Willoughby's Return, a Sense and Sensibility Sequel - Colonel Brandon's first love

When we first meet Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibility he is quickly established as Marianne Dashwood's admirer much to her dismay. At seventeen she considers the thirty five year old colonel to be past his prime: '...he is old enough to be my father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have long outlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous! When is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not protect him?"
When dashing Mr Willoughby appears on the scene Marianne retreats from the colonel's company altogether and takes as much opportunity to ridicule him alongside her lover. Her sister Elinor values Brandon's friendship and sensible conversation, she can see how much he is attracted to Marianne and knows that with the livelier Willoughby for a rival he does not stand a chance. She warms to him even further when she discovers a little about his past.

Elinor's compassion for him (Colonel Brandon) increased, as she had reason to suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been known by him. This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropt from him one evening at the Park, when they were sitting down together by mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said with a faint smile, "Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments."

"No," replied Elinor, "her opinions are all romantic."

"Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist."

"I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not. A few years, however, will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are, by anybody but herself."

"This will probably be the case," he replied; "and yet there is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions."

"I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor. "There are inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage."

After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying -

"Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a second attachment? or is it equally criminal in everybody? Are those who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?"

"Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiæ of her principles. I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second attachment's being pardonable."

"This," said he, "cannot hold; but a change, a total change of sentiments - No, no, do not desire it, - for when the romantic refinements of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous! I speak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who from an enforced change - from a series of unfortunate circumstances" - Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much, and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures which might not otherwise have entered Elinor's head. The lady would probably have passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what concerned her ought not to escape his lips. As it was, it required but a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender recollection of past regard. Elinor attempted no more. But Marianne, in her place, would not have done so little. The whole story would have been speedily formed under her active imagination; and established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.

We later learn that the young lady in question is Colonel Brandon's first love who was forced to marry his brother against her will. Divorced and abandoned whilst the colonel is in India, on his return he is to discover that she has fallen into low company and living a life of sin. As she lies dying Colonel Brandon promises he will look after her three year old daughter, another Eliza, and he becomes her guardian.
When Willoughby later abandons Marianne for the wealthier Miss Grey we learn of another reason for his swift transfer of affection. Willoughby has met and seduced the Colonel's ward who has given birth to a daughter. He, in turn, has been disinherited by his benefactor as a result, and must now marry for money if he is to continue to enjoy the lifestyle he prefers.

Colonel Brandon is first attracted to Marianne because of the likeness she has to his first love. "Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended," said he, "by the resemblance I have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation. Their fates, their fortunes cannot be the same; and had the natural sweet disposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind, or an happier marriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other be.

I cannot help thinking that this coupled with the fact that he maintains a close relationship with his ward and Willoughby's child would create certain tensions within their marriage. How would Marianne feel about the fact that she looks so similar to Eliza? Wouldn't a part of her always be questioning whether she is loved for herself alone, and be wondering if she is being compared to the grand passion of his youth? We know 'Marianne could never love by halves' and in my new book, Willoughby's Return, I explore this aspect of their relationship. Mrs Brandon is a passionate woman - she might even be jealous of her husband's first love, especially as she lives on in her daughter and granddaughter. The fact that both the colonel and Marianne have both been in love before provided me with lots of inspiration!

Willoughby's Return is published by Sourcebooks on November 1st 2009

Jane Odiwe

The Mistress Of Hanover Square/Anne Herries

An excerpt from the third in the Hanover Square trilogy.

From Anne Herries and Mills & Boon.

The cover is the second in the series currently on sale at amazon.

