her sister Cassandra, and I see no reason for an artist drawing from imagination to do this. Yet it is accurate, because judging from a pelisse worn by Jane Austen – which has been authenticated – she was very tall and slim, about 5’8” and thinner than Kate Moss. So this fact seemed very suggestive to me and started to make me think that maybe, just maybe, the artist had met Jane.)

4) The misspelling of Austen as Austin (a big stumbling block for me to begin with) was shown to be a common misspelling of her name at the time by various people who knew the Austens. But the thing that convinced me absolutely that the misspelling was not a sign of inauthenticity was that her name was spelt as Austin on one of her royalty cheques. The cheque had been endorsed with the name Jane Austin (with an i) in Jane’s own handwriting. (Perhaps I should say, in what appeared to be Jane’s writing, as there were no tests done on the handwriting.)

5) The church in the background has been identified as St Margaret’s.

The St Margaret’s connection led to Eliza Chute, who knew the Austen family. She married at St Margaret’s, meaning the church had significance for her. She lived close to it in London – at one point in the programme it said that she had a view of St Margaret’s from her window, which means it is possible that Jane sat for her portrait in Eliza’s home – and she was a talented amateur artist. This led to the speculation that she could have painted the portrait.

And this is where, for me, the programme started to get really interesting. The Austen portrait is graphite on vellum, a technique which had fallen out of favour at the start of the eighteenth century. It was therefore a curious technique to use at the time the portrait was executed because it was already about a hundred years out of date, but it is known that Eliza Chute used this technique in a portrait of her sister. There are more details of this here: http://smithandgosling.wordpress.com/ This link also has an image of the portrait – I didn’t post one myself because I know that some bloggers have been asked to remove the image for copyright reasons.

I was by this time so far persuaded that I thought it at least possible that the portrait was a genuine likeness of Jane, drawn from life, and to want to know more. Sadly, there were no conversations with art experts about the likelihood of it being by Eliza Chute, nor were there any definite datings of the vellum, ink and graphite. Both of these areas need further exploration.

There were / are some more problems, of course. Why would Jane sit for a portrait? And why is there no mention of the portrait in any family letters?

From a purely speculative point of view, the first question is not so difficult. Jane could have wanted to commemorate her success as an author. Or there could have been a more tragic reason. She could have suspected she was dying and wanted to give a portrait to Cassandra as a keepsake.

The second question is more difficult. Why, if it is a genuine portrait of Jane drawn from life, has there been no mention of it in family letters or other documents. What happened to it after it was drawn? How did it end up in the estate of an MP (my memory of the programme is a little hazy here, I need to rewatch it, but if memory serves it came from the estate of an MP).

Again from a purely speculative point of view I think it is at least possible that the portrait was mentioned in letters which Cassandra burned. In addition, if the portrait was drawn as a keepsake for Cassandra, then the sisters might never have told anyone else about it, and might have asked Eliza Chute not to mention it; or indeed Eliza might have mentioned it but this fact might never have been recorded, or been lost down the centuries.

So although I won’t go so far as to say that I’m convinced that this portrait was drawn from life, or that it was drawn by Eliza Chute, I’m no longer convinced that it wasn’t. Either way, it was an interesting programme and one which will not doubt keep Austen fans arguing for a long time to come.

Amanda Grange

Hope you had a good Christmas

2011-12-27T11:32:00.000Z

I myself had a lovely quiet Christmas, which was what I'd hoped for. We've been so busy lately that many things have had to wait, including my writing. I shall be glad to get back to it as soon as I can, but first we have to move, which should happen in the next week or two, fingers crossed!

I had hoped to put up a Christmas story for my readers but it did not get done. However, I shall probably finish it once we're settled, because it is about other things than just Christmas.

On the Mills & Boon front there are lots of good things in the pipeline. Hostage Bride was published at the beginning of December but a new Regency trilogy begins in paperback in February. I think the 3 books will be coming out successive months or at least very close together. It begins with The Disappearing Duchess.

There are several other titles either in the queue or being read and most of them are Regency, though there is one more of the Melford Dynasty. The Lord's Forced Bride was the most popular of the series up until now but I think the new one, set mostly in Cornwall may prove popular too.

I am looking forward to 2012, though I doubt I'll make new resolutions. Does anyone ever keep them? I've tried but I think change comes gradually when you want it.

I should like to wish all my readers a Happy New Year. Also the other authors on this blog - success and good health and happiness to you all.

Love from Anne Herries (Linda Sole)

Wassail!

2011-12-19T05:15:00.001Z

This Christmas I’m lucky enough to be plotting a Christmas novella for next
year and, as the hero is going to be snow-bound in the village alehouse, this has meant rather a lot of enjoyable research on festive drinks at the beginning of the 19^th century!

The bell ringers from the church were apparently completely without discrimination in what they drank: one night before Christmas they would do the rounds of the village with a large bucket, knocking on every door and collecting – in the same bucket – whatever the householder chose to give them. Ale, beer, homemade wine, spirits all went into the brew which must have left them with the most dreadful headaches in the morning.

Much more appetising and excellent for cold weather, was Mulled Ale. To make this you take strong ale and bring it almost to the boil with soft brown sugar, cloves and spices to taste. When it is ready add 2oz rum or brandy per pint of ale. Serve hot with grated nutmeg and sliced toast on top. Quite a few recipes have toast added, possibly for the flavour, although it must have become rather soggy.

Another type of winter warmer involved eggs and was variously known as Ale Flip, Egg Flip or Yard of Flannel. To make this bring a quart of strong ale to the boil with nutmeg, lemon peel & ginger. Add 3 or 4 beaten eggs, 4 oz moist brown sugar and a double measure of brandy. Then pour the mixture back & forth between two vessels to produce a frothy head. Without brandy it was called Egg Hot and was considered suitable for children.

For New Year it was traditional to make a Wassail Bowl. Roasted apples were pulped with brown sugar, grated nutmeg, ginger and a quart of good strong ale. The mixture was heated until warm but not boiling and left to stand for three to four hours. 5oz of sherry were added for each quart of beer and, for a really rich version, eggs beaten in cream and a little spirit were stirred in before it was warmed up and drunk.

The lady at the top of the page is wearing the most wonderful Chrismassy "Hyde Park Carriage Dress" so although she has nothign to do with boozy drinks, I thought she was seasonal!

Have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Louise Allen

Feast Day

2011-12-17T07:00:00.003Z

Feast day is an important date in Cornwall as it celebrates the founding of the parish church named for a particular saint. Our village is in the parish of St Mylor (originally St Meleor) He was supposed to have arrived on a millstone. Celtic saints always seem to do things the hard way. Though the church itself is Norman, there is a yew tree in the grounds that is far older and probably marks the original place of worship. Anyway, the Feast. Preparations throughout the village differ only in scale. The men were sent off to church or chapel in the morning to allow the women to get on with the cooking. In C18th and C19th farmhouses the farmer's wife and daughters, helped by those of the farm labourers, began preparations days in advance. Fattened lambs were slaughtered and a maid was sent to the local brewery for additional yeast. Batches of loaves were made using wheat flour in honour of the occasion instead of the usual cheaper and coarser barley. The spacious kitchen was fragrant with the scent of baking saffron cake, seedy cake, potato cake, gingerbread and scones. Then into the range's oven went pasties, leek and pork pies, goose and parsnip pies, and fish and apple pies. The special "lammy" pies required several huge deep dishes. On a lining of thick pastry a layer of lamb, well seasoned with pepper and salt, was followed by a layer of shredded parsley; more lamb, more parsley, and so on until the dish was full. Thin cream was poured over to keep the filling moist and make a rich gravy, then the whole covered with a pastry crust glazed with beaten egg.
For dessert there were blackberry and apple pies served with clotted cream; rice puddings flavoured with nutmeg; and perhaps an enormous buttermilk cake.

In smaller homes, where cooking was done over an open fire, a rump of beef, a couple of fowls and a piece of streaky pork would be cooked together in a large crock standing on a trivet in the hearth. A cloam oven in the fireplace was perfect for baking a rabbit pie and a figgy pudding. Turnips, carrots and other veg - in net bags for convenience - were cooked in the meat liquor and a pot of potatoes steamed over a few embers at one end of the hearth. When ready the bags of veg were laid on crossed sticks above the crock to drain and keep hot. The beef and pork were carved onto huge platters and the fowls dressed with a sauce of butter and parsley.

Feast Day was a time of celebration and no work (except for milking) so second and third helpings were the order of the day. After a nip of brandy to settle the stomach, jugs of hot toddy were placed on the table along with a little tray of shag tobacco and long pipes. In the scullery plates and cutlery were washed, crocks and pans put away. Leaving the men to smoke and yarn, the women withdrew to another room for a cosy chat. Between 5pm and 6pm the big kettle would be refilled and placed on the trivet. After plates of bread and butter, scones spread with jam and clotted cream, at least two different kinds of cake, and cups of strong tea everyone returned home.

Jane Jackson

Christmas at Hartford Hall

2011-12-09T08:59:00.001Z

My latest book with Aurora/Musa was released on 2nd December. Here is a short extract for you to read. I've also included the 5* review - I think this is only the second one I've had with 5* Needless to say I'm delighted.

Elizabeth was lost in thought, recalling two Christmases ago when Grandfather had been well. From nowhere a horse reared up behind her. She had no chance to hurl herself to safety. Her last thought as she fell beneath the plunging feet was that she would be with her beloved relative at Christmas after all.

Her mouth was full of snow, her basket no longer in her possession, but she was not dead. She daren’t move. She was beneath a team of spirited horses. She could be trampled to death at any moment. Then two hands grasped her shoulders and she was hauled backwards through the snow in a most undignified manner and set firmly on her feet.

She spat the last of the white stuff from her mouth and glared up into the face of the most attractive man she’d ever seen in her life. He would have been even more handsome if he were not scowling back at her.

“What the devil were you thinking of? I could have killed you. Walking down the middle of a lane is the height of folly.”

This was the outside of enough. The wretched man had all but run her over and was now blaming her for his foolhardy actions. “That I am not dead is no thanks to you. Perhaps it has escaped your attention, sir, but the only place it is possible to walk at the moment is down the middle of the lane.”

He frowned down at her, his startlingly blue eyes unfriendly. “I do not intend to stand here bandying words with a servant girl, my cattle will freeze.” He raked her with an icy stare. “As you are obviously unhurt, I shall continue my journey.”

Good grief, what a ridiculous vehicle he was travelling in. She couldn’t help herself, her lips twitched and she hastily raised a hand to cover her smile. “I would think, sir, that driving in the depths of winter in that carriage might be considered even more foolish than my walking in the middle of the road.”

She thought he would suffer an apoplexy. His lips thinned and he seemed to grow several inches. Now he was even more formidable. His many-caped driving coat was snow-covered, his beaver equally whitened. If she thought of him as a rather cross snowman perhaps he would not seem so alarming.

Then his expression changed, his anger gone, and he smiled. My word! He was far more dangerous to her composure when he did this then when he glared at her.

“I beg your pardon, miss. The relief that you were not killed has made me behave appallingly. Although my carriage is not ideal, allow me to give you a ride to your destination. It’s the least I could do.”

Flustered by his mercurial change and not quite sure she wished to be squashed between him and his manservant so high from the ground, she shook her head vehemently. “No, it would be most improper. You continue your journey. I have not far to go; pray do not worry about me.”

Review Site: Got Historical Romance

Rating: 5.0

Reviewer Name: Desireé Frazier

Review:I fell in love with this story during the very first scene. It is a lovely take on the classic Cinderella tale set during Christmas time and although I normally like a longer story, so I can get to know the characters better, I did not feel slighted in the least! The characters are well thought out and while reading you will find yourself lost in the story, almost able to smell the garlands and the holly! It’s a quick read and from start to finish you will love this book!
Happy Christmas Fenella

Georgian and Regency Greenwich

2011-12-07T11:46:00.020Z

This month I have a new book out in the US, Desired, book 5 in my Scandalous Women of the Ton series. Desired will be out in the UK next year. One of the geographical locations I used for the book was Greenwich. I love modern day Greenwich with its park, riverfront and Maritime Museum and as a place with a long and fascinating history it proved to be a very interesting setting for a book.

Here are a few of the things I learned about Greenwich in the course of my research:

At the beginning of the 18th century Greenwich was an impoverished fishing village on the Thames with no more than a collection of timber cottages on some dirty lanes and some very dodgy inns such as Fubb’s Yacht, a notorious “beer house” for the sailors. By the end of the century, however, planners were imposing order and geometry on the growing town, designing houses in the style of Bath or Cheltenham but on a miniature scale. Gloucester Circus was the epitome of this, two crescents of houses enclosing a central circle. Only one of these crescents was built and the twenty-one houses, completed in 1809, are still standing.

Greenwich was the place where the body of Lord Nelson was brought ashore after his death at the Battle of Trafalgar. It was Christmas Eve 1805 and crowds had gathered but the weather was so poor that by the time the ship carrying Nelson finally arrived in Greenwich at 8pm, everyone had gone home assuming that he would not arrive that day. The sailors carrying Nelson’s coffin had to leave it at the top of the riverfront steps whilst they went off to find someone to let them in to the Seaman’s Hospital.

Princess Caroline, wife of the Prince Regent, rented Montague House in nearby Blackheath from 1798 and was a fixture on the Greenwich party scene. One guest commented of her: “The Princess is grown very coarse and she dresses very ill, shewing too much of her naked person.”

The Blackheath caverns were a considerable tourist attraction during the Regency period. They consisted of four underground caves cut from the chalk. They appealed to the romantically inclined as dating from an age long past and there were wild theories about their origins and purpose. Visitors complained of the cold and the spooky atmosphere and suggested that they had been created in Anglo Saxon times as a hiding place from the Vikings. In fact they originated as a 16th century quarry but this explanation was not suitably gothic to satisfy people. During the 19th century candles were installed in the caves and masked balls held there. These were considered extremely indecorous.

I drew much of my research from “The Story of Greenwich” by Clive Aslet and “Greenwich” by Charles Jennings which are both great reads as well as being packed full of useful facts.

Henry Tilney's Diary - US paperback

2011-12-06T17:51:00.001Z

Today I'm celebrating the release of the US paperback of Henry Tilney's Diary. I feel an enormous sense of satisfaction in seeing this book make it to the US in paperback, just as I felt a sense of satisfaction when the UK hardback came out, because it's the last of my Jane Austen retellings. I absolutely adore Jane Austen. I love her humour, her sharp eye for detail and her memorable characters and it's been a labour of love for me to look at her novels through the eyes of the heroes. Sometimes the results have been very surprising.

It all began back in 2005 when Darcy's Diary came out. The US rights were quickly snapped up by Sourcebooks, who brought out the US paperback (called Mr Darcy's Diary) two years later. Then followed the other books in the series, with beautifully romantic covers from Penguin in the US, and classic covers from Hale and Sourcebooks in the UK (also Mr Darcy's Diary in the US).

And now, to cap it all, the books are all out in ebook form, including Kindle. In fact, Captain Wentworth's Diary is out in a special edition combined with Jane Austen's Persuasion. There's an active table of contents to let you navigate easily around the book, and at a special price of 86p (yes, 86p!) it's a perfect treat.

What a way to celebrate Christmas!

