Movie Discussion ~ 1995’s Sense and Sensibility (Part One)

Posted on March 26, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

by Regina Jeffers

As part of JASNA’s salute to Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibilityin 2011, this will be a two-part look of the 1995 film adaptation. Next month (April 14), we will examine the “making” of Edward Ferras and Colonel Brandon. This month, however, I wanted to explore the many non-Austen “creations” added to this film. I do not do so as criticism, but more out of the awareness that, for many people, film adaptations are all they know of the story line. This piece will also point out how Emma Thompson, as the screenwriter, added “bits” to introduce the modern audience to the dire situation in which women of Austen’s time often found themselves.

Prior to the 1995 production, there were three other film versions of Sense and Sensibility. On June 4, 1950, Philco Television Playhouse produced a one-hour adaptation starring Madge Evans as Elinor and Cloris Leachman as Marianne. In 1971, Ciaran Madden (Marianne), Robin Ellis (Edward), and Joanna David (Elinor) were seen in four 50-minute episodes on the BBC (January 3, 10, 17, 24). That screen play was written by Denis Constanduros, who used much of it again for the 1981 version, which was seen on the BBC in seven 30-minute episodes from February 1 through March 14, 1981. This version, starring Irene Richards as Elinor and Tracey Childs as Marianne, had one advantage over the 1971 adaptation. It was shot on location rather than on studio sets.
  • One of the most obvious “twists” to the original Austen is the way that the film creates “sensitive” male characters. This is not a new phenomenon. Film adaptations of Austen’s males often project qualities on the characters, which are not found in the text. For example, Colonel Brandon is excessively attentive to his adoptive daughter Eliza. He also expresses his compassion in dealing with Marianne’s impulsive nature and with the Dashwoods’ situation.
  • Edward is seen as being a sensitive male. He refuses Margaret’s room; he plays games with Margaret.
  • The film also highlights a greater disparity between the male characters from the novels. We have repeatedly seen the strong, dependable male (Darcy, Wentworth, etc.) vs. the sociable, but very unreliable male (Wickham, Mr. Elliot, etc.). Brandon and Willoughby continue that cinematic storytelling. In fact, Brandon is actually given some of qualities that Austen bestowed upon Willoughby. In the novel, Willoughby comes to Cleveland while Marianne is ill. He eloquently expresses his regrets to Elinor. We never see this in the film, which allows Alan Rickman’s Brandon to become a more acceptable mate for Marianne, especially to a modern audience who might otherwise object to the differences in their ages.
  • By the way, did you notice that Willoughby rides a white horse, and Brandon rides a black one? What happened to the tried and true signals for viewers to know a man’s personality by the horse he rides?
  • In the novel’s end, Marianne appears subdued and malleable. Whereas, the film maintains the concept of “equality” in Brandon’s and Marianne’s relationship.
  • Brandon does the same thing as Willoughby – just not as well. This helps with the transfer of the audience’s affections to Colonel Brandon. For example, Willoughby carries Marianne to Barton Cottage; Brandon carries her to Cleveland.  Both men give her flowers, but Willoughby has chosen wild flowers to those which are cultivated. Willoughby recites poetry to Marianne. Brandon reads to her from “The Faerie Queene.” In the novel, Willoughby shares Marianne’s interest in music; Brandon possesses that quality in the film.
  • The role of Margaret is expanded greatly from Austen’s description of the child as a “good-humored, well-disposed girl.” Margaret Dashwood is given the “freedoms” that her sisters can never have. She speaks her mind. She chooses a future of her own (a pirate). Margaret is the device by which Edward is revealed to the viewer. Her character is also the source of much of the film’s humor.
  • The happiness of the wedding scene reminded me of Emma Thompson’s ex-husband’s staging of the ending of Much Ado About Nothing.The coins tossed into the air are much like the procession and flower petals of the Shakespeare remake.
  • The characters of Lady Middleton and her children are omitted from the film, as well as Lucy’s sister Nancy. The latter plays a pivotal role in the novel because it is she who “spills the beans” about Lucy’s engagement to Edward. Of course, Lucy whispering that secret to Fanny in the film leads to a most hilarious scene, so maybe Nancy was not necessary.
  • Instead of visiting Barton Cottage (per the novel), Edward sends Margaret the atlas and an apologetic letter.
  • In the novel, Lucy and Robert’s marriage comes as a complete surprise, but the movie previews their joining when Robert shows his preference for her at the London ball.
  • The movie omits the scene from the novel where Marianne says that Elinor cannot understand the anguish of losing someone because Elinor has Edward’s love.
  • Brandon sends Marianne a pianoforte. In the book, she already has one.
  • In the novel, Edward never hints of his engagement, but, in the film, he tries to tell Elinor in the scene taking place in the stable.
  • Explanatory scenes are required for a modern audience; therefore, we see Elinor telling Margaret why John and Fanny now own Norland. We see the promise that John made to Henry Dashwood to “do something” for his sisters. We see John and Fanny “reduce” what the Dashwoods should receive. Austen would have no need to tell her readers these central facts. Elinor tells Edward, “Except you will inherit your fortune. We cannot even earn ours.” That line is a reminder to modern viewers of a woman’s fate. Unfortunately, it is lessened by Edward’s reference to playing pirate with Margaret. “Piracy is our only option.”
  • Probably the most glaring change to Austen’s novel is Marianne’s walk in the rain to view Combe Magna, which was supposedly 30 miles from Cleveland. In the book, Marianne becomes ill despite her refusing to go out in the rain.

  • Hugh Laurie’s character of Mr. Palmer is also greatly expanded. His dry humor reminds one of his current character of “House,” but Laurie is well known for other comedic stints. Mr. Palmer, of the film, is not just the censorious man we meet in the book. The film shows him as kind and considerate. He carries Marianne upstairs after Brandon brings her to Cleveland. He is upset that he must leave the Dashwoods to fend for themselves during Marianne’s illness. The film also displays how mismatched the Palmers are in marriage.
Austen’s film adaptations tend to focus on contemporary post feminist ideas. Period dramas, as a genre, invite the viewers to take on the rich features of the novel. Yet, no film can reproduce the nuances and exquisite details of the text. For 135 minutes, Sense and Sensibility allows us to explore Jane Austen’s first novel in a visual format. Does it have its strengths? Absolutely! Are there weaknesses? Profoundly so. Tell me what you think, Austen addicts. I will check in periodically to respond to your comments.
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Starling Murmurations in Somerset

Posted on March 25, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Starling Murmurations in Somerset

By Regina Jeffers

starlings5_small

starling12One of the most spectacular examples starlings1_smallof British wildlife are Starling Murmurations. Thousands of starlings flocking together to form swirling balls can be found in Somerset each year from early autumn to February. The birds form the flying spheres before swooping down and roosting in the trees.

One of the best places to see this visual feast is the westhay12Somerset’s Wildlife Trust’s Westhay Moor National Nature Reserve, shapwick12Natural England’s Shapwick Heath National Nature Reserve, and RSPB Ham Wall Reserve, all on the Somerset Levels, close to Glastonbury, Street and Wedmore.
To find out exactly where the starlings are at any given time, one can ring the Avalon Marshes Starling Hotline on 07866 554 142 or email http://www.blogger.com/starlings@rspb.org.uk.
A fabulous site, loaded with lots of pictures of the murmurations is http://visitsomerset.co.uk/site/explore-somerset/countryside/starling-murmurations. levels12
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Movie Discussion of “Clueless,” the Modern Version of Jane Austen’s “Emma”

Posted on March 24, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Movie Discussion – Clueless

In 1996, Douglas McGrath’s Emma, featuring Gwyneth Paltrow hit the big screen. That same year, Diarmuid Lawrence and Andrew Davies’s small scree version starred Kate Beckinsale. Both offered cinematic reconstructions of the Regency era. Both were faithful adaptations of the time.

In contrast, Amy Heckerling’s Clueless brings the classic tale of a misguided matchmaker into the modern realm. Hecklerling relies heavily on the formula “screwball comedies” of prior decades to tell the tale. What is more ironic is the fact that Clueless, the current day offering, highlights the role of women in society as having less options than does the more traditional films. In Heckerling’s adaptation, women lack empowerment. However, if I asked opinions, most people today would say that “empowerment” was a very modern trait.

So, how does this film match up with the original story line? The comparisons and contrasts are many, indeed, but here are a few of the more obvious.
** To create Emma’s point of view, which readers recognize from the novel, Heckerling used Cher’s first person voice over. This allows the viewer to experience Cher’s perception of the events and contrast those perceptions with the actual details.

** Both the novel and the film stress paternal wealth. The heroine’s “identity” is tied closely to this wealth. This transfer of the traditional image of a woman being tended to by her father’s fortune takes on a non-traditional slant in Clueless. What are Cher’s options in a modern world? Hecklerling ignores those possibilities and keeps Cher tied to her father’s identity.
** Mr. Woodhouse’s health remains an issue in both. The man is preoccupied with his digestive system.
** Class differences in the original story line become issues of racial and sexual tolerance in Clueless. “Harriet Smith” is portrayed as a transfer student whose experiences with drugs and relationships is more intensive than other students at the school. “Frank Churchill’s” character is a homosexual.
** Cher, like Austen’s Emma, misconstrues Christian’s (Frank Churchill’s) intentions. In Clueless, Cher sends herself flowers to make Christian jealous. She is creating an image to attract the boy, but she ignores the images which scream of Christian’s sexual orientation.
** Matchmaking is the central theme of both the novel and the film. In Clueless, Cher’s efforts are centered on Miss Geist, the spinster teacher, and Tai, the transfer student.
** Emma and Cher both serve as the mistress of their fathers’ houses. Cher, like Emma, is accustomed to having her own way. Mr. Woodhouse finds Emma’s manipulations endearing.
** Knightley’s family connection is amplified in Clueless because “Josh” is Cher’s step brother. In the Regency period, in laws would take the familiar titles of “brother” or “sister.” It is important that Emma stresses to Knightley and that Cher reassures Josh that they are NOT brother and sister. In both story lines, romantic feelings requires that the participants ignore family ties.
** Clueless does not end with Josh declaring himself for Cher, but Cher does catch the bouquet at Miss Geist’s wedding, insinuating her eventual marriage.
** Elton requests a copy of Tai’s photo. He also attempts to kiss Cher when he drives her home from a party. This plot device closely follows the original story line.

