Mystery and Suspense Month: The Earl Claims His Comfort: Book 2 of the Twins’ Trilogy on Sale Until November 5

ALL BOOKS FEATURED THIS MONTH ARE ON SALE IN THE eBOOK VERSION FOR $1.39. GRAB THEM WHILE THE PRICE IS RIGHT. THE SALE ENDS SUNDAY,  5 NOVEMBER, 2023.

In most historical romances, the idea of a peerage passing from one male in the family to another is part of the plot line. But exactly what was the procedure when a peer holding a title passed?

sad

Woman and children mourning at a gravestone, via The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1822. Dirge Magazine. http://www.dirgemag.com/victorian-post-mortem-photography/

First, let us clear up some misconceptions. The first of those is the difference between an heir apparent and an heir presumptive. The heir apparent can only be the peer’s oldest living son or the oldest of his grandsons ( son of the oldest son), if the peer’s oldest son is deceased. What’s most important to remember is that “if a man inherits a peerage, it is because he is the eldest surviving legitimate male who can trace a direct (father to son) lineage back to an earlier holder of the peerage. In other words, he doesn’t inherit because he was the brother or the cousin or the uncle of his predecessor, but because his own father, or grandfather, or great-grandfather, or great-great-grandfather, etc., was an earlier holder of the peerage. [“Eldest” in this context doesn’t mean that he happens to be the oldest of several different living men who can trace a direct line back to an earlier holder of the peerage, but rather that his line is the eldest, i.e., eldest son of eldest son; and all other lines senior to his have died out.]” (“Hereditary Peerages”) 

Letters patent customarily state the order of descent, usually through the male line. Only legitimate children (meaning the parents are married at the time of the child’s birth—not necessarily the time of his conception) are permitted to succeed to a peerage. This means that the peer has NO choice as to whom will succeed him. He CANNOT disown his heir. Without a son as the heir apparent, most patents will have the peerage become extinct. Occasionally, the letters patent will permit a brother or nephew or cousin to inherit (as in the case of Admiral Lord Nelson), and rarely females/daughters may inherit. All is determined by how the the letters patent are worded. Nothing can be changed after the patent by which the peerage was created are signed.

Meanwhile, an heir presumptive can be the peer’s brother, uncle, cousin, etc. The heir presumptive will never be the heir apparent. He can NEVER be presented with one of the courtesy titles associated with the peerage.

What of tradition? If a peer dies, his heir does not automatically assume the peerage’s seat in the House of Lords. For several reasons, there is a “waiting” period. The most obvious reason to wait is to determine if the deceased peer’s widow is pregnant. This would also be in effect if the heir apparent likewise dies, as in, for example, a father and son killed in a carriage accident. If so, the heir presumptive must wait to determine if there is to be a child and if that child is a son.

If an obvious heir is available (with no question of waiting) the new peer is not presented by his new title right away. Likely, the estate servants, solicitors, and other who serve him, will call him by his new title, but as a matter of courtesy to the widow and any children, he is not summoned to the House of Lords until after the funeral. This was not a legal matter, but more a matter of etiquette. However, because it was not a matter of law, but of custom, there was a wide variation in the observance. After the funeral and the will are addressed by the executor, the new peer sends a petition to the Lord Chancellor, asking that a writ of summons to the House of Lords be sent so he can take his seat in the current or next session of Parliament. The heir must PROVE to the HOL that his parents were married at the time of his birth, that he is the son they delivered from the mother’s pregnancy, that he is 21 years of age (reached his majority), and that he is a member of the Church of England.

If no son exists, the heir presumptive must assume the burden of proof. He follows the same procedure, except that he must also prove that he and his father and all others between him and the deceased were legitimate descendants of the original holder of the letters patent and that they are dead. Once the proofs are accepted, a writ of summons is sent to the new peer for him to take his seat in the House of Lords.

So what happens if the heir held an honorary title of viscount or such at the time of the peer’s death, would the HOL call him to the House under that title? The answer is NOHe would only be called to the House of Lords in his father’s barony—if the father had one. He would be a viscount socially, but a baron in Parliament.

____________________________

2016 Hot Prospects Finalist

_____________________________

Earl6x9

The Earl Claims His Comfort: Book 2 in the Twins’ Trilogy

Hurrying home to Tegen Castle from the Continent to assume guardianship of a child not his, but one who holds his countenance, Levison Davids, Earl of Remmington, is shot and left to die upon the road leading to his manor house. The incident has Remmington chasing after a man who remains one step ahead and who claims a distinct similarity—a man who wishes to replace Remmington as the rightful earl. Rem must solve the mystery of how a stranger’s life parallels his, while protecting his title, the child, and the woman he loves.

Comfort Neville has escorted Deirdre Kavanaugh from Ireland to England, in hopes that the Earl of Remmington will prove a better guardian for the girl than did the child’s father. When she discovers the earl’s body upon a road backing the castle, it is she who nurses him to health. As the daughter of a minor son of an Irish baron, Comfort is impossibly removed from the earl’s sphere, but the man claims her affections. She will do anything for him, including confronting his enemies. When she is kidnapped as part of a plot for revenge against the earl, she must protect Rem’s life, while guarding her heart.

Currently Available: 

Kindle      https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08PQ8TQR1/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=the+earl+claims+his+comfort&qid=1607179295&sr=8-2

Kindle Unlimited     https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/hz/subscribe/ku?passThroughAsin=B08PQ8TQR1&_encoding=UTF8&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DMTZJZT/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1607179295&sr=8-2

Book Bub https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-earl-claims-his-comfort-book-2-of-the-twins-trilogy-twins-trilogy-by-regina-jeffers

________________________________

Excerpt…

“Cannot recall the last time I slept in my own bed,” he murmured to no one in particular as he stood to gain his bearings. The room swirled before his eyes, but Rem shook off the feeling. Of late, it was common for him to know a dull vibrating sound marring his thinking.

Levison Davids, the 17th Earl of Remmington, set the glass down harder than he intended. He had consumed more alcohol than he should on this evening, but as his home shire often brought on a case of maudlin, he had drowned his memories. He turned toward the door, attempting to walk with the confidence his late father always demanded of his sons. Lev was not trained to be the earl. His father had groomed Rem’s older brother Robinson for the role, but Fate had a way of spitting in a man’s eye when he least expected it.

Outside, the chilly air removed the edge from the numbness the heavy drink provided him, and for a brief moment Rem thought to return to the common room to reinforce the black mood the drink had induced. A special form of “regret” plagued his days and nights since receiving word of his ascension to the earldom some four years prior, and he did not think he would ever to be comfortable again.

“Storm comin’,” the groom warned when he brought Rem’s horse around.

“We’re in Yorkshire,” Remmington replied. “We are known for the unpredictable.”

Customarily, he would not permit the groom to offer him a leg up, but Rem’s resolve to reach his country estate had waned. He had received a note via Sir Alexander Chandler that Rem’s presence was required at the Remmington home seat, and so he had set out from France, where he had spent the last year, to answer a different call of duty.

Sir Alexander offered little information on why someone summoned Rem home, only that the message had come from the estate’s housekeeper. Not that it mattered who had sent for him. Tegen Castle was his responsibility. The journey from France had required that Rem leave an ongoing investigation behind, a fact that did not please him, even though he knew the others in service to Sir Alexander were excellent at their occupations. Moreover, the baronet had assured Rem that several missions on English shores required Remmington’s “special” skills, and he could return to service as quickly as his business knew an end.

He caught the reins to turn the stallion in a tight circle. Tossing the groom a coin, Rem kicked Draco’s sides to set the horse into a gallop.

As the dark swallowed them up, Rem enjoyed the feel of power the rhythm of the horse’s gait provided. He raced across the valley before emerging onto the craggy moors. At length, he skirted the rocky headland.

He slowed Draco as the cliff tops came into view. When he reached Davids’ Point, he urged the stallion into a trot. Rem could no longer see the trail, but his body knew it as well as it knew the sun would rise on the morrow. After some time, he jerked Draco’s reins hard to the left, and, as a pair, they plunged onto the long-forgotten trail. He leaned low over the stallion’s neck to avoid the tree limbs before he directed Draco to an adjacent path that led upward toward the family estate, which sat high upon a hill overlooking the breakwaters.

When he reached the main road again, he pulled up on the reins to bring the animal to a halt. Rem patted Draco’s neck and stared through the night at his childhood home, which was framed against the rising moonlight. It often made him sad to realize how much he once loved the estate as a child and how much he now despised it.

“No love left in the bricks,” he said through a thick throat. “Even the dowager countess no longer wishes to reside here. How can I?”