Sleeping in a four-poster bed

2011-12-05T09:39:00.000Z

I am lucky enough to have inherited a four-poster bed. It dates from around 1850 and is 5 ft 6 ins wide, 6 ft 8 ins long, and nearly 8 ft high. Fortunately, my terraced 1820 house has high ceilings. Sleeping in it is like being on board a galleon – I have a canopy over my head and curtains like sails.

The oak roof frame has a walnut cornice elegantly curved and decorated on the outside and the two posts at the foot of the bed are also carved walnut. Walnut is a hard wood, difficult to carve and the barley sugar twists demonstrate that the bed, whilst not being of stately home status, was a classy one.

The whole bed comes apart (think IKEA 19th century style). The last time I moved it (from the first floor to the second floor), it took about four hours to dismantle and reassemble. The base oak timbers slot together neatly and are secured to the four upright posts by long bolts - with their own, specially-made screwdriver. When not in use, this hangs by a piece of string under the bed – as it has done for over 160 years. The bolt holes are cunningly hidden under small rectangular carved panels which you can lever out with a bent pin, and then push back into place.

The roof frame also slots together and there is a spike at the top of each post which the frame fits onto – this bit is fiddly (it’s 8 feet up) and usually entails a certain amount of cursing. Originally, it had a horse hair mattress. It was lumpy, the hairs came through the frayed 19th century ticking and it gave me asthma, so it had to go. I now have a comfortable modern mattress.

There are ten separate bed curtains: three roof pelmets, three valances to cover the legs, two side curtains, one head board curtain and the roof canopy. They are held up by either doweling or curtain wires. The annual wash, not to mention hanging everything back in the right place, is quite a chore – at least I have the benefit of a washing machine and a modern iron, unlike a 19th century housemaid.

It is also higher than most modern beds; the mattress is 2 ft 9 ins off the floor. When my daughter was little she wanted to live under the bed. It’s perfectly possible to crawl underneath and, doubtless, once upon a time, it would have housed a truckle bed for a servant or child. Nowadays, a number of suitcases, some boxes and my Christmas decorations live there.

I love sleeping in it, and I write whilst sitting comfortably propped up with a cushion against the headboard. And, of course, if I ever need to feature a bed in a novel (and which of us doesn’t!) then I only have to look at my wonderful four-poster for inspiration.

Elizabeth Hawksley

A SPECIAL HOLIDAY COMPETITION!

2011-12-03T00:23:00.011Z

Win a Kindle!
The Harlequin Historical Authors Holiday Giveaway is back. In the spirit of an Advent calendar, the authors are giving away daily prizes and a Grand Prize of a Kindle Fire. Play every day for more chances to win.

Each participating author will have an activity planned on their website for their special day. You may be asked to comment on a blog, find an ornament, or visit a Facebook page. For each day you participate, your name will be entered into the Grand Prize drawing. At the end of the month on December 23, one day from the calendar will be randomly selected. One of the entrants from that day will then be randomly selected to win the Kindle.

Participating Authors

November 29 - Michelle Willingham

November 30 - Elizabeth Rolls

December 1 - Charlene Sands

December 2 - Diane Gaston

December 3 - Annie Burrows

December 5 - Elaine Golden

December 6 - Barbara Monajem

December 7 - Michelle Styles

December 8 - Deborah Hale

December 9 - Marguerite Kaye

December 10 - Lynna Banning

December 12 - Carol Townend

December 13 - Blythe Gifford

December 14 - Julia Justiss

December 15 - Terri Brisbin

December 16 - Ann Lethbridge

December 17 - Bronwyn Scott

December 19 - Sarah Mallory

December 20 - Kate Bridges

December 21 - Amanda McCabe

December 22 - Jeannie Lin

December 23 - Grand Prize Drawing

I shall be putting a competition on my Sarah Mallory website on the 19th December and giving away a special prize plus a copy of One Snowy Regency Christmas (plus one copy of the book to a runner up) so look out for more details on the day, but remember the more days you visit, the better your chances of winning !

For international readers: THE PROMOTION IS OPEN TO U.S., UNITED KINGDOM, IRELAND, CANADA, AUSTRALIA, NEW ZEALAND, AND EUROPEAN COUNTRIES WHERE A KINDLE MAY BE SHIPPED.

Click here for full details.Good luck!

Sarah Mallory
Snowbound with the Notorious Rake
pub. North America Dec 2011
and as part of "One Snowy Regency Christmas"

A launch with a difference

2011-12-01T20:56:00.002Z

.
Yesterday I went to the launch of Beryl Kingston’s new novel ‘Off The Rails’ about George Hudson of York. Born in 1800, Lord Mayor of York for three terms and known as the 'Railway King' because of his assiduity in becoming chairman of as many Railway Companies as possible, he was a colourful and not always fiscally responsible character. Indeed, his creative accounting led to his being imprisoned later on in his career.

The launch was held in York's Holy Trinity Church with its Georgian box pews, giving a semblance of privacy to the worshippers - and as we discovered, cutting off the worst of the draughts! It was lovely for me sitting in the pews and imagining what my own characters might get up to in the semi-privacy. Certainly hands touching on sharing hymn books and feet rubbing against each other would not have been an impossibility.

Beryl Kingston with 'George Hudson'

Ahem. Back to Beryl's launch. The pulpit is a central one and the ‘difference’ in this launch was that a local actor used it as a focal point for a dramatic monologue by ‘George Hudson’ himself, romping entertainingly through his life story. I shall, of course, read the book, but the dramatic content brought it all vividly to mind and will enhance the experience.

And the mulled wine and sausage rolls that followed were more than welcome on a very cold day!

[Many thanks to Holy Trinity and Mike Jarman for photographs]

Jan Jones

Ode to a Vampire

2011-11-27T08:38:00.000Z

This is my latest romance from M&B
It is a Medieval, out now in paperback and soon in ebook.

I wrote a little poem. I also have a couple of Vampire ebooks out as Anne Ireland. The curse of Beauty and a Modern Vampire

Ode to a Vampire

Midnight in her hair; I turn and she is there.

She walks the darkest hours; I feel her mind, I know her kind.

She will have my soul, yet still I heed her call, my lady of the midnight air.

Upon my face her breath will mean my death, yet in her arms I’ll lie before the night is gone. For her sweet

kiss I’ll give my life and leave my gentle loving wife and all my friends and in their place no peace have won.

No more sunlit hours, no happy days I’ll know; instead I’ll walk the night at her side, my lady of the dark

night air. I’ve fought her song so long but now her call I heed. My soul cries out in need. She lifts her hand

and I must go. As she is now so shall I be, a terrible sweet aching agony possesses me.

Farewell my life, my friends, my sweet children too.

She calls and I will answer for she owns my soul, my mind, my very breath.

Midnight in her hair; I turn and she is there.

Hope you enjoyed the poem.

Jane Austen Made Me Do It!

2011-11-25T09:13:00.021Z

When Laurel Ann Nattress of Austenprose contacted me about a new anthology she was putting together I knew straight away I'd like to be a part of it especially as I'd be sharing the wonderful company of fellow authors Amanda Grange, Monica Fairview and Jo Beverley.
Our brief was to write a 5000 word short story for the anthology, Jane Austen Made Me Do It, and as long as it related to Jane Austen in some way we were invited to let our imaginations take flight. The result is a collection of 22 stories-a veritable chocolate box of tales inspired by Jane Austen, some historical and some contemporary.

Amanda Grange's story is Mr. Bennet Meets his Match.
On his daughters’ wedding day, Mr. John Bennet’s mind drifts back to the events of twenty-three years before, and the events leading to his own marriage . . . Encouraged by his parents to marry sooner rather than later and thereby provide a new generation of Bennet heirs for the estate, John laughed at their hurry. However, a meeting with his Cousin Collins, who was next in line for the entail, and an unfortunate accident, made him reconsider his position, and the proximity of the lively, pretty Miss Jane Gardiner sealed his fate.

Monica Fairview's story is Nothing Less than Fairyland.
In this gently humorous story inspired by Jane Austen’s novel Emma, the day has come for Mr. Knightley to move into Hartfield, but Mr. Woodhouse is still not reconciled to the marriage. Trouble looms on the horizon, unless Emma can quickly come up with a way to convince her papa to accept Mr. Knightley’s presence.

Jo Beverley's story is The Mistletoe Kiss.
Elinor Carsholt is living on the charity of a connection of her late husband’s in the village of Chawton, facing a dismal future for her three young daughters, until she begins to hope that her oldest daughter Amy has caught the eye of local baronet Sir Nicholas Danvers. Amy must have been sneaking out for clandestine meetings, which disturbs her, and there is a ten-year age difference, but still, it would be the saving of them all.
When she and the girls go out on Christmas Eve to look for holly, ivy, and mistletoe, Elinor is still undecided and rejects Amy’s urging to go to Sir Nicholas’s estate in search of mistletoe, but then local resident Miss Austen drives by in her donkey cart and pauses to chat.Elinor doesn’t really approve of Miss Jane Austen, for she’s been told she writes novels, which Elinor thinks a bad influence on young female minds, but she has to be polite. Miss Jane turns talk to love and marriage, expressing far too romantic a view, but she also assures them all that Sir Nicholas would be delighted if they searched his orchard for mistletoe, changing the course of their lives.

My story is Waiting.
Captain Wentworth and his beloved Anne Elliot have waited almost nine years to be together. At last all misunderstandings are swept aside. They have declared their love for one another, and all that remains is for their union to be blessed by Anne’s father, the irascible Sir Walter Elliot, and for the family members to be told. As Anne and Frederick ponder their futures each is reminded of the past, and all that has happened.
Persuasion is my favourite Jane Austen novel, and so I knew straight away this was the story I wanted to write. I'd always wondered how Anne Elliot's family would react to the news that she and Captain Wentworth were going to be married, and I also couldn't resist having them look back to the time when they first met. It was such fun writing the characters of Sir Walter Elliot, Anne's sisters Elizabeth and Mary, and of course Anne and Frederick Wentworth too!

Here's a short excerpt:

Captain Wentworth was awake early to witness the greyness of the day, mists rising in a smoking pall above the city along with the icy rain which lashed at the windows of his lodgings in a manner fit for any storm at sea. His spirits were high, though to tell the truth, he was more than a little nervous at the prospect of the interview he was about to face. As he adjusted the cuffs at his wrists, he glanced out of the window to observe the dash of carriages rolling round the square depositing new arrivals in Bath.

Had it only been yesterday when the unimaginable had happened at last? Frederick recalled every second of the encounter, revived every feeling. They’d met in Union Street. He’d been almost afraid to witness her reaction to the heartfelt letter he’d sent. But he needn’t have worried. Her eyes had spoken the sentiments she could not immediately express. Anne Elliot had taken his arm, and he’d sheltered her from the rain with his umbrella.

From his viewpoint past the railings on the other side of Queen Square, Gay Street effortlessly progressed up its steep incline, elegant façades on either side ascending to the Circus much as he and Anne had advanced before turning off to find the relative quiet of the Gravel Walk. Heedless of the sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, and flirting girls around them, they had confessed all their hidden, secret feelings, buried for so long.
“She loves me, as I love her,” he said out loud to confirm the truth to himself. He wanted to open the window and shout it out to the muffin man below. “Anne Elliot never stopped loving me from the day we parted. Oh, that my stubborn pride had not prevented me from seeking her out sooner. I’ve wasted almost nine precious years when we could have been together! I admit; I felt very differently all those years ago when she rejected me. I held her in contempt then, although sweet Anne, I now believe, was perfectly justified in withdrawing from our engagement. I was proud, made to feel that I was not good enough for a baronet’s daughter, and the truth of it stung me to my very soul. But there is little point in grieving over the past; I must look to the future with the girl I love most in the world by my side. My only fear, nay dread, concerns the interview I am to have with her father this morning. Not that his consent really matters. Anne will not be persuaded against her wishes this time, not like the first time. We are older, and, I hope, much wiser, both secure in the knowledge that our love is ever true and constant. But, this will not do, I have an appointment with Sir Walter, and I must not be late!”

I had a lot of fun writing this story-if you know a Janeite, why not pop it in their stocking this Christmas?!

Jane Odiwe

Books Under the Christmas Tree?

2011-11-19T10:46:00.001Z

The rapid approach of Christmas made me think about books for presents and titles I have particularly enjoyed adding to my collection this year. I thought I'd share five of them that might make useful additions to your own list for Santa, or provide inspiration for gifts for history-buff friends.

My first is from Shire Publications, but is a much larger volume than the familiar Shire guides. Peter Matthew's London's Bridges covers them all from Hampton Court Bridge to Tower Bridge with excellent photographs and historic images. I've found it invaluable for working out what was in existence at a particular date and what it looked like then. But beside that practical use, it is full of fascinating stories and facts.

Staying with the watery theme, the next title is James Stevens Curl Spas, Wells & Pleasure Gardens of London. This contains exactly what it says on the cover - a comprehensive survey of every one of these attractions from the 17th to the 19th centuries. There are the famous, such as Sadler's Wells and Vauxhall Gardens and the obscure - Finch's Grotto Gardens, Acton Wells, the Bayswater Tea Gardens and the Devil's House. As well as the facts about each site there is a fascinating exploration of the social background.

My absolute favourite exhibition this year was the National Portrait Gallery's Thomas Lawrence: Regency Power & Brilliance. The effect for me was of eating very expensive chocolates while wrapped in warm velvet - luxurious, sensual and completely addictive! The catalogue, which is loaded with illustrations, is the next best thing to being able to smuggle a Lawrence home with me. (And for sheer swash-buckling gorgeousness, any author in search of a hero couldn't go far wrong with the portrait of Charles William Vane-Stewart, later 3rd Marquess of Londonderry. Phew!).

A rather less flamboyant man is depicted in The Journal of a Georgian Gentleman: the Life & Times of Richard Hall, 1729-1801, edited by his 4-times grandson, Mike Rendell.
This is packed full of everything from household accounts to observations on ballooning, the wild beasts at the Talbot Inn, the weather, the games the family played, recipes - an absolutely fascinating lucky dip into the life of a Georgian gentleman of the middling sort. My only criticism is the lack of an index.

Fully indexed and with a useful bibliograhy is Coachmaker: the Life & Times of Philip Godsal 1747-1826 by John Ford. Godsall was one of the top coachmakers of his time and left a detailed record of his business and his social and domestic life. He was incredibly well connected - a son in the household of George III, one daughter married to an MP, another to Nelson's attorney. He even supplied a carriage to Napeoleon's mother! He travelled all over the country and this beautifully illustrated book includes information on Cheltenham, the theatre, food and drink, gardening and a host of other topics as well as fascinating insights into carriage-making.

And finally, if you need a stocking-filler, there is my Walks Through Regency London - ten walks through modern London taking you into the world of the "long Regency" and illustrated throughout with original Regency prints. It is available from my website www.louiseallenregency.co.uk at £7.50 plus postage.

Have you any books you'd recommend for Christmas? I'd love to hear about it if you have - there is just room on my bookshelves for a few more.

Happy Christmas shopping!

Louise

Do-It-Yourself Regency Romance

2011-11-15T14:33:00.001Z

This is a post that I, and several other authors, at least two of whom are on this blog, compiled a few years ago. Interesting how it holds the test of time!
The only thing I'd ask is that you don't take this completely seriously! (as if you would!)
I won't name the other authors for fear of leaving someone out, and in case they prefer to preserve their anonymity.

Writing a Regency Romance (excluding Scottish romances)

Choose one of the following in each section.