What other comparisons/contrasts might we make? Add your comments below. (For an interesting read on the subject, take a look at “Popular Culture and the Comedy of Manners: Clueless and Fashion Clues” by Maureen Turim.)

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Victorian Happenings: The Disaster of the “Princess Alice”

Posted on March 20, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

A full capacity of passengers boarded the paddle steamer, the Princess Alice, on 3 September 1878 – many were on holiday, including a school children, as well as a party of invalids in wheel chairs, who were to partake of a breath of ozone at Sheerness. The journey down stream was uneventful, but things changed with the return trip. At each of the boarding stops, many day trippers pleaded for permission to board the already crowded steamer. A few hundred were squeezed onboard. Captain William Grinstead turned away many more. The return should have taken two hours; they were to set in at Woolwich Pier and the Old Stairs landing-stage by London Bridge – a 30 mile journey from the idyllic countryside to London’s “Smoke.”

The Princess Alice was a wooden paddle steamer, some 220 feet long and 35 feet wide. The 251 tons vessel belonged to the London Steamboat Company, having been built in Greenock in 1856. The Princess Alice had been a favorite of the day trippers and of those who followed the popular sailing barge races. These enthusiasts often hired the Princess Alice to follow in the wake of their favourite Spritty. The steamer had also once carried the Shad of Persia and was sometimes known as the “Shah’s Boat.” (The River Thames Police Museum)

In the mid 1850s, “International Law” had determined that steamship should follow specific rules of navigation when at sea: One such rule required they pass each other port side to port side. Unfortunately, these rules were not enforced on the River Thames. “Economics alone ruled. Time and money without consideration for such a regulation, forced shallow craft ‘punching the tide’ to short-shore; that is to cut the corners using a straight line from point to point or ness, and so passing across both shipping lanes. Of course, if there was no traffic coming in the opposite direction when carrying out the economy, it was all right. This not only reduced the distance considerably, but also permitted easier progress in the lee of each ness where the tide was less strong. Vessels traveling ‘with the tide’ used the middle of the river were the tide was fiercest and beneficial, and as navigation with the following tide was less accurate, safer. What was about to happen, or, on the minds of those controlling the Princess Alice that fateful evening is unknown; for most who did know, did not live to tell the tale.” (The River Thames Police Museum)

The Princess Alice approach was on the Kent or south-shore, coming up Barking Reach and passing Tripcock Point into Galleons Reach. Traveling down the centre of Galleons Reach was an empty collier in ‘ballast,’ journeying back to Newcastle. “With a high freeboard the Bywell Castle, an iron built screw-ship of 890 tons, 256 feet in length. Captained by master Mariner and part owner Thomas Harrison and controlled by a qualified pilot, Christopher Dix, had sailed from Millwall Dock at about 1830 at high water – on the turn of the tide – running seawards at half speed with it. The crew on the collier’s bridge saw the Princess Alice across the low headland as she rounded the point on their starboard hand, both vessels had their navigation lights on, so the paddler would at that moment be showing a red (port) light, and they a green (starboard) navigation light on the other vessel. Although it was not obvious at that angle to guess which shore the paddler was navigating, the collier was mid river. Shipping was light and the river about half a mile wide at that point; there appeared to be, and was, plenty of room for them to pass safely. The Bywell Castle‘s bridge party assumed at the time that the two vessels would pass according to the ‘International Law.'”

At a speed of about 18 knots (20 mph) the vessels meant to pass each other, with the Princess Alice to pass “across the bow of the collier towards the Essex shore, her correct station before straightening up into Galleons Reach.” All should have remained well, but when the Princess Alice made her turn for the Galleons Reach, she came across the bow of the collier again. It was 19:20 hours when the pilots ordered “stop engine” and then “full astern.” John Ayres, the lone survivor “from the raised walkway used as a bridge on the Princess Alice was ordered to: ‘…mind your helm, on account of the tide’ and to:  ‘correct the swing.’ Captain Grinstead standing out on the port paddle box commanded him at the last moment before impact: ‘Hard over.’

The Bywell Castle first sliced into the starboard side of the Princess Alice at the paddle-box and nearly cut her in two. The heavier collier wrapped the Princess Alice about its bow. When the collier went full astern to pry the vessels apart, the water rushed in – the boiler of the steamer burst and the weakened hull broke in two. The passengers were dumped into the Thames to find the Barking sewer had released raw sewage into the river for it to be washed away with the tide.

Estimates said that the two parts of the steamer sank within four minutes. Those who had booked cabins between the decks had no opportunity for escape. “Nearly everything went wrong, costing the lives of almost everyone aboard, passengers and crew alike. There were only two lifeboats on davits carried, no rafts or lifebelts and just a few life rings, insufficient even if there had been time to launch them correctly. The tide began bearing some would be survivors away from the collier and possible rescue, while Captain Harrison, seeing all the people in the river around his vessel had stopped his engines and had drawn the fires. He could push ahead for fear of injuring those nearby and was unable to turn the propeller through lack of steam and anyway, his engineers and stokers were in his lifeboats trying to rescue the drowning. The collier’s crew did all they could to save as many people as possible: they launched their own lifeboats; other hands on the forecastle threw lifebuoys, ladders, and lines to those struggling in the river below. Swimming had never been a popular pastime in Victorian London, and the long many petticoated dresses of women were an impossible impediment. Many apparently, just clung to their children and sank from sight.” (The River Thames Police Museum)

The majority of those losing their lives were women and children. By all estimates, 640 perished that day. Those who investigated the accident believe 86% of those on board met their Maker that day. The inquest records show the majority of those who died in the water did so with 8 minutes time lapse. The Bywell Castle eventually was able to refire its boiler and moored at Deptford. The Illustrated London News ran a double page spread showing the Princess Alice being sliced by the Bywell Castle. For some time following the accident, Captain Harrison was looked upon as the culprit of the disaster.

Many bodies could not be identified, and those were washed and shrouded and placed in a mass grave. The Princess Alice’s sinking led to public outcry for new regulations. In addition to the proper passage, all passenger carrying vessels must stand for inspection and earn an annual license to operate. Qualified men must pilot the ship and the number of passengers is limited, with sufficient lifeboats and rafts available. On the Thames today, certain types of vessels are forbidden on specific stretches of the water.  Unfortunately, although exonerated by the inquest, Captain Harrison faced continued public contempt. He suffered a breakdown and never sailed again.

For further information, consult The Great Thames Disaster by Galvin Thurston.

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Exquisite Excerpt from “His Irish Eve”

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

“His” ~ Two Historical Novellas From Regina Jeffers

HisCrop“His Irish Eve” ~ I began this story in response to readers’ requests to know more of Adam Lawrence, Viscount Stafford and heir to the Earl of Greenwall. Lawrence has made an appearance in many of my story lines. He is the one who ties several of my stories together. For example, he meets Brantley Fowler and Velvet Aldridge at the infamous Vauxhall Gardens in A Touch of Velvet. In A Touch of Grace, Gabriel Crowden despises Lawrence’s rakish ways, and although Crowden has known Lady Anthony as one of his conquests, the marquis objects to the lady keeping coming with Lawrence. In A Touch of Honor, Adam is the one who convinces John Swenton to claim the woman Swenton loves. In the first of the two novellas in this new anthology, Lawrence plays a pivotal role in bringing Lawrence Lowery, Baron Blakehell’s heir, and Arabella Tilney together in the piece entitled “His American Heartsong.”

In each of these “walk through” roles, my readers have searched for more of Adam Lawrence’s past and his future. Therefore, Lawrence became a major character in my Austenesque novel, The Phantom of Pemberley. A cozy mystery set as a sequel to Jane Austen’s Ptide and Prejudice, Phantom brings Adam Lawrence and his mistress to the steps of Pemberley. When a blizzard like snowstorm blankets Derbyshire, Fitzwilliam Darcy reluctantly gives the couple shelter. Lawrence’s presence proves an asset to the Darcys’ solving a most unusual mystery. At the novel’s end, Lawrence generously releases Cathleen from his protection. She travels alone to Cheshire to support her family following the passing of her uncle. Phantom takes place in 1813. JeffersPhantom“His Irish Eve” is et against the radicalism of 1819. For six years since the life-changing events at Pemberley, Adam has searched for the one thing in his life, which will ease his loneliness. I hope you enjoy the story.

The events at Peterloo play a pivotal point in my February release of His. Peterloo brings my heroine and hero together in the second of the two novellas, “His Irish Eve,” which make up this new anthology. Below, you will find the history of the event, as well as an excerpt from “His Irish Eve.”

THE MASSACRE AT ST. PETER’S FIELD: On August 16, 1819, the Peterloo Massacre occurred at St. Peter’s Field in Manchester. A crowd of 60,000-80,000 had gathered to protest the lack of parliamentary representation for the heavily populated industrialized areas.

With the end of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815, the Corn Laws exacerbated the famine of the Year without Summer (1816) and the growing unemployment problems. By the beginning of 1819 the pressure generated by poor economic conditions, coupled with the lack of suffrage in northern England, had enhanced the appeal of political radicalism. In response, the Manchester Patriotic Union, a group agitating for parliamentary reform, organized a demonstration to be addressed by the well-known radical orator Henry Hunt.

Fearing the worst, local magistrates called on the military to dispense with the crowd. They also demanded the arrest of Hunt and the other featured speakers. The Cavalry charged the crowd with sabers drawn. In the melee, 15 people were killed and some 500+ were injured. The massacre was given the name Peterloo, an ironic comparison to the devastation found at the Battle of Waterloo. The Peterloo Massacre became a defining moment of the age. Unfortunately, the massacre’s immediate effect was the passage of the Six Acts, which labelled any meeting for radical reform as “an overt act” of treasonable conspiracy.”

It also led directly to the foundation of The Manchester Guardian, but had little other effect on the pace of reform. In a survey conducted by The Guardian in 2006, Peterloo came second to the Putney Debates as the event from British history that most deserved a proper monument or a memorial. A plaque close to the site, a replacement for an earlier one that was criticized as being inadequate, as it did not reflect the scale of the massacre, commemorates Peterloo.

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

“Respect was invented to cover the empty place where love should be.”