It was not always so. Although he was a minor son, Rem always thought to share Tegen Castle with his wife and children—to live nearby and to relate tales of happier days.

“But after Miss Phillips’s betrayal and then, likewise, that of Miss Lovelace, I possess no heart to begin again.”

In truth, of the two ladies, Rem had only loved Miss Delia Phillips.

“Fell in love with the girl when I was but fourteen and she, ten.”

He crossed his arms over the rise of the saddle to study the distant manor house.

“Perhaps Delia could find no solace here,” he murmured aloud.

Even today, it bothered him that Delia had not cared enough for him to send him a letter denying their understanding. He had learned of Delia’s marrying Baron Kavanagh from Sir Alexander, with whom Rem had served upon the Spanish front. Sir Alexander’s younger brother delivered the news in a cheeky letter.

“I suppose Delia thought being a baroness was superior to being Mrs. Davids. Little did she know I would claim the earldom. More is the pity for her.” A large raindrop plopped upon the back of his hand. “If we do not speed our return to the castle, my friend, we will arrive with a wet seat.”

He caught up the loose reins, but before he could set his heels into Draco’s sides, a shot rang out. By instinct, Rem thought to dive for the nearby ditch. Yet, the heavy drink slowed his response, and before he could act, Remmington knew the sharp sting of the bullet in his thigh.

Draco bolted forward before Rem had control of the stallion’s reins. He felt himself slipping from the saddle, but there was little he could do to prevent the impact. He slammed hard into the packed earth just as the heavens opened with a drenching rain. The back of his head bounced against a paving stone, and a shooting pain claimed his forehead. Even so Rem thought to sit up so he might take cover, but the effort was short coming. The piercing pain in his leg and the sharp sting claiming his vision fought for control. The blow to his head won, and Rem screwed his eyes closed to welcome the darkness.

____________________________________________

Posted in Black Opal Books, blog hop, book excerpts, book release, British history, Church of England, eBooks, estates, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, historical fiction, history, Inheritance, literature, Living in the Regency, primogenture, real life tales, Regency era, Regency romance, romance, suspense | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Mystery and Suspense Month: The Earl Claims His Comfort: Book 2 of the Twins’ Trilogy on Sale Until November 5

Mystery and Suspense Month: Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep: Book 1 of the Twins’ Trilogy on Sale Until November 5

ALL BOOKS FEATURED THIS MONTH ARE ON SALE IN THE eBOOK VERSION FOR $1.39. GRAB THEM WHILE THE PRICE IS RIGHT. THE SALE ENDS SUNDAY, 5 NOVEMBER, 2023.

Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep was originally released by Black Opal Books. Recently, I managed to receive back the rights to this book and have rereleased it, hopefully to new readers, who missed it the first time around.

Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep is the first book in the Twins’ Trilogy. The Earl Claims His Comfort and Lady Chandler’s Sister follow. All three books in the trilogy have been recognized with a number of awards and recognitions.

HUNTINGTON McLAUGHLIN, the Marquess of Malvern, wakes in a farmhouse, after a head injury, and being tended by an ethereal “angel,” who claims to be his wife. However, reality is often deceptive, and ANGELICA LOVELACE is far from innocent in Hunt’s difficulties. Yet, there is something about the woman that calls to him as no other ever has. When she attends his mother’s annual summer house party, their lives are intertwined ins a series of mistaken identities, assaults, kidnappings, overlapping relations, and murders, which will either bring them together forever or tear them irretrievably apart.

As Hunt attempts to right his world from problems caused by the head injury have robbed him of parts of his memory, his best friend, the Earl of Remmington, makes it clear he intends to claim Miss Lovelace as his wife. Hunt must decide whether to permit Angelica to align herself with the earldom or to claim the only woman who stirs his heart – and if he does the latter, can he still serve the dukedom with a hoydenish American heiress as his wife?

Review: The story is charming, with interesting and realistic characters, a complex plot with plenty of surprises, and a sweet romance woven through it all. The author has a good command of what it was like to be a woman in 19th Century England–almost as if she had been there.

*****************************

Third Place:
Historical Romance
SOLA’s Eight Annual
Dixie Kane Memorial Awards 

***********************************

2017 Daphne Du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense
Finalist ~ Historical Romantic Mystery/Suspense

*********************************

2017 Finalist Derby Award for Fiction/Mystery and Suspense

*************************************

Kindle    https://www.amazon.com/Angel-Comes-Devils-Keep-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B08PL57MW8/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=angel+comes+to+the+devil%27s+keep&qid=1607118788&sr=8-2

Kindle Unlimited     https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/hz/subscribe/ku?passThroughAsin=B08PL57MW8&_encoding=UTF8&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Angel-Comes-Devils-Keep-Trilogy/dp/B09DMTLRYT/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1607118788&sr=8-2

BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/books/angel-comes-to-the-devil-s-keep-by-regina-jeffers

We have an excerpt of when Huntington McLaughlin and Angelica Lovelace first notice each other, which can be found here: Chapter 1 

Excerpt from Chapter 3 (The first time Huntington and Angelica meet, but it is far from auspicious…)

Angel cursed the Fates with every soggy step she took. Her half boots sank into the quick-forming mud as she attempted to climb the steep slope. Her cloak caught upon every bramble and every twig, but the rain was too heavy and too cold to abandon the outer garment.

She caught at one of the rough-shaped bushes clinging to the side of the slope, pawing for a finger hold that would prevent her leather soles from sliding down the way she just came. As the rain swelled the river into which her coach had pitched, she refused to turn her head and look upon Lord Mannington’s second coachman, whose body rested against the back of the coach’s box, his life long removed. The broken left side of the coach sat upon Mr. Brothers’s chest, and the man’s neck was bent at an odd angle. Angel had offered prayers of deliverance for the man’s soul as she knelt beside him while searching for a sign of life before she made the choice to leave the man in God’s benevolence.

When the coach dipped over the road’s edge to turn upon its side, she did not scream. Instead, she braced herself against the coach’s backbench to keep from tumbling head first into the air.

With the sound of tumult drowning out her heartbeat, Angel made a resolution to survive, for she knew word of her demise would kill her father. All he would have remaining in the world would be her younger brother Carson, and Car remained in America with Papa’s business partner. So, Angel fought for her entire family.

She knew Horace Lovelace’s nature. He would blame himself for not accompanying her, as if his presence would have prevented the disaster. Her father remained at Fordham Hall because he contracted the sniffles and a slight cough with a low fever.

“I will wait with you,” Angel had insisted.

“No,” her father protested. “To be invited to the Duchess of Devilfoard’s house party will translate into your acceptance among the beau monde. You cannot give insult by not arriving when expected. I will follow in a few days. I sent a note to your mother’s dear friend, Countess Gunnimore, to explain my delay. Lady Gunnimore will assume your chaperoning until I arrive. Lord Harrison showed us a great service in procuring an invitation for his family’s fête. We must not disappoint.”

As the Manningtons were invited elsewhere, Angel set out for Warwickshire with only a maid in tow. Unfortunately, at the last stop, Mari claimed a like illness as to what struck Angel’s father, and so she had sent the girl home with the single footman to escort her.

“Thank Goodness only Mr. Brothers suffered,” she grunted as she clawed her way up the hill, bit by bit. “This situation could be much worse. Mari and Dono could also have been killed.”



Hunt cursed his decision to send Etch and his carriage ahead. The rain came down so violently, he could no longer see the road. He was now riding purely from instinct. There was not a dry thread upon his body, but he meant to reach The Yellow Hen, which was less than three miles if he guessed correctly. He thought himself near Halford, still some ten miles to Shakespeare’s reported home of Stratford-on-Avon and many more to his home outside of Bedworth. From the corner of his eye, Hunt could make out the muddy approach of the River Stour flowing over its banks. The Stour to the Avon to the Severn, he thought, but that would take him to the west, when he needed to reach the River Anker instead.

Fingers of watery rivulets joined the standing water upon the stone road. He began to wonder if, while racing the approaching storms, he had made a wrong turn. The sheets of water streaming over Alibi’s neck convinced him to act without caution, and although Hunt thought himself still in Oxfordshire when the rain caught him, perhaps he had achieved Warwickshire. If so, The Yellow Hen was long since forgotten.

He gave his head a good shake to clear both his vision and his thinking, and Alibi mimicked Hunt’s actions. As if entranced by the mighty horse’s movements, Hunt did not see the attacker’s approach until it was too late!