Enjoy!
After Susannah left them to settle in, Amelia walked to the window and looked out. Her view was of the lake and park, and, as she watched for a moment, she saw three horsemen canter to a halt and dismount. They had obviously been out riding together for pleasure and were in high good humour. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard laughter and caught sight of one familiar face. So Gerard was to be one of the guests this Christmas!
Amelia realised that she had been hoping for it, her heart beginning to thump with excitement. Oh, how foolish she was! Just because Gerard was here did not mean that he would speak of marriage. Why should he indeed? Had he wished to he had had ample opportunity to do so before this…
She turned away to glance in the mirror. She was still attractive but she was no longer a young girl. It was quite ridiculous to fancy herself in love; the time for such things had passed her by. The most she could hope for now would be a marriage of convenience, as Emily had suggested on the way to Pendleton. If perhaps Gerard were looking for a mother for his daughter he might consider Amelia a suitable choice…
Amelia shook her head, dismissing her thoughts as a flight of fancy. There were a dozen young and beautiful girls Gerard might think of taking as his wife. Why should he look at a woman of her age? She had just turned eight and twenty. Besides, he was probably still grieving for the wife he had lost. Why had he married only a few months after their parting? Her brother Michael had behaved disgracefully to Gerard, of course, but why had he not told Amelia? She would have run away with him had he asked her then.
If he had ever loved her, his love had faded and died. He had seemed interested in Amelia the summer before last but the moment had passed. He had gone to France and when he returned he had still not spoken. There was no reason to suppose he would now.
She must not spend her time dreaming of something that would never happen!
Her thoughts turned to her companion. She knew that this time of year was often sad for Emily, because of her secret sorrow. None of their friends knew of Emily’s secret, but she had told Amelia the truth when they first met. In doing so she had risked losing the chance of a good position for many would have turned her away. Amelia had admired her honesty. She had done everything she could to make Emily forget the past, but nothing could take away the ache Emily carried inside.
Amelia was thoughtful as she prepared to go downstairs. She was almost sure that Mr Toby Sinclair would be a guest at Pendleton that Christmas. He had paid Emily some attention earlier in the year but nothing had come of it. If he were to offer for her…but nothing was certain. Amelia would not put the idea into her companion’s mind but if it happened she would be delighted.
If it did not perhaps there was something she might be able to do to help the girl she had come to love almost as a sister.
Amelia was glad that she had seen Gerard from her window; the knowledge that he was here at Pendleton made it possible for her to meet him without that element of surprise she might otherwise have felt. She was able to greet him in the drawing room later that evening with perfect serenity.
‘How nice to see you here, sir,’ she said, offering her hand and giving no sign that her heart was beating rather too fast. ‘People are arriving all the time. I think Susannah will have a great many guests this Christmas.’
‘Yes, I imagine she will,’ Gerard agreed. He held her hand briefly. ‘How are you, Miss Royston? I trust you have no further trouble since I last saw you?’
‘None at all, sir – except for a raid by some foxes on our hen houses. But I know you did not mean that,’ Amelia laughed softly. ‘You are referring to the abduction attempt made the summer before last when we were all here together I imagine?’
‘Yes, I was. I am glad nothing more has happened to disturb your peace.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I am glad that you are here this Christmas. I was hoping that I might have a private conversation with you concerning my daughter? I would rather like your advice.’
‘I should be delighted to help you if I am able.’ As he smiled, Amelia’s heart stopped for one moment, and then raced on madly. ‘Of course, my experience with children is limited to my orphans and the children of friends – but I am fond of them.’
‘It is your feeling as a woman of compassion that I need,’ Gerard assured her. One of the other guests was headed towards them; from her manner and gestures she was clearly intent on speaking with Amelia. ‘This is not the time, however – perhaps tomorrow we might take a walk in the gardens?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Amelia agreed. Her smile and quiet manner continued undisturbed. Gerard had asked for help with his daughter and she was quite willing to give it if she could, even if she could not help wishing that his request to walk with her had stemmed from a very different desire. Seeing him, being close to him, had aroused feelings that were not appropriate for a woman who was unlikely to marry. She closed her mind to the tantalising visions of herself in his arms…his bed. That way lay disaster and heartbreak! She must remember her dignity at all times. As a young woman she had not hesitated to confess her love, but things were different now. ‘I am available to you at any time, my lord.’
‘Do you not think we could be Gerard and Amelia?’ he asked. ‘We are friends of some long standing I think?’
‘Yes, indeed we are,’ Amelia agreed. For a moment the look in his eyes was so intent that she could not breathe. He should not look at her so if he wanted nothing more than friendship.
Their conversation was ended as they were drawn into the company. Susannah’s guests were of all ages and included some young people, who had been allowed to come down to dinner because it was nearly Christmas. The eclectic mix of young and old, Harry’s relatives and friends of the couple, made for a lively evening. The younger members were sent to bed after their meal, but the older guests continued in their merry way until long past midnight.
It was not until the moment that she had decided to retire that Gerard approached Amelia once more.
‘Shall we say ten o’clock for our walk?’ he asked. ‘If that is not too early for you?’
‘I am always an early riser.’
‘You must wrap up well for I think it may be a cold morning.’
‘I enjoy walking in any kind of weather, except a downpour,’ Amelia assured him.
Their arrangements made, Amelia went upstairs to the apartment she shared with Emily. She saw that Emily was looking thoughtful and asked her if she had enjoyed the evening.
‘You did not find the young company too much, dearest?’
‘It was a delightful evening,’ Emily assured her. ‘Mr Sinclair and I joined in a guessing game with some of the young people at the dinner table. I do not know when I have had such fun…’ A wistful expression came to her eyes. ‘I was an only child and I doubt I shall have…’ She blinked hard, as if to stop herself crying. ‘I am certain Mr Sinclair means to make me an offer, Amelia. What shall I do?’
‘I believe you should tell him the truth. He will keep your confidence for Toby Sinclair is a true gentleman. If he still wishes for the marriage he will make it clear to you.’
‘And if he does not?’ Emily lifted her head as if to seek guidance and then nodded as she answered her own question. ‘I must bear it. You are quite right, Amelia. I cannot be less than truthful, though it may make things awkward for the rest of our stay here.’
‘Perhaps if you could prevent him speaking for a few days, and then tell him just before we leave. If he needs time to consider his feelings, he would have his chance before following us to Coleridge.’
‘You are so wise and sensible,’ Emily said and looked relieved. ‘I shall do my best to avoid being alone with him until the day before we leave.’
‘Try not to brood on the outcome.’ Amelia kissed her cheek. ‘I believe it may all turn out better than you imagine, dearest.’
Having done her best to reassure her friend, Amelia went to her own room. She dismissed her maid as soon as the girl had undone the little hooks at the back of her gown, preferring to be alone with her thoughts. It was easier to settle Emily’s doubts than her own, for she had no doubt that Toby Sinclair was deeply in love. It was more difficult to understand Gerard Ravenshead’s feelings.
Sometimes his look seemed to indicate that he felt a strong emotion for her, but at others his expression was brooding and remote. They were friends but was that all? Amelia was afraid that her chance of a happy marriage had long since passed. Gerard had once felt love for her, but these days it seemed that he thought of her as a mature lady in whom he might confide his worries concerning his daughter. He could have no idea of the passionate and improper thoughts his nearness aroused in her. She must be careful to conceal her feelings for otherwise there might be some embarrassment.