– Leo Tolstoy

Late May 1819–Cheshire

“Bloody hell!” Adam Lawrence cursed as his horse bucked again, each ripple of thunder sending the skittish stallion turning in circles. The skies had opened unexpectedly in mid-morning, and Lawrence had traveled in the rain for nearly an hour. He rode into the storm, the weather following along the God-forsaken emptiness of Cheshire. He knew little of the area except of the Cheshire cheese he often consumed at some of London’s best parties and of the Trent and Mersey Canal, which connected rural Cheshire to the industrial Midlands. Now, as he passed what appeared to be abandoned farmlands, he took pleasure in noting the aristocracy’s end, at least, the aristocracy his father preached.

In fact, it was his father who had sent him out in this torrential downpour. When the Earl of Greenwall summoned his son to Leicestershire, Adam had thought he would receive the usual lecture on financial responsibility. Instead, Robert Lawrence delivered a different edict. “You will bring the boy to me.” The earl narrowed his gaze to rest censoriously on Adam.

Adam stiffened with the unspoken threat. His father’s tone was hardly encouraging. “Plan to replace me, Father?” In matters of his father, he always expected the worst. Cynicism had cloaked Adam’s shoulders so long that he had no trust remaining.

His father’s expression signaled his frustration with their renewed confrontational state. “You leave me no choice.” Adam heard what sounded like a hint of regret, although more than likely, the usual disdain for Adam’s lifestyle. “You have disregarded your obligation to the title, Adam. What else am I to do? Turn everything over to your cousin? Atticus Duncan will ruin Greenwall with his taste for extravagance.”

“Worst than mine, Your Lordship?” Ignoring his finely tailored clothes, Adam flopped in a chair.

The earl shuffled through a stack of papers. “I will not give credence to a debate on your and Atticus’s reputations.” His father extended a letter for Adam’s perusal. “This is from your own man of business. Mr. Jennings has corresponded with the young lady who demands the money from you.”

Adam studied the page. “How are we to prove this woman even knows Cathleen Donnel? My God! I have not seen or heard from Cathleen for nearly six years–not since I put her on a public coach to Cheshire. I released my mistress to her family. Even gave her a generous settlement.” His eyes searched Jennings’s letter for details. “Where in the hell is Mobberley?”

“It is south of Manchester, some fifteen miles,” his father supplied.

Adam asked the question he had avoided from the beginning. “What will you do with the boy? How do we explain the sudden appearance of my son? Your grandson? A child of whom we held no knowledge? A by-blow cannot inherit an entailment, Father.”

“It will be my concern.” The earl closed the conversation. “All you need to do is confirm that the boy is yours and then bring the child to Greene Hall. I will see to the arrangements.” With that, his father stood, picked up his gloves, and prepared to take his leave. “A bank draft is available for the woman–repay her for her kindness toward the child.”

Adam snarled, “Pay the lady for her silence, you mean.”

Greenwall’s brow rose in contention. “Believe what you wish, Adam. All I ask of you in the matter is to give the child safe passage. Then you may return to whatever entertainment is your latest avocation.”

It was typical of his father’s orders: They spoke of disappointment. No matter what Adam did, he had never pleased the earl. Somewhere along the way, Adam had just quit trying. It spoke profusely of their relationship that his father would welcome an illegitimate child into his home in hopes of salvaging the title. “As you wish, Sir.” Adam leisurely stood. “By the way, I may need an advance on my next quarter’s allowance.”

The earl’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Bring the boy, Adam, and we will discuss it.”

From the mud, an apparition rose to appear before his rain-blinded eyes, eerily spreading its wings. Opening first one and then another before sending Adam’s mount pawing the air to fight off the attack. Before he could react to the manifestation’s appearance, Adam found himself sliding rear first from the saddle to land unceremoniously in a river of brown ooze. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he heard a shriek of surprise, but Adam could not tell whether it came from him or from the dark specter.

* * *

A sudden summer thunderstorm had caught everyone in the village unawares, but now only Aoife Kennice fought Mother Nature. She hurried along the muddy road from Mobberley to the small cottage she shared with her late cousin’s three children. The cousin had passed from pneumonia two years prior, and since that time, Aoife had cared for the children. All born on the wrong side of the blanket.  That fact might mean something to London aristocrats, but to Aoife, they were simply the mac and iníons of her colceathrar – the son and daughters of her cousin.

Although her family had departed Ireland when she was seven, Aoife often thought and spoke her parents’ native language: Another characteristic she had shared with her cousin Cathleen. Dear Cathleen, who had left home at twenty to join a light opera company. Years later, when Cathleen Donnel had passed, Aoife had discovered her beloved cousin had, in reality, lost her way and had become the mistress of one rich aristocrat after another. When Cathleen had returned home briefly following the passing of Aoife’s father, she had brought a tale of a marriage and a husband in the British military. It was only after Cathleen’s untimely demise that Aoife had learned the truth. Cathleen’s illness and her trust in the wrong people had left nothing for the care of the children, nothing but a few personal belongings; and when no one else stepped forward to care for them, Aoife had not hesitated when the call for assistance went out. She had sent for Daniel, Aileen, and Elaine right away.

Today, Aoife had made the trek to Mobberley in hopes that the solicitor she had contacted in London had finally sent word. She desperately needed to locate the children’s father. Realizing the small nest egg her parents had left her nearly gone, she had abandoned her pride and had made a plea for financial assistance.  Three growing children could go through clothes and food at an astounding rate. When Aoife had contacted the solicitor Louis Jennings, a man whose name she had found in her cousin’s papers, she had prayed for a monthly stipend from Cathleen’s former protector, anything to make their lives easier.

However, among her other errands on this particular day, Aoife had dutifully mailed a teaching application to a girls’ school near Newcastle, where her brother was a village vicar. Now, as the mud practically sucked her worn half boots from her feet, she rued her decision to walk to the village. Not a stitch of her clothing remained dry, and her serviceable bonnet drooped on all sides, allowing a steady stream of water to run down her back and between her breasts. A deep rumble of thunder did not threaten her any more than the rain, but knowing Elaine’s fear of storms, Aoife had quickened her efforts to reach the cottage.

The water stood on the road, the ditches lining the hardened pathway overflowing. Light-brown ooze filled every nook and crevice as Aoife trudged toward the cottage. As miserable as she every remembered being, she made herself say her daily prayers of thanksgiving, hoping praise would replace the curses fighting to escape. When her foot sank several inches into yet another mud hole, Aoife did not anticipate not being able to pull it free until she landed face first in the mud and the gook.

Spitting muck and wiping sludge it from her eyes, Aoife had not seen stranger before she staggered to her feet, but by then it was too late. All she could do was shield her face with her arms as the animal clawed the air about her head. Without thinking, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Impending doom circled about her head.

Frozen in place, waiting for the worse to happen, Aoife’s mind, initially, had not registered the sound of the man hitting the ground–the grunt as the impact knocked the air from his lungs–the curse as his ankle popped, his weight coming down on it at an odd angle.

* * *

Adam struggled momentarily for a coherent thought and a complete breath before realizing the muddy ghost was really a woman wrapped in a dark cloak. “Damn it,” he yelled over the pounding rain, “do you plan to stand there like a statue or will you offer me your assistance?”

As he sprawled on the ground, the woman lowered her arms and stared at him. He grappled with bringing himself upright. Two heartbeats later, she was by his side. “I beg your pardon, Sir.” She reached for him, realizing too late that mud covered her hands. “What may I do to assist you?” With the storm swirling around them, she had spoken close to his ear, and Adam had heard the satiny tone of her words. It made him think of silken scarves and luscious fruit spread out before him. Unfortunately, the steady drip of the water from his hat sliding down the back of his shirt carried a taste of reality he had no wish to recognize.

Adam emitted several expletives regarding the stupidity of the locals before he shouted, “Can you bring my horse around?” Without hesitation, she nodded her agreement, but he watched in doubt as the girl looked up, her bonnet flopping in unladylike pursuits. Muddy trails streamed down her face and seeped slowly into her day dress’s high neckline. When she finally spotted the animal at a short distance, to his amusement, she instantly hiked the swirls of her wet skirt around the upper part of her legs and sloshed off after it.

As the woman stepped over his outstretched leg, Adam finally took a look at her. He had assumed her a farmer’s wife, but with the delectable view of her mud-spattered legs, he certainly hoped she belonged to no one. The legs were thin, but muscular, and although he lay on his backside in filthy mud, he envisioned those legs wrapped around his body. The legs forced his gaze higher to her small waist and the soft curve of her hips as the rain plastered her clothes to her lithe form. Even soaked, blood rushed to his groin, and a smile turned up his mouth’s corners.

The natural lilt of the girl’s voice brought his attention to her efforts. “Easy now,” she coaxed as she slowed her progress, moving cautiously closer to the animal. “Come on, my pretty. Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall cumasach,” she murmured, as she reached for the reins before patting his horse’s neck. “You are magnificent,” she whispered close to the stallion’s ear, and Adam prayed she might say the same thing of him.

The calming effect she had on the skittish animal did not escape Adam’s notice. Taking a hold on the harness, the girl had turned the stallion and had slowly led it back to where he sat in the murky mess. Although it still came steadily, the intensity of the rain had slackened, but both the woman and Adam moved as if it did not exist. Completely soaked and mud-spattered, they had no reason to protect themselves from the elements.

Without instructions, she brought the horse along side where he sat. Adam breathed a harsh sigh. “Hold him still,” Adam demanded before employing the horse and saddle to pull himself to one leg, avoiding putting his weight on the quickly swelling ankle. Using his upper body to right his stance, Adam managed to first stand and then to place his injured foot into the stirrup. Using the saddle’s horn, he lifted upward. Gritting his teeth, he placed his weight on the injured foot as he swung the other leg over the horse’s back and settled into the seat. Releasing a steadying breath, he ordered, “Come.” He extended his hand to the woman. “I will take you up with me.”

* * *

The rain having washed away much of the dirt that once had covered her eyes, Aoife now fully saw the man. His wide shoulders tapered to a flat stomach–a muscular back supporting his frame and strong arms and thighs, which bunched as he lifted his weight into the saddle, and for a moment she wondered how it would be to know such a man, a man of strength. Deep in thought of masculine arms, it had taken several heartbeats before his words penetrated her conscious mind. When she looked up to see his outstretched hand, Aoife instinctively backed away from him. “I cannot, Sir,” she pleaded for his understanding. “We know not each other. Besides I am covered in mud. It would ruin your fine clothes.”