Angel pulled herself over the lip of the stone roadway before collapsing into a cold muddy puddle. Several inches of water stood upon the odd-shaped stones while the excess cascaded over the edges sliding down the slope to meet the rising stream crawling its way upward. If the rain continued for much longer, one would not be able to tell where the road ended and the water began. Pulling herself to her knees, Angel rose slowly, exhaustion claiming its due. She did not hear the stranger’s approach over the rumble of the thunder and the beating of her heart pounding in her ears.

It was only afterward that she realized her sudden appearance frightened the man’s horse. The beautifully powerful animal rose up on his hind legs to paw the air above Angel’s head. On impulse, she covered her head with her arms. She heard the man attempting to calm the animal and the shrill cries of the beast in counterpoint to the continued war with nature. She shuddered, but before she could respond, a hard thump announced one of the battles was lost.

Without considering the consequences, she bolted into action. Accustomed to being around horses, Angel caught the animal’s reins before it ran off into the shadowy mist.

“Easy, boy,” she pleaded as the animal jerked its head to free her grip. “Easy.” She stroked the stallion’s neck to quiet its fear. “I shan’t hurt you.” The horse showed its teeth, but it did not bite her. Her hand traced the animal’s neck to its shoulder. “Permit me to see to your rider.” Gently, Angel patted the steed’s neck before dropping the loose reins and praying the animal was trained to remain in place when the reins went slack.

Lifting her rain soaked cloak and gown, Angel sloshed her way toward where the man lay upon his side in the muddy water.

“Sir?” she said with true regret. “How badly are you injured?”

Angel prayed this stranger did not share Mr. Brothers’s fate. She could not bear another innocent’s death upon her conscience. The thought of the kindly coachman brought tears to Angel’s eyes, but she had no time for grief. The stranger offered no response nor did he move beyond a single breath escaping his lungs.

Carefully, she edged the man onto his back before running her hands up and down his legs and arms. She realized he could have an injured ankle, but removing his boots was not an option at the moment. It was imperative for her to assist him to his horse before he, literally, drowned in the muddy waters rushing across the road.

“Sir.” Angel placed her hand upon his shoulder to give it a good shake.

Immediately his eyes sprang open, and a string of curse words announced that she had discovered his injury.

The man grabbed at his shoulder. “Bloody hell!”

Angel jumped away, not wishing to touch him again. “I apologize, sir. I did not mean to bring you pain. Are you able to stand?” She shot a glance at the rising water sloshing against his side. “We are in a tenuous situation. We must seek higher ground.” In hesitation, she knelt beside him. “Have you suffered injuries beyond your shoulder?”



Hunt looked up into the most mesmerizing eyes that he ever beheld: A bluish green, the shade of the ocean upon a sunny day. For a moment, he could not think. His head hummed a song Hunt did not recognize.

“Where am I?” He was aware of a cold rain dripping from her worn bonnet to splash upon his chest.

She watched him with an indefinable emotion. “We are somewhere in Warwickshire.” A quick glance to the right preceded her frown. “At least, I think we are.” Her scowl deepened. “We are in a steady rain, and the water is rising quickly. I insist upon supporting you to your horse. I doubt I could lift you to the saddle, but I would endeavor to do so if your injury prevents your mounting on your own.”

Her words amused him. Unless Hunt underestimated her stature, she would not reach his shoulder. “Assist me to sit, instead.”

He noted how the water sloshed against his jacket’s sleeve as she made her way behind him. He was lying in a stream of water!

Her fingers crawled beneath his shoulders and nudged him upward. Despite lying in a pool of cold rainwater, heat shot straight to his chest. Hunt never experienced anything like it in his eight and twenty years. He used the hand, which did not throb with shooting pains, to shove himself to a seated position. Everything about him swirled into a mixture of gray and green and brown. He felt his stomach turn over, but he breathed through the darkness that sought to consume him. The woman did not err in her estimation. They were in danger, and he must reach Alibi if they were to survive.

Hunt did not know when “he” became a “they,” but it had. The moment his eyes rested upon hers, he claimed himself her protector. Surely the woman lived nearby. He would assist her home and beg for a physician to be called.

Crawling to his knees and then to his feet, Hunt bit into his bottom lip to keep from calling out in pain. He swayed in place, and the woman hurried to brace his weight. Although she was beautiful enough—her skin pearly white—to be a fine lady, Hunt could not imagine her so. What lady of Society would wallow through the mud to tend him?

“Can you cross to the horse or should I bring him to you?” She shoved her wet body underneath his arm to keep Hunt from tipping forward.

With a deep steadying breath, Hunt again clenched his teeth. “Lead on,” he gritted through tight lips. With a knee-buckling lurch, he took a dozen steps to reach Alibi’s rump. “Easy,” he cautioned as he used the horse to brace his weight.

Muddy tracks of water streamed down from his hair, and Hunt used his free hand to sweep it back from his forehead. His hat had long-since drifted away in the narrow stream of water carving a deeper rut in the road.

“Hold his reins,” he instructed the woman, a woman whose name he had yet to learn. All in good time, he thought.

The lady lifted his arm so he might catch the rise of the saddle before she moved away to hold Alibi’s head still. When she nodded her preparedness, Hunt captured a deep breath, placed a foot in the stirrup, and lifted his frame to swing a leg over his horse. His settling heavily into the saddle made Alibi skittish again, but the woman’s melodic voice—one that reminded him of God’s angels—coaxed the stallion to stillness. Even so, in spite of his best efforts, Hunt thought the ground rose up to greet his descent. Desperately, he wrapped his arm about Alibi’s neck and slumped forward.



“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” she reprimanded as she rushed to secure the man to the horse. He rested against the animal’s neck, his face buried in the horse’s wet mane. Angel thought again of those dratted Fates who meant to vex her. Jerking the ruined bonnet from her head, she ripped the ribbons from their fastenings. Tearing them loose, she tied the two pieces together, lapped one end around the carbine bucket and the other around the stranger’s wrist, and tightened the makeshift rope to balance the man in place.

Self-consciously, Angel looked around before hiking her skirt to her knees.

“Papa would be furious,” she chastised, as she put her booted foot upon the stranger’s, caught the tails of the man’s jacket, and pulled her weight into the saddle behind him.

The stranger did not move, and again Angel placed her hand upon his back to feel the rise and fall of his chest before noting the red mark of dried blood upon the back of his head. The water continued to rise—likely some two inches deeper.

“We cannot wait any longer,” she said as she caught the reins from the stranger’s loose grip, wrapped her arms about his waist, and kicked the stallion’s side to set the horse in motion.

“I pray we find assistance soon,” she said as the animal walked smartly through the running water. “I fear my…” Angel did not know what to call the man. They had not even exchanged names. “I fear my acquaintance hit his head on the road’s stones.”

Posted in book excerpts, book release, eBooks, excerpt, Georgian England, Georgian Era, historical fiction, marriage, mystery, publishing, Regency romance, suspense, trilogy, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Wellington’s “Waterloo Dispatch” ~ Part 2

After my post on Friday regarding Wellington’s “Waterloo Dispatch,” I received several email regarding the contents of the dispatch. First, permit me to share it with you (from Wikisource), and then I will make a few comments on the news of the British victory.

Wellington’s Waterloo dispatch to Lord Bathurst, 19 June 1815 (Remember: Henry Bathurst, 3rd Earl Bathurst was Secretary of State for War and the Colonies during the premiership of Lord Liverpool.)

Source:

  • Wellington, Arthur Wellesley Duke of (1838), Gurwood, John, ed., The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, K.G.: France and the Low Countries, 1814–1815, J. Murray, pp. 478–484
  • Issue: 17028, The London Gazette Extraordinary, 22 June 1815, pp. 1213–1215.
Wellington writing the dispatch in the early hours of the 19th of June 1815. ~ https://heartheboatsing.com/2022/07/27/how-the-waterloo-dispatch-was-rowed-to-england/
Note: “Buonaparte” is the Italian version of Bonaparte, used by contemporaries in Britain, particularly by those in official positions, to emphasise that his imperial title was not recognised by the British government and that he was not of French origin.

To Earl Bathurst.

Waterloo, 19th June, 1815

My Lord,

Buonaparte, having collected the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 6th corps of the French army, and the Imperial Guards, and nearly all the cavalry, on the Sambre, and between that river and the Meuse, between the 10th and 14th of the month, advanced on the 15th and attacked the Prussian posts at Thuin and Lobbes, on the Sambre, at day-light in the morning.

I did not hear of these events till in the evening of the 15th; and I immediately ordered the troops to prepare to march, and afterwards to march to their left, as soon as I had intelligence from other quarters to prove that the enemy’s movement upon Charleroi was the real attack.

The enemy drove the Prussian posts from the Sambre on that day; and General Ziethen, who commanded the corps which had been at Charleroi, retired upon Fleurus; and Marshal Prince Blücher concentrated the Prussian army upon Sombref, holding the villages in front of his position of St. Amand and Ligny.