‘No! No Lisette…I beg you…do not do it…forgive me…’ Gerard Ravenshead’s arm twitched, his head moving from side to side as he sat in the deep wing chair in the library at Pendleton. He was dreaming… a dream he had had too many times before. ‘No, I say! Stop…the blood…the blood…’ He screamed out and woke to find himself in a room where the fire had gone cold and the candles burned out.
Unable to sleep, he had dressed and come down to read for a while and fallen into a fitful sleep. He hoped that his nightmare had woken no one. Having gone for some months without one, he had hoped they were finished but something had brought it all back to him.
Gerard rose from the chair and walked over to the window, gazing out as the light strengthened. It was dawn and another night had gone.
The library was an impressive, long room with glass-fronted bookcases on three walls, a magnificent desk, occasional tables and comfortable chairs - and three sets of French windows to let in maximum light. Gerard was an avid reader and, when at home in his house in Hanover Square, often sat late into the night reading rather than retiring to his bedchamber, where he found it impossible to sleep. Indeed, he could hardly remember a night when he had slept through until morning.
Gerard was a handsome man, tall, broad in the shoulder with strong legs that looked particularly well in the riding breeches he most often wore. His coats had never needed excessive padding at the shoulder. His hair was very dark but not black, his eyes grey and sometimes flinty. His expression was often brooding, stern; perhaps because his thoughts caused him regret. At this moment he wore a pair of buff coloured breeches and topboots and his fine linen shirt was opened to the waist. A glass of wine was to hand but he had scarcely touched it. Gerard had long ago discovered that there was no forgetfulness in a wine bottle.
Before falling into a restless sleep, he had spent the night wrestling with his problem. His daughter was in need of feminine company, and not just that of nursemaids or a governess. He too was in need of a female companion: a woman with whom he could share his hopes and dreams, a woman he could admire and respect. In short he needed a wife. Having made one mistake with the young French girl he had married out of pity, he did not wish to make another. Easy enough to find a mistress or even a young woman willing to become Countess Ravenshead, but there was only one woman Gerard wanted as his wife – the woman he had been denied when he was a young man and head over heels in love.
He touched the scar at his right temple, the only blemish on a strong and handsome face, his eyes darkening at the memory it aroused. Amelia’s brother had instructed his servants to beat him when he dared to ask for her hand as a young man; he had not been wealthy enough to please the proud Sir Michael Royston! However, it was not fear of Sir Michael’s displeasure that made Gerard hesitate to ask Amelia Royston if she would be his wife now. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience, because he had not told anyone the whole truth concerning his wife’s death. It was the reason for his nightmares.
‘Damn you, Lisette. Let me be…’ His eyes were dark with memories as he relieved the dream. ‘So much blood…so much blood…’
She had been ill for a long time after the birth of her child, but it was not that illness that had caused her death. Lisette had died by her own hand.
He found her with her wrists cut in a bath of warm water. She was still alive when he dragged her from the bath but barely breathing. He had tried frantically to save her, sending his servant for the doctor, but his efforts were in vain and she was dead when the doctor arrived. Lisette had been buried and Gerard mourned the loss of a young life.
He had not loved her but she haunted his dreams, because he blamed himself for her death. He had married her out of pity, because she was young, alone and with child, abandoned by her lover in a country that was not her own. He knew that the father of her child was an English officer but Lisette had never named him. His own dreams turned to dust, Gerard had done what he believed was the right thing – a good thing, but he had been unable to love her and when Lisette finally understood that she had taken her own life.
‘I am so sorry…so very sorry…’
Gerard had never been able to confess the truth to another living soul. He carried it inside, where it continued to fester. If he allowed his guilt to haunt him it would ruin his life. Gerard had no idea whether or not Amelia would marry him if he asked her. What would she think if she knew the truth concerning his wife’s death?
He had been on the point of asking her to be his wife once, but an urgent message had sent him hurrying to his daughter’s side in France. Little Lisa was a demanding child and she did not like her Papa to leave her for long periods. Realising she needed more than her nurses, Gerard had brought her to England and placed her in the charge of an English nanny, but neither Lisa nor her papa was truly content.
Gerard had reached the conclusion that he would never know true happiness unless he asked Amelia Royston to be his wife. He could not marry her without confessing his secret, which was one of the reasons why he had hesitated so long, for he feared that she would turn from him in disgust. He had wanted to die on the battlefield the first time he lost her; to let himself hope and then lose her a second time would destroy him
This was ridiculous! He was a man of six and thirty and should be able to face up to the truth without fear of rejection. It might be better if he forgot about marriage altogether. He had broken Lisette’s heart, causing her to commit suicide. Perhaps he would do better to remain unwed.

Coincidence - or Fate?

When I came to plan the family tree of my Ravenhurst clan for the Those Scandalous Ravenhursts series the heroine of the sixth book, the Piratical Miss Ravenhurst, seemed a long way away. I couldn’t “see” her yet or find a name for her.

For some reason I called her father Clement. Then I thought that as my skinny heroine would run away and find herself as a cabin boy on a pirate ship the feminine form of his name, Clemence, which would shorten to Clem, seemed a good choice for her.
When I started to get to know her it seemed to suit her well. And when my hero, Nathan Stanier, meets her he likes the name too -

Clemence. He said the name in his mind, savouring the sound of it, a sort of fruity sweet tang of a name. Tart and challenging, yet mellow too.

I was half way through writing the book when I found myself in my favourite places, a country auction room on Viewing Saturday. There was a pot of odds and ends in a cabinet and poking out of them, the unmistakeable handle of an 18th or early 19thc fan. I collect fans so I took a quick look, saw it was covered in verses in French and put it back amongst the rubbish before anyone else saw me looking at it.
I was in luck - no-one seemed to have spotted it for what it was and the only other bidder when I came back for the auction appeared to be after the Victorian pot the fan was in and certainly wasn’t prepared to battle it out with me!
So I bore off my spoils in triumph and had a good look at what I had bought. I couldn’t read the French verses but the picture seemed to be a scene of six young women and four cupids drawing lots from a revolving drum and handing them out. Then I saw the name - Clémence. The frustration of only being able to make out half the complex old French was acute! What did the verses say?
Luckily I remembered that fellow M&B Historical author Joanna Maitland is an accomplished linguist and she gallantly tackled the archaic French for me.

It was a lottery as I had guessed - a lottery for love. Each young woman was given a verse that described her lover and the virtues he would have -

Here is Love, putting the charms
Of all these beauties to the test.
The prizes, he has promised, will be
The true qualities of men…
A constant friend, a faithful husband,
Are both a lottery.

Poor Isis has no luck at all - and no lover. She is the girl in pink with her head in her hands. Aglaé will have a man with only one virtue, Aglaure, one with two. And so it goes on until -

And finally, there remains but one.
It is for the lovely Clémence.
Her destiny is wonderful, but rare.
It surpasses all her hopes.
A stout heart, a quick mind,
Virtue, courage and a handsome form.
Her lover is blessed with them all.
She has won the fivefold prize.

I could not believe it - the Clémence of the fan (the figure on the right in purple) is promised a hero with all the virtues of my Clemence’s love.

Of course I had to use the fan in the book - but you will have to read it to find out how! The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst is out this month with Mills & Boon Historical and Harlequin Historical.

Louise Allen

Audiobook

I'm delighted to announce publication of the audio edition of Bonded Heart. I think it's a wonderfully atmospheric cover, if not exactly historical. What I like about it is that it reflects the cover of the hardback edition (see the slide show)

The reader is Patricia Gallimore, a regular on The Archers. Due to a childhood and many holidays spent in Cornwall, she is one of the few actresses (Dawn French is another) to have mastered an authentic Cornish accent.