Writing a Regency Romance (excluding Scottish romances)
Choose one of the following in each section.

The hero is:
1.   A rake about town
2.   An army officer (captain or above, please, no lieutenants)
3.   A widower with small children
4.   A pirate duke (marquis or earl will do at a pinch)
5.   A spy who is also a peer of the realm

The hero is never:
1.   Geeky, spotty or bald.
2.   overweight
3.   Reasonably cautious and sensible.
4.   Shorter than the heroine.
5.   If he wears spectacles, he isn’t dependant on them and can lose them at convenient times without any ill effects.

The heroine is:
1.   A clever, beautiful ingénue
2.   A bookworm not interested in society or husband hunting
3.   An older spinster looking for a husband for her beautiful younger sister
4.   A governess or housekeeper, usually the daughter of a peer fallen on hard times
5.   A young girl forced to wear a male disguise and work as a secretary/groom or something similar.
6.   A young American heiress, despising English society.
7.   A highwayman/urchin/thief by night, a respectable member of society by day.
8.   A young woman fighting to save her family from financial ruin, caused by the gambling habit of her brother or father, or even both.

The heroine is never:
1.   A respectable young woman with a good fortune looking for a future husband.
2.   A war widow, who has lost her husband in the Napoleonic wars and has now returned to society.
3.   The daughter of a City gentleman, looking to increase her social standing. This is Bad because it makes her look mercenary.
4.   Less than stunningly beautiful, clever and accomplished, even if she tries to hide these facts at the start of the story.

They meet:
1.   In a country inn, where they get snowed in.
2.   In a ballroom, where she hates him on sight.
3.   At the gates of a country house, where she mistakes him for the gardener or he mistakes her for a maid.
4.   On the road, he in his phaeton, she in her travelling carriage.
5.   At the altar.
6.   In a gaming hell where she is the stake.
7.   At a secluded lake where the heroine or hero is taking an impromptu bath.

They never meet:
1.   By being introduced by their parents, who want to see if they would like to make a match of it.
2.   By promenading in the park at the fashionable hour.
3.   They have always known each other, because society is small, and they are, in fact, distantly related.

They:
1.   Hate each other on sight, but are filled with lustful thoughts
2.   He loves her, she hates him.
3.   She loves him, he hates her.

They never;
1.   Take a liking to each other without it being accompanied by lustful thoughts.

Note: 2 and 3 must be accompanied by a Big Misunderstanding. They must always fancy each other’s pants off on sight, or It Isn’t A Romance.

The first time they make love is:
1.   In the marriage bed (boring unless they met for the first time at the altar)
2.   In a small antechamber set conveniently close to a ballroom
3.   In a summerhouse
4.   In a small cottage where they’ve taken refuge from the storm
5.   In his library where she has gone in the middle of the night, barefoot, in search of a book to read. He is already there in his shirtsleeves, drinking.

The villain:
Choose one or two of the following:
1.   The hero’s brother who wants the title. He is usually handsome, etc, but not as handsome etc as the hero.
2.   The hero’s ex mistress (see below)
3.   The heroine’s father. He is usually a gambler who has lost the family fortune and now wants to sell the heroine in a card game.
4.   A man who wants the heroine, but isn’t prepared to marry her. He may abduct her, take her to Gretna, etc. to achieve his wicked end. He will not rape her, though it is usually a near thing. He often seems to be a pleasant character.

Secondary characters:
1.   The hero’s best friend. Usually another peer, with a set of problems of his own. He will get his own story later. Repeat as necessary to create a series.
2.   The heroine’s sister. She provides plot problems, adds comments, and is there because she’ll get her book later.
3.   The heroine’s closest friends. See heroine’s sister.
4.   The hero’s ex mistress. Jealous, experienced, may be the villain. When she is not, she is always jealous of the heroine, and she plots against her.

You may pick as many of the following as you wish, to give color to your story:
1.   An urchin, cheeky but very poor, a boon companion of the hero or heroine. This may be actually the heroine in disguise.
2.   An old retainer, a maid who used to be the heroine’s nurse. She is referred to by her Christian name and magically has all the skills required of a good lady’s maid.
3.   A valet. He may be either scoundrelly and talk with Dick Van Dyke Mockney, or superior, and talk like Jeeves.
4.   A butler. Superior, tall, talks like Jeeves, or short and fat and an old retainer who knows all the family by their first names, prefaced by “Miss” or “Master.”
5.   A Bow Street Runner, usually less intelligent than the hero or heroine. Always on the side of good, he is upright and honest (unlike the usual run of BSR’s in RL)
6.   An old man, who the heroine is required to marry to restore the family fortunes.

So what are you waiting for? Get writing!

http://lynneconnolly.com

Wheat Clover and Coleseed

2011-11-09T08:27:00.000Z

I was thinking what to post this morning on this grey November day and remembered I had a wonderful little book called "Seedtime & Harvest", the diary of an Essex farmer, William Barnard of Harlowbury.There are two entries on either side of today's date.
Nov 7 (1812)
The land is now more firm than it has been for some time. I have drilled 9 acres Upper stoney & finished sowing Wheat yesterday in Grassy piece, nearly the whole of which I have drilled & and have done 4 or 5 acres of my pea land over again; I fear Sweetendiness will be a very deficient plant. I had lodged 43 wether sheep in Hillyfield & last night 3 were slaughtered, the Offal left & carcasses taken away. I sowed 10 stetches of white wheat hither side of Nine acres & on the thirteenth stetch from this side began to sow 1 Quarter of Buncle Wheat I bought of Fresland. Grassy piece is now sowed with Day's Wheat except about three roods next to Woody piece.
Nov 10 (1821)
This has been a fine week since the 5 but on the 4 we had great storms of wind & rain. I have plowed at the other farm & carted haulm. My house was broken into & robbed of a gun,a coat, knives & forks, spoons, a desk and &c & without anyone being disturbed by them on the night of the 7th.

The spelling and punctuation are his.

I find it quite extraordinary that in both entries he reports he has been robbed as if it is commonplace and no more important than planting his wheat. In the first entry rustlers killed and took three sheep and and in the second his house was broken into and a substantial amount removed.
I love the way his farm is named so sensibly- Grassy piece, Woody piece etc.
I have no idea how much a a 'stetch' is or what 'haulm' might be. Any suggestions?
I think it's a pity Sweetendiness was a deficient plant or we might still have something with that wonderful name.
Fenella Miller
I now have four books with Musa Aurora Regency and 'Christmas at Hartford Hall' coming out in December and another one next year.

A Regency Moment

2011-11-05T08:21:00.000Z

Last month, at the Regency Readers’ Day in London, I had the opportunity to try on Regency costume, courtesy of Jane Walton of Hands on History who specializes in both original and reproduction historical costumes. It was a taste only because Jane’s rack of clothes was in a public room and there was a limit to how far I was prepared to undress. Fortunately, my underwear was respectable so I stripped off my outer layer and Jane handed me a shift.

The shift was the basic item of female underwear; made of hard-wearing linen and easily washable. We know that, in 1789, Jane Austen bought enough Irish linen to make six shifts and four pairs of stockings. It was also surprisingly warm, which was just as well because it was a chilly autumn day.

Then I was handed what looked like an outside pillow-case with sleeves. This was my muslin gown and, at first, I just couldn’t see how one wore it. Jane explained that the drawstrings around the neck, wrists and under the bust allowed it to be gathered in and assured me that ‘one size fits all’. Sceptically, I put it on. Jane adjusted the drawstrings, arranged the gathers and, instantly, it was transformed into a charming gown. I looked at myself in the mirror and began to feel Regency. Together with the shift, it felt both light and warm. Suddenly, all those Regency heroines wearing the flimsiest of muslins in cold weather began to be credible.

I realized that turning a length of muslin into a wearable garment would be quick work for experienced needlewomen like Jane and her sister, Cassandra. Jane Austen’s letters to Cassandra are full of shopping for muslins. When staying with her brother Henry in London in 1811, for example, she went to Grafton House, and bought ten yards of a ‘pretty coloured muslin’ as well as some ‘bugle trimming’, silk stockings (extravagant!), a ‘very pretty little bonnet’ and a pelisse – but the buttons were expensive.

It was time for my spencer, a cropped jacket in a red, thick velvet-like kerseymere (I’d always wondered what kerseymere looked like) with some distinctly military silver frogging. It was close fitting, boned and it made you stand up straight.

Then came the poke bonnet. Oh dear, it looked as though I was going to be blinkered like a horse. But no, in spite of appearances to the contrary, the brim started quite far back on the head and I could see perfectly easily. Jane tied the ribbons in a de rigeur bow at the side.

So there I was and it all felt surprisingly warm, comfortable and natural – see photo. Shame about the watch, though.

Elizabeth Hawksley

It's that time of year again!

2011-11-03T08:31:00.001Z

I know it's only November but I am going to mention the dreaded "C" word. After all, the shops are already full of glitter and presents and the television is showing ads for the latest perfume and all those things you never realised you needed. And the publishing world is gearing up for the festive season, too.

My latest Sarah Mallory is on the shelves now, as part of a Christmas Special called One Snowy Regency Christmas. I love the cover of this book, it looks like a beautiful Christmas card, but I wanted to share with you the painting that was the inspiration for this book.

We were on holiday on Exmoor, staying at the beautiful little village of Porlock and when we were at one of the local inns, the Ship, I saw a copy of the painting below. It is called "Journey's End" by a local artist, Maurice Bishop. Once I had seen it I knew I just had to have a copy, and at the same time my mind was working overtime, thinking of a story that involved my hero and heroine being snowbound in a house on the moors. I also wanted to use Porlock, so I changed its name of the village to Mersecombe, but kept an inn called the Ship.

Then, as we were making our way home from the holiday, my editor rang to ask if I could write a special Christmas story. The timing could not have been better, and the result is "Snowbound with the Notorious Rake."

So, what do you think of when you see "Journey's End"? I have a framed print on my wall now (signed by the artist) and I must admit, I think there may be several other stories to come out of this yet…..

I am very grateful to Maurice Bishop for allowing me to use this image, and if you want to see more of Maurice's work, go to www.mauricebishop.co.uk

Sarah Mallory

The Geffrye Museum

2011-11-02T23:45:00.000Z

.
Tucked away near Shoreditch is the Geffrye Museum. It doesn't look like a museum from the outside, it looks like a long, graceful Georgian almshouse set in a pleasant garden - which is what it used to be.

Today, it is a lively, vibrant space housing interiors-through-the-ages. You walk from a hall in 1630

past a drawing room in 1830 right up to rooms on the more recent past. It is fascinating to see how tastes change - and how growing affluence is reflected in the furnishings.

There is more to the museum than just a collection of rooms, however - small gardens outside also reflect the changing times with different plantings and different designs.

Fascinating - well worth a visit.

Jan Jones

Colonel Brandon's Diary - UK paperback

2011-10-31T12:14:00.002Z

I'm absolutely thrilled that the UK paperback of Colonel Brandon's Diary is finally here. Its publication date was chosen to coincide with the bicentennial of Sense and Sensibility and it's a beautiful edition, I just love the cover. It's taken from the same portrait as the hardback cover, but it shows more of it, so that we see "Brandon" is holding "little Eliza" by the hand.

When I set out to write my retelling of Sense and Sensibility, I was intending to write Edward's diary, but as soon as I came across the short passage in which Brandon recounts his tragic past, I knew that his was the diary I had to write. From optimistic youth to devastated young man to bereaved adult - and then, miraculously to a man of hope and love again, courtesy of Marianne Dashwood - I loved every minute of writing his diary, and I hope you love reading it, too.

Here's a taster from the middle of the book, when Brandon challenges Willoughby to a duel.

The carriage pulled away. The horses’ hooves sounding strangely muted and the turning of the wheels was no more than a grating whisper as the carriage bumped over the cobbles.
‘This damnable fog,’ said Green, peering out of the window. ‘I hope it clears by the time we reach the heath or you will not be able to see each other, let alone fire.’
We were in luck. When we stepped out onto the heath we could see for twenty paces, enough for our business.

There was no sign of Willoughby’s carriage.
Ten minutes later Willoughby arrived, attended by two men who looked nervous, as well they might. They were dandies, not soldiers, and had probably never been seconds in their lives.
‘I will give him another chance to change his mind,’ said Green.
He went over to Willoughby, they had words, and Green returned, saying, ‘The duel is to go ahead. It is for you to choose the distance, Brandon.’
That done, the seconds met in the middle and loaded the pistols in each other’s presence to ensure fair play, then Green and Wareham returned to hand me my weapon.

‘Willoughby’s man is to count the paces. After the count of ten, you may turn and fire at will. Is this agreeable to you?’
‘It is.’
‘Then let us get it over with.’
I removed my coat. Across the heath, Willoughby removed his. The fog was lifting minute by minute, and I could see him clearly. We came together and stood back to back. His man counted the paces. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . I thought of Eliza abandoned and left all alone . . .six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .
‘Ten!’
I turned.

He turned, too, his arm already raised. He rushed his shot, firing without taking proper aim, and the bullet went wide, so wide I did not even feel it pass. He blanched, and dropped his arm. I saw his knees begin to buckle. I lifted my arm. And then he turned and I thought that he would run. But the horrified look on the faces on his seconds curtailed his cowardice and he turned back towards me, white faced and trembling, turned sideways on to present as small a target as possible.
For Eliza, I thought.
I took aim.

But as I did so, I saw not Willoughby and not Eliza, but Marianne. I imagined her face as she heard that Willoughby was dead; I imagined her grief, and I was horrified, for, if she was still enamoured of him, she would not grieve easily or quietly, but would suffer with all the depth of her being. If I killed him, I would cause her great pain, and with her nature, it was a pain she would not be certain of overcoming. And so I raised my arm and fired into the air.
Willoughby fell to his knees, and had to be assisted to his feet by his seconds.
I walked over to him and looked at him in disgust.
‘You are not worth shooting,’ I said.

Then Green brought me my coat and we climbed into the carriage. It pulled away, jolting over the heath before turning on to the road.
We went back to Green and Wareham’s lodgings. By the time we reached them, a wind had sprung up and it had driven most of the fog away, revealing a cold, clean light as a pale sun broke through the clouds.
‘You deloped,’ said Wareham, as we went inside. ‘Why?’
‘Because there is another young woman caught in Willoughby’s toils,’ I said, as I took off my outdoor clothes and threw myself into a chair, ‘and I feared that, if I killed him, she would love him for ever.’

Colonel Brandon's Diary is in UK bookshops now, or you can order from The Book Depository which offers free worldwide postage and packing, as well as Amazon and other sellers.

Amanda Grange

Dangerous To Know

2011-10-26T15:27:00.000+01:00

Dangerous To Know/ Linda Sole
Now published in kindle and at ARE

This is for the readers who wanted Northaven's Story!

Enjoy

The Marquis of Mooraven yawned behind his hand, and, having gathered up his winnings, rose from the table more than two thousand guineas richer than he’d been when he sat down. He felt no elation, though there was a time when he’d needed every penny he won from his gambling, but that was before his Uncle Tomas obligingly left him his title, estate and fortune. He had several titles to his name, amongst them earl, marquis, twice over, baron and count, but was using his uncle’s for reasons of his own. In time, he might end as a duke by way of his mother’s family being in danger of losing every male heir in the line. The dowager duchess had summoned him only two days before he left for Paris.