The enemy continued his march along the road from Charleroi towards Bruxelles; and, on the same evening, the 15th, attacked a brigade of the army of the Netherlands, under the Prince de Weimar, posted at Frasne, and forced it back to the farm house, on the same road, called Les Quatre Bras.

The Prince of Orange immediately reinforced this brigade with another of the same division, under General Perponcher, and, in the morning early, regained part of the ground which had been lost, so as to have the command of the communication leading from Nivelles and Bruxelles with Marshal Blücher’s position.

In the mean time, I had directed the whole army to march upon Les Quatre Bras; and the 5th division, under Lieut. General Sir Thomas Picton, arrived at about half past two in the day, followed by the corps of troops under the Duke of Brunswick, and afterwards by the contingent of Nassau.

At this time the enemy commenced an attack upon Prince Blücher with his whole force, excepting the 1st and 2nd corps, and a corps of cavalry under General Kellermann, with which he attacked our post at Les Quatre Bras.

The Prussian army maintained their position with their usual gallantry and perseverance against a great disparity of numbers, as the 4th corps of their army, under General Bülow, had not joined; and I was not able to assist them as I wished, as I was attacked myself, and the troops, the cavalry in particular, which had a long distance to march, had not arrived.

We maintained our position also, and completely defeated and repulsed all the enemy’s attempts to get possession of it. The enemy repeatedly attacked us with a large body of infantry and cavalry, supported by a numerous and powerful artillery. He made several charges with the cavalry upon our infantry, but all were repulsed in the steadiest manner.

In this affair, His Royal Highness the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Brunswick, and Lieut. General Sir Thomas Picton, and Major Generals Sir James Kempt and Sir Denis Pack, who were engaged from the commencement of the enemy’s attack, highly distinguished themselves, as well as Lieut. General Charles Baron Alten, Major General Sir C. Halkett, Lieut. General Cooke, and Major Generals Maitland and Byng, as they successively arrived. The troops of the 5th division, and those of the Brunswick corps, were long and severely engaged, and conducted themselves with the utmost gallantry. I must particularly mention the 28th, 42nd, 79th, and 92nd regiments, and the battalion of Hanoverians.

Our loss was great, as your Lordship will perceive by the enclosed return; and I have particularly to regret His Serene Highness the Duke of Brunswick, who fell fighting gallantly at the head of his troops.

Although Marshal Blücher had maintained his position at Sombref, he still found himself much weakened by the severity of the contest in which he had been engaged, and, as the 4th corps had not arrived, he determined to fall back and to concentrate his army upon Wavre; and he marched in the night, after the action was over.

This movement of the Marshal rendered necessary a corresponding one upon my part; and I retired from the farm of Quatre Bras upon Genappe, and thence upon Waterloo, the next morning, the 17th, at ten o’clock.

The enemy made no effort to pursue Marshal Blücher. On the contrary, a patrole which I sent to Sombref in the morning found all quiet, and the enemy’s vedettes fell back as the patrole advanced. Neither did he attempt to molest our march to the rear, although made in the middle of the day, excepting by following, with a large body of cavalry brought from his right, the cavalry under the Earl of Uxbridge.

This gave Lord Uxbridge an opportunity of charging them with the 1st Life Guards, upon their débouché from the village of Genappe, upon which occasion his Lordship has declared himself to be well satisfied with that regiment.

The position which I took up in front of Waterloo crossed the high roads from Charleroi and Nivelles, and had its right thrown back to a ravine near Merke Braine, which was occupied, and its left extended to a height above the hamlet Ter la Haye, which was likewise occupied. In front of the right centre, and near the Nivelles road, we occupied the house and gardens of Hougoumont, which covered the return of that flank; and in front of the left centre we occupied the farm of La Haye Sainte. By our left we communicated with Marshal Prince Blücher at Wavre, through Ohain; and the Marshal had promised me that, in case we should be attacked, he would support me with one or more corps, as might be necessary.

The enemy collected his army, with the exception of the 3rd corps, which had been sent to observe Marshal Blücher, on a range of heights in our front, in the course of the night of the 17th and yesterday morning, and at about ten o’clock he commenced a furious attack upon our post at Hougoumont. I had occupied that post with a detachment from General Byng’s brigade of Guards, which was in position in its rear; and it was for some time under the command of Lieut. Colonel Macdonell, and afterwards of Colonel Home; and I am happy to add that it was maintained throughout the day with the utmost gallantry by these brave troops, notwithstanding the repeated efforts of large bodies of the enemy to obtain possession of it.

This attack upon the right of our centre was accompanied by a very heavy cannonade upon our whole line, which was destined to support the repeated attacks of cavalry and infantry, occasionally mixed, but sometimes separate, which were made upon it. In one of these the enemy carried the farm house of La Haye Sainte, as the detachment of the light battalion of the German Legion, which occupied it, had expended all its ammunition; and the enemy occupied the only communication there was with them.

The enemy repeatedly charged our infantry with his cavalry, but these attacks were uniformly unsuccessful; and they afforded opportunities to our cavalry to charge, in one of which Lord E. Somerset’s brigade, consisting of the Life Guards, the Royal Horse Guards, and 1st dragoon guards, highly distinguished themselves, as did that of Major General Sir William Ponsonby, having taken many prisoners and an eagle.

These attacks were repeated till about seven in the evening, when the enemy made a desperate effort with cavalry and infantry, supported by the fire of artillery, to force our left centre, near the farm of La Haye Sainte, which, after a severe contest, was defeated; and, having observed that the troops retired from this attack in great confusion, and that the march of General Bülow’s corps, by Frischermont, upon Planchenois and La Belle Alliance, had begun to take effect, and as I could perceive the fire of his cannon, and as Marshal Prince Blücher had joined in person with a corps of his army to the left of our line by Ohain, I determined to attack the enemy, and immediately advanced the whole line of infantry, supported by the cavalry and artillery. The attack succeeded in every point: the enemy was forced from his positions on the heights, and fled in the utmost confusion, leaving behind him, as far as I could judge, 150 pieces of cannon, with their ammunition, which fell into our hands.

I continued the pursuit till long after dark, and then discontinued it only on account of the fatigue of our troops, who had been engaged during twelve hours, and because I found myself on the same road with Marshal Blücher, who assured me of his intention to follow the enemy throughout the night. He has sent me word this morning that he had taken 60 pieces of cannon belonging to the Imperial Guard, and several carriages, baggage, &c., belonging to Buonaparte, in Genappe.

I propose to move this morning upon Nivelles, and not to discontinue my operations.

Your Lordship will observe that such a desperate action could not be fought, and such advantages could not be gained, without great loss; and I am sorry to add that ours has been immense. In Lieut. General Sir Thomas Picton His Majesty has sustained the loss of an officer who has frequently distinguished himself in his service; and he fell gloriously leading his division to a charge with bayonets, by which one of the most serious attacks made by the enemy on our position was repulsed. The Earl of Uxbridge, after having successfully got through this arduous day, received a wound by almost the last shot fired, which will, I am afraid, deprive His Majesty for some time of his services.

His Royal Highness the Prince of Orange distinguished himself by his gallantry and conduct, till he received a wound from a musket ball through the shoulder, which obliged him to quit the field.

It gives me the greatest satisfaction to assure your Lordship that the army never, upon any occasion, conducted itself better. The division of Guards, under Lieut. General Cooke, who is severely wounded, Major General Maitland, and Major General Byng, set an example which was followed by all; and there is no officer nor description of troops that did not behave well.

I must, however, particularly mention, for His Royal Highness’s approbation, Lieut. General Sir H. Clinton, Major General Adam, Lieut. General Charles Baron Alten (severely wounded), Major General Sir Colin Halkett (severely wounded), Colonel Ompteda, Colonel Mitchell (commanding a brigade of the 4th division), Major Generals Sir James Kempt and Sir D. Pack, Major General Lambert, Major General Lord E. Somerset, Major General Sir W. Ponsonby, Major General Sir C. Grant, and Major General Sir H. Vivian, Major General Sir O. Vandeleur, and Major General Count Dornberg.

I am also particularly indebted to General Lord Hill for his assistance and conduct upon this, as upon all former occasions.

The artillery and engineer departments were conducted much to my satisfaction by Colonel Sir George Wood and Colonel Smyth; and I had every reason to be satisfied with the conduct of the Adjutant General, Major General Barnes, who was wounded, and of the Quarter Master General, Colonel De Lancey, who was killed by a cannon shot in the middle of the action. This officer is a serious loss to His Majesty’s service, and to me at this moment.