Like the hardback edition, this audio version is available in the United States. Many families in the mining areas of North America can trace their ancestors back to Cornish miners and engineers who were forced to travel abroad to find work after the price of tin and copper tumbled and scores of mines closed. This emigration of Cornish to South Africa, Australia, Mexico, Peru and the northern States of America that gave rise to the saying: wherever there is a hole in the ground, you will find a Cornishman at the bottom of it.

Jane Jackson.

GETTING THE NAMES RIGHT

I’m nearing the end of a Christmas story (for 2010, I hope). Its working title is Mystery, Marriage and Mistletoe and it’s landed me with all sorts of issues of detail about people and places. I find myself wondering how other writers do names and whether they find it as challenging as I do.

First — character names. There are some names which, with the best will in the world, I could never give to my hero or heroine. Some just sound wrong to me, though I shan’t offend my readers by saying what they are! My characters’ names have to feel right and that’s something deep in my bones, I’m afraid. Sometimes the characters object, even if the name seemed right to me. I remember that my hero in A Regency Invitation started out as Will but ended up as Marcus because he flatly refused to answer to Will! Since William was the name we finally chose for the villain, it’s probably just as well. At that stage in my career, William definitely sounded villainous. Maybe that will change one day and I’ll have a hero of that name? Still too early to say.

I have a long list of names (culled from baby-naming books) that I might like to use one day. When I start a new book, I look down that list, and see whether anything jumps out at me. For the Christmas book, the name I chose for the hero was Jon/Jonathan. I didn’t intend to pick that one. It just felt right. The heroine’s name was much easier. She insisted on being Beth from the very first page. I had no choice in the matter!

And then there are place names. Georgette Heyer used to pore over maps for place names, both for towns and villages, and give them to her characters. Anyone remember the beautiful Augustus Fownhope from The Grand Sophy? Well, Fownhope is a Herefordshire village, not far from where I live.

I have sometimes used real place names or variants on them. For example, my hero in Marrying the Major was Hugo Stratton with a country seat at Stratton Magna. There’s no such place, though there are various places with Stratton in the name, like Stratton St Margaret’s. My secret — which I’m happy to share — is to take an existing place name and modify it, either by adding something like Magna, or by changing the odd letter. So one of the key villages in the story I’m now writing is called Little Fratcombe. As far as I know, there’s no place called Fratcombe. I arrived at that by taking the name Batcombe and changing B to Fr. Fratcombe may not really exist, but I reckon it sounds as if it should.

Having given the village a name, I then found that I had not the slightest idea what it looked like. That really did cause me problems. In the end, I had to draw a detailed map of it, complete with houses, shops, trees, a stream, a church with a graveyard, and rather a lot of sheep. You’ll be relieved to know I’m not planning to include it with the manuscript, so you will be spared the sight of my very unrealistic drawing.

Anyone else have a better way of deciding on names? I'd love to know.

Best wishes
Joanna

www.joannamaitland.com

Loving the Georgian era

Who can explain the allure of love? The romance writer least of all, but recently I’ve fallen in love all over again. With Georgian England.

After a year or so of reprints at Samhain, we’re ready for the new Richard and Rose books to come out, and I’m plunging back into the historical romance. Sometimes the muse comes and goes, and it did with me and the historical, but now it’s back, and in part it’s due to some cracking new non fiction books.

I have a lot of history books on my bookshelves. A lot. And I consult them regularly. I have what I consider the essentials, most of the Oxford History of England series, including Watson’s “The Reign of George III” and Basil Williams’s brilliant “The Whig Supremacy.” I know, hardly titles to bring amazed delight to the average reader, but believe me, pure gold to anyone who writes Georgian set historical romance.

The Georgian era lasted from 1727 to 1820, and the period known by historians as “the long Eighteenth Century” from the Act of Succession in 1689 to the advent of Queen Victoria in 1837. I tend to stick to the Georgians, but I spread out a bit sometimes. I have books by JH Plumb and JB Priestley, gems by Amanda Vickery and Donald Low. I have original texts, newspapers, journals, sadly not in the original, but they’re valuable to me for all that.

But for the new series I’m envisioning, I wanted to go in a slightly different direction and I needed to do some extra research. I went looking and I discovered some new-to-me books that I’m finding enthralling. So I wanted to share the love.

Lucy Moore’s “Con Men and Cutpurses” describes some of the most notorious criminals of the Georgian era. It’s subtitled “Scenes from the Hogarthian Underworld” and it’s a cracking good read. Combined with verbatim accounts of some of the most colourful criminals I’ve ever read, from Jenny Diver the cutpurse to Earl Ferrers, the last nobleman to be executed for murder, it is packed with stories that make my fingers itch. All set in an era when the law was something different, when guilty of the same crime meant you could be sent to the colonies as an indentured slave, executed in public, or let off with a warning, depending on the jury, the judge, the time of day or your personal story. It’s a slice of life, a view that shows the modern reader how different the Georgians were – and how achingly similar.

“Dr. Johnson’s London” by Liza Picard starts with a tour from one part of London to another. The first, the East End, where the riff-raff rubbed shoulders with respectable citizens, at the same time the wealthiest place in the world and the poorest and most miserable. And the second was the West End, a new development in the Georgian era, where the wealthy lived and spent their money, but also where charitable establishments still going today were established and the new developments in science and art had a home.

Riveting stuff, and although the book is rigorously researched, it is written in an accessible, lively style that brings the era to life right before our eyes.

Why try to impose modern dilemmas on the past when we have stories like these to write, times like these to try to bring to life? Different yet the same. I can hardly wait to get going.

The new series? Not telling, not yet. I know, I’m a tease, but I don’t want to discuss it when it’s only in its planning stage. Like Corin’s book in the Triple Countess series, it might not work (but I’m still committed to doing his story – it will just be something different). Or like Antonia from the Secrets series, it might want to bide its time and I’ll come up with something completely different. That’s the magic of writing, and a major reason why I do it.

I am so glad I decided to take the plunge again. Now all I have to do is write the book!