‘My husband’s father had the deed of title altered so that if his male heirs failed his daughters might inherit the dukedom as well as the estate. As you know, my only surviving daughter died last year and her infant son is sickly. My three sons have died. That leaves you, Mooraven – my sister-in-law’s grandson. Sorry as I am to say it, if the child dies you will become Duke of Rothmere.’

‘How tiresome for you,’ Mooraven drawled. He had crossed swords with the dowager before, and though he did not dislike her, knew that she disapproved of him with every bone of her body. ‘You must guard him well, ma’am. I advise you to employ the best nannies – and have him seen regularly by a doctor of good repute.’

‘You almost sound sincere.’ The elderly lady fixed him with a hawkish stare. ‘Did I not know you for a rogue and a scoundrel I might believe you had no interest in the Rothmere fortune.’

‘If that is your only concern, you may sleep easily in your bed,’ Mooraven replied, a faint smile on his sensual lips. ‘I may run through my fortune once more if I suffer heavy losses at the table, but I have more sense than to gamble away my entire inheritance. I assure you I wish young William nothing but good fortune.’

‘I am an old woman,’ the dowager said. ‘I may not have long to live. Rothmere has no male relatives to care for him – except you, though you are in truth too far removed. I dare not hope that you would take an interest in his welfare?’

‘Should I hear of your unfortunate demise, which I hope may be some years distant, I would offer my help – such as it is. I should not have thought you would care to have your precious heir subjected to my influence?’

‘Needs must when the devil drives.’ She arched her brows at him. ‘Are all the stories true, Mooraven? I hear that you have ruined virgins, fleeced green youths at the card table and only God knows what else. A little wildness in youth is acceptable, but surely you have sown your oats by now? Where is your pride? You have good blood in your veins. Show a little decency. Marry and settle down before it is too late. If you continue this way no decent woman will have you.’

‘What makes you think it is not already too late?’ A faintly mocking smile played over his lips. ‘Do you not know that they say I have sold my soul to Lucifer?’

‘Do not be ridiculous! I should not believe such tales – but I do believe that you have ruined young women for I knew one of them. Miss Hazelton’s mother was once a friend of my daughter…’

‘Since you know me for the rogue I am, why should I deny it? All you need to concern yourself with, duchess, is that your heir is safe from me – and if need be, I shall be his guardian, if not his mentor.’

‘I thought the girl sly,’ the duchess said, surprising him. ‘I should not be surprised if she lied. Very well, I shall not ask for your confidence. You have given your word and I may rest easy in my mind.’

‘I trust you are not ill, ma’am?’

‘At the moment I am perfectly hale, sir.’

‘Then I may go to Paris with a clear conscience.’

Mooraven had kissed her hand and taken his leave. He sincerely hoped that it would be many years before he was called upon to keep his promise. His work was not yet done. He had an enemy to track down and bring to justice – justice for men foully betrayed. His brow darkened with anger as he thought of the years that he had borne the scorn of men who had once been his friends. They believed him a traitor or at the very least a drunken fool. Though provoked to bitterness and humiliated almost beyond bearing, he had never given them or anyone else a hint of the true story. Until he had found and punished the true traitor he must keep his silence.

Lost in his thoughts, Mooraven did not notice the woman until she knocked into him as she passed. The scent of her perfume alerted his senses and he turned his head to watch her leave the room. She was dressed in black, the most beautiful woman he had seen in an age – a woman who turned all heads.

He’d noticed her briefly earlier in the evening. She had been losing steadily at the tables all night and the glitter in her eyes had prompted him to ask his neighbour who she was.

‘She is the Countess Madeline Dupree,’ the man answered. ‘She was wed to a vile depraved brute who died of some unspeakable illness a few months ago. Until his death she was never seen in company. Now she comes regularly to parties where she can gamble. I lost a thousand francs to her one night. Couldn’t concentrate on my cards when she has such perfect flesh and that gown reveals more of her charms than a man can stand without ravishing her…’

Mooraven had smiled, because the gown dipped daringly to reveal a glimpse of her silken skin and breasts so full and perfect that they must have most of the men in the room lusting after her. A deliberate ploy to make them careless with their cards perhaps – though she seemed to be losing that night.

Why had she knocked into him so heavily? It was almost intentional…a sudden thought made him thrust his hand into his pocket to search for the purse of gold he’d carelessly thrust there when he rose from the tables. His searching fingers found nothing but his kerchief. The gold had gone. She had taken it! For a moment his senses reeled: the countess a thief? Impossible one would think and yet she had lost heavily at the tables.

His gaze narrowed as he went outside, looking for the woman in black. Ahead of him in the dimly lit Paris boulevard he could see her walking swiftly. A burly servant accompanied her but Mooraven’s instincts were alerted. Why had she no carriage? A woman of her breeding and wealth walking the streets with only one servant? He was a tall heavily built man and carried a stout cudgel – but she was still taking a huge risk. The jewels she’d been wearing about her neck had been worth a small fortune – if the diamonds in that collar were genuine, of course. The stones had sparkled enough in the candlelight, which gave him no cause to doubt their worth.

Why would a woman like that leave a card party in the house of a prestigious member of the French aristocracy, to walk home through the streets on foot? It didn’t make sense. He was certain she’d taken his purse and now his hunting instincts were aroused.

He wanted to know more about the mysterious lady in black.

Keeping to the shadows, Mooraven followed the woman and her bodyguard. It seemed that she had not far to go for after walking the length of three streets, the pair stopped outside a large and impressive house. The woman turned to her companion, clearly thanking him for his services. From their gestures, Mooraven thought she was telling him to leave her, but he was hesitating, arguing. After a moment or two he gave in and walked off. The door of the house opened and the woman went in.

Mooraven waited in the shadows until the giant had disappeared. He was about to approach the front door when it opened again and a figure came out. This time it was a youth, who walked swiftly in the same direction the countess’s servant had taken a few minutes earlier.

Mooraven drew back into the shadows, not wanting to be seen by the youth. Once he had disappeared, he approached the house and knocked at the front door. Countess Dupree had some questions to answer.

The knocker sounded eerily, as if the house were empty and now that he looked up at the windows above, he could see there were no lights. It was odd for a house like this would normally be filled with people and the windows would shed light into the street until they were shuttered for the night. He frowned and looked for a side entrance, but tall iron railings prevented entrance to the back of the house. Glancing about him to see if anyone was around, Mooraven then scaled the railings and jumped down into the dark passage at the side of the building. No light was coming from the windows of the house as he felt his way around to the back. A bank of clouds hid the moon and here the little light that came from lamps outside a few of the neighbouring houses was not sufficient to show him where he was going.

For a few minutes he could only feel his way but gradually his eyes became accustomed to the dim light and he could make out shapes sufficiently to find himself at a back entrance to the house, through what was obviously a conservatory.

There was not a single light in the house. Had the countess retired immediately? It was unusual not to leave at least one lantern burning somewhere. By morning the candle might have burned down, but at night there ought to be a few lights throughout the house. What kind of a house was this? Where were all the servants?

Mooraven’s instincts told him that he had stumbled on a mystery. Suddenly, a thought struck him. The youth he’d seen leaving the house – could that possibly have been the countess in disguise?

If she had courage enough to walk through the streets of Paris at night dressed in her finery with only one servant, she might dare to risk walking alone as a youth. While most would think the countess worthy of attention, a slight youth might pass unnoticed.

Why was she leading a double life? Why had she stolen his purse – and where was she going?

Mooraven was thoughtful as he stared up at the house. His business in Paris was already dangerous enough. He was using an assumed name. No one knew who he truly was or what he did and it must stay that way. He ought not to let himself be distracted from the business in hand, but his curiosity was aroused.

He knew he could not just walk away from this situation. He wanted to know more about the countess and what she was doing…

The Chesterfield Lecture

2011-10-22T21:49:00.000+01:00

I’ve just given the Annual Chesterfield Lecture to the Friends of The Ranger’s House, Blackheath, London. It’s the first time I’ve been asked to talk to such a knowledgeable group in such a classy venue – a superb early 18th century red brick mansion, once the home of Lord Chesterfield, statesman, wit and letter-writer. In 1728, he became British Ambassador in The Hague. Whilst there, he acquired a superb collection of Dutch paintings, and then had to add a wing onto the house in order to show them off them.

First we had a delicious buffet dinner, provided by the Friends, in the basement of the house and then we trooped upstairs to the crimson gallery – not forgetting to put on our coats – there is no central heating. Well, the Friends put on their coats and, in some cases, their scarves, but I felt that, as lecturer, I couldn’t go that far. I hoped that the adrenalin would keep me warm.

The crimson silk gallery, where I was speaking, was magnificent with its fabulous paintings, glittering chandeliers, superb plasterwork, and a couple of classical nude marble statues flanking me on either side.

The talk I was giving was one I’d given before – how I became an historical novelist and it included snippets from my juvenilia – the six novels I wrote between the ages of ten and sixteen. I knew that Lord Chesterfield had also written: his famous letters to his illegitimate son are a mixture of worldly-wise pieces of advice and cynical and witty observations on the world. Surely they could provide me with a quotation to act as an introduction to my talk. After all, I was giving the Annual Chesterfield lecture, I felt I owed him a compliment or two.

What did he have to say on women, I wondered.

This is what I found: Women, then, are only children of a larger growth: they have an entertaining tattle, and sometimes wit; but for solid reasoning good sense, I never knew in all my life one that had it, or who reasoned or acted consequentially for four and twenty hours together.

He goes on to advise his son: A man of sense only trifles with them, plays with them, humours and flatters them … but he neither consults them about, nor trusts them with, serious matters.

Hm. No, I decided, I would not be paying Lord Chesterfield a graceful compliment. I would give him a courteous but neutral mention and hope that his portrait in the next room didn’t crash to the ground in the middle of my talk in horror at hearing a mere female giving a lecture in his name.

Fortunately, the talk went very well and there were no untoward intimations of
spectral disapproval.

Elizabeth Hawksley

Top: The Ranger’s House, the front entrance: courtesy, The Ranger’s House, http://www.friendsofrangershouse.org.uk/

Centre: dinner: photograph by Elizabeth Hawksley

Bottom: The Gallery, the Ranger’s House: courtesy, The Ranger’s House, www.friendsofrangershouse.org.uk

Practical Hints to Young Females

2011-10-19T05:00:00.002+01:00

When looking for dispacement activity to avoid doing the housework I like to thumb through Practical Hints to Young Females on the Duties of a Wife, A Mother And a Mistress of a Family by Mrs Taylor of Ongar. My edition is the 5th, dated 1815, so she appears to have had good sales.

The tone is set by the frontispiece showing an elegantly, but modestly, dressed mother at work on her sewing and encouraging her small child to read a book.

Mrs Taylor considers education to be a good thing for females but warns Many a female, because she has been educated at a bording-school, returns home, not to assist her mother, but to support her pretensions to gentility by idleness, dress, and dissipation.

Once a young lady has been fortunate enough to find herself a good husband she is reminded that When he vowed to take you for better or worse, he staked the happiness of his future life; a treasure for which the most ample portion is insufficient to compensate.

The young wife is warned that she may well have married expecting "uninterrupted felicity" but by degrees the discovery will be made that you have maried a mortal, and that the object of your affections is not entirely free from the infirmities of human nature.

The solution to any marital disharmony is to search one's own character and to realise one's own faults, thus learning to forgive your husband's. If he should be morose, fretful, or capricious, liable to sudden sallies, or the prey to constant irritability, the cure [is effected by] sweetness and the coolness of a reasonable mind. A wife must always contemplate her husband's virtues rather than his failings.

Of course, the main cause of maritial disharmony is money, so you must study to keep strictly within the household budget and note that much loss is sustained by purchasing articles of housekeeping in small quantities....Weekly payments are forcibly recommended in order to keep a close check on tradesmen's accounts. Servants are a major cause of concern to any housewife and she must take note that A good servant can always find a good situation...nor ought those who have adopted the mistaken economy of giving low wages...expect good service. In every kitchen there ought to be a library...and nothing beyond the comprehension of kitchen readers be admitted. The advice on managing servants appears quite enlightened with an emphasis on plenty of praise where it is due as well as a fair wage for the job. It is poor encouragement to a servant if she is invariably blamed for what is wrong and never praised for what is right. The old retainer must also be looked after and the inexperienced, young mistress of the household would do well to watch and learn from good domestic staff.

There is an entire chapter on the dangers of becoming a step-mother with a warning to decide, well before committing oneself to a widower and a father, whether one can love his children!

The final chapter is given over to advice to The Husband and he is told that it will serve his comfort best if his wife is allowed to run the home and has sufficient housekeeping allowance to do so - and he is reminded that it is important to regularly express affection and regard for his wife.

Now - I'm off to give the scullery maid a rise in pay and to admire my tall, handsome footmen.

Louise Allen

Reminiscing

2011-10-17T08:00:00.003+01:00

I've been spending every morning with my 96-year-old father recently. I'm his carer now, and while I get him washed and dressed – something he hates no longer being able to do for himself – I've discovered a way to divert his attention. We reminisce. His recent memory is very poor. But his recall of events of fifty years ago is crystal clear.
A few days ago we were talking about the St Mylor Players, our village's local drama group. From the 1950s into the late 1970's the Players put on dramas, comedies, pantomimes and variety shows.
In the late 1950s - when men were the wage-earners, women remained at home raising the family, and Women's Lib hadn't been invented yet - a particular 'turn' in one variety show nearly brought the house down. It was Dance of the Flower Fairies.
The 'fairies' wore white tutus, white socks, and headdresses of white crepe-paper roses. Each carried a white lily made out of crepe-paper.   So far so unremarkable. What stunned the audience was that the 'fairies' were my father, District Surveyor on Cornwall County Council (top right); John Garvin, a stocky Scot who managed to keep the Church hall's ancient and unpredictable electrics operational without catching fire or causing a power cut (well, only once); Frank Roscora, a telephone engineer as round as he was tall; and Rodney Prout, plaster technician at Falmouth hospital and the Society's producer.
The music was played on a gramophone in the wings, and my mother – a dancer in her youth – had worked out the choreography. The introductory music started, the curtain rose to reveal the 'fairies’ – two with moustaches they had refused to shave off - in graceful pose. There were several moments of shocked silence then the dance began.
Mum had threatened the ‘fairies’ with dire consequences if they hammed it up. They played it absolutely straight and it worked brilliantly. Within twenty seconds the audience were crying with laughter and stuffing hankies in their mouths so as not to miss a moment.
When the dance finished there was uproar as people clapped, stamped and hooted. The 'fairies,' who had all been extremely nervous beforehand and boosted their courage with a strong whisky each, swept into deep if ungainly curtseys, gave the audience dazzling grins, then lumbered off the stage streaming with sweat and greasepaint.
The photograph above was on the front page of all the local papers.   All except Dad are dead now but remembered with fondness and admiration. I treasure these morning chats as Dad is happier and I am reminded of things I had totally forgotten.

Jane Jackson.

Taken To Heart pub. Robert Hale, October 2011 £18.99

Waterloo -- making the point

2011-10-15T01:00:00.001+01:00

Last weekend I was in Windsor for the first time. (It was a family engagement, arranged more than a year ago, so sadly it had to take precedence over the RNA Regency Day in London. The Regency Day was fantastic, so I hear. But so was Windsor.)