I was likewise much indebted to the assistance of Lieut. Colonel Lord FitzRoy Somerset, who was severely wounded, and of the officers composing my personal Staff, who have suffered severely in this action. Lieut. Colonel the Hon. Sir Alexander Gordon, who has died of his wounds, was a most promising officer, and is a serious loss to His Majesty’s service.

General Kruse, of the Nassau service, likewise conducted himself much to my satisfaction; as did General Tripp, commanding the heavy brigade of cavalry, and General Vanhope, commanding a brigade of infantry in the service of the King of the Netherlands.

General Pozzo di Borgo, General Baron Vincent, General Muffling, and General Alava, were in the field during the action, and rendered me every assistance in their power. Baron Vincent is wounded, but I hope not severely; and General Pozzo di Borgo received a contusion.

I should not do justice to my own feelings, or to Marshal Blücher and the Prussian army, if I did not attribute the successful result of this arduous day to the cordial and timely assistance I received from them. The operation of General Bülow upon the enemy’s flank was a most decisive one; and, even if I had not found myself in a situation to make the attack which produced the final result, it would have forced the enemy to retire if his attacks should have failed, and would have prevented him from taking advantage of them if they should unfortunately have succeeded.

Since writing the above, I have received a report that Major General Sir William Ponsonby is killed; and, in announcing this intelligence to your Lordship, I have to add the expression of my grief for the fate of an officer who had already rendered very brilliant and important services, and was an ornament to his profession.

I send with this dispatch two eagles, taken by the troops in this action, which Major Percy will have the honor of laying at the feet of His Royal Highness. I beg leave to recommend him to your Lordship’s protection.

I have the honour to be, &c.

Wellington.

Notes on what the dispatch shows of the incident.

  1. Wellington explains something of Napoleon’s movements on Charleroi, as well as the retreat of the Dutch troops took at Quatre Bras on 15 June.
  2. Wellington offers praise for the Prussians soldiers.
  3. Wellington claims he was under attack and could not assist Marshal Gebhard Blücher.
  4. He indicates it was foolish of Napoleon not to pursue the Prussians on the night of 16 June.
  5. The duke confirms Blücher’s promise to send more troops to assist Wellington by either the Ohain or Wavre road.
  6. He admits he made a mistake when he believed on the French III Corps followed Blücher towards Wavre.
  7. Château d’Hougoumont is a walled manorial compound, situated at the bottom of an escarpment near the Nivelles road in the Braine-l’Alleud municipality, near Waterloo, Belgium. Wellington said the successful defense of the Hougoumont farm was critical to the success of their campaign.
  8. He praises several dozen officers and laments the loss of lives for others.

Meanwhile, the British government offered their own interpretation of how the French soldiers fought valiantly, but they had not considered the British coalition were “their betters.” The British government painted a picture of Napoleon being a coward and a “calculating kind of man” and that he chose to run away rather than fight, which I did not quite understand. I must have missed something in my reading. I assume the comment has something to do with Napoleon’s first abdication to save himself.

Posted in British history, England, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, military, real life tales, Regency era, research, war, world history | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Wellington’s “Waterloo Dispatch” ~ Part 2

Celebrating Victory: The Waterloo Dispatch

18 June 1815 saw what has become known as The Battle of Waterloo. The French Army was led by Napoleon Bonaparte, a man still attempting to capture the glory of the French empire of 1810. France of 1815 had lost some of its “chutzpah.” Tired of war which had dragged on for more than 20 years, France had basically lost all for which it had fought. It was a final stand for Napoleon.

France was made to pay the allied forces led by the Duke of Wellington and Marshal Blücher. Moreover, the allies’ forces occupied the French capital of Paris. Louis XVIII was determined to claim rule and control of his own country after Napoleon’s defeat.

Ironically, nearly as soon as it was completed, a debate began as to what to call this battle which had seen the British forces and its allies successful. The French named the battle after the village of Mont-Saint-Jean, for such was the name of the village situated in the middle of Wellington’s line. “Waterloo” was the small village from which the dispatch sent to England by Wellington was written; therefore, the British called it the Battle of Waterloo. Meanwhile, the Prussians, Britain’s strongest ally in the battle called it “La Belle Alliance,” for the symbolized the spot on the battlefield where Wellington and Blücher met at the end of the battle. The name was settled when Wellington claimed his forces had already set the French back before the Prussians arrived.

Sir Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington ~ Public Domain ~
via Wikipedia

The decisive battle of its age, it concluded a war that had raged for 23 years, ended French attempts to dominate Europe, and destroyed Napoleon’s imperial power forever.

In truth, less than half of Wellington’s forces were from Great Britain, and the British government was paying citizens of countries and their governments to join the allies assisting Wellington. The army Wellington led was composed of a large number of Dutch, those from Belgium, and Germans.

Some say Wellington “stretched the truth” when he claimed himself outnumbered by the French and simply trying to hold on until Blücher arrived. Wellington’s army outnumbered the French by what one might call a “smidgeon.” Therefore, Wellington calling the victory a “near-run thing,” was likely the duke crafting a story of the victory to play out again and again for the British public. One must give credit to Wellington for his sharp handling of the situation. He was smart enough to know his version of the battle would be one remembered. For the government’s sake, he was justifying all the money spend on this campaign and this last battle. For his future career, it was important to claim the victory as a British one.

This is not to say, the British did not do their job is bringing Napoleon to his knees. They did. They held the French forces, slowing down their approach upon Brussels. Yet, it was the Prussians who ultimately overwhelmed the French.

The Prussians might have been able to claim more of the victory, but Marshal Blücher’s forces has suffered a defeat at Ligny only the day before the Waterloo battle took place. Their arrival prevented the French from overrunning Wellington’s forces. Friedrich Wilheim Freiherr von Bülow’s men were the key to the victory. Blücher arrived late to battle, but Bülow arrived early. In the Waterloo Campaign, Bülow commanded the IV Corps of Blücher’s army. He was not present at Ligny when Blücher knew defeat, but his corps headed the flank attack upon Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo, and bore the heaviest part in the fighting of the Prussian troops around Plancenoit. [Chisholm, Hugh, ed. (1911). “Bülow, Friedrich Wilhelm, Freiherr von”. Encyclopædia Britannica. Vol. 4 (11th ed.). Cambridge University Press. p. 795.]

General Friedrich Graf Bülow von Dennewitz, a capable Prussian corps commander who, in the campaign of 1813, defeated the French at Grossbeeren and Dennewitz. He also played a prominent part at Waterloo in 1815. ~ Public Domain ~ via Wikipedia

The British saw to it that their version of the war was the one history would remember. They received the credit for the victory. They imprisoned Napoleon Bonaparte on Saint Helena. The world calls the confrontation “The Battle of Waterloo.”

When the battle had come to an end with the French surrender on 19 June 1815, Wellington made the short jaunt to the village of Waterloo, a bit over a mile north of the actual battle site. There at the Brabant Inn, Wellington penned his account of the battle. The account was sent off to Henry Bathurst, 3rd Earl of Bathurst and the British Secretary of War at the time. Some four days later, The Times in London published Wellington’s letter, sending a grateful nation into celebration. The famous moment was captured in Sir David Wilkie’s painting, entitled Chelsea Pensioners Reading the Waterloo Dispatch.

https://ageofrevolution.org/200-object/the-chelsea-pensioners-reading-the-waterloo-dispatch/#:~:text=In%20this%20painting%20by%20Sir,during%20the%20previous%20half%2Dcentury.

The Age of Revolution tells us, “In this painting by Sir David Wilkie, a group of retired soldiers living at the Royal Hospital in London are shown reacting to news of the British victory at Waterloo. Wilkie’s painting, first exhibited in 1822, depicts Waterloo as the climax of British military efforts during the previous half-century.

“The Duke of Wellington’s dispatch, describing the battle, arrived in London on the night of the 21 June 1815. Widespread celebration greeted the news that Napoleon had finally been defeated, ending 23 years of war against France.

“The central figure is shown reading a special edition of the London Gazette of Thursday 22 June 1815, which printed the Duke of Wellington’s dispatch. His audience is a motley collection of Londoners outside a pub, but the main group are Chelsea Pensioners in their distinctive red uniforms and black tricorn caps. The scene is Jew’s Row, near the Royal Hospital in Chelsea.

“These were soldiers who had retired because of injury, and lived at the Royal Hospital in Chelsea, London. By 1815 there were of these over 38,000 of these veterans drawing a pension from the Hospital – a reflection of Britain’s long and bloody wars around the world.