The absurdity of her contention amused him, and he offered his best seductive smile. “I am Adam Lawrence. If you tell me your name, we will know each other, and as far as my clothes, my valet will wish to burn these when he sees them.”

Aoife found herself staring into steel gray eyes, mesmerizing orbs beneath dark brows. As handsome as the devil, she thought. Just looking at him sent her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest. She stammered, “You are…you are Viscount Stafford?” 

A crooked smile indicated his appreciation, but the man retracted his outstretched hand. He chuckled as he stared down at her. “I realize I have somewhat of a reputation, but I did not think my fame spread to Cheshire.” He leaned down, crossing his arms over the saddle horn. “However, I will learn more of this vicious gossip later; for now, I wish to be out of the rain, and I wish to tend to my ankle. However, as a peer of the realm, I cannot leave you to tramp through this prank of nature.” He gestured to the stream of mud flowing down the road’s center. “You will come with me, my unknown lady of the sludge; my gentleman’s consequence requires I see you safely to your residence.” Again, he pointedly offered her his hand.

“I thought you said your reputation already poor, Sir?” she challenged. “I would not wish to contribute to your societal renown.”

She watched as his eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Miss Sludge, you will ride with me of your own free will, or I will take you up without your permission,” he snapped.

Her chin rose in defiance. “A threat lacks a choice, Sir.”

Obviously frustrated with the dampness seeping into his bones and with the logic she had thrown back at him, the viscount edged the horse forward and caught her upper arm. With a gargantuan effort, he lifted her first beside the horse where he could take a better hold, and then he jerked her to his lap, sitting her decidedly before him before touching the horse’s flanks with his heels. “That is better.” The man caught her around the waist and forcibly sat her on his right thigh. “Now tell me your name, Miss Sludge, or would you prefer my endearments.” He whispered close to her ear, purposely letting his lips brush across her lobe.

Aoife sputtered from his forwardness, but she managed to sit tall, very prim and proper before answering, “Aoife Kennice.”

Apparently amused by his own consequence, the future earl only half listened. “Pardon me,” he said huskily. With his forefinger, he turned her chin in his direction.

“Did the mud affect your hearing, my Lord?” She answered with a smirk. “My name is spelled A-O-I-F-E. It is Irish for ‘Eve’ or for ‘Life.’ It is pronounced ‘Ee-Fa.’ My surname is Kennice, which means ‘Beautiful.’”

The viscount’s smile broke his mouth’s line, and Aoife thought if he smiled at every woman as such that he must have more women than a sheik’s harem. “Beautiful life. I like that much better than Miss Sludge.” He purpose pulled her closer, where her shoulder lined his chest’s muscular wall and her hips rested above his manhood. “I am Adam, and you can be my Irish Eve.” His breath caressed Aoife’s nape.

She blushed at his forwardness. Aoife had never known a man of such confidence. In some ways, it was exhilarating. In others, panic had become her new best friend. “I shall not indulge your fantasies, my Lord,” she said testily in an attempt to hide her obvious response to him.

Never considering anything but her awakening desire, the viscount chuckled lightly. “Tell we where I may leave you, Love. Where do you call home?”

Aoife attempted to move away from him, but he clasped her tighter. “First, Lord Stafford, I am not your Love,” she insisted. She turned her head, and her face was within inches of his lips, and Aoife swallowed hard. “And where I live is with your issue. When you leave me at my door, I assume you shall call upon those you sired.”

“You are the one…the one who contacted Louis Jennings?” Automatically, he pulled up on the reins, and his smile abruptly faded.

“I am, Lord Stafford.” Her lips thinned in exasperation. “Cathleen Donnel was my cousin. I have provided for yours for the past two years, but as I am a single woman without my own funds; I need assistance if I am to continue providing for Cathleen’s issue.” For some reason, Aoife felt anger at having to insist that this man address his children. Should a gentleman not know responsibility without being prompted?

Aoife knew not what to make of the self-indulgent lord. Parts of her body screamed to lace her arms about his neck and simply accept whatever the viscount offered. His eyes–a steel gray–told stories of desire and of a life she would never know. The thought saddened her. “Let us find surcease in our battle with the elements in your home, Miss Kennice,” he said coldly. “And then we will discuss in detail my duty and my responsibility. I assume my son is at your house?” She noted how annoyance flashed across his countenance.

“He is.” The man turned the horse in tight circles.

Irritably, he asked, “Might I inquire the directions for this house?” He pushed her to the side, sitting Aoife as far away from him as possible, and suddenly she felt bereft of his closeness.

“That way.” She gestured to the right. “A quarter mile or so–the lane is on the left.”

* * *

The rain had turned to an annoying mist, and the afternoon sky had turned lighter. The once threatening clouds had moved on. None of which made Adam feel more charitable toward the woman in his arms. If he had his way, she would warm his bed tonight. Tonight and several more, in fact. Even with the tension between them, his body throbbed to be inside this stranger. It was absolutely uncanny.

They rode in silence. Adam could not understand why he suddenly felt the need to lash out at the girl. After all, she held a right to ask for compensation for rearing the child he had begotten with Cathleen Donnell. The thing was…the thing was until the letter had come from Jennings, he had known nothing of the boy. When he had sent Cathleen home to her family after that debacle in Derbyshire, he had never heard from her again. They had been lovers for less than a year: He was but four and twenty at the time. In his opinion, Cathleen, although pleasant enough, lacked an understanding of what was important in the world. Maybe that was what upset him. Aoife Kennice took care of a child simply because it was the correct thing to do. This Irish lass opened her heart and home to his offspring, and it irritated him to be found wanting in comparison.

* * *

Aoife felt Lord Stafford’s body heat piercing her left side; his large hand spread out about her waist, keeping her balanced on his lap. She thanked Providence he had shifted her away from him. His lips tempted her sensibility. A time in the not too distant past, Aoife had wondered how her dear Cathleen could have given herself to a man without marriage’s banns. Now, she recognized how a woman might fall prey to one such as Adam Lawrence. She had known him less than a half hour, and she fantasized over kissing his mouth and being held in his embrace. When next in church, she would ask Cathleen’s forgiveness for her earlier disparaging thoughts of her cousin.

* * *

Adam pulled up on the reins as they rode into the open area before the cottage. As he lifted the woman to the ground, a young boy burst through the doorway. “Aoife,” he called, “we were so worried.”

Before Adam could dismount, she rushed to the boy’s side. “I am sorry. The storm caught me unawares. Is Elaine well?”

Adam watched with interest as the child glanced towards the house. “She hid under the bed. Aileen is with her.”

“I shall assist her once I rid myself of these muddy clothes,” she assured. Adam noted how the boy’s eyes grew in size when he glanced his way. “You shall lead Lord Stafford’s horse to the stable. If you cannot handle the saddle, I shall see to it later. Lord Stafford shall need to freshen his clothes also.”

The boy reached for the reins. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Painfully, Adam dismounted. “What is your name, Boy?” His tone sounded strained even to his own ears, but suddenly learning the child’s name was the most important fact in the world. He looked upon the spitting image of himself as a child, and the idea that he could finally be more than he thought he could achieve was very profound. Adam was not certain he cared for the idea of being a parent.

“Daniel Lawrence Donnel, Sir.”

The boy’s words struck Adam in the mid section, sucking the air from his lungs. As soon as he had seen the child, he knew the boy to be his. Portraits hung in the Greene Hall gallery, which looked exactly like this waif. “Just give Sampson some oats and water, Daniel. I will see to the saddle later.”

“Are you my father, Sir?” The boy had not moved. He raised his chin in the same manner as his older cousin.

Adam forced himself to swallow, clearing his throat. “It would appear so.” They stared at each other–he and his child–and the boy’s eyes took a full measure of him, and Adam wondered if he was to be found lacking in essentials again. “Take the horse, Boy…Daniel,” he ordered. “I must attend to my ankle.” Unable to bear the evaluation any longer, Adam looked to Aoife. “Might I ask your assistance, Miss Kennice?” He held out his arm for Aoife to slip in beside him to support his weight. He limped past the boy, afraid to look at him again, not wanting to see the man he was in his child’s eyes.

Inside the door, the woman shoved Adam to a bench seat and wrestled his muddy boots from his feet before removing her own shoes. Their resultant battle of wills continued with Miss Kennice insisting upon serving as his valet. Adam struggled to his feet before slinging his bag across his shoulder. “I am afraid all I have with me is a shirt and breeches. When next you look upon me, I pray you will excuse my lack of proper attire, Miss Kennice? My valet follows; he should arrive tomorrow. Do you have adequate rooms or do you wish me to seek an inn?”

“The nearest acceptable inn is in Manchester, some twenty miles away. I have a small bedchamber you may use; I shall take the attic room. You should be close to meet your children.” She removed the dilapidated bonnet and hung it gingerly on a peg. Her gaze never wavered.

“I could not take your room,” Adam began a protest, but then the rest of what she had said struck him. “Excuse…excuse me, Miss Kennice. Did you say children? I assure you, your cousin and I knew each other less than a year. The boy is a Lawrence; I possess no doubt, but it would not be possible for Cathleen’s other children to be mine.”

The woman moved in close, apparently concerned others might hear. “I wondered…outside, just now, you asked your son’s name. You did not know of Cathleen’s confinement?”

“Not until your letter.” Adam had the feeling of inadequacy again.

She acknowledged the truth of what he said with an understanding nod. “Then, Lord Stafford, you are in for quite a shock. Not only is Daniel your child, but you also have two others. Two daughters–Aileen and Elaine.”

“Three?” He staggered back against the wall. Adam felt his composure reel and his heart lurch into recognition. “How is that possible?”

“Just as possible as twins.” The pity in the woman’s eyes rubbed raw against Adam’s conscience. Noting his faltering steps, she said softly, “We may discuss the children later, Your Lordship. Permit me to show you to my room.”

“I will take the attic room,” he insisted automatically. “A gentleman would do nothing less.”

She saddled in beside him again, draping his arm around her shoulder. “You cannot climb the stairs on your knees,” she observed. “You have no choice but to accept my hospitality, Lord Stafford.”