Note: "Dr. Johnson's London" is available from many outlets, and here's the Amazon reference: http://tinyurl.com/pzjm8r

"Con Men and Cutpurses" is here http://tinyurl.com/r8bnsm

And just in case you've forgotten, my author page at Samhain is here: http://samhainpublishing.com/authors/lynne-connolly

Goodbye for now

Exciting things have been happening to me over recent weeks. I've been attempting to expand the scope of my writing by starting a series of marine crime novels featuring a retired Detective Inspector, Charlie Hunter, who lives on his boat in Brighton marina. He's looking for a quiet life but aspects of his career as a policeman refuse to go away and he finds himself being dragged into all sorts of unlikely situations.

My efforts have attracted the interest of an agent, who is confident that he can sell the series to a leading publisher. That being the case I need to put aside my historical novels, temporarily at least, in order to concentrate upon writing the next book in the series.

Securing the services of an agent isn't easy, especially in these difficult times, and I feel elated to have got even this far. Knowing that a professional has enough faith to back my efforts has energised me. I am bursting with ideas and full of fresh determination. Look out for the first book in the series, Rip Tide. If, (no, let's be positive here), when, it sees the light of publication I shall be back to tell you all about it.

I've had great fun contributing to this blog since its inception. Thanks for all your support and I hope to be talking to you all again very soon.

Best wishes,

Wendy Soliman

Autumn already!

In January I planned my working year, as one does, full of enthusiasm. I had an agent who was confident my 'breakthrough book' would sell, and I dreamed about seeing my work in mass market paperback. Now it's autumn, the tag end of the year approaching, my book has not been taken up and I was beginning to feel somewhat downhearted.
Then a friend told me to look at what I had achieved not what I hadn't. Excellent advice, especially for writers. This year four large print books have already appeared plus two My Weekly Pocket Novels and Miss Bennet & Mr Bingley, a Jane Austen-esque retelling. There is another Robert Hale book coming out next month and two further novellas. All my recently published work is available on www.regencyreads.com and every month I receive a satisfying amount of dollars in my PayPal account. Lord Atherton's Ward is the latest of these, although A Mistaken Identity will be up there soon.
The orchard is full of apples and pears, there was a bumper crop of plums and greengages and our vines are dripping with grapes. I've made more than 60 pots of jam, jelly and chutney so far this year. As you can see, I might not have achieved my original goal, but the year has been fruitful.
I came across this 19th century recipe for preserving grapes, it sounds delicious. I'm wondering if I should attempt it.

"Take close bunches, whether white or red, not too ripe, and lay them in a jar. Put to them a quarter of a pound of sugar candy, and fill the jar with common brandy. Tie them up close with a bladder, and set them in a dry place."

I checked my cupboard but am right out of bladders. Also to make candy sugar is incredibly complicated, involving skimmers, bladders, and giving the boiling syrup "a sudden flirt behind, and the sugar will fly off like feathers."
Maybe someone will make wine with the grapes, otherwise they will be left to the hornets.
Fenella Miller
All my books are in UK libraries.
www.fenellajmiller.co.uk

Inspiration from the Highlands of Scotland!

September 18th sees the release of the UK edition of Kidnapped from M&B Single Titles. The book is a homage to the classic novel Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson, but the background and setting are very different from the original story. One of the places that features in the book and which inspired it is the Scottish village of Sheildaig.

Sheildaig, on the west coast in the Highlands, was constructed in Napoleonic times specifically to provide and train sailors for the Royal Navy. This was the idea of the Duke of Argyle who was a member of the Board of the Admiralty. The site was considered to be a good position for a village and there were already some crofters living in the area and raising sheep and cattle. However, no one could initially be found to build the village and it was not until 1810 that construction began. A budget of £2,700 was allocated to build the three main streets. At the same time, the little island out in the bay, now known as Sheildaig Island, was planted with pine trees to provide timber for rigging for the warships.

In order to tempt people to populate the village, the government offered generous grants for boat-building, guaranteed prices for fish supplies, promised quantities of duty-free salt, allocated plenty of land for all new tenants, and built a new road to connect Shieldaig with Kishorn and Lochcarron. The people who came to live in Shieldaig prospered as a result. They were able to build large boats in order to fish in the outer waters, and the salt allowed them to cure their fish catches at low cost before sending them southwards to markets. The plan was that such experienced and talented sailors would be ideal to draft into the Navy during wartime and a training school for Naval mariners was also established. However, the construction of Sheildaig was not complete until 1815, by which time the threat that Napoleon had posed was gone, the sailors and boat-building specialists were not required, the short-lived Naval Academy was closed and the little port became a fishing village instead.

These days Sheildaig is one of the prettiest villages on the West Coast of Scotland and the island in the bay has become a nature reserve. It’s clear to see that the village was designed and built to a particular plan and the long main street that runs along the harbour is particularly picturesque. It’s one of the places that we return to time and again when we are in Wester Ross although the tranquil village of today is no doubt a far cry from the brief spell of construction and activity during the Napoleonic Wars!

Nicola Cornick

Introducing The Other Mr Darcy: paperback edition

October 7th is the release date of the American trade paperback edition of The Other Mr Darcy from Sourcebooks. Isn't the cover gorgrous? I can’t wait to get my hands on it.

The story centres on Caroline Bingley and her interaction with the other Mr Darcy, Robert, who is Fitzwilliam Darcy’s cousin from Boston. Caroline is sincerely broken-hearted when Mr. Darcy marries Lizzy Bennet, so much so, that she breaks down entirely. And to make matters worse, her degradation is witnessed by the irrepressible American, who somehow expects her to confide in him! Caroline, caught in a moment of extreme vulnerability, intends to put as much distance between them as possible, preferably a whole ocean.

Faced with a wall of British reserve, Robert Darcy has a number of obstacles to face before he can discover the real Caroline Bingley, including Caroline herself. And meanwhile Caroline slowly finds herself stripped of her defences...

I’ll be going on a blog tour the last week of September until the middle of October in which I’ll be revealing my inspiration for the novel, talking about the similarities and differences between Mr Darcy and this other Mr Darcy, and describing my daily writing rituals. I'll also be giving away copies of the novel. So come follow me on the tour and maybe you’ll get a chance to win a free copy!