I hadn't visited the castle before and I was totally bowled over by the Queen's picture collection. As I made my way through the state and semi-state apartments, I kept coming up against huge portraits that I'd only seen in books, or on TV programmes. Like that famous portrait of Queen Elizabeth I as a thirteen-year-old girl, dressed in a stunning red gown. At the other end of that same wall was her father, looking cold and menacing.

For me, the highlight was the Waterloo Chamber. It was created by George IV in order to make a statement about the allied victory over Napoleon. George IV commissioned Sir Thomas Lawrence to paint portraits of all the key people who had combined to defeat Napoleon. (He included himself, naturally!)

The room is huge, and dominated by a portrait of a triumphant Wellington at one end, brandishing the Sword of State. You can see the portrait here and read something about it here.

Around the walls are Lawrence's portraits of the generals, like Bluecher; the rulers, including the famous portraits of Alexander I of Russia, Frederick William III of Prussia, and Francis of Austria. The diplomats who organised the redistribution of Europe at the Congress of Vienna are also there: Castlereagh, Metternich, Hardenberg, Nesselrode, though, as far as I could see, Talleyrand, being French, was not included, even though he played an important part at the Congress.

The portraits can all be seen on the Lawrence pages of the official site for the Royal Collection. The finest of them is supposed to be the portrait of Pope Pius VII, for which Lawrence had to travel to Rome in 1819 for 9 sittings with the Pope.

My only complaint was that visitors were allowed into the ends of the Waterloo Chamber but not the middle, so I couldn't get a really good look at some of the amazing portraits. Next time, I shall take binoculars.

I haven't included jpegs of the pictures. I have a feeling I might be hauled off to the Tower if I did! But if you follow the links, you can see them for yourself.

One interesting tale you might enjoy. When the Queen was entertaining the French President at Windsor, he was treated to a performance of Les Miserables in -- guess where? -- the Waterloo Chamber. And no, they didn't take down the portraits, or change the name of the room. He had to live with it. (Was that also the time that he had to arrive at Waterloo Station? I think it might have been. What a nasty sense of humour the British do have...)

Joanna

A Visit to Buscot Park

2011-10-07T09:17:00.017+01:00

Last week I had the pleasure of visiting Buscot Park, a late Georgian mansion near Faringdon in Oxfordshire. I am planning to use Buscot as the inspiration for the country house in my next book and I was particularly interested in the internal layout and also in the furniture. Lord Faringdon, who still lives at Buscot, has a very fine collection of art, ceramics and Regency furniture on display in the house and it was fun to stroll through the rooms and see them as they would have been at the turn of the 19th century.

The original mansion and park at Buscot were built between 1780 and 1783 for Edward Loveden Loveden at a cost of of over twenty thousand pounds (about seven hundred and eighty thousand pounds in today's terms). The house was built by local crasftsmen using local materials but also incorporated some recycling of slate and stone from other nearby mansions that were being pulled down at the time. The result was a grand house with nine bays, a double flight of stone steps and an impressive Orangery, all surrounded by a deer park and pleasure gardens with two lakes.

The Entrance Hall, with its stone flagged floor and porphyry scagliola pillars dates from 1780 and most of the furnishings are from the Regency period. It certainly creates an impression as you walk through the main door! A suite of a long couch and two armchairs in the Egyptian style that became fashionable after the Battle of the Nile was, to my eyes, completely over the top, made of ebony, painted with gilt and featuring large carved black lions! The suite was made by Thomas Hope, pioneer of regency furniture design, and the pieces are illustrated in his 1807 book Household furniture and interior decoration. A matching clock on an ebony stand towers four foot high. The hall also boasts an astonishing ornate gilt metal chandelier in the French fashion dating from about 1806 which is similar in design to those at St James's Palace.

The Dutch Room, one of the drawing rooms, contained an interesting piece of furniture in the shape of a small cabinet. Under the lid is a notice that reads: "Newly invented musical game dedicated to Princess Charlotte of Wales." Unfortunately we weren't allowed to play it! Strolling through Buscot's reception rooms, I could see how influential had been the taste of the Prince Regent in the different fashions in furniture throughout the period. There were the French fashions, the Egyptian fashion and furniture in the "antiquarian" style which the Regent also enjoyed. In the Drawing Room was a "Carlton House desk," named, according to Ackerman's Repository of Arts of 1809 - 28 "from having been first made for the August personage whose correct taste has so classically embellished that beautiful place."

One of the interesting things about Buscot House was that despite the size and the grand interiors it actually felt quite cosy. The bedrooms were comparatively small, which must have helped in terms of keeping them warm in winter. As I wandered through the interconnecting rooms downstairs I realised that in the Regency period even a large country house could be made to feel like a home.

Something Old, Something New...

2011-10-03T09:05:00.002+01:00

I think October is going to be a month os contradictions. It has started with a wonderfu Indian summer - the weather here up on the hill has been hotter than anything we had during the summer months - and yet we are prepared for frosts, if not snow, by the end of the month.

And at the same time I received my advance copies of The Dangerous Lord Darrington in hardback, I am also gearing up for the launch of an e-book for Carina Press - Casting Samson. So I have in my hands the "old technology" of a printed book, and a hardback, at that, and on 17th October I will see a new book published using the very latest technology. And who knows where this publishing revolution will end?

Casting Samson is my first Melinda Hammond novel for a long time, and it is in itself a contradiction. It is the story of a present day English village (think thatched cottages,a stream running by, old church and quaint characters) and its links to the past, to the Crusades and the Templars, in fact! I describe it as The Vicar of Dibley meets Ivanhoe, because it is part comedy, part serious but most definitely three love stories all intertwined. I have added a short extract on my website, (www.melindahammond.com) so do take a look and let me know what you think of it.

By contrast, The Dangerous Lord Darrington (which was published in North America last month) is another Sarah Mallory Regency romantic adventure with a mysterious old house, a handsome hero, a beautiful heroine, secrets and scandal.

So, which one do I prefer? An impossible question, the two stories are so different and I love them both, but as the saying goes - variety is the spice of life!

Casting Samson - Melinda Hammond, pub. Carina Press October 2011
The Dangerous Lord Darrington - Sarah Mallory, pub Harlequin Mills & Boon (NA Sep 2011, UK Nov 2011)

Dick Turpin ... as legend has it

2011-10-01T13:41:00.004+01:00

.
Last month I went to see a new play exploring the truth and legend behind Dick Turpin. The play is a fast-paced musical called Dick Turpin’s Last Ride. It was on at the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds and is now on tour around the UK (do see it if you can).

It was a fabulous play - I reviewed it here - and it really brought it home to me how ‘History’ is in the hands of the best narrator - and how we as historical novelists should be very careful with our research.

18th century illustration, Newgate Calendar

The real Dick Turpin, for instance, was a thug, a bully, a thief, a murderer and a rapist. He was reported as such after he swung from the gallows in 1739 and his name lay disgraced in the lists of criminals.

illustration from Rookwood, 1849

Yet the Victorian novelist William Harrison Ainsworth - in need of a plot device - borrowed that name, borrowed someone else’s epic ride, stitched them together... and by investing him with a more likeable character and livelier writing than anything else in his largely forgotten Gothic novel Rookwood, turned ‘Dick Turpin’ into a legend which others have themselves borrowed and embellished through the years.

romanticised highway robbery by Frith

An awful warning, I think, of the dangers in using real historical figures in fiction but not bothering to find out how those people would actually have acted or reacted.

Jan Jones

A Shocking Scandal/Anne Ireland

2011-09-27T05:36:00.002+01:00

My new Anne Ireland Regency is published in Kindle.

Glancing round the glittering ballroom at the throng of laughing, chattering guests, Jo Hampden stifled a sigh of disappointment. She had expected that this visit would all be so much more exciting! They had been here in Paris a week and as yet she had not seen one gentleman who had made her heart miss a beat. She had been so sure that in this most magical of cities she would be certain to find her prince. Not a real prince of course, but the handsome hero of her dreams, who would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to his castle in the mountains, where they would live amongst the eagles and be almost able to touch the clouds.

Her trouble was undoubtedly that she had a vivid imagination. As a child Jo had often been lost in daydreams, but as she grew up her life became too busy for dreams of any kind, especially after both her elder sisters had married gentlemen of fortune. That meant Mama had relied on Jo more and more, keeping her at home by her side, until she had become suddenly and fatally ill; she’d died only a few days after she caught that awful chill. Jo had been just sixteen and the devastating grief that swept through her had broken her heart. She had wept uncontrollably until Bianca told her to stop feeling sorry for herself and think of Eliza, their youngest sister, who was so often ill.

Jo had felt as if her elder sister had poured cold water over her, but it was the best thing that could have happened, for it had brought Jo to her senses. She had devoted herself to making her youngest sister smile again, and in time they had both benefited from the strong attachment that had formed between them.

Her sisters Bianca and Sarah had put their heads together for it was obvious that the girls could not stay on in their old home alone, even though Jo would have done her best to manage. Since the younger girls did not wish to be separated, it was decided that both would spend a few months with their grandfather, Sir Gerald Hampden, who had taken the shock of his daughter’s death badly. After that they could decide where they wished to make a permanent home, either with Bianca or Sarah.

However, it had not happened quite as expected, for Sarah had given birth to her first child and was delicate for a few months. She had written, asking if Jo would stay with her until she was feeling better, and Eliza had been left to stay with their grandfather. Since Eliza was fond of the elderly gentleman, she had not made a fuss and Jo spent the next year as a companion to her eldest sister. Sarah had soon recovered her health and begun to entertain again, which meant that Jo had been introduced to many of her sister’s friends. She had met quite a few eligible gentlemen but as yet none had touched her heart.

Jo knew that her trouble was that she was an incurable romantic. She was passionately fond of beautiful and wild scenery, and spent hours with her nose in a book, caught up in the fables of the courtly heroes of a time long past. She longed to be caught up in some adventure, rescued from dragons or awakened from her sleep by a kiss from a handsome price.

'What was that sigh for, my love?'

Jo turned to her companion and gave a slight shake of her head, conscious that she was being ungrateful. Mrs Buckley, a woman in her middle years, and a great friend of Sarah’s, had put herself to considerable trouble to bring Jo on this trip, and the least she could do was to appear to enjoy it.

'It was nothing, ma’am. Merely that I do not see many of our acquaintance here this evening.'

'There you are wrong, Jo. For I have just seen Chalmont and he is coming this way. I dare say he means to ask you to dance.'

Jo saw the gentleman her companion had mentioned almost at the same moment, but her spirits were not greatly uplifted by his approach. He was held to be attractive by society and his manner was undoubtedly charming, but somehow Jo did not particularly care for the gentleman.

'May I say how lovely you look this evening, Mademoiselle Hampden?' The Comte bowed to her punctiliously. 'Would you do me the honour of standing up for this next dance with me?'

'You are very kind, sir.'

Jo could not very well refuse without appearing rude. Besides, her card was far from full and she did not wish to sit down all evening. So she gave him her hand, allowing him to lead her on to the dance floor.

She was at least able to enjoy the dancing, for the Comte was good mannered and held her at just the right distance without pressing her too intimately, and he was besides an excellent dancer. When he returned her to her companion's side at the end of their dance, lingering only long enough to secure another dance with her later, Jo was pleased to discover that her friend, Anne Arlington, had arrived with her Mama.

'Oh, I am so glad you have come,' Jo said and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear, 'Most of the guests seem so much older than us this evening. I was beginning to think there was no one I could talk to sensibly; they all look to be in danger of falling asleep on their feet!'

'How naughty you are,' Anne replied tapping her with a delicate fan. 'But I must admit I have felt the same at times. I can't wait for my brother to join us in Paris. He and his friend Lord Finchley are arriving in a day or so.'

'You will be pleased to see your brother no doubt.'

Jo wondered at little at her friend's blush but at that moment two young and undeniably attractive gentlemen approached and within seconds the girls were dancing with new partners.

After that Jo found that she was seldom left to sit alone and she did not have time to let her thoughts wander. It was true that most of the gentlemen present at the prestigious ball were older than the two girls, but since they were all unfailingly charming and considerate Jo was soon laughing, her foolish dreams of romance forgotten for the moment.

It was not until quite late in the evening that Jo noticed a little stir as a newcomer entered the ballroom. A small group of ladies and gentlemen immediately gathered to greet him. She could not see much of him because of the crowd around him, but he seemed important for it was obvious that his arrival had caused some excitement. Able only to catch a glimpse of his profile as he paused a few minutes before moving on, Jo thought he looked rather cold and proud. Then for one second as he turned his head, his eyes seemed to stare in her direction, but they did not see her for he appeared to look beyond her, as if he were bored by his surroundings and wished himself elsewhere.

He was clearly uninterested in the dancing and soon moved away into the next room, where several card tables had been set up to amuse those gentlemen who did not care to dance.

'Who was that gentleman?' Jo asked her companion.'

'What gentleman, Jo?'

'The one who seemed to cause something of a stir just now.'

'I really have no idea,' Mrs Buckley said. 'I cannot say I noticed anything in particular.'

'I did,' Anne Arlington said. 'He was rather handsome, with a slightly foreign look. He was certainly not English. I think perhaps Italian or Spanish, European certainly.'

'A foreign prince or something of the sort so I heard,' the dowager Marchioness of Arlington supplied the answer. 'You know the French always make a fuss of these petty princelings. I do not suppose he was of any real consequence at all. At least he would not be thought so in the best circles at home.'

Jo found Lady Arlington's manner a little overbearing. It was a trifle unkind of her to slight the young man and she was glad he had not heard. Her brief glimpse of his proud rather noble face had made her heart miss a beat, though she was not sure why. He had not even been looking at her.

Jo smothered her sigh. She must be grateful for this chance to mix in Parisian society and enjoy it and not let her head be turned by a man who had not even noticed her.

* * * *

One thing that Paris could not be faulted for was the shopping, Jo thought as she and her companion were driven back to their hotel the next morning. She had indulged herself shamelessly with the purchase of all manner of pretty trifles, urged on by Mrs Buckley who assured her that it was in order for her to spend as much as she had.

'Your grandfather told me that I was not to penny pinch in the matter of your wardrobe, my love. He wants you to have everything that a young lady of fashion needs for your coming season in London.'

'Grandfather is very kind,' Jo replied. 'But I am not sure that I ought to spend too much.'

'You are a long way from doing that,' her companion said with an indulgent look. 'You are very pretty, Jo, and if you are fortunate you may make an excellent match. I am sure your husband will want to indulge your whims.'

'Oh, no ...' Jo began but forgot what she meant to say as they entered the hotel. A man was standing at the desk talking to the clerk, and although she was able to see only his profile, she believed it was the man who had caused a slight stir the previous evening.

He turned towards them and she saw that his skin had a slightly dusky look, which was a little deeper than most Europeans’ and, with his noble features and dark, hawk-like eyes, gave him an exotic appearance. He was smiling and his teeth were exceptionally white against that sunburned complexion, his build and vitality that of a man honed to a rare perfection seldom seen amongst the gentlemen Jo had been accustomed to meeting in France.

She thought that she had never seen such a handsome man and her heart beat very fast for a few moments, as their eyes seemed to lock. She found herself drawn to him, lingering as if willing him to speak to her, but instead it was her companion who spoke, breaking the spell.

'Come along, Jo – what are you waiting for?'