Unable to fully comprehend the reality the house held, Adam slipped into usual persona–that of a spoiled aristocrat. The one that kept others out. The one that had never failed him previously. “I will see your most intimate chamber my Irish Eve.” He leaned sideways to speak confidentially to her. “Shall we strip naked together–Adam and Eve?” Instinctively, he felt Miss Kennice flush with heat–a satisfying response, one he understood. One within his control.

His sexual implication had made her breathing shallow, and Adam ignored the prick of guilt. Assisting him in balancing his weight, Miss Kennice pushed the door to her bedroom open and pointedly left him leaning against the frame. The woman refused to be charmed. “A moment ago, I felt empathy for your situation, my Lord.” She gathered her belongings across her arm, apparently, anxious to escape his forwardness. “But you are nothing but a rake–another worthless piece of the realm. What Cathleen ever saw in you I shall never comprehend!”

In a huff, the lady, with arms full of clothing, started past him. Without considering the consequences to his own sanity, Adam’s hand shot out and caught Miss Kennice around the waist, pulling her into him. Despite her struggle, he held her there. Immediately, Adam realized he had made a mistake. He had meant to show Aoife Kennice that he possessed some redeeming qualities. However, her warmth, even through the dampness of her day dress, lined his chest. An evocative image rose quickly, and Adam felt his erection twitch into life. “I will be happy to show you, Miss Kennice, exactly what your cousin saw in me.” Adam smiled against her skin. He purposely kissed her nape while unbuttoning the back of her high collar, as his lips trailed a line of fire up and down her neck. When he sucked her ear lobe, she instinctively leaned into him. It was very satisfying to be in control. “I will have you, my Irish Eve.” He exhaled as his tongue traced her lobe.

Aoife Kennice caught her breath and forced herself from him. A decided frost crossed her countenance. “That is quite enough, Lord Stafford.” She viciously turned on him. “You are here to make arrangements for your children. That is the extent of our interaction.”

He purposely ignored her challenging glib. “That is where you are wrong, Miss Kennice. I am here to take my son to Leicestershire where my father will arrange his future.”

“What of your daughters?” she charged, clearly requiring an answer.

“Nothing in my father’s edicts mentioned my daughters. Either he had no knowledge of them, or he chose to ignore them. I will escort  Daniel to Greene Hall and then return to London.”

She appeared incensed. “You mean to separate Daniel from his sisters?”

“I do.”

Posted in British history, excerpt, Great Britain, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Napoleonic Wars, real life tales, Regency era, Regency personalities | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on Exquisite Excerpt from “His Irish Eve”

From Where Did that Phrase Come?

Posted on March 17, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Favorite Idioms and Vocabulary from Times Past

(In cleaning out some of my school files, I came across these common phrases and their sources. Enjoy!!!)

images-1Here are some fascinating tidbits: 

People married in June. Most had taken their yearly bath in May, so the bride crarried a bouquet of flowers to cover their body odors. Hence, the bridal bouquetbecame a tradition at weddings.

A family used the same tub of water for baths. The man of the house received the benefit of clean water for his ablutions. His efforts were followed by all the other men/boys in the family. Women came next. Children were followed by babies. By then, the water was so dirty that one might hear “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water. “

“Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.” A vegetable stew served today would remain on the fire tonight. People ate their fill, and leftovers remained in the pot to get cold overnight. The next day, the fire was relit and new vegetables were added. Some pots held remnants from several days’ efforts.

Having meat to share was a sign of wealth. Families would, literally, hang bacon to dry where visitors might see it. “Bringing home the bacon” was a sign of importance. People would cut off some of the dried meat to share with their guests. They would“sit around and chew the fat. “

Pewter plates were also a sign of wealth. Unfortunately, high acid foods (especially, tomatoes) caused some of the lead in the plates to seep into the food = lead poisoning. For many centuries, people thought it was the tomatoes that were poisonous.

Likewise, lead cups were used for ale and whisky. Imbibers often spent a couple of days passed out from the combination. If they couldn’t be brought around, they might find themselves laid out for burial. Hence, “holding a wake” to see if the person would awaken became commonplace.

Houses had thatched roofs, each with thick straw piled high. Unfortunately, no wood was underneath the straw. Often, small animals found warmth in the thatch. If it rained, the straw became slippery. Therefore, we have the saying “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

The animals and “bugs” could also drop unexpectingly on one’s head. Therefore, “canopy” beds became essential. A bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection from the barrage of “visitors. “

“Dirt poor” came about from the floors in poor households.  The rich had slate floors, which became slippery when wet. People, therefore, placed thresh on the floor to maintain their footing. As the winter wore on, more thresh was added. When people opened the door, the thresh would slip out. To prevent this from happening, they placed a piece of wood over the entranceway as a “thresh hold.”

imagesThese are some of my favorites from the 18th and 19th Centuries:
“Art”—Our post-Romantic conceptions of art and artists have wrenched the word from its eighteenth-century meaning. Art in the 18th century more often meant something like “craft.” Art could also mean craftiness, as when Mr. B complains of Pamela, “O the little hypocrite! . . . she has all the arts of her sex.” Artlessnessbecame an increasingly flattering compliment as the century progressed and sincerity became more and more valued. Do you recall Lady Catherine complaining of Elizabeth’s “arts” in attracting Darcy?

“Awful” as in “awful majesty,” rather than something of poor quality; awe-inspiring

A “cupping-glass” was used by a surgeon to draw blood.

“To plead one’s belly” refers to escaping execution by claiming one is pregnant (Reminds me of the story from The Crucible)

“Macaroni” was a fop or dandy, not pasta. (Think of the words to “Yankee Doodle.”)

“Geneva (or Gin) comes from the word genever, Dutch for juniper, the plant used to flavor the Dutch variety of the drink. Gin became a favorite drink of the poor. A famous pair of Hogarth prints contrasts the squalid and diseased Gin Lane with the healthy and British Beer Street.

“Baggage” was an insulting term for a woman.

“Conversation” was any social interaction, and “criminal conversation” was adultery.

A “sedan chair” was a means of transportation around London. It included a seat inside a box, which was suspended between two rods. Two “chairmen” would lift the rods and carry the chair.

“Bedlam” comes from Bethlehem Hospital, which was London’s insane asylum. In the 18th Century, visiting Bedlam was a popular day trip; fashionable men and women would look at the lunatics in their cages.

“Liberty of the Mint” provided sanctuary for debtors who lived within St. George’s parish in Southwark; the area became popular with debtors/criminals hoping to avoid imprisonment.

“Mrs.” was an honorific used to identify women of a certain age, regardless of their marital status.

“Condescending” held no negative connotations. In fact, aristocrats were expected to show a proper degree of courtesy to their social inferiors. Lady Catherine was quite condescending to her tenants. “Condescension” is the voluntary descent from one’s rank or dignity in relations with an inferior.

A “powder room” was a closet where the servants repowdered a wig.

John Adams once told his wife Abigail he would “take a virgin to bed if he got cold.” The phrase was a vulgarism for a hot water bottle.

A “man of parts” is someone who is talented and capable.

“Not giving a damn” does not refer to damnation, but to a monetary unit in India, one of little value.

“Puff you up” means to praise too much or to take praise too seriously.

“Make Love” was to flirt, not to participate in sex.

“Blockhead” comes to us from wooden forms used to make and maintain wigs.

Do you have other favorites? Add them below.

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Regency Era Customs: Marriage Banns and Licenses

Posted on March 12, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

“Reader, How Shall I Marry Him?” ~ Banns and Licenses

Until 1823, a single person under the age of one and twenty could not marry without his/her parent’s permission. (Lydia’s elopement and Georgiana’s aborted elopement were instances of this rule.) After 1823, the minimum age to marry without a parent’s consent drop to 14 for a boy and 12 for a girl. Other rules of marriage were also in effect, such as one was discouraged from marrying one’s deceased wife’s sister; yet, it was acceptable to marry one’s first cousin (Lady Catherine hopes Darcy will marry his cousin Anne, and Mr. Collins wishes to marry several of his Bennet cousins before settling on Charlotte Lucas.) The Marriage Act of 1835 eliminated the possibility of marrying one’s deceased wife’s sister. Such marriages were considered “void”able (if one wished an annulment). However, please recall that Jane Austen’s younger brother Charles married his wife’s (Francis Palmer) sister, Harriet. Francis had died in childbirth, and Charles had left his surviving daughters in Harriet’s care while he returned to sea. In 1820, he returned to England for several years, and after three years of “courtship,” he married Harriet. They remained married for 32 years (until his death in 1852). They had four children (3 sons and a daughter).

The law transferred all of a woman’s property transferred to her husband upon their marriage. Marriages were a BUSINESS CONTRACT, not a romantic attachment. When a wife from the wealthier classes entered a marriage, she, generally, brought a generous dowry to the settlement. The financial arrangements for a marriage were rarely a matter of concealment. According to What Jane Austen Are and Charles Dickens Knew (Daniel Pool, Touchstone Books), “a contemporary courtship etiquette manual says very straightforwardly that once you propose ‘your course is to acquaint the parents or guardians of the lady with your intentions, at the same time stating your circumstances and what settlement you would make upon your future wife; and, on their side, they must state what will be her fortune as near as they can estimate to the best of their knowledge at the time you make the enquiry.’”

Men often used their wives’ dowries to shore up their estates and investments. “Keeping up with the Jones” during the Regency was an expensive endeavor. The bride’s family negotiated her financial future as part of the settlements. What happened to her and her children depended upon making a good settlement. At the man’s death, the wife would receive approximately one-third of her husband’s land, but the Dower Act of 1833 abolished this practice. The woman was often given “pin money,” an annual allowance for her personal needs while her husband remained alive. After his death, a “jointure” could provide the widow money and land for her future, while leaving “portions” for her minor children.

Weddings occurred only during canonical hours, between 8 A.M. and noon. Normally, only close family and friends would attend the wedding. After the ceremony, the couple and their guests attended a wedding breakfast.

If an engaged person terminated the agreement before the marriage, he/she could face legal action in a “breach of promise” suit. However, assuming the couple meant to meet their obligations, there were four routes to “placing one’s neck in the parson’s ropes.”