September 28: Fallen Angel Reviews Guest Blog

September 29: The Review from Here/ScribVibe

September 30: Everything Victorian

October 1: The Good, the Bad, the Unread Guest Blog

October 2: A Bibliophile’s Bookshelf

October 5: Grace’s Book Blog

October 6: The Burton Review

October 7: Bloody Bad Books

October 8: The Long & Short of It

October 9: Love Romance Passion

Date undetermined, but some time this week:
Curious Statistical Anomaly

October 12: Good and Bad Books

October 13: Lib’s Library

October 16: Fresh Fiction

With the current screening of Wuthering Heights it seemed quite apt that we should have arranged to go to Top Withens yesterday. We had some young visitors who were eager to go to Haworth and as the weather wasn't too bad, after spending a few hours at the excellent Bronte Parsonage Museum we parked at Penistone Hill Country Park and set off on the three mile walk to the isolated farm that has become associated with Wuthering Heights. The Bronte Society claim that the building itself does not resemble Emily's description of the famous Heights, but the location of the farmhouse is perfect. Two hundred years ago the walk from Haworth to Top Withens would have passed many more dwellings that have now disappeared but as one climbs further up onto the moors the farms become much more spread out, and Top Withens stands alone and forlorn with a single tree beside it.

We were very lucky to have an (almost) dry walk up to the farm, accompanied by the popping of guns from the grouse shooters across the valley and the purple heather providing dramatic splashes of colour between the vivid green ferns that cover the hills. We were glad to shelter in the shippon at the side of the main building that has been repaired and fitted with a rough bench for visitors. We didn't mind the rain on the walk back, and were spared the winds that seem to blow for most of the time over the moors.

W returned home wet, muddy but extremely pleased with ourselves and settled down to watch the second part of Wuthering Heights.

A Final word about the Bronte Parsonage Museum – they are currently displaying some of the costumes from the new adaptation of Wuthering Heights, as well as an extremely interesting exhibition on the life of Branwell Bronte. Well worth a visit if you are in the area.

Melinda Hammond / Sarah Mallory.

Ramblings on the Joys of Writing !!!

Horray for the 1st September! August is always my panic month. As usual I'm approaching the half way point of the latest book in a state of chaos and confusion. At least one Loveday has presented me with a new and fascinating dilemma that was not previously in the plot. It's too exciting to ignore and a complete headache to resolve. Chaos reigns to find a resolution.

After ten books in the series published, the family is rather extended now and I know from readers' letters and emails how many of the characters are their favourites and I dare not leave them out. But there is only so much I can fit into 120,000-130,000 words. If I put a charismatic character on the back burner in the WIP I could disappoint readers (not recommended to keep the books popular). If there is no other option but to kill off a family member I shall be putting myself through torment and anguish as well as my fictional family.

Exciting conflict throws characters into fraught situations that I would not want to put my own nearest and dearest through, and I am a mother hen to this wonderful family I created.

How can you put that character through such emotional turmoil? Is another cry from readers. Do they think I need the extra angst? I do it simply because all writers know that a page turning novel has to be full of conflict and emotional drama.

Then there's a new romance which in books never runs smoothly. Misunderstandings and heartbreak rule my day until the magic wand can be waved for love to conquer all. So there is no way my Loveday family can have a cosy co-existence where everything is happy in their world.

I live by the south coast and whilst trying to remain calm amongst each novel crisis; August brings the invasion of visitors, grandchildren needing supervision while parents are at work, heatwaves when the brain becomes glue (fortunately not too many of them this year), and the inevitable gas, electric or roadworkers digging up the road outside your window. Not forgetting research trips cluttered with tourists spoiling the view or babbling away and destroying that desperately sought quiet moment needed to find inspiration.

Would I change the trials and tribulations of August, or indeed any month of writing. Definitely not. The moments of panic pass. Somehow my deep subconscious sorts out a plot problem. (why is that always at 3am?). Somehow the words find their way on to the page so that my next deadline will be met on time.

I would not miss a moment of it for the world.

Happy writing. Happy reading and God bless September.

Kate Tremayne

Mr Darcy, Vampyre in the UK!

I had a surprise when browsing round Borders bookshop in Leeds yesterday. I'd just been to see Spider's Web at the theatre and I was on my way home when I called into the bookshop. I didn't expect to see Mr Darcy, Vampyre as it isn't officially out until September 1st in the UK, but as I walked past a huge display with a familiar-looking cover I stopped and did a double take. Sure enough, it was Mr Darcy, Vampyre! So of course I had to take a photo!

The wording on the poster says, Period romance with a bit more bite!

Jane Austen, Pockets and Reticules

Because Regency dresses were on the whole elongated and close fitting, the reticule, ridicule or pocket came into its own.

From the Times 1799: Every fashionable fair carries her purse in her work-bag... the new custom of carrying a bag with her handkerchief, smelling-bottle, purse etc..
Jane Austen used pockets and ridicules for secret correspondences, often used to give the observer a shock or embroil the perpetrator in a veil of mystery. Here are some examples from Emma, Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility.

Emma: She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton's thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being in Miss Fairfax's confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with what was still a secret to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately in the expression of her face; and while paying her own compliments to Mrs. Bates, and appearing to attend to the good old lady's replies, she saw her with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which she had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it into the purple and gold ridicule by her side...

Northanger Abbey: Catherine had not read three lines before her sudden change of countenance, and short exclamations of sorrowing wonder, declared her to be receiving unpleasant news; and Henry, earnestly watching her through the whole letter, saw plainly that it ended no better than it began. He was prevented, however, from even looking his surprise by his father’s entrance. They went to breakfast directly; but Catherine could hardly eat anything. Tears filled her eyes, and even ran down her cheeks as she sat. The letter was one moment in her hand, then in her lap, and then in her pocket; and she looked as if she knew not what she did.

Sense and Sensibility: "I begged him to exert himself for fear you should suspect what was the matter; but it made him so melancholy, not being able to stay more than a fortnight with us, and seeing me so much affected. - Poor fellow! - I am afraid it is just the same with him now; for he writes in wretched spirits. I heard from him just before I left Exeter;" taking a letter from her pocket and carelessly shewing the direction to Elinor. "You know his hand, I dare say, a charming one it is; but that is not written so well as usual. - He was tired, I dare say, for he had just filled the sheet to me as full as possible."