The older woman turned to look at what had caught her companion's eye and frowned slightly. It was obvious that she thought the stranger was showing his admiration for her pretty charge a little too openly, and she took hold of Jo’s arm, giving her a push towards the hotel's grand staircase.

'There's no need to poke me,' Jo said, a slightly petulant look in her eyes. 'Why are you in such a hurry all at once?'

'You must rest or you will be too tired to enjoy yourself this evening.'

Jo controlled the urge to look back as she began to climb the stairs, but the tingling in her spine made her believe that the stranger was still watching her. He had been as interested in her as she was in him – or was she merely flattering herself?

From his dress and his air of assurance he was clearly a gentleman, and a wealthy one she would imagine. He had been wearing a coat of blue superfine, which had been fashioned by the finest tailors and fitted his body like a second skin, and on the little finger of his left hand she had noticed an exceptionally fine diamond ring.

'Why did you rush me away just now?' Jo asked her companion as they entered their own suite and she paused to glance at her reflection in one of the huge gilt mirrors that adorned the walls. She fussed with her bonnet before removing it. ‘I was intrigued by the gentleman we saw at the reception.’

'He was staring at you and you were staring back,' Mrs Buckley said with a reproving frown. 'We have not been introduced to the gentleman – whoever he is - and therefore you should have pretended not to notice him looking at you.'

If you enjoyed this book it is available at Kindle and will soon be available from ARE. It is also available from me. Mail me through the website.

Bought For the Harem is my latest Anne Herries book in Uk - and the next paperback is the hostage, available December. Until then there's A Shocking Scandal for you to enjoy.

Best wishes Linda Sole/Anne Herries/Anne Ireland

Writer in Residence

2011-09-22T10:14:00.000+01:00

In August, I was writer in Residence for a week at the Dillington House Summer School (I was also tutor on the Creative Writing - the novel course.) Dillington is Somerset's residential centre for adult education - and it's seriously classy. There were sixty-six students and a dozen courses on offer, ranging from The Joy of Spanish and The Arts and Crafts Movement to my Creative Writing - the novel.

I was the first Writer in Residence they'd had and I wanted to make my mark. I saw myself sitting in the library under the splendid chandelier topped by a pineapple, quill pen in hand, ready to help anyone with sonnet or prose. But I swiftly realized that I had to be more proactive.

I decided to write an article entitled 'A Week at Dillington' and put word round that I'd welcome contributions. There's plenty to inspire: the Jacobean house had a Gothic makeover in the 1830s and the family portraits are still there. The park has magnificent trees and the grounds are beautifully kept.

My course was in the afternoon so, in the morning, I hitched a lift with the minibuses going on The Artisan Trail, The Arts and Crafts Movement and the Exploring Somerset Villages. I wanted to meet as many students as possible and persuade them to write something. I also took photographs.

One visit particularly interested me, to Mark Broadbent, carriage maker. He renovates old carriages, builds them from scratch using traditional methods, and drives them, too. A number of carriages, once owned by Lord Spencer, were waiting to be restored to their former glory. Handsome carriage horses poked their heads out of loose boxes. (But that is for a future blog)

Word spread and some interesting pieces came in. When I got home, I sent the organizer, Roger Priest, my article incorporating the pieces I'd received, plus photographs. I added some thoughts on how the Writer in Residence position might be enhanced, together with a suggestion for a Creative Writing for Pleasure course which I felt would suit the Summer School better.

Last week, I heard from him. 'A Week at Dillington' would be sent to all prospective 2012 students and would I like to come back next year?

Elizabeth Hawksley

Photos by Elizabeth Hawksley. Top: Dillington House; centre: the library; bottom: One of Mark Broadbent’s carriage horses

The Anatomists and the Body Snatchers

2011-09-19T05:00:00.000+01:00

On Christmas Day 1818 William Hurst, one of a family of numerous siblings from whom both my maternal grandparents decended, sat down to eat the cake his wife Sarah had just prepared.

By all accounts it was not a happy marriage and my suspicion, although I have no direct evidence, is that William was an abusive husband. Certainly the neighbours recalled a violent argument going on in the Hursts' dwelling after their return from church that morning - and they did not find this an unusual circumstance.

Their suspicions were not aroused, even when Sarah came round to borrow some rat poison - quite openly asking for it. Nor can William have had any idea what she did with it - for he ate enough of the cake in which she had put it to kill him.

Fifty year old Sarah was arrested on December 28th "on a violent suspicion with having at the Parish of Little Horwood in the County of Bucks, administered poison to her husband Wm.Hurst, in consequence of which he the said Wm.Hurst died."

Sarah was committed to prison in the county town of Aylesbury and, at her trial found guilty. The sentence is given as:
Death - to be Hanged on 12th March, and her Body to be Dissected and Anatomised pursuant to the Statute.

The statute was the Act that permitted the bodies of hanged criminals to be given to surgeons and anatomists for dissection and research if the judge at their trial so directed. It was considered a paticularly heavy sentence for, after the dissection, the unwanted remains would not be permitted burial in consecrated grounds. Sarah had killed her husband - considered almost a form of treason - hence this additional penalty.

But because this severe sentence was relatively rare there was a corresponding scarcity of bodies for the doctors, surgeons and scientists who were finding their researches severely hampered. Soon desperate surgeons and adaptable criminals started to come together to fill this gap in the market. Grave robbers opened fresh graves and stole the corpses and surgeons made little secret of the fact that they would pay good money for such corpses.

The Edinburgh surgeons are perhaps the most famous for this - due largely to the notorious Burke and Hare who moved from grave robbing to murder to keep the anatomists happy. But it happened all over the country, aided by the fact that to steal a corpse was not a felony, but a misdemeanor. Provided the robbers were careful not to remove any item of grave goods with the body the worst that could happen to them was a fine or short prison term.

Sir Astley Cooper, surgeon to George IV, William IV and Queen Victoria was quite open about his use of corpses obtained from body snatchers and the practice helped him develop such life-saving procedures as the first tying of an abdominal aorta to cure aneurysm. Astley Cooper boasted There is no person, whatever his position in life might be, whose body after death [I] could not obtain. The law only enhances the price and does not prevent the exhumation.

Last week I visited Great Yarmouth and discovered that in 1827 Thomas Vaughan managed to steal ten corpses from the churchyard of St Nicholas (shown below in a late 18thc view from the market place) over a period of nineteen days, including the body of an infant, a small child, a young woman and a 67 year old man. The corpses were packed in sawdust in crates labelled "Glass - handle with care" and taken by wagon to London where they were exhibited in an upstairs room of an inn outside the gates of St Bartholemew's Hospital. Surgeons would call in and select the body of their choice, paying between 10 and 12 guineas for each one.

Vaughan was arrested and eventually sentenced to six months in prison - his grateful clients paid his legal fees and an allowance to his wife while he was in jail.

The general populace, of course, regarded this practice with fear and horror and all kinds of measures were tried to foil the robbers - watchmen in graveyards, metal cages over graves, iron coffins - but still the grisly trade continued. Eventually, largely due to the outcry over Burke and Hare, the Anatomy Act of 1832 was passed, allowing the use by anatomnists of any unclaimed corpse and the worst of the body snatching ceased.

There are so many points of view in this gruesome history - the terrified condemned woman on the scaffold, the surgeons desperate to save lives by the advancement of knowledge, the horrified and grieving relatives and the hardened robbers themselves. What would they have made of modern science and a society where many people, as a matter of course, leave provision in their wills for their organs to be used for transplants and research?

Louise Allen

Thunder and Lightning

2011-09-17T08:00:00.003+01:00

No, not stormy weather. Thunder and lightning is what the Cornish call a slice of bread spread with treacle then topped with clotted cream. And delicious it is too. Though it was usually farmer’s wives who made butter, the money they made from sales being one of their perks, almost every Cornish housewife made her own clotted cream. The method hasn’t changed in centuries. I remember as a child watching our next-door neighbour make pasties while the cream ‘scalded’ on the slab of her old black range.

After the milk girl had been – she carried two large silver milk churns in the back of a small grey van and every day we took out a jug for her to fill with either a pint or half-pint dipper - the milk to be used for cream (and it was always whole milk then) would be poured into a shallow dish and set aside for a few hours to allow the cream to rise to the surface. When this had happened, the dish was placed in a pan of simmering water over a low fire for several hours – sometimes overnight - to “scald.” By morning a thick yellow crust would have formed. Skimmed off into a glass dish this would keep for 24 hours (no one had a fridge then) or a day longer if a little sugar had been added to the pan before scalding began.

Though delicious on fresh fruit or fruit pies and puddings, some old recipes used it differently.

Chocolate cream: the thick cream was whipped together with eggs and melted chocolate until light and frothy. Chilled this makes a wonderful chocolate mousse.

Almond blancmange: the cream was heated with lemon rind, sugar and ground almonds, then left to set in an oiled mould.

Another recipe called for cream boiled with egg yolks, sugar and rosewater to be poured over breadcrumbs, sprinkled with sugar, then left to set.

Though we ate cream, butter and whole milk when we were children, we did so much running about, climbing trees, hiking through the woods, and walking a mile along the creek side to the shingle beach beyond the harbour where we built a fire and cooked ‘dampers’ (a flour and water dough wound around a stick and toasted until brown then filled with jam) we were all as slim as greyhounds.

Jane Jackson.

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Lose Yourself in the World of the Regency - and win a Kindle!

2011-09-15T05:00:00.002+01:00

There is still time to get a ticket for the amazing Regency Celebration Day in London on October 8th.

The Romantic Novelists' Association is hosting the Day at the Royal Overseas League in the heart of historic St James's and hightlights include a talk by Jennifer Kloester on her long-awaited biography of Georgette Heyer (published October 6th).

There will be authors to meet; a bookstall; a quiz; a raffle with wonderful prizes including a Kindle loaded with Regency novels, an original Regency print and luxury chocs and a chance to go on a guided walk around Regency St James's.

Learn how to lace your corset, play Georgian parlour games and perform Regency dances! Talks will include Sex and the Georgians and Regency Scents and Smells (with samples to try) and there will even be uniformed soldiers to flirt with.

There is more inflormation, and how to book, at www.romanticnovelistsassociation.org.uk.

See you there!

Louise Allen

Should we care about anachronisms?

2011-09-13T12:51:00.000+01:00

There has been quite a lot of controversy about accuracy in historical romances, and it’s been an interesting discussion.

Recently, many of the historical romances set in the Regency by have been light on the history. While there is no real problem with that, the historical content has become progressively less and less in some books, so that the books are little more than stories about modern people in pretty clothes.

There have been versions of TV dating games in “Regency” set books, for instance, stories about notorious courtesans becoming duchesses and leading society, and other such plots which could never have happened in the historical period.

Sometimes it’s become difficult to tell what period the book is supposed to depict, the descriptions are so vague.

There have always been books like that in the past, but there were always more rigorously accurate books to balance them, so that the reader looking for a good historical romance set in a recognisable and reasonably accurate period could find them. But that has become more difficult recently, with the death of the “traditional” Regency lines.

And it seems a section of the historical romance reading public is growing increasingly unhappy with the selection. There is no one place to go where the accuracy of the historical is guaranteed.

I want to emphasise that there is nothing wrong with the “frothy” Regency and no reason why it shouldn’t be published and sold to readers who want that. The market is limited to the USA, though. Several efforts have been made to sell that kind of book elsewhere, but it hasn’t worked. It’s not that the British public is highly keyed-up and knows its history, it’s that the books don’t “feel” right. They are highly American in tone.

A few days ago I asked an editor at a big publishing house about the accuracy in the historicals. “It’s entirely up to the author,” she said. It’s just as well that other matters like grammar and spelling aren’t!

A mega-thread at “Dear Author” had most of the participants asking for a distinction between the lines, so they knew if the book they were buying was a “history-lite” or “wallpaper” book or one where the author has worked hard and diligently to re-create a time and place in history. That seems good, as long as neither of the terms are perjorative. So that those who truly love them can have their Regency spies and dukes who choose their successors, and others can have the Battle of Waterloo and the dilemma of the lack of male heirs.
While the discussion can be more complex than this, that’s what it boils down to – giving people what they want and fulfilling expectations.

Me? I think anyone who writes historical romance has a duty of care to get as much as she can right. But that’s just me.

Lynne Connolly

The Battle of Borodino

2011-09-07T10:44:00.008+01:00

Today is the anniversary of the Battle of Borodino. On 7th September 1812 (or 26th August if one went by the Russian calendar then in use) Napoleon's advance through Russia with his Grand Army was halted at Borodino, a village 60 miles to the west of Moscow. The battle was immense - 122 000 men on the Russian side against 124 000 French troops. It lasted for hours and there were heavy casualties. Although the Russians were beaten they were not completely defeated and Napoleon later said of the encounter: "The French showed themselves to be worthy victors and the Russians can rightly call themselves invincible."

Napoleon marched on Moscow but the city refused to surrender. By now the French troops were far from their supply lines, starving and exhausted, with deteriorating morale. In October the French began a retreat from Moscow that was to prove a humiliating disaster. Seventy years later Tchaikovsky commemorated the French defeat in his 1812 Overture that celebrated this famous Russian victory.

My first introduction to this period of Russian history happened when, in my teens, I read the "Russian Regencies" of Dinah Dean. Both Flight from the Eagle and The Eagle's Fate were set against the French invasion of Russia and they enthralled me. I sought out all Dinah Dean's other books and was very upset when later I lost some of them in a house move. The remaining ones are on my keeper shelf. Did you read and enjoy Dinah Dean's Russian series? If so, which book was your favourite?

SEATON DELAVAL - A BAROQUE BEAUTY

2011-09-03T06:35:00.002+01:00

A couple of weeks ago I was in Northumberland, and went to visit one of the National Trust's latest acquisitions, Seaton Delaval Hall. It is a beautiful 18th century baroque mansion by Vanbrugh, and staggeringly beauiful on the outside.

Unfortunately, the central hall is now merely a shell, after fire ripped through the building in 1822. An entire wing was destroyed and never rebuilt (although as the wing had upset the symmetry of the building, this may not have been such a disaster!). It is thought that Vanbrugh's deisgn helped to spread the fire, the stairwells in the corners of the building acted as a chimney, turning the blaze into a furnace that buckled the metal balustrades and caused the lead to melt from the roof. The centre of the building was eventually re-roofed but never re-occupied. In 1841 the architect who designed Newcastle's Central Railway Station, John Dobson, was brought in to carry out a few renovations, but then the building was left until the 1950s, when the next round of renovation began. These preserved the building, but it was never restored, and now the National Trust have embarked upon a major conservation project, designed to preserve the building as it is, rather than restore it to some by-gone glory.

We visited on the day of a dog show, so there were hundreds of visitors and their furry pets in the grounds, but inside the house itself we were in for a treat. The magnificent central hall, seen here before the restoration project began, is now filled with scaffolding and the National Trust is allowing small groups of visitors to climb the scaffodling to get up close and personal with the fabric of the building. Wearing a hard hat and clinging tightly to the scaffolding, I followed the guide up the metal steps. We passed the remains of plaster statues inset in the wall arches and eventually stood at the upper floor level, where the small fireplaces from the servants rooms could be seen, and looking closely between the damaged stones it was still possible to see little rivulets of lead that had melted in the intense heat of the fire. I have only added one picture of the scaffolding - its not very exciting, but it give syou some idea - just think of me, hard had on and suffering from vertigo!