“The Duke of Wellington commissioned this painting from Sir David Wilkie, the most popular genre painter of his day. In 1822, 7 years after the Battle of Waterloo, it was exhibited at the Royal Academy, and was so popular that rails had to be erected to protect it from the crowds. Even today it still captures the popular jubilation after the Battle of Waterloo and the vibrant life of London at that time.”

Posted in British history, England, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, history, military, real life tales, war | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Celebrating Victory: The Waterloo Dispatch

The Nature of “Making Calls” and the Use of “Calling Cards” in the Regency Era

“Calling cards first became popular in Europe in the 18th century and were favored by royalty and nobility. Their popularity spread across Europe and to the United States and soon calling cards became essential for the fashionable and wealthy. Society homes often had a silver tray in the entrance hall where guests left their cards. A tray full of cards (with the most prominent cards on top) was a way to display social connections.

“Both men and women used calling cards and they were distinguishable by size. Men’s cards were long and narrow so they could fit in a breast pocket. Women’s cards were larger and during the Victorian era, became more ornate and embellished. According to this article from 1890, a typical society woman handed out nearly three thousand cards each year.” (Let Me Leave You My Calling Card)

Making calls was a necessary aspect of Regency era social life. It was part of the accepted pattern of social life. Paying calls and leaving cards was a “ritual” of sorts. It kept the social wheel turning.

Social calls were a means to exchange polite civilities. One was expected to maintain any connections and, hopefully, improve upon the relationship by extending cordial conversations, showing an interest in the person, etc.

Some such social calls were paid for a particular reason, such as to offer congratulations for a particular event or at the other extreme to offer condolences for something tragic in a person’s life.

Remember, being “at home” or “not at home” just meant whether the person was receiving callers or not. It does not refer to whether the person is actually aways from his house at the time.

Some people chose to be “at home” only to those with whom they previously held a close relationship, though it would seem more polite to receive all those who called. Other chose only to receive callers upon set days.

There were times when the person calling had no real desire to speak to the person inside. In a polite manner, they would recognize someone simply by calling and leaving their card with the servant who answered the bell. Leaving cards was a polite means of social recognition.

ETIQUETTE OF CALLS

In the matter of making calls it is the correct thing:

For the caller who arrived first to leave first.

To return a first call within a week and in person.


To call promptly and in person after a first invitation.

For the mother or chaperon to invite a gentleman to call.

To call within a week after any entertainment to which one has been invited.

You should call upon an acquaintance who has recently returned from a prolonged absence.

It as proper to make the first call upon people in a higher social position, if one is asked to do so.

It is proper to call, after an engagement has been announced, or a marriage has taken place, in the family.

For the older residents in the city or street to call upon the newcomers to their neighborhood is a long recognized custom.

It is proper, after a removal from one part of the city to another, to send out cards with one’s new address upon them.

To ascertain what are the prescribed hours for calling in the place where one is living, or making a visit, and to adhere to those hours is a duty that must not be overlooked.
A gentleman should ask for the lady of the house as well as the young ladies, and leave cards for her as well as for the head of the family.

A calling card was often presented, especially in London. No one would think Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice used a calling card when rushing off to call on Lady Lucas to inform the woman of Jane’s engagement to Mr. Bingley nor did Lady Lucas use a calling card when bringing news of how her daughter Charlotte had accepted Mr. Collins’s proposal. Rather, we are speaking of a more formal situation.

In Sense and Sensibility chapter 27 we are told that “[t]he morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs. Jennings’s acquaintance to inform them of her being in town[.]” Later in that chapter we learn that Willoughby has left a card when he called while Mrs. Jennings and her charges were out driving. In Persuasion, Sir Walter says that he will send his card to Lady Russell when she arrives in Bath and is overjoyed when he receives the cards of his cousins Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret.

Calling cards served the purpose of saying “who” called.

Calling cards during the 19th Century stated “who a person was” and leaving them told the recipient the person had called upon them.

For a time in the late 1800s, for example, cards were quite extravagant. Scrolled style writing. Crests, Monograms. Yet, for much of the Georgian period, the calling card had a “classic’ look to them.

The bearer’s name and title (which includes Mr, Mrs, and Miss, as well as peerages/rank, were included. “Honourable,” generally, was not included on the card. A name was not used unless one needed to be distinguished from another with the same name. Mr Darcy of Pride and Prejudice fame would only be “Mr Darcy” on the card after his father passed, but when both were alive, his card would likely be “Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.” The same might also be true if a woman wished to be distinguished from her mother-in-law. A wife’s card would use her husband’s name, so our dear Elizabeth, would be “Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy,” NOT “Mrs Elizabeth Darcy.”

https://blog.newspapers.com/let-me-leave-you-my-calling-card/

Some married couples shared cards: “Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy”.

A young unmarried lady would not have her own cards. Her name would be added to her mother’s card. A calling card in this situation might read “Mrs Dawson and Miss Dawson”. If there were multiple daughters, it would read “Mrs Dawson and The Misses Dawson.”

Those located in London might also include their directions in the upper left-hand corner, but this was mostly a practice in the latter part of the 1800s.

An officer, such as Colonel Fitzwilliam, might choose to include his regiment in the upper right-hand corner of the card.

Other Sources:

Calling Cards and Visiting Cards: A Brief History

The Estate Sale Chronicles: The Victorian Calling Card

Let Me Leave You My Calling Card

Visiting Cards in the Regency

Calling Cards: The Voicemail of Regency England

Posted in aristocracy, British history, company, customs and tradiitons, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Pride and Prejudice, real life tales, Regency era | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Nature of “Making Calls” and the Use of “Calling Cards” in the Regency Era

Happy 4th Book Birthday to Mr. Darcy’s Bet: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

Today, I celebrate the birth of what was my 48th book baby. Now I am well over 60 titles and counting. The idea shocks me!!! 

Mr. Darcy’s Bet: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary is a story which came to me one night in my sleep. I had been thinking all day (outside weeding flower beds, where I do some of my best thinking) of how Elizabeth must have felt when moving into Mr. Darcy’s world. After all, Mrs. Bennet was not the best example of the mistress of an estate, nor of the wife of a man of the landed gentry. Despite her remarks to the contrary to Lady Catherine, surely Elizabeth held doubts about whether finally to accept Mr. Darcy, if the gentleman renewed his proposal. How would she serve as Pemberley’s mistress? It would take more than her bravado to see her through what she might encounter there. What of his relations? Obviously, Lady Catherine would never accept her, but what of his mother’s brother, whom most of us who write JAFF refer to as Lord Matlock? That concept became the base the basis of this story. 

Book Blurb: 

“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.” – Act 1, Sc. 4, William Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure

FITZWILLIAM DARCY has done everything within his power to prove his devotion to ELIZABETH BENNET. He believes they are so close to knowing happiness; however, when his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, accosts Elizabeth with predictions of Elizabeth never being able to fit in with his social connections, everything changed. Although the lady sent his aunt packing with words to the contrary, a bit of doubt has slipped under Elizabeth’s shield of confidence, and she again refuses his hand in marriage, this time to protect him from the gossiping beau monde.

Therefore, Darcy has taken a leap of faith, he has proposed to her before the congregation gathered for the marriage of Elizabeth’s sister and his friend Bingley. A public proposal from which he cannot legally or morally withdraw, one only Elizabeth Bennet can refuse. He bets he can win not only her heart this time, but also her consent. With the assistance of her family and his, a plan is put into motion to prove Elizabeth Bennet, not only worthy of his attentions, but also the only one he should consider marrying.

This story begins on Jane and Bingley’s wedding day. 

Excerpt:

He glanced up from his musings to view the woman whose image haunted his dreams coming towards him, and his heart sang its song of love and devotion. “Is it time?” he asked when she took her place beside him, for they were to stand up with Bingley and Miss Bennet during the ceremony.

“Mama agrees, so here I am,” she said with a grin. “In truth, I assume she means to present Jane the talk regarding what to expect on the wedding night. Mrs. Bennet does not know Mrs. Gardiner has already spoken to each of us.”

Darcy grinned. Whether the lady realized it or not, Elizabeth Bennet considered him one of her closest confidants, for she spoke to him on a level not afforded “indifferent” acquaintances. “May I say you look lovely?” he whispered.

Her brows drew together in disapproval. “Your tone says you would place an addendum to the compliment.

He hesitated before answering. “If such were possible, I believe you would be more lovely if you were wearing jewels in your hair, rather than the flowers.”

A sound at the rear of the church drew everyone’s attention—everyone’s but his. From the corner of his eye, Darcy noted Mrs. Bennet scampering up the aisle to assume a place on the front pew. Miss Bennet paused at the head of the aisle, the lady’s attention on Bingley as Jane Bennet approached them.

“Is she not beautiful?” Elizabeth murmured.

Darcy’s eyes, however, remained on Elizabeth. “Not as exquisite as you,” he said in hushed tones.

She glanced up at him, displeasure crossing her expression.

Yet, before she could react, Darcy took the ultimate leap of faith. “When we marry, would you prefer a large wedding or a more private affair?”

“Neither,” she hissed. Embarrassment, or perhaps it was anger, colored her cheeks.

“You would prefer one comparable to the future Mrs. Bingley?” he asked in what he hoped sounded of innocence. Convincing Elizabeth to agree with him would take all his skills at negotiation.

“We are not marrying, large, small, or—” Her voice increased in volume with each denial. “Or—”

“Or would you prefer to leave for Gretna Green? Is a marriage over the anvil more to your liking?”

“Enough, Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed in a voice and tone rarely used in a church.

“Elizabeth Bennet!” her mother warned from her position on the pew. “This is not your day.”

Elizabeth nodded her apologies, but Darcy ignored everyone but the woman he loved. “Autumn has already made itself known. If you hold no objections, I would prefer we pronounced our vows before Christmastide. You have not lived until you celebrate a Christmas and Twelfth Night at Pemberley.”

She spun around to face him. Pointing her finger at him, as if he was a misbehaving child, she enunciated each of her words slowly. “I once told you I would not marry you even if you were the last man in the world.”

“But we both know you did not mean those words. You have had a change of heart. No absolutes!”

“I am not marrying you, sir,” she growled.

Darcy thought her adorable when she was so angry she had lost her ability to reason. “Never? Let us ask your mother,” he said with a smile.

“You would not dare.” Elizabeth no longer spoke in soft tones.

“Before I do, answer me this: Are you set against me? Completely set against me?”

“Not if we were the last two people on earth,” she said with a stomp of her foot to emphasize her irritation.

“We would require at least one more person,” he continued logically. “To witness the joining.” He thought it exhilarating to watch the passion flowing through his Elizabeth when she was angry. Just imagine how it will be when we are alone together, he cautioned his heart. “Simply explain what obstacles remain to prevent us from marrying.”

She shot a glance to the congregation, who was watching their interactions with great interest. Darcy refused to look, knowing his daring would die if he encountered a scowl upon her father’s face or those of her neighbors. “You know my reasons without my pronouncing them aloud.”

Off to the side, he heard Miss Bingley announce, “I knew the chit did not have the brains of a sluggard.” 

“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy called out; yet, his eyes remained on Elizabeth. “Do I have your permission to marry Miss Elizabeth?”

Her father’s voice held his amusement. “As I said, son, you must convince Lizzy on your own.”

“Understood, sir. But you hold no objections?”

“Not if Elizabeth is happy.”

Mrs. Bennet shot to her feet, finally comprehending what was happening. “Elizabeth Bennet, you present Mr. Darcy your assent this very moment.”

Bingley stepped up beside him. “In case neither of you have noticed, this is my and Miss Bennet’s wedding day, not a battlefield.”

“All this is Mr. Darcy’s fault,” Elizabeth accused, refusing to abandon her anger.

Bingley growled, “I do not care for faults. All I care about is my Jane and our pronouncing our vows. I swear one more interruption, and I will personally escort you both outside.”

“I apologize, Bingley,” Darcy said in contrition.

“I will be silent,” Elizabeth said obediently.

Darcy listened in as Bingley leaned closer to speak to Elizabeth without an audience. “You do know something of Darcy’s dogged determination once he sets his mind to a task. It might be best if you offered your consent now. It would please both Jane and me to see the two of you happy.”

Darcy noted how Elizabeth stiffened in denial. “I am determined I will not marry him. No matter how may proposals he issues, I shall not be moved. In fact, some find ‘my’ stubbornness endearing.”

“My money is on Mr. Darcy,” Colonel Forster called out.

“Then you will lose, Colonel,” Elizabeth declared adamantly. “I remain unmoved.”

Sir William announced, “Those who wish to place a bet, see me outside after the ceremony. For now, Mr. Bingley wishes to claim his bride.”

Before the focus switched away from him and Elizabeth, Darcy called to the man, “Put me down for fifty pounds. Before this is over, Miss Elizabeth will change her mind. She will accept my proposal. I mean to prove I possess more resolve than does Miss Elizabeth.”

***


“You coxcomb!” she growled when Darcy finally cornered her in the churchyard. “Do you have any idea how miserable you have made my life? My mother will not rest until she browbeats me into accepting your proposal,” Elizabeth hissed.

Darcy caught her elbow and directed her steps further from those still gossiping about the spectacle he had caused. He still could not quite believe he had acted so boldly—the man who had always preferred the outside rim of a crowded ballroom had strode to the center of the floor for all to observe his most vulnerable moments. She jerked her arm from his hold, drawing his attention back to the exhibition he had created. Despite his qualms over how things had turned out, a grin still marked his lips.

With a sigh of resignation, he schooled his countenance and suggested, “You could change Mrs. Bennet’s dudgeon to elation by accepting my proposal now.”

“N—O—T ever a possibility,” she growled in elongated syllables.

“Are you so set against me?” he demanded. “What happened to the vibrant Elizabeth Bennet I knew in Derbyshire?”

“Life,” she said, her shoulders dropping in obvious defeat. “Reality. Lady Catherine. Lydia. Mr. Wickham. Miss Darcy. They all happened.” She looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes. “I am begging you to leave me in Hertfordshire. Return to Derbyshire and your life.”

Holding himself stiff so as not to reach for her, he whispered. “A life without you would be a shadow of what God intended for either of us.”

Her bottom lip trembled when she responded, “Is it your wish to force me into a marriage not of my choosing?”

“You know it is not. I hold you in great affection, and I had hoped—” Her tears, just as they had at the inn in Hunsford when she had received word of Miss Lydia’s elopement with Mr. Wickham, were like a fist to his midsection, only this time, he had proven to be the source of her misery. Darcy took a step back, placing distance between them. “If such is your true desire, I will leave Meryton immediately.”

She glanced about in bewilderment. “You mean tomorrow, do you not? You cannot think to leave today. We hold obligations to Mr. Bingley and Jane. The wedding breakfast. People will expect us both there. If you are absent, the guests will assume I sent you away.”

“Which is exactly what you are doing,” he insisted.

“But—” she began.

“You cannot have it both ways. You asked me to leave, and I have agreed to do so. Now, you insist I stay. I must assume you wish me to shoulder my share of the blame for interrupting your sister’s marriage. Or do you have another motive? Do you mean to ring a pell over my head before your neighbors and friends to demonstrate your indifference to me? If such is so, my leaving will prove your denials equally as well and without either of us facing further embarrassment. Permit me a bit of dignity. Your adamant rejection will indicate your triumph.”

“What of Mr. Bingley?” she protested.

“My friend will have nothing but his new wife on his mind,” Darcy argued. “He will offer a mild denial and then return to his elation. Moreover, your declaration of your disgust for me will embolden Miss Bingley. I shan’t chance her taking it in her head I am now vulnerable to her charms simply to satisfy your pride. If I must choose another, then the woman will be someone to my liking.” He presented her a brief bow. “If you will pardon me, I will make my excuses to Bingley. Please know I wish you all the happiness life has in store for you.”

Posted in Austen Authors, eBooks, Georgian England, Georgian Era, giveaway, Living in the Regency, Pride and Prejudice, publishing, Regency romance, Vagary, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

A Bit on Copperplate Handwriting . . .

Reader’s Question: Could someone tell if the person was right-handed or left-handed by the slant of their letters on a page?

First, let’s speak to what was known as Copperplate Handwriting, what we now call “calligraphy.” Copperplate script is the style most commonly associated with English Roundhand. First, let us define the terminology.

Calligraphy (from Greek καλλιγραφία (kalligraphía) ‘beautiful writing’) is a visual art related to writing and is the design and execution of lettering with a pen, ink brush, or other writing instrument.

https://www.forcmagazine.com/the-art-of-calligraphy/

Round hand (also roundhand) is a type of handwriting originating in England in the 1660s primarily by the writing masters John Ayres and William Banson. Characterized by an open flowing hand (style) and subtle contrast of thick and thin strokes deriving from metal pointed nibs in which the flexibility of the metal allows the left and right halves of the point to spread apart under light pressure and then spring back together, the popularity of round hand grew rapidly, becoming codified as a standard, through the publication of printed writing manuals. (Round hand)

George Bickham’s Round hand script, from The Universal Penman, c. 1740–1741 ~ Public Domain ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Round_hand#/media/File:Bickham-letter.png

Copperplate script is often used as an umbrella term for various forms of pointed pen calligraphy, Copperplate most accurately refers to script styles represented in copybooks [a book used in education that contains examples of handwriting and blank space for learners to imitate] created using the intaglio printmaking method which is largely used today for banknotes, passports, and some postage stamps].