Elinor saw that it was his hand, and she could doubt no longer. The picture, she had allowed herself to believe, might have been accidentally obtained; it might not have been Edward's gift; but a correspondence between them by letter, could subsist only under a positive engagement, could be authorised by nothing else; for a few moments, she was almost overcome - her heart sunk within her, and she could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary, and she struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that her success was speedy, and for the time complete.

Jane Odiwe

Retail therapy

It constantly surprises me, walking around London today, how many relics of the retail world of the Regency still survive and strolling down Haymarket you can find two within minutes of each other.

At the northern end of the street is the oldest surviving shop-front in London dating from 1751. Until the 1970s it was the premises of Fribourg & Treyer, tobacconists, and inside, behind the counter are the original shelves.

Cross the road and walk down to Charles II Street and turn immediately left into The Royal Opera Arcade and you are in the oldest shopping arcade in Britain, built between 1816-18 and pre-dating the much more famous Burlington Arcade by a year. It takes little imagination to fill the windows with bonnets and reticules, waistcoats and walking sticks and imagine the delight of shoppers able to browse in this elegant row.

No-one who was anyone paid cash, of course, and the unfortunate shopkeepers often had to wait years for settlement of their accounts. Perhaps that was why so many of them had striking illustrated billheads so their final demand stood out from everyone else's. I have started collecting them and thought this one, from an Edinburgh linen draper, was particularly attractive. Mr Henderson was lucky - the receipt on the back shows his bill for table linen worth £29 was paid by return.

I satisfy my own need for retail therapy by taking my characters shopping. Virtually the first thing that Clemence Ravenhurst (The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst. September) does when she arrives back in England after a long sea voyage is to hit the shops of Weymouth - just what one needs after being on board a pirate vessel where one cannot obtain a good pair of stays for love nor money.

Louise Allen

Past and Present: living history

From Jane Jackson:

One of the highlights of Falmouth Sailing Week was a superb display by the Red Arrows. Here they are flying over Pendennins Castle, built by Henry Vlll, and the last Royalist stronghold during the English Civil War. There was a buzz in the crowd watching on Flushing Bowling Green, laid out during the era of the Packet ships that carried mail all over the world, that one of the pilots was a woman. Everyone agreed it was a fine thing. Then one chap added, "So long as she don't have to park it."

This second photo is of Falmouth Marine Band famous - or should that be notorious - throughout Cornwall. (For further information Google Falmouth Marine Band/Visit Cornwall - their rendition of Falmouth Marine Band plays Pavarotti is an unforgettable experience) These are last year's uniforms. The uniforms are changed every year and the new one unveiled on the night of Falmouth Carnival. This year they are paying homage to the film Zulu, with the red coats and white pith helmets of the 24th Foot in Mouth.

However, last year's uniforms had to be worn on this particular evening as, following Ye Ancient Ceremony of Ye Toss, to decide who had to be the French, the marine band took on a combined force of the local RNLI crew plus additional men from the working boats (the last fleet of oyster dredging boats working under sail) in a re-enactment of the Battle of Trafalgar held on - and off - Custom House Quay in Falmouth.

History is alive and kicking (and occasionally screaming) here in Falmouth.

Not Long Now...

The third part of the Aikenhead Honours trilogy will be out in the UK in about two weeks from now. It seems to have taken an age, hasn’t it? The UK cover shows the hero and heroine in full frame, rather than just her sexy legs. Now that I look at the covers together, I can see why the UK one was changed—the purple swooshes at top and bottom would have cut out too much of the picture. I think I still prefer the sexy stockings though. Do you agree?

For those who are still waiting, here’s a little taster of what’s to come in His Forbidden Liaison.

Marseilles, 1815

They quickened their pace along the side of the harbour. The ship that had brought them from Genoa was still lying at anchor, waiting for the tide. Her decks were swarming with Italian sailors. One or two of them shouted a greeting. Jack waved a hand, but did not pause. There was too much to do. ‘We should be able to—’

A loud shout stopped them in their tracks. Jack spun on his heel. A group of burly men had appeared from the inn where they had lodged overnight. Two of them had dirty grey bandages round their heads, and they were pointing at Jack and Ben. Jack gasped. ‘Those are the two ruffians from last night.’

Ben looked back. ‘The men with them don’t look anything like constables, either.’

As they watched, the group of Frenchmen split into two. The two bandaged men remained by the inn door, but their fellows were striding up the quayside towards Jack and Ben. A sudden shaft of watery sunlight caught the gleam of knife blades against dark clothing.

‘Dear God! The landlord must have been in league with them, and now they’re after us. I don’t like the odds, with five of them and two of us.’

‘We’d better run for it.’ Valise in hand, Ben started for the end of the harbour.

‘You go on. I’ll follow.’ Jack was digging into his pocket as Ben took to his heels. Then he yelled at the sailors on the Genoese ship. ‘Hey, you fellows! This is for you, with our thanks.’ He flung the handful of coins high in the air, right into the path of their pursuers. Without waiting to see the reaction from the ship, he turned and hared after Ben.

Behind him, Jack heard shouts in a mixture of languages. The sailors must be scrambling on to the quayside and fighting the Frenchmen for the coins. He and Ben had time to escape. They would—

Ahead of him, Ben had stopped and turned, foolishly waiting for Jack to catch up with him. A moment later, the sharp crack of a pistol echoed round the harbour. Ben cried out and fell to the ground. He had been shot!

In seconds, Jack had caught up with Ben and was hauling him back to his feet. He was conscious, though very pale. He had dropped his valise and was clutching at his shoulder. Jack put an arm round his waist. ‘Come on. Let me take your weight. We can get away.’

Ben gritted his teeth and did his best to run.

*

‘I will mind the horses, Guillaume, if you fetch the provisions.’

‘But, mistress, it’s not safe to leave you here alone with the coach and all the silk. You know what happened last night.’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘It will not happen again. Look.’ She took a step forward so that the folds of her skirt moved. They had been concealing her hand, and the pistol she had taken from the coach. ‘No one will try anything. If anyone should accost me, I will shoot him. Now, fetch the provisions, Guillaume, and be as quick as you can. We will have precious little time to stop on the road, and even you cannot manage without food.’