It was a chastening experience, to see such a lovely building in such a sad state of repair, but thanks to the NT and the fund-raising efforts of rthe local people the house has been saved for everyone to enjoy. I haven't yet included a serious house fire in one of my books, but after visiting Seaton Delaval, I think it is only a matter of time!

Sarah Mallory.
Dangerous Lord Darrington (USA Sept 2011)
To Catch a Husband (UK 2011)

Happy Birthday, William Wilkins!

2011-09-01T11:48:00.005+01:00

Yesterday I was at the birthday party of William Wilkins who was born on 31st July 1778. The party was held at the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds, which he himself designed for the town. It opened its doors in October 1819, making it the only Regency-built theatre still in regular use today. It is a gem of a theatre and William Wilkins was very proud of it, but it didn’t at first get the reception from the townsfolk that he expected.

Wilkins - and his father before him - ran the Norwich Company which toured seven East Anglian venues. Bury St Edmunds was the most profitable of these, despite playing in a very cramped space on the upper floor of the Market Cross, so William decided to reward the town with a lovely new theatre.

He was very keen on classical architecture and was addicted to the idea of pure air circulating around his building. He was also concerned that his best patrons should be spared the indignity of mixing with the more disreputable members of the audience at any point during the proceedings.

To facilitate this, the four separate areas of the theatre had their own entrances, the Dress Circle box patrons wafted straight through the spacious, arcaded foyer into their semi-enclosed boxes, the Upper Circle boxes were up one flight of stairs from the foyer, the Pit customers jostled downwards and around from an outside entrance, and for the cheap seats in the Gallery - 120 of them! - people would have to squeeze through a narrow side door and up two flights of stairs.

With this vision in mind, Wilkins cannily made use of the local topography and built his New Theatre where the south side of town slopes downwards, so the best seats were at street level and he could reduce construction costs in not having to dig out the Pit. He elegantly fitted out his lovely theatre, organised the very popular John Bull as the opening play and threw open the doors in welcome.

The townsfolk, though, weren’t at all grateful. As far as they were concerned, the New Theatre was on the very edge of the unfashionable side of town and far more inconvenient to get to than the old Market Cross right in the centre. So - for the first week at least - they voted with their feet, leaving the Norwich Company to play to empty houses. Audiences did pick up in the subsequent weeks, but it must have given William Wilkins a very nasty turn, thinking of his huge investment that he might not get back!

Now, of course, Bury St Edmunds has expanded and the Theatre Royal is seen as being in the historic centre. Which brings us back to the party - the question we were asking was what do you give a man who is 233 years old? We came to the conclusion that posterity isn’t a bad gift.

Jan Jones
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The Dragon's Bride

2011-08-31T10:36:00.000+01:00

"May 1816 The south coast of England

    The moon flickered briefly between windblown clouds, but such a thread-fine moon did no harm. It barely lit the men creeping down the steep headland toward the beach, or the smuggling master controlling everything from above. It lightened not at all the looming house that ruled the cliffs of this part of Devon -- Crag Wyvern, the fortresslike seat of the blessedly absent Earl of Wyvern.
         Absent like the riding officer charged with preventing smuggling in this area. Animal sounds -- an owl, a gull, a barking fox -- carried across the scrubby landscape, constantly reporting that all was clear.
         At sea, a brief flash of light announced the arrival of the smuggling ship. On the rocky headland, the smuggling master -- Captain Drake as he was called -- unshielded a lantern in a flashing pattern that meant "all clear."
         All clear to land brandy, gin, tea and lace. Delicacies for Englishmen who didn't care to pay extortionate taxes. Profit for smugglers, with tea sixpence a pound abroad and selling for twenty times that in England if all the taxes were paid."

My book The Dragon's Bride has just been reissued in trade paperback and e-book, and it involves smuggling in the period after Waterloo. Times were getting harder for the smugglers because the navy had excess men and ships to put against them, and ex-army officers often took jobs as Preventive Officers, though it was not a happy trade.

Many coastal communities supported their local smugglers, welcomed the tax-free goods, and were cold to the men sent to stop the trade. The tax on many items such as tea and brandy had been raised to ridiculous degrees, mostly to pay for the war, and even law-abiding people didn't see anything wrong in avoiding what they saw as outright thievery. Smuggling of this sort only ended when the government reduced the taxes to a level that people thought of as fair.

(The original cover, with modern wedding dress, complete with zipper!)

My hero, Con, is not a smuggler. He's an ex-military officer who's sternly set against the trade and sympathetic to the local Preventive Officer, also an ex military man. The only reason he gives the local smuggling band a break is because his ex-love Susan Kearslake is involved, and her brother is probably the local smuggling master.

When writing this book I traveled along the Dorset-Devon coast looking for a good location and settled on the interesting small fishing village of Beer, right on the border between the two counties. Old cottages and inns, looming headland, caves.... Ideal. The caves, BTW, exist because excellent stone was mined at Beer from the middle ages and Beer stone was used for much of Exeter Cathedral.

Alas, with all those attributes, smugglers had been there before my fictional ones, and when I researched I found that one of the most famous, Jack Rattenbury, had been operating there around the time of my story. I couldn't see a way to involve him in the book, so I changed the name, but kept most of the details the same.

Jack Rattenbury was famous because he left his memoirs, and you can read them on line. He starts his story this way.

"I Was born at Beer, in the county of Devon, in the year 1778. My father was by trade a shoemaker, but he went on board a man-of-war before I was born, and my mother never heard of him afterwards; she was, however, frugal and industrious, and by selling fish for our support, contrived to procure a livelihood without receiving the least assistance from the parish or any of her friends. Beer, where we resided, lying open to the sea, I was continually by the water-side; and as almost all I saw or heard was connected with that element, I early acquired a partiality for it, and determined, almost from my infancy, when I grew up, to be a sailor. When I was about nine years of age I asked my uncle to let me go fishing with him, to which he consented; and as there was another lad about the same age who went with us, we were continually trying to outvie each other in feats of skill and dexterity. I mention this circumstance, as I conceive it had a considerable effect in deciding the cast of my character, and probably influenced many of the subsequent events of my life."

You can read more about Rattenbury and smuggling in general here.

What about the vicious thugs? They definitely existed, but the smart smugglers realized that they needed the local people on side, both to help with handling the goods and with deceiving and deflecting the poor Preventive men. Rattenbury was part of the community and ended up owning a tavern in Beer. I based my heroine's father, the smuggling master Melchisadeck Clyst, on Jack Rattenbury, except that Mel was caught and transported to Australia. I feel sure that he did well over there, however, as Rattenbury would have done.

The Dragon's Bride was a RITA finalist, and you can read more of the beginning here.

It's part of a trilogy called Three Heroes, and the first story, a novella called The Demon's Mistress, is available as an e-book special.

In the UK, you can buy both in a print copy or e-book on line, though right at this moment the e-edition seems to have disappeared! I'm in pursuit.
To buy a print copy from Amazon, go here.

Know any good smuggling fiction? I think I remember Dr. Syn. Am I right?

Jo
Visit my website here.

Make Believe Wife

2011-08-25T12:15:00.003+01:00

‘Damn you, sir. I have had enough of your wild behaviour,’ the Earl of Hartingdon thundered at his grandson. ‘I shall not tolerate the disgrace you have brought upon us.’

‘Forgive me,’ Viscount, Lord Luke Clarendon said and looked contrite. ‘This should never have come to your ears. Rollinson was a fool and a knave to come prattling to you, sir.’

Tall and almost painfully thin, yet with a commanding presence, the earl’s bushy white eyebrows met in a frown of disapproval.

‘Do you deny that you seduced the man’s wife?’

Luke hesitated. The truth of the matter was that he had no idea whether or not he had seduced Adrina Rollinson. The evening in question was hazy to say the least. He had been three sheets to the wind and, when he’d woken to find himself lying next to the naked and undoubtedly voluptuous beauty, he had hardly been given time to wonder before her husband came storming into the summerhouse to demand satisfaction.

‘I can only tell you that I have no memory of it happening, sir.’

‘What sort of an answer is that pray?’ the earl demanded. ‘You puzzle me, Luke. You have had every advantage and yet you insist on carrying your wildness to excess. If you cannot recall making love to a woman like Lady Rollinson, you must have been drunk.’

Indeed, that I shall own,’ Luke said instantly. ‘I would not call the lady a liar but I doubt I was capable of making love that night.’

‘I suppose your taste is for whores?’

‘I do not know what you may have been told of me, sir, but I assure you I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.’

‘Indeed? I know that you have set up a mistress in Hampstead.’ The earl’s top lip curled in scorn. ‘You are a disgrace to your family. Thank God your parents did not live to see what you have become.’

‘Perhaps had they lived I might have been otherwise.’

‘Are you blaming me? Impudent pup!’ The earl’s eyes darkened with temper. ‘Well, sir, I have done with you. It was in my mind to make you my sole heir, for although the estate is entailed, the patent allows the title to pass through the female line and my fortune is my own to dispose of as I wish. However, I have a cousin who would restore both honour and fortune to the family name.’

‘Horatio Harte I presume? I wish you joy of him, sir.’ Luke’s temper was barely in check. ‘Good afternoon. I shall not trouble you with my presence again.’

‘I did not give you leave to go.’

‘Yet I believe I shall. You have never liked me, sir. I have done things of which I am not particularly proud, but I am not the rogue you think me.’

‘Come back here!’ The earl’s voice rose petulantly. ‘You will hear me out. I shall give you one more chance, but you must marry a decent girl – one with perfect manners who knows how to behave in good society. I need an heir I can be proud of before I die.’

Luke turned at the door, denial on his lips. He would marry when and whom he wished and meant to say so, but even as he began the earl made a choking sound and sank slowly to his knees before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

‘Grandfather! Someone, give me some help in here.’

Luke rushed to his grandfather’s side. Rolling him on his back, he saw that his colour was slightly blue and acted swiftly in untying the tight starched cravat at his neck. He felt for a pulse and discovered a faint beat and yet his grandfather did not appear to be breathing. He was for a moment unsure of what to do for the best; then, recalling something he had once witnessed a vet do for the foal of an important mare, he opened his grandfather’s mouth and made sure there was no obstruction in the throat. Then he pinched the earl’s nostrils and breathed into his mouth. Luke repeated the action three times and noticed that a more natural colour had returned, though he had no idea if his actions had helped.

A voice spoke from behind him. ‘He has had one of his attacks, my lord. He will recover in a moment.’

‘He just keeled over. I thought he was dead or dying.’

Here is a taste of my new book out in USA. Not yet published in UK

The picture is of The Lord's Forced Bride, which continues to sell well on amazon, better than Bought For the Harem at the moment. In October the hardback of Hostage Bride is out. This has a fantastic cover but I don't yet have an image. Will put it up next time I post if I have it.

Best wishes, Anne Herries

Hope you enjoy.

Dressing the Stars in Bath at the Fashion Museum

2011-08-25T08:55:00.000+01:00

There's a few days left to catch a fantastic exhibition at the Fashion Museum in Bath. It's called 'Dressing the Stars' and features the talents of costume designers who work in film. This has to be one of my favourite museums, not least because it is housed in the Assembly Rooms which feature in Jane Austen's novels, so it's always a treat to visit.

Over forty costumes are on display in total in the exhibition, worn by stars including Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean, Colin Firth and Helena Bonham Carter in The King’s Speech, and Keira Knightley in The Duchess, some of which was shot at the Assembly Rooms in Bath. Other costumes include those worn by Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth, Gwyneth Paltrow in Shakespeare in Love, and Meryl Streep in The French Lieutenant’s Woman.

My favourite, and the ones I couldn't wait to see in detail were the costumes worn by Kate Winslet and Alan Rickman for the wedding at the end of Sense and Sensibility. The wedding scene is over so quickly, and Kate's dress only flashes onto the screen for a few moments, but I've always thought it was beautiful. Designed by Jenny Beavan and John Bright, the costumes lived up to my expectations, and Kate's dress, in particular, is divine. I'm always amazed at the detail that goes into these costumes even when they're seen from a distance. One of Emma Thompson's dresses is also featured - the other striking feature I noted was that these film stars are all so tiny!

You can also see an exhibition of over 30 of the Fashion Museum’s most exquisite cream, ivory and white wedding dresses at the ‘What will she wear? The enduring romance of the wedding dress’ exhibition. Many of the exhibits are over 100 years old, delicate silks with gossamer fine lace and embroidery, all carefully hand-picked for the new display.

'WHAT WILL SHE WEAR?' includes wedding dresses made of silks brocaded with metal thread, lustrous silk satins, even crisp white nylons; some of the dresses are decorated with ribbons and bows, some with antique lace.

White has been the colour most associated with wedding dress in western cultures for well over 200 years and 'What will she wear?' includes historical examples from the early 19th century. The most up to date wedding dress in the exhibition is a white lace dress, with an asymmetric hem by designer Alexander McQueen worn in Summer 2010, and especially lent to the Fashion Museum for the display.

Finally, there are some beautiful examples of Regency muslin dresses and accessories in the main gallery, which provide wonderful inspiration!

Jane Odiwe

Mirror Magic

2011-08-19T05:01:00.000+01:00

Mirror, mirror on the wall... Mirrors have powerful fascination for most people and I find myself drawn right into those with their old glass still intact, like this fabulous 18thc example from the Assembly Rooms in King's Lynn.

I stood in front of it for long minutes, mesmerised by the silver shimmer of the old glass, half expecting the scene behind me of the Mayor greeting visitors to turn into a Georgian ball in full swing with an orchestra in the gallery, candlelight, the chaperones' corner and, of course, a handsome man walking towards me...

Not all mirrors are as beautiful. The "mirror" once owned by Elizabeth I's astrologer Dr John Dee, is actually a polished obsidian Aztec cult object, one of the curiosities reaching Europe during the 16th century. Dee used it as a "shew-stone" to see visions of the future and you can see it at the British Museum and catch an eerie glimpse of your own reflection, even if you cannot see the future in it.

Much more charming is this little late 18thc enamel patch box. I bought it because of the charming couple on the lid and the motto "Sweets the Love That meets Return" but I was thrilled to find it still has its tiny mirror in the lid.

How many women have peeped into that tiny mirror - only 4cm wide?

The fact that it has survived, albeit cracked, suggests it was treasured after the fashion for wearing paches on the face had long gone.
Was a little surreptitious rouge or rice powder concealed in it? Or tiny sweetmeats, or perhaps pills? Or was it just a pretty trifle to keep in a reticule to take out and check one's appearance or spy over one's shoulder at what was happening in the room behind?

Is there a mirror that has intrigued, or even frightened you? Tell me about it - there is a prize of a signed copy of one of my latest books - your choice - to the writer of a comment chosen at random. (Check out this post on Friday 26th August and I'll announce the winner)

Louise Allen
Ravished By the Rake (UK August 2011)
Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress (US August 2011)

Butter Making

2011-08-17T08:00:00.002+01:00

Photo Musphot

Three characters in the book I’m currently writing live on a farm. For readers to believe in them as real people they need to see them in the context of their daily lives. In this case, in the dairy where Bronnen and her mother are making butter that they will sell at the weekly market.

Butter making was a time-consuming process that demanded care and absolute cleanliness. Household advice of the time recommended churning twice a week in summer. After morning milking, the milk for butter was poured into large shallow earthenware dishes and left to stand for 6-7 hours in the dairy to allow the cream to rise to the top. After the cream had risen to the surface it was skimmed off and set aside for the churn. The skimmers – which might be brass or wood (sycamore was popular as it didn’t splinter or taint) were round and shaped like a saucer with holes in the bottom for the milk to drip through.