Because in the 18th century good penmanship was primarily considered an important business skill, the copybooks frequently were oriented towards autodidacts wishing to learn business skills, and therefore included chapters on general business management as well as lessons in accounting. Other copybooks, however, focused chiefly on writing literacy and used maxims and sometimes Bible verses as their material. It was intended that students memorize not only correct penmanship, but correct morals as well, through exposure to traditional sayings. [Tamara Plakins Thornton, “Handwriting in America: A cultural history.” Page 12.]

The term Copperplate Script identifies one of the most well-known and appreciated calligraphic styles of all time. Earlier versions of this script required a thin-tipped feather pen. Later, with the rise of industrialization, the use of more flexible and durable fine-point metal nibs became widespread. Many masters offered their contributions in defining the aesthetic canons of the copperplate script, but what really stood out as fundamental was the work of the writing master and engraver George Bickham, who in his book The Universal Penman (1733–1741) collected script samples from twenty-five of the most talented London calligraphers. Copperplate was undoubtedly the most widespread script in the period between the 17th and 18th centuries, and its influence spread not only throughout Europe but also in North America.

People were schooled pretty hard to look exactly as the provided examples. On a side note, my son, who was still ambidextrous at the time, was “forced” in third grade to use D’Nealian, a style of writing and teaching cursive and manuscript adapted from the Palmer Method. Because he had not chosen a dominant hand by then, he would switch hands based on the direction the letters in his name took. The “J” and the “s” and the “a” all swept to the left; therefore, he used his left hand for those. The others letters swept to the right, and he would use his right hand for those. Because of this, his teacher wanted him tested for special education. Though I knew it was foolish, I agree. He was found to possess a very hight IQ, but with a tendency for perfectionism. Even today, one can barely read his handwriting. LOL!

Something more obscure than a particular letter formation would likely be required to tell the difference. Though it could be done. Just not as easy as today when people write all over the place.

Generally speaking, a person cannot tell handedness (left or right, though there can be some clues) or the sex of the writer in handwriting. Yes, we get some good ideas, but not factual. We Romance writers put lots of things about handwriting in our books, and without knowing any better, we customarily come up with the right answer. We do not see the alpha hero with soft, curly writing. He usually slashes his signature across the paper. When we have a strong heroine, she usually has a no-nonsense writing the hero notes. It is just common sense, though it is not something you would take to court. And a character like the Scarlet Pimpernel might try to write in an affected way to look foppish…

Though generally one cannot tell handedness (left or right), though some clues would exist, especially for a historical tale.

When a person is writing with a quill pen, which was the only type of pen available during the Georgian era, the nib of the quill was cut with a split down the middle to allow for the flow of ink. When the nib was pulled across the surface of the paper, as was done by right-handed writers, the ink flowed smoothly onto the paper (unless the nib was in need of mending).

However, left-handed writers had to push the nib over the surface of the paper. Therefore, the two sides of the nib might separate and drag on the paper, especially if it had any texture, (which most hand-made paper did), and the result would be tiny splatters of ink mixed in with the writing. It was for that reason that Leonardo da Vinci, a left-hander, wrote all his notes backwards. His so-called “mirror writing” was not intended as code, he simply wanted to enjoy the better, and cleaner, writing experience of pulling the nib over the surface of the paper instead of having to push it. [As another side note, both my daughter-in-law, who is an elementary school teacher, and my eldest granddaughter are lefties. I often purchase the granddaughter notebooks, etc., made specifically for left-handed students.]

As believed in ancient times (and perhaps even today, especially as our world seems to be returning to many of the earlier maxims) left-handed people were “broken” from those preferences early on. As it was explained to me, left in Latin is sinister, which apparently raised visions of the Devil in most who practiced the Christian faith. For which reason, most Christian children who showed left-handed tendencies were forced to write and do other things with their right hand. With this in mind, there were few “lefties” letters or documents in the early days of writing written by those who were left-handed, at least among the literate.

Elsewhere in the world, writing originally was right to left, as in Arabic countries. But with the invention of ink, the letters were smeared. With so relative few people literate (basically the wealthy and the church), making changes which did not affect the masses ,writing was changed to be a left to right direction. With 90% right-handed, and many left forced to change, most everyone was made to pull the pen instead of push it.

Interestingly, even with the ball point pen, when one rounds a corner (easier to see with a sharper corner), there is a small drop/deposit of ink after the curve. Look at the way most of us make a cursive small “L” or the top of a small “F” or “H.”  One can see the drop of ink after the writer rounds the top and brings the stroke down. Such does not show handedness, but it can be of help with other things. Just saying, in modern terms, the instrument can make a difference.

On a different note: Margins were invented by the monks who made the fantastic Illuminated Manuscripts. Decades of turning the pages spoiled their drawings at the edges, so they made the drawings further in – creating margins – to save their work.

Posted in American History, books, British history, England, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, history, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK, reading, Regency era, research, terminology, Victorian era, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Happy 6th Book Birthday to The Earl Claims His Comfort: Book 2 of The Twins’ Trilogy

On 4 August 2023, I shared an excerpt from Book 1 of the Twins’ Trilogy, Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep, Book 1 of the Twins’ Trilogy, for that book was celebrating its 7th’s Book Birthday.

Today I have an excerpt in celebration of the 6th Book Birthday of The Earl Claims His Comfort, which is Book 2 of the Twins’ Trilogy. In the previous book, Levison Davids, the Earl of Remmington, loses Miss Angelica Lovelace to his best friend, Huntington McLaughlin, the Marquess of Malvern. Rem has attempted “love” twice – once with his long-time first love, Lady Delia, and then with Angel. He is a bruised soul, and only a “white witch,” a woman who deals in herbs and potions, can heal him. But before Miss Comfort Neville can cure what ails Remmington, a mystery that threatens to steal away his earldom must be solved.

The Earl Claims His Comfort, Book 2 of the Twins’ Trilogy 

2016 Hot Prospects Award Finalist, Romantic Suspense

Hurrying home to Tegen Castle from the Continent to assume guardianship of a child not his, but one who holds his countenance, Levison Davids, Earl of Remmington, is shot on the road and left to die. The incident has Remmington chasing after a man who remains one step ahead and who claims a distinct similarity—a man who wishes to replace Remmington as the rightful earl. Rem must solve the mystery of how Frederick Troutman’s life parallels his own while protecting his title, the child, and the woman he loves.

Comfort Neville has escorted Deirdre Kavanaugh from Ireland to England, in hopes the Earl of Remmington will prove a better guardian for the girl than had the child’s father. When she discovers the earl’s body upon road backing the castle, it is she who nurses him to health. As the daughter of a minor son of an Irish baron, Comfort is impossibly removed from the earl’s sphere, but the man claims her affections. She will do anything for him, including confronting his enemies. When she is kidnapped as part of a plot for revenge against the earl, she must protect Rem’s life, while guarding her heart.

Purchase Links: 

Kindle      https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08PQ8TQR1/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=the+earl+claims+his+comfort&qid=1607179295&sr=8-2

Kindle Unlimited     https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/hz/subscribe/ku?passThroughAsin=B08PQ8TQR1&_encoding=UTF8&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DMTZJZT/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1607179295&sr=8-2

Chapter One 

“Cannot recall the last time I slept in my own bed,” he murmured to no one in particular as he stood to claim his bearings. The room swirled before his eyes, but Rem shook off the feeling. Of late, it was common for him to know a buzzing in his brain.

Levison Davids, the 17th Earl of Remmington, set the glass down harder than he intended. He had drunk more than he should, but it was the only means to bolster his waning resolve. His home shire often brought on a case of maudlin.

Attempting to walk with the confidence his late father always demanded of his sons, he turned toward the door.

Lev was not supposed to be the earl. His father groomed Rem’s older brother Robbie for the role, but Fate had a way of spitting in a man’s eye when he least expected it.

Outside, the chilly air took the edge off the numbness the heavy drink provided him, and for a brief moment Rem thought to return to the common room to reinforce the black mood the drink induced. A special form of “regret” plagued his days and nights since receiving word of his ascension to the earldom.

“Storm comin’,” the groom warned when he brought Rem’s horse around.

“We’re in York,” Remmington replied in explanation.

Customarily, he would not permit the groom to offer him a leg up, but Rem’s determination to reach his country estate had waned in the hours he had spent at the