He nodded and hurried across the Place du Cul de Boeuf to the baker’s on the corner of the Canebière, the long, wide street leading up from the port to the main part of the city.

Marguerite sighed and buried the pistol more deeply among her skirts. She refused to be afraid, even though they were still all too close to the port and the ruffians who frequented it. Last night had been dangerous, terrifying even, but it had been her own fault for sleeping without a guard. She would not make such a mistake again. On another occasion, she might not be lucky enough to have a gentleman come to her aid. He had been most courageous, launching himself into the fray with no thought for his own safety. And covered by only a thin bed sheet, to boot! She should have been embarrassed, of course, but she had been too intent on dealing with the attackers.

Now she remembered that her rescuer’s naked torso had seemed shapely and well muscled, like a classical statue. She fancied his hair had been dark. And he was tall, too. But what she remembered most clearly was his voice, its strong, rich tone inspiring confidence and helping her to overcome her terror. She would treasure the memory of that voice.

It was a pity she had not had a chance to thank him properly, or even to ask his name. Everything had happened so quickly. As soon as both men were securely bound, he had disappeared to arrange for them to be taken to gaol. Marguerite had been left alone to sleep, if she could. And she had, soothed by the memory of that remarkable voice.

This morning she had rid herself of such missish fancies. As a matter of courtesy, she would have liked to seek him out, but it had been much too early. She had not left a note. How could she, for a man with no name? But she now felt more than a little guilty. It was a breach of good manners to have failed to thank him. If she ever saw him again, she would remedy that, but the chances were extremely slim. She walked thoughtfully to the leader’s head and raised her free hand to stroke his neck.

And then she heard the sound of running feet.

She tightened her hold on the butt of the pistol, and turned. Two men had rounded the corner from the Quai du Port. One, a fair-haired stranger, was leaning heavily on his darker fellow. Why, it was the gentleman who had come to her rescue just hours before! She stepped quickly away from the horses. What was happening? What should she do? The men looked to be in some distress. The fair-haired one seemed to be struggling to stay upright. Without the support of his friend, he would probably have fallen to the ground.

Marguerite knew she had to help her rescuer as he had helped her. It was a matter of honour.


And if you’d like to know what Marguerite did to discharge her debt of honour, there’s a bit more of this extract on my website here.

Happy reading!

Joanna
http://www.joannamaitland.com

Cyncisim in one so young!

Jane Austen was just twelve years old when she wrote 'The Three Sisters' but, if the following extract is anything to go by, she had already developed a healthy sceptisicm for love and marriage:

I am the happiest creature in the World, for I have received an offer of marriage from Mr Watts. It is the first I have ever had and I hardly know how to value it enough...I do not intend to accept it, at least I believe not, but as I am not quite certain I gave him an equivocal answer and left him... He is quite an old Man, above two and thirty, very plain, so plain that I cannot bear to look at him. He is extremely disagreeable and I hate him more than any body else in the world. He has a large fortune and will make great Settlements on me but then he is very healthy...

Years later she had not allowed success to go to her head and appreciated her own limitations. In response to the suggestion from the Prince Regent´s Private Secretary that she write a historical romance illustrative of the history of the House of Coburg she was both firm and diplomatic in her refusal. This is the letter she wrote to James Stanier Clarke on 1st April 1916.

You are very kind in your hints as to the sort of composition which might recommend me at present, and I am fully sensible that an historical romance, founded on the House of Saxe Cobourg, might be much more to the purpose of profit or popularity than such pictures of domestic life in country villages as I deal in. But I could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughting at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. No, I must keep to my own style and go on in my own way and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other.

What courage and strength of character it must have taken to decline such an invitation!

An earlier example of Jane´s irreverent wit is revealed in this extract of a letter written to her sister Cassandra in October 1798.

Mrs Hall, of Sherborne, was brought to bed yesterday of a dead child, some weeks before she expected, owing to a fright. I suppose she happened unawares to look at her husband.

Wendy Soliman

Recognise anyone?

When my latest Linford LP book, A Dangerous Deception, arrived in the post I was somewhat surprised to discover it looked vaguely familiar. I looked through my bookshelf and discovered that the same hero had appeared on two of my covers. Unfortunately the cover artist is not identified on the Linford books but it must be the same person who produced the cover for, A Suitable Husband, the Robert Hale title that was published several years ago.
What do you think?
There is a website on which identical covers, that have been used for different titles, are shown. However, these are mostly images taken from original paintings or photographs, I don't remember seeing any where a figure had been used in the way it has on my two.
Fenella Miller
Miss Bennet & Mr Bingley - available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble and Book Depository
The Ghosts at Neddingfield Hall - available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble and Book Depository.
All my titles can be borrowed from the library in the UK.

Follies and Fishing!

I have a bit of a thing about follies and pleasure houses. On my recent research ramblings through Rutland I came across the most perfect little Georgian fishing house on the Exton Park estate which gave a wonderful insight into one of the ways in which our Regency characters whiled away their time at their country estates.

Fort Henry, as it is called, was built in 1786 in the Gothic style complete with pinnacles and turrets. It was commissioned by the Earl of Gainsborough and is surrounded by woods, water and pleasure gardens. Here, during the Regency period, the Noel family would come to spend lazy days by and on the water, bathing, sailing and fishing. The interior of the folly, with views across the lake, was decorated with ornate plasterwork and provided a space for informal meals and entertainments. In a rather nice democratic touch, the Earl also apparently held special entertainments for his estate workers and servants at Fort Henry!

The Earl was hardly original in building himself a fishing folly. George IV had a fishing temple in the chinoiserie style on the north bank of Virginia Water built at a cost of £8730. Fly-fishing was a pastime popular with Georgian gentlemen. It is the subject of Mr Darcy's first conversation with Mr Gardiner in Pride and Prejudice, a hobby that was evidently of common interest to landowners and wealthy merchants alike. Fishing was also favoured by the ladies as well. Susanne Knight refers in an article to the journals of Diana Sperling, a young lady who recorded all sorts of country house pursuits including an outing of three ladies and two gentlemen who were all vying for the catch of the day! It isn't known whether the ladies also bathed at Fort Henry but it is entirely possible to imagine that they might have slipped away for a private dip in such secluded waters!

Nicola Cornick