Once the cream was in the churn, the handle was turned to rotate the barrel. After about 15 minutes the fat would form small grains which gradually clumped together. When the butter had “come” the barrel was opened, cold water was poured in, and the churn turned for several more minutes. The churn was opened again and the buttermilk poured out into a wooden bucket. This was set aside for drinking in the house, the remainder for the pigs. Next, clean cold water was added to the churn and the butter thoroughly washed several times, then squeezed by hand to make sure all the buttermilk was removed. If this wasn’t done, the butter would quickly spoil. Scooped from the churn into the butter worker - a long shallow trough – the butter was washed again with clean cold water then pressed with a perforated roller to remove any remaining liquid. Then it was salted and worked some more. Lastly it was packed into a lidded earthenware crock or wooden tub, pressed down hard with a wooden tool shaped like a mushroom to make sure no air or water remained trapped. Though it had to be very salty for storing, this butter would keep indefinitely. And the salt could always be washed out before it was used.

So how would the farmer’s wife wrap the butter she sold to a customer? Greaseproof paper wasn’t invented until 1848. My research - which included asking several historical novelist friends - returned several answers. The butter would be scooped out of the large tub or crock and shaped into blocks with small grooved wooden paddles called butter hands, or butter pats. These would be impressed with a wooden stamp. A sheaf of wheat symbolised prosperity; an acorn good luck; but many farmer's wives chose a leaf or flower. This was the farmer’s wife’s personal stamp - her trademark - on which rested her reputation as a butter maker.

Then the butter might be wrapped in dock leaves or butterbur leaves before being wrapped again in butter muslin. Both these leaves were very popular as they kept the butter cool and did not taint it. The wrapped blocks would be placed in a square or oblong lidded wicker basket lined with straw – to keep the contents aired and cool – and taken to market. It was also common for housewives buying butter to take along their own lidded earthenware dish. The butter would be weighed on special wooden butter scales then firmly pressed into the dish to exclude any air so it would not spoil.

Next time I go to the supermarket and take a block of butter from the chilled cabinet, I'll remember this and be grateful.

Jane Jackson

www.janejackson.net

Austenesque Extravaganza!

2011-08-11T09:15:00.018+01:00

August sees a month-long celebration of Jane Austen, organised by Meredith at Austenesque Reviews and I'm very happy to be a part of it. My contribution is a quiz about my heroes' diaries, which look at Jane Austen's novels from the heroes' points of view.

1) Which was the first diary to be published?

2) One of the diaries had its title changed for the paperback edition. Which one, and what were both titles (hardback and paperback)?

3) In Mr Knightley's diary, what happens to Miss Bates?

4) In what year does Captain Wentworth's Diary begin?

5) Which was the last diary to be published?

6) In Mr Darcy's Diary, Elizabeth hopes to meet . . . . at the Netherfield Ball.

7) In Colonel Brandon's Diary, why does he not marry his first love?

8) In Edmund Bertram's Diary, Fanny falls in love with . . .

9) Does Mr Darcy's Diary end before, at, or after Lizzy and Darcy's wedding?

10) There is a short story sequel to Mr Darcy's Diary in an anthology. Which anthology?

For the answers click here

And last but not least, Meredith is holding a mammoth giveaway, with 80 Austenesque books to be won! Simply leave a comment on any of the participating blogs and the winners will be selected at the end of the month. If you win, you will win a book at random, not necessarily a book by the author on whose blog you leave a comment. You can find full details of the giveaway at Austenesque Reviews
Good luck!

Amanda Grange

Miss Bannerman & The Duke

2011-08-09T09:21:00.000+01:00

This is my fourth book for Aurora Regency and it should have been released yesterday. I am posting about it in the hope that it will appear today.
Here is an extract.

She was in sight of her objective when, to her horror, the duke materialised in front of her. He did not look at all pleased to see her; in fact, he looked furious. Not daring to meet his fulminating stare, she dropped her eyes and clutched her reticule protectively to her chest.

What could she say to avert this disaster?

Her breathing steadied as a simple solution occurred to her.

She dipped in a deep curtsy. "Are you very angry with me, sir? I tried to tell you: I do not like to dance and especially not in this ensemble. I am already a laughing stock; stumbling around the dance floor would only add to my unhappiness. I do most humbly beg your pardon if I have caused you any embarrassment."

A well-remembered hand, strangely without the regulation white glove, gently raised her. "No, Miss Bannerman, it is I who must apologise. I thought to help by my intervention; I can see now that I misunderstood your situation."

His kindness was almost her undoing. She had treated him shabbily, pretending to be something she was not, and did not feel comfortable doing it. Scalding heat spread from her toes to her ears and she couldn't bear to look at him.

"You are distressed, my dear. I shall wait for you in the vestibule. Supper is about to be served. If I take you in, that should serve to restore your reputation. Will you not look at me, Miss Bannerman?"

Slowly, she met his gaze and saw nothing but sympathy there.

"I should not have run away but I am not comfortable in crowds, your Grace. I would much prefer to remain at home and read a book." She glanced down at her hideous gown. "My mama selected this; one might have thought she [i]wished[/i] to make my evening a disaster."

His brow creased for a second. Had she revealed too much of her real personality in her casual comment? Then his lips curved in the sweetest smile and for some reason she almost lost her balance.

"That gown is not a happy choice, my dear. I should have realised someone of your sensitivity would never appear in such a garment willingly."

Good grief! He was agreeing she looked appalling! Surely, a man of his breeding would realize his role was to reassure, not compound the problem?

She would not spend another moment in his company; he was everything she most disliked in a gentleman--so full of his own importance that he thought he could say what he liked and it would give no offence.

"I'm sorry, but I do not feel well enough to eat. I'm going to remain in here until it's time to leave."

She should have thanked him for his kind offer, but the words remained unsaid.

I hope you get the chance to read it.

best wishes

Fenella Miller

Dark Satanic Mills......

2011-08-03T04:30:00.005+01:00

July saw the UK publication of TO CATCH A HUSBAND, my latest Mills & Boon historical. This is a little different from my usual Regency romances since Daniel Blackwood is not a member of the aristocracy, but an industrialist, a mill owner from Yorkshire. I have wanted to write a story about such a man since moving to Yorkshire over tweny years ago.

I live in a very beautiful area on the south Pennines but the steep sided valley that carries the road from Yorkshire to Lancashire was once filled with mills. Today there is very little left of the thriving industry that used to be carried on here - there were half a dozen mills just in the small area you can see here. The mill in the picture was built late in the 19th century and was powered by steam, but you can see the chimney of a much older mill that was originally built in the valley to take advantage of the many streams that run down off the hills. The older mill itself is disused now but the mill pond is still there.

My heroine, Kitty, is a gently bred but impoverished young lady who needs to marry well, but she is drawn to Daniel and as they become better acquainted it is clear that they were made for one another. Daniel is based on an amalgam of industrialists of the time, like Samuel Greg who built Quarry Bank Milll near Manchester, and Robert Owen, who opened mills in Lanark; forward thinking men who knew that the welfare of their employees was important.

I have added a short extract below where Kitty learns a little more about Daniel. She has come with Lord Harworth and his sister to visit Hestonroyd, one of Daniel's mills and while the others rest in the office, Daniel takes Kitty to see the apprentice house and nursery....

'Thank you for bringing me here,' she said earnestly. 'Is it very unusual to set up such a school as this one, Mr Blackwood?'

She was idly swinging her bonnet by its ribbons, too preoccupied to think of putting it on, or to consider the effect of the sun on her complexion.

'It is becoming more common,' he replied. 'Mill owners recognise the benefits of looking after their workers. This was my mother's idea. She visits frequently to assure herself the children are well cared for.'

'Yes, I can see that such a role might fall to the mistress,' murmured Kitty, frowning a little.

'Do you think men are so lacking in kindness?' he challenged her.

'I think they are more motivated by profit, and can forget the more civilised aspects of life,' she replied, thinking of Lord Harworth, poring over the ledgers in the office.

'It is not impossible for profit and philanthropy to go together, Miss Wythenshawe!'

Kitty stopped.

'I beg your pardon,' she said, her colour heightened. 'I did not mean to imply any slur upon you, Mr Blackwood.'

'I am well aware of what you think of me,' he muttered. 'I am hardly a gentleman in your eyes!'

He went to walk on but she caught his sleeve.

'Now what nonsense is this? I thought we had done with that misunderstanding. You know how much I regret ever thinking ill of you.'

He shook off her hand.

'That is not the point. Nothing can change the fact that I am a manufacturer.'

She was confused by his anger, and a little hurt, too.

'You told me you were proud of what you are,' she retorted. 'Do you think we came here out of idle curiosity, to look at your mill as one might look at a freak show? Lord Harworth wants to build a mill and has consulted you because your family knows more about the subject than anyone. That is why he came to Hestonroyd today.'

'And you insisted upon accompanying him,' he threw at her. 'Still toadying up to him, I don't doubt, showing him you are the perfect helpmate, entering into all his concerns!'

'No!' cried Kitty. What could she say? He was only repeating what everyone else thought of her. She moved a step closer, forcing herself to meet his eyes. 'That is not how it is. I wanted to come, I wished to see the mill. I wanted…I wanted to discover why it means so much to you, why you are so proud to be a manufacturer.'

The anger still smouldered in his eyes, his mouth fixed in a thin line.

'And are you satisfied?'

Kitty's anger melted. He looked so much like a sullen schoolboy that she wanted to reach out and brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead, to pull his face down to hers and kiss away his sulks. She dare not allow herself to do any of these things so she merely nodded.

'I think you should be very proud of what you have achieved here, Mr Blackwood.'

He continued to stare at her but she would not look away. She needed him to know she was sincere.

'You must think me a boorish fellow,' he said at last.

She smiled. 'I think you have a temper that is not always under control.'

His lips curved a little and the dangerous light faded from his eyes. The wind had whipped an errant curl across her face and he lifted one hand to catch it.

'You are right,' he said, tucking the curl carefully behind her ear. 'My mother despairs of me.' The touch of his fingers set Kitty's heart knocking painfully against her ribs, but when he dropped his hand the lack of contact was even more agonizing. She forced herself to stand still while every nerve screamed to reach out for him. The world no longer existed, she was no longer aware of the rumble of the mill, the sound of the stream or the singing of the birds, there was only Daniel, standing so close, holding her eyes.

His face softened, he lifted his hand again. 'Miss Wythenshawe – Kitty – I…'

'There you are!'

Lord Harworth's jovial cry echoed over them. Daniel dropped his hand and Kitty was filled with an intense disappointment. As one they turned, schooling their features to smile as Lord Harworth approached with his sister hanging on his arm.

SARAH MALLORY

To Catch a Husband.

Mills & Boon

July 2011 (Hardback) September 2011 (Paperback)

A glimpse of Ely, Cambridgeshire

2011-08-01T23:27:00.001+01:00

.
Hello there!

I'm Jan Jones and I'm delighted to be joining the Historical Romance UK blog. I have had one contemporary romance published and three Regencies with Hale Books. Two of them were shortlisted for the Love Story of the Year: Fair Deception (2010) and Fortunate Wager(2011).

My Regencies are set in the racing town of Newmarket, but for this post I'd like to mention the neighbouring city of Ely.

Before the Fens were drained in the 17th Century, Ely really was an island. The cathedral was the largest employer and the raison d'etre of the town. Walking around Ely, it is impossible not to feel the past pressing you on all sides.

My latest Woman's Weekly serial - An Ordinary Gift - is set here, about a modern woman who starts unexpectedly to hear and see echoes of the past.

If you follow the links above, they will give a glimpse into this small, but perfectly formed town. Even though I am local, I enjoyed researching Ely so much that I'm sure there are other stories just waiting for me there too.

Jan Jones

Sydney Gardens, walking for pleasure in Bath

2011-07-25T09:20:00.000+01:00

Imagine to yourself, my dear Letty, a spacious garden laid out in delightful walks, bounded with high hedges and trees, and paved with gravel; part exhibiting a wonderful assemblage of the most picturesque and striking objects, pavilions, lodges, goves, grottoes, lawns, temples and cascades; porticoes, colonnades, and rotundoes; adorned with pillars, statues, and paintings; the whole illuminated with an infinite number of lamps, disposed in different figures of sun, stars, and constellations: the place crowded with the gayest company, ranging through blissful shades, or supping in different lodges on cold collations, enlivened with mirth, freedom and good humour, and animated with an excellent band of music.

The wonderful description of a pleasure garden above was written by Tobias Smollett in his book, Adventures of Humphry Clinker. Pleasure gardens developed naturally from the custom of promenading, and in Bath the concept was taken a step further with Sydney Gardens when the traditional promenading area was combined with a scheme of houses so that the owners could look upon green spaces as if they owned the land. Thomas Baldwin, the architect to the Pulteney family who owned the estate drew up the first plans, but only one of his terrace's was completed before financial problems hit in 1793. Great Pulteney Street was completed, as were the houses in Sydney Place where Jane Austen came to live in 1801. Bath stopped at this point, the countryside stretched beyond, and a ten minute walk took you into town, much as it does today. You can see why the Austens would have chosen this end of the city. They were country people at heart, and Jane wrote of walking in the gardens and visiting the labyrinth, a maze, every day.
Constance Hill wrote about the interior of number 4, Sydney Place a hundred years after Jane had left.
We sat in the pretty drawing-room with its three tall windows overlooking the Gardens. The morning sun was streaming in at these windows and falling upon the quaint empire furniture which pleasantly suggests the Austen's sojourn there. The house is roomy and commodious. Beneath the drawing-room, which is on the first floor, are the dining-room and arched hall from which a passage leads to a garden at the back of the house. The large old-fashioned kitchen, with its shining copper pans and its dresser laden with fine old china, looked as if it had remained untouched since the Austens' day.

A silver token was issued to each shareholder as a free pass into the pleasure garden, and you can see the coin featured what we know as the Holburne Museum today. Back then the museum was a hotel and tavern at various different stages, and sitting (as it still does) at the end of Great Pulteney Street made a fabulous focal point at the end of this classically inspired vista. The museum has recently undergone extensive re-modelling, and the new exhibitions inside are wonderful. There is a lovely cafe at the back where you can enjoy some refreshment, inside and out, and you can get a sense of what it must have been like to attend 'public breakfasts' in Jane Austen's day.

Sydney Gardens opened in May 1795 with the Tavern building known as Sydney House nearest to the city, containing dining rooms and meeting rooms. There were two wings on both sides of dining cubicles, a movable orchestra, and a space for fireworks. There was a main, wide walk, and narrower pathways leading off into shrubberies and winding walks. The New Bath Guide (1801) describes them as 'serpentine walks, which at every turn meet with shady bowers furnished with handsome seats, some canopied by Nature, others by Art'. There were waterfalls and pavilions, alcoves to enjoy tea, urns, statues, swings, castle ruins, and a labyrinth, said to be twice as large as Hampton Court's.
The gala Jane Austen attended on 4th June 1799 was spoilt by rain, so she went to the repeat performance two weeks later. She enjoyed the fireworks and illuminations, but not the music which she avoided by not arriving until nine o'clock!

Jane Odiwe