(1) Calling of the Banns – If marrying in the Church of England, the couple would “publish the banns.” From his pulpit, the local clergy would announce the upcoming wedding for three consecutive Sundays. If the bride and groom lived in different parishes, the banns were read in both. If there were no objections to their joining, the couple could marry within 90 days of the final call. This was the method that the poorer families used for it cost nothing to have the banns called. Of course, one ran the possibility that an objection would be lodged in a very public manner. If the persons marrying came from separate parishes, the curate of one parish could not solemnize the wedding without a certificate of the other stating the banns had been “thrice called” and no objections had been lodged.

(2) Common/Ordinary License – For approximately 10 shillings, a couple could purchase a license from a clergyman. Then the couple could marry in either the parish of the bride or the groom. The common/ordinary license was good for 15 days. (This is how Lydia and Wickham were married in Pride and Prejudice. If one recalls, Wickham’s lodgings were in St. Clement’s parish, and St. Clement’s was the site of the marriage. One had to be a resident in the parish for 15 days prior to the ceremony.)

The common license could be obtained from any bishop or archbishop. A sworn statement was given that there were no impediments to the marriage. The marriage was to take place within 3 months of the license’s issuance.

(3) Special License – This was the most expensive way to marry. The Archbishop of Canterbury granted a special license. They cost between 4-5 pounds and were at the archbishop’s discretion. With a special license, a couple could marry in any parish and at any time.

(4) Civil License – After 1836, a fourth option appeared: the civil license. This license could be obtained from the superintendent-registrar. Couples who were Catholic, Jewish, or Dissenters obtained this license. The couple could be married at a church or at the registrar’s office.

Of course, the couple could foil all plans for marriage by eloping to Gretna Green, a Scottish town on the border with England. Gretna Green is in Dumfries and Galloway, near the mouth of the River Esk and was historically the first village in Scotland, following the old coaching route from London to Edinburgh. The marriage rules were not as strict as those in England. The Scottish Presbyterian Church was more lax in its requirements than the Church of England. Elopement was frowned upon as a “bad” way to begin a marriage. An elopement brought a family a certain amount of shame as it was a very anti-social act. A couple simply had to pledge yourself to your chosen partner and in the presence of another. The act was often referred to marrying “over the anvil” because Scottish law allowed for “irregular marriages,” and anyone could conduct the marriage ceremony. The blacksmiths in Gretna became known as “anvil priests.”

Posted in British history, Great Britain, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, real life tales, Regency era, Regency personalities | Tagged , , | 12 Comments

My Writing Space

Posted on March 11, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

My Writing Space – My World

Others have shared spacious areas in which they choose to work. I, on the other hand, prefer to have everything within my reach. Purposely, I separate where I write my novels from where I word process and edit my novels. I need the “disconnect” in order to separate the steps. I write my novels in spiral notebooks, usually wide ruled because I write large. I know from experience that 30 pages of my handwritten story equals ten pages of typed text (Times New Roman, 12 point font). I, personally, hate to read chapters that are longer than ten pages so I have trained myself to work toward that goal. If you read my novels, you’ll note the consistency in the length of my chapters.

 

I love the reflected sunlight. Note the lap desk, encyclopedic dictionary, and synonym finder.

Some day, I will have to have this chair reupholstered. I fear my “inspiration” lies in the lumpy cushions. Normally, there is a cup of tea sitting on the nearby table. I brew my own – no American tea bags for me. One can also see my journal sitting at the side, along with my Bible. This is where the creative process comes about.

“Matthew” screensaver – Pemberley license plate – bottled green tea – iPod, etc.

Once I have written the book, I retreat to my “office” space to do the hard work. My office is the smallest of the three bedrooms in my North Carolina home. From the window, I overlook the curve of the cul de sac upon which I live. Not much happens in this small incorporated village, something I appreciate. It is quiet and relatively crime free. When I first moved here in 2003, “Miss Kitty,” my neighbor, brought me over a chocolate cake. (I didn’t tell her that I prefer white cake to chocolate. It would be rude.) I love the South!!!

I love the Ben Franklin quote on the pen holder: Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.

The office reflects my eclectic tastes. I love oversized furniture. The walls hold my “interests.” Of course, there’s multiple pictures of Matthew Macfadyen. I enjoy Colin Firth’s work (am a big fan), but I really LOVE Matthew. All the pictures are signed. (Yes, I realize this is an obsession, but daily I remind myself that the word “fan” comes from “fanatic.”)Yes, I realize this is an obsession, but daily I remind myself that the word "fan" comes from "fanatic."

I also am a big fan of Chad Pennington, the former NFL quarterback. He attended Marshall University, where I went to school, but my respect for Pennington comes from his kindness to my son during the difficult period when my mother was dying. He showed himself to be a true gentleman. In Darcy’s Temptation, Chadwick Harrison is so called because of Pennington.

I keep track of dates for appearances and blogs on Post Its. They are a major organizational tool for me.

upcoming personal appearance are in pink

Posted in editing, excerpt, Industry News/Publishing, language choices, real life tales, word play, writing | Tagged , , | Comments Off on My Writing Space

Mars vs. Venus – Which Point of View is Best?

Posted on March 10, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

When I write a Pride and Prejudice sequel/adaptation, I do so from Darcy’s point of view, rather than from Elizabeth’s. When I speak of Austen’s Persuasion, I speak of Wentworth’s thoughts. When I am writing of the Realm, I do so as a member of this British covert unit. So, what does this mean in terms of how I approach a tale? It means I must know something about the differences in how a male and a female views the world. For example, a woman would say, “I bought an indiglo-colored gown with a cornsilk netting.” However, a man might respond, “She bought a blue dress with some sort of beige-colored scratchy material attached.” With this in mind, let us take a look at some of the basis differences, which affect the plot line.88753827

**Women are better at judging a person’s character. A man excels in judging cause and effect.
**Women seek acceptance; men seek respect.
**Women see “romance” as the building of tension (eye contact, whispered words, gentle caresses, etc.). For men, desire equals instant gratification.
persuasion**Women lie to make someone feel better. Men tell lies as a cover up, as a way to build their own egos, or as a means to expedite an issue.
**Women prefer an emotional bonding (talk about it). Men hate to jump through a woman’s “hoops” just to get what he wants.
**Women are more likely to conform to the group/situation’s rules regarding sex. Men will seek sex even if the group has outlawed it.
**When women dine out, they carefully divide the check for what each owes. Men will often compete to pay the whole bill, or they will throw money on the table to cover the tab.
**Women are competitive about the degree of attractiveness among their acquaintances. They are also competitive about morals and about domestic abilities. Men are highly competitive about job, social/professional status, and income.
**Women can speak and listen at the same time. Men have no idea how to accomplish this.
**Women will use words such as “Always” and “Never” when they argue. This allows a man to prove the woman’s points have no basis.
**Women choose blank greeting cards. Men choose ones already loaded with words so they do not have to write anything beyond their names.Pride-and-Prejudice-pride-and-prejudice-1558410-1024-768
**Women have a better recall of the spoken word than do men.
**Women are more than likely to show their teeth when they smile.
**Women leave a relationship because they are emotionally unfulfilled. A man feels he has failed if “his woman” is unhappy.
**Women ask questions. Men make statements.
**Women use words such as “could,” “would,” and “shall.” Men prefer the word “will.”
**Women nod their heads to show they are listening. Men take that as agreement to their ideas. Little do they know, an argument will ensue later.
**When a man seeks a mistress, he wants only the “status” of doing so. Often, he has no desire to leave his wife. A woman gives a man her heart and her body.
**Men will challenge and interrupt more often than women.
**Men will speak more bluntly than women. They are also more likely to use risqué language.WPPP-P1-pride-and-prejudice-270991_1024_768
**When speaking with female friends, women are likely to call each other by their given names and discuss intimate details of their lives. In an all-male gathering, men discuss life in general (no specifics), make crude jokes, and are likely to call each other by some derogatory nickname.
**Women not on hormone replacement or the Pill find more masculine features attractive (the cave man effect). Women on the Pill, etc., find “softer” male faces more attractive.
**Women need a “connection” to allow themselves to be vulnerable. For men, sex is the connection of choice. They use sex to display their vulnerable side.Emma-jane-austen-715210_800_600

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Re-Release of “A Touch of Mercy” + Exquisite Excerpt

Posted on March 7, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Re-Release of Regency Romance from Regina Jeffers + Excerpt from A Touch of Mercy

ATOMCropNew This is book 5 of my “Realm” series.  

Members of the Realm, a covert operations group. have retuned to England to claim the titles they left behind. Each holds to the fleeting dream of finally knowing love, but first he must face his old enemy Shaheed Mir, a Baloch warlord, who believes one of the group has stolen a fist-sized emerald. Mir will have the emerald’s return or will exact his bloody revenge.

A devastating injury has robbed AIDAN KIMBOLT, VISCOUNT LEXFORD, of part of his memory, but surely not of the reality that lovely Mercy Nelson is his father’s by-blow. Aidan is intrigued by his “sister’s” vivacity and how easily she ushers life into Lexington Arms, a house plagued by Death’s secrets–secrets of his wife’s ghost, of his brother’s untimely passing, and of his parents’ marriage: Secrets Aidan must banish to finally know happiness.

Fate has delivered MERCY NELSON to Lord Lexford’s door, where she quickly discovers appearances are deceiving. Not only does Mercy practice a bit of her own duplicity, so do all within Lexington Arms. Yet, dangerous intrigue cannot squash the burgeoning passion consuming her and Viscount Lexford, as the boundaries of their relationship are sorely tested. How can they find true love if they must begin a life peppered with lies?

SCENE SETTING: Aidan Kimbolt has been away from his home since his injury has robbed him of part of his memory. He sends his man of all means, Henry “Lucifer” Hill, ahead to prepare the estate for his return. On the road, Lucifer meets Mercy Nelson, the younger sister of Grace Nelson from A Touch of Grace. Like Grace, Mercy has run away from their brother’s life of debauchery. Mercy believes Grace has died on the road, but she is determined to reach London and freedom.

EXCERPT: Mercy’s newfound optimism floundered when the cold rain had begun. She had set her sights upon London once again. The Pawleys’ regular maid had returned yesterday, and Mercy had regretfully gathered her meager belongings. Mary Purefoy, the maid, had graciously permitted Mercy to share her small room for one last evening; otherwise Mercy would have been forced to be on the road some twelve hours earlier.

Mrs. Pawley had fed her a hearty breakfast and had given Mercy a small loaf of dark bread to see her on her way. “If’n ye are ever in the neighborhood agin’,” the woman offered. “Ye must come to us. Mr. Pawley and me be thankful to welcome you.”

Mercy had been sorry to leave the woman, not only because of the nourishing food and the dry bed, but because the Pawleys had shown her a great consideration. It had been so long since Mercy had known true human kindness that she thought she would miss the couple’s empathy more so than she would miss the Pawley’s warm kitchen.

* * *

“Congratulations, Your Lordship,” Aidan had waited for Lucifer to speak his peace to the marquis. Aidan had asked Godown to join him and Lucifer in a private drawing room. It was a bit unusual, but Lucifer Hill had served beside the members of the Realm as their eighth man. Hill had saved each of their lives at one time or another, and they had rushed to save his more often than Aidan could recall. Men who shared such moments held a bond beyond class or station. “It pleases me you have found a worthy mate, my Lord.”

The marquis smiled that silly grin, which had not departed Gabriel Crowden’s countenance since Grace Nelson’s appearance in the Linton Park chapel. “Lady Godown will bring a sense of order to Gossling Hill. I thank you for your well wishes.” Godown had accepted Lucifer’s hand in parting. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to the wedding breakfast before the Three Roses think me displeased with my choice of brides.”

“A man must only look upon your countenance, my Lord, to see your true regard for the lady,” Hill asserted. Surprisingly, the marquis did not contradict the statement. So Hill sees what I do, Aidan thought. It was a moment of triumph and regret.

“Be safe, Hill,” Godown said graciously. “And keep the viscount from harm.”

“I will do my best, Sir.” Hill bowed as the marquis exited.

Aidan watched Godown go before he said, “I will remain at Linton Park until Godown’s aunts follow the marquis to Staffordshire. Pennington has asked for my escort as far as Cheshire.”

Hill nodded his understanding. “Your delay will provide me time to make certain everything at Lexington Arms is set aright before your arrival.”

Aidan smiled easily. “Do not go berating everyone again. I have no desire to listen to a litany of complaints upon my return.”

“You know I have no patience for those who waste my time,” Hill defended himself.

Aidan grasped the man’s shoulder. “And I am a better man for your allegiance, my Friend. You will hold to the marquis’s warning to take care.” He shook Hill’s hand. “Have you said your farewells to Hannah?”

“Aye, Sir.” Hill nervously reached into his pocket. “Before you leave Linton Park, would you ask Lady Worthing to present this small gift to Hannah on Christmas? It is a token of my devotion.” His friend’s voice had taken on an emotional tone, like sand rubbing against a stone, and Aidan felt the same twinge of jealousy, which had plagued him of late.

Aidan accepted the brown paper wrapped package. It grieved him he would not know the pleasure of giving a simple gift to a beloved one. “Why did you not give it to Hannah yourself?”

“The woman has shed enough tears with my leaving,” Hill confessed. “Plus, I wish Hannah to realize she is in my thoughts when we are separated. It is important for a woman to have something upon which to hang her hopes. Viscount Worthing was saying just the same the other day.”

Aidan thought of poor Susan. Had his young wife not had something upon which to pen her dreams? Had such a thought been the source of Susan’s bedlam? Had there been a means by which he could have saved her? Had Susan wished to be saved? “I will see to it personally.”

* * *

The rain came down in miserable sheets of icy stiffness; yet, Henry Hill barely noticed the elements. His mind remained on the heart-shaped face of Hannah Tolliver. Despite his protests to the contrary, he had been sore to leave Lady Worthing’s maid behind. “Nothing to be done but to serve His Lordship,” Hill grumbled as he adjusted the reins to keep the open wagon safely in the muddy grooves of the country road. Hill recognized better than most how much the viscount had suffered of late, but that particular fact did little to lessen the heartbreak of leaving Hannah behind. “Ah, my Girl,” he said to the open countryside. “Think of me often, my Hannah, for I will be thinking of you.”

As each water-filled rut in the road wore a sore along his backside, Hill reflected on the past couple of months. In the midst of a misguided kidnapping, Lachlan Charters had delivered a mighty blow to the back of Viscount Lexford’s head. Not only had His Lordship lost the woman he courted during the chaos, which followed, but also Lord Lexford had suffered a worse fate than the loss of a potential love. “The viscount’s memory plagues him, but, in truth, Lexford lost his heart and his dreams long before Charters’s attack.”

Hill sighed heavily. The weight of so many troubles rested upon his shoulders for he meant to see Lord Lexford happy before Lucifer claimed Hannah as his wife. “Damn fool,” Hill grumbled. “His Lordship should never have pursued Miss Aldridge. The girl was never of a nature to appreciate Lord Lexford’s gentleman’s code. The lady will fare better with Wellston. The earl possesses a wild streak not found in Lord Lexford. And as for the other one: Miss Satiné.” Hill spat the Aldridge girl’s name as if it were poison. “She lacks a spine. Too much like the former Viscountess Lexford. Run away at the first sign of strife.”

From an interested distance, Lucifer had observed the viscount’s pursuit of one female after another, but none could absolve Lord Lexford from his guilt. Lucifer had served the viscount since their time together on the Continent, and he suspected he knew more of Aidan Kimbolt than had the viscount’s late father.

Lord Lexford had saved Henry Hill from a torturous end. Hill and a dozen other British soldiers had found themselves prisoners behind enemy lines. He always thought he could have escaped upon his own, but Lucifer could not have left his fellow Englishmen behind. When the day of their deaths arrived, he had made his peace with God and with his decision to stay. But much to his relief, Lord Lexford had come charging into the camp, followed by James Kerrington and Marcus Wellston. Three Englishmen who could fight like twenty good men, and despite his complete exhaustion, Lucifer had taken up the cause. Within minutes, the four of them had stood triumphant. It was a proud moment: One to be savored by a man, who had not known such exquisite glory before then.

The incident had given Lucifer a ‘hunger’ to be a better person. To return to his letters and to learn from these heroes. At the time, he had pledged his allegiance to Viscount Lexford. He had given his word he would serve Lord Lexford for a period of ten years. He had done so out of gratitude, but his were not all altruistic reasons. Lucifer had wanted to associate with men of the caliber of those who had served as his rescuers. To hitch his stars with such greatness. That choice had been made some seven years prior, and although he knew His Lordship would release him from his vow, as easily as had the British government, Lucifer refused to break his promise. However, the thought of the happiness he could know if he could make Hannah his wife certainly tempted him to beg for his independence.

“Cannot leave His Lordship’s service until I see the man well settled. Especially now that his missus’s memory haunts him,” Lucifer reasoned aloud. “The problem lies in the means by which His Lordship seeks a replacement for the former viscountess. In his misplaced guilt, the viscount looks only upon women, who favor the late Lady Lexford. In my opinion, His Lordship requires a miss who is Lady Lexford’s opposite. Lord Lexford should not wallow in his memories. He should place Lady Lexford firmly in the past. The lady was never a true wife to the man.”

* * *

The rain had soaked through her cloak and all the layers of clothing, but Mercy continued her slow steady walk to freedom. She must find a place to spend the night. December weather in Derbyshire could be quite harsh, and open fields would be no place for a girl alone

* * *

Hill flicked the reins across the horses’ backs. The rain had greatly delayed his return to Lexington Arms, and irritation hunched his shoulders in the manner, which only Hannah’s soft touch could cure. “It will be a long time before I will see my sweet gel again,” he warned his wayward heart. As they had done for the last few hours, his musings might have continued along the same lines, but a bizarre sight caught Hill’s attention. “What in Heavens’ name?” he exclaimed as he pulled up on the reins.

Sitting on a stile was a gargoyle-like figure. Some four feet in height, whatever it was, it did not move. Having experienced more than one ambush during his years with Lord Lexford and the Realm, Hill proceeded slowly. He reached for his gun before crawling down carefully from the bench seat. Cautiously, he edged closer to the figure for a better look. “Easy, Boy,” he cooed as his hand caressed the horse’s rump. Stepping heavily into the thick mud, he steadied his stance by tugging on the harness.

Finally, he stood before the gray-clad apparition. Despite the icy rain now dripping from his hat and down his back, Hill smiled. “Are you not an intriguing sight?” he said with fascination. “I thought you were a witch or a medieval bear come to life.”

“Neither,” the girl said through chattering teeth.

“I can see you are a wood sprite instead,” he said with a chuckle.

The girl pulled her wet cloak closer. “I require no pretty words from the likes of you,” she boldly declared. She stepped from the stile to stand in a mud-filled puddle. Lucifer noted the wear of her boots. They had many miles on them. “If you will excuse me…” She picked up a small bag and took several steps in the opposite direction of his.

“Where are you traveling, gel?” Hill called to her retreating form.

“It is none of your concerns, Sir,” she said smartly.

Lucifer enjoyed her sass. “I thought perhaps you might require a ride.” He waited until the count of three to determine if she would accept. The viscount was always telling him not to rush a woman’s decision. The fairer sex prefers to weigh all their options before deciding what is best. We men are the impulsive ones, Lord Lexford had said on more than one occasion.

She paused, but did not turn around. “What is your destination?”

Hill remained where she had left him. “I mean to finish my journey to Lexington Arms in Cheshire. I am to prepare the manor for the master’s return.”

* * *

Mercy caught her breath. She knew of Lexington Arms. It was the seat of Viscount Lexford. Upon Grace’s return to Foresthill Hall, Mercy and her sister had spent a delightful afternoon discussing Grace’s brief encounter with the viscount, his associates, and even the Prince Regent. Afterwards, Mercy had searched Debrett’s for each of the men Grace had mentioned.

“The Prince Regent actually came to the table and spoke to everyone?” Mercy’s mouth had stood agape in amazement. At first, she could not believe her sister’s tale.

Grace chuckled in that self-deprecating manner her sister wielded to defend off the least bit of praise. “Obviously, our monarch held no interest in me,” Grace had asserted. “There were several very beautiful women at the table and more nobility than should be permitted in one place. Ignoring the Dowager Duchess of Norfield, who is a beauty even in her advanced years, and Viscountess Averette, Prince George’s eye fell heavy on Miss Aldridge. The lady resembles her younger sister, Miss Cashémere, who outshone many of higher titles. They are both very dark of color and strikingly elegant. And there was Lady Eleanor Kerrington, who had won the praise of the Queen during Lady Eleanor’s Presentation. She and Lord Worthing have only recently married. Lady Worthing is the Duke of Thornhill’s sister. She is tall and majestic. I can assure you I faded into the tapestry; yet, it was a moment only few can claim.”

Mercy had sat spellbound. Living at Foresthill, she had held no hopes of having the acquaintance of any of the nobility. “And what of the men?” she had asked in curious delight. “Were they exceedingly handsome?”

Her sister’s eyes had glazed over in quiet contemplation. Finally, Grace continued, “The men in our party, other than Viscount Averette, who has grown a good-sized paunch since last you saw him, included several from the aristocracy, who served together during the war and beyond.” Her sister had taken great satisfaction in ticking off the names upon her fingers. “Lord Worthing, who is the heir to the Linworth title, led the group when they served abroad. He is magnificently tall and lean. He possesses the most mesmerizing steel gray eyes I have ever encountered and a strong jaw, which speaks of his ancestral lines. The Duke of Thornhill is shorter than Lord Worthing, but he is equally muscular in build. He has light brown hair, which he wears a bit too long to be fashionable and dark brown eyes. It is my understanding from my time with the Averettes that the Duke has recently married his cousin Miss Aldridge. The bachelors included Sir Carter Lowery, a newly minted baronet and a very affable young man; Lord Yardley, an earl from Northumberland, who is stoical and serious minded, but who I suspect holds very deep emotions; the Marquis of Godown, who is sinfully handsome, and Viscount Lexford from Cheshire, who is sandy blond of head and boyishly handsome.”

Mercy smiled knowingly. If she traveled to Lexington Arms with this stranger, she would have the acquaintance of the viscount, and, perhaps, several of his associates. It could be a means to honor her sister’s memory. Grace had been a governess, but she had dined with the Prince. Could not Mercy assume a position under the viscount’s roof and come to know those of the peerage? She turned slowly to best judge the man who offered her an adventure.

* * *

Lucifer had remained perfectly still so as not to frighten the girl. To allow the truth of his words to take root. “His Lordship and I served together during the war. Now, I am his man of all means.” The girl nodded her understanding. Hill’s instincts told him she was a runaway. She was miserably cold, but the girl refused to acknowledge her desolation. Lucifer could not resist admiring the woman’s defiance. It spoke well of her character. “If you require employment, I imagine there is a place on His Lordship’s staff. That is if you are willing to put in a fair day’s work. I am not offering you charity.”

He noted the pleased smile, which graced the girl’s lips. Her hood had slipped from her head, and with the icy crystals mixing with the red gold of her hair, the woman reminded him of a snow princess he had once seen in a painting in a Viennese art museum.

“Why would you offer a complete stranger a position in your master’s household?” Her cultured tongue told Lucifer the girl was no country miss. The woman before him was a genteel lady. That particular fact only solidified Hill’s resolve to escort her to Cheshire. He would not leave any woman to suffer as he suspected this one had. He would do the correct thing, the only thing.

“Years prior, the viscount saved me from Death’s claws. He is a good man, and he would expect me to extend his benevolence to you.” He smiled easily. “If you pardon my saying so, Miss, you appear to have come upon hard times.”

“Be there children at His Lordship’s home?” she asked tentatively. “My sister was a governess. I had thought to find a similar position.”

Lucifer gave a slight shake of his head. He thought of the child Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes had whisked away from a distraught Lord Lexford. Lucifer had always thought if His Lordship had poured his love onto the babe that the viscount would have found peace by now. He took a half step in the girl’s direction. “I fear not, but we can find you some other form of employment. At least, come with me to Cheshire. Spend several days with us. Recover your strength. Fortify your will to travel on.” The girl swayed in place, but Lucifer did not reach for her. She might think he meant her harm.

“I worked at an inn recently,” she protested weakly.

“For how long?” he coaxed.

Her eyes closed as if she was silently counting. “Five days.” She paused awkwardly. “The Pawleys fed me and gave me a warm place to sleep.”

Lucifer wondered if he might have to resort to kidnapping the girl. She possessed no skills to survive a winter on the road, and Lucifer meant to see her well. “Five days of charity proves the Pawleys worth knowing, but five days after how many weeks?”

The girl snarled her nose in remembrance. “Perhaps six.”

Lucifer edged closer in anticipation of seizing the girl. “Would you not wish for more days of warmth and nourishment? I can promise you Mrs. Osborne makes the finest lemon tarts in all England.”

The girl looked over her shoulder to the road behind her. “But Cheshire is the way I came. I cannot retrace my steps.”

Lucifer dug into his pocket to retrieve his purse. Fishing several coins from the leather pouch, he extended them toward the girl. “Come to work at Lexington Arms. Stay, at least, through Twelfth Night, and if you do not care for the place, use these coins to purchase your passage to London or wherever else you wish to go.”

“Why?” she asked skeptically. “Why do you insist on offering your assistance?” She looked off across the empty fields. “The last people I trusted stole all my money, as well as my mother’s locket. I have nothing of value remaining.”

“I want nothing from you, gel. I have me a beautiful angel, who claims to love the likes of me. And I have a comfortable home and a generous employer. For a man who has not always walked on Heaven’s path, I hold many blessings. I think it is time I become the Good Samaritan.” He extended his hand to her. “Come, Girl,” he encouraged. “You require what I offer.”

Although the rain had lessened, moisture dripped across her cheeks from her eyes’ corners. “Are you certain the viscount will not object?”

Lucifer breathed easier: He would win this battle. With an ironic chuckle, he said, “His Lordship will likely not realize you were not always part of his staff.” Thoughts of the injury, which had robbed Lord Lexford of his memory, were never far from Hill’s mind. He meant to see the viscount well again.

He caught her elbow and directed the girl toward the flat bed wagon he drove. Lucifer knew better than to give her time to change her mind. The girl had required a bit of encouragement and a good dose of coercion. “It might be best if you sit in the back,” he suggested. “You can place the blankets about you. It won’t be much drier, but perhaps a bit warmer. I will set your bag under the seat.” He pressed the coins into her gloved hand as he lifted the girl to the wagon. “Sit back,” he ordered as he gathered the damp blankets he had stashed in a wooden crate beneath the bench and tucked them about her. “We still have a piece to go so stay as dry as possible.”

The girl nodded her gratitude. “May I…may I know the name of my benefactor?” She openly shivered from the cold.

“Name is Mr. Hill. Henry Hill, but most people call me Lucifer.”

She smiled at him, a smile that uncurled from her heart, and Hill thought she might be one of the prettiest girls of his acquaintance. The smile changed her face completely. “Lucifer? As in the Devil?”

“My mother once remarked that I be devilishly large for my age,” he said with a shrug. “The description stuck. I have been Lucifer ever since.”

Through lips trembling from the cold, she said, “I am Mer…I am Mary,” she stammered. Lucifer heard untruths in her tone. “Mary…Mary Purefoy.”

Obviously, she wanted no one to know her true identity, a fact which confirmed Lucifer’s assumption of her being a runaway. “You should rest, Miss. We will be in Cheshire soon. When we reach Lexington Arms, we will test your skills in making a proper bed for yourself.” Leaving her to snuggle deeper into the blankets, Lucifer climbed onto the bench seat. With a cluck of his tongue and a flick of his wrist, he set the team in motion.

Purposely, he did turn his head again to look at her. He suspected the girl would watch him warily until she recognized he meant her no harm. Instead, Lucifer concentrated on maneuvering the wagon along the rough road and the problem of what to do with the girl he had just rescued. After some twenty minutes of pure silence, he secreted a glance in the girl’s direction. Finding her curled in a tight ball and fast asleep, he chuckled. The girl’s countenance spoke of her exhaustion. He knew what it meant to be hungry. Knew also of the hopelessness of those who traversed English roads in the wake of what some were calling the “year without summer.” As an innocent, less scrupulous travelers had robbed the girl of her few belongings, but she had not high tailed it to where she had come. The girl had spirit. Her actions spoke of both her desperation and her determination. Those qualities had increased Hill’s respect for his passenger.

Yet, he worried for her safety. Despite her earlier encounter with disaster, Miss Purefoy had accepted his tale after only minor encouragement. Her bravado aside, the girl had not learned her lesson; and his leaving her to her own devices would have been a mistake. She had trusted him not to defile her. Although not born to the role, Lucifer considered himself a gentleman, but most traveling English roads these days would not come close to that description. Before she reached London, some man would have the girl’s virginity by seduction or by force. Even now, she slept soundly in a steady rain in a rocking wagon. If not for his honor, he could claim the girl before she could put up a fight.

“The aristocracy,” he murmured in amusement. “The so-called ruling class.” Until he had met the members of the Realm, Hill had always disparaged the ignorance he had found among those of rank, but he quickly discovered Lord Lexford’s acquaintances were the exceptions to the rule. He turned his head to study the girl more closely. She was nothing like the women His Lordship usually chose; yet, even on such a short acquaintance, Lucifer had hatched a plan of sorts. “Lord Lexford has always preferred his women dark of hair and soft of nature. Exactly like Miss Satiné and Lady Susan,” he thought aloud. “However, I think Lord Lexford requires a snow princess. A fiery blonde wood sprite instead of a dark fairy. One full of innocence and a bit of sauciness.” Lucifer smiled with the possibilities. “If Lord Lexford could discover happiness, then I would have no worries for my honor, and mayhap the viscount would hold no objections to my claiming my own contentment.”

Lucifer reached under the seat to retrieve the girl’s small bag. “Let me view what you think to be important in your life, Miss Purefoy.” He glanced again to where the girl’s head rested on a half-full seed sack. Removing his glove to lift the bag’s latch, Lucifer dug his right hand into the bag’s contents. His fingers traced their way through layers of silk and wool. Finally, he touched upon a stack of papers, and he closed his fist about the pages. Using his coat to shield the paper from the peppering rain, Lucifer lifted them high enough to where he might read them without removing his eyes from the road. “Letters,” he said under his breath. “With the directions to Mercy Nelson of Foresthill Hall in Lancashire.”

Before the girl could discover his deviousness, Lucifer returned the pages to her bag and replaced the satchel under the seat. “Mercy Nelson,” he whispered, rolling the name about his tongue. “Mercy. A much better name for a genteel lady than Mary Purefoy.” He chuckled with his next thoughts. “And exactly what His Lordship requires,” Hill said with assurance. “A touch of mercy.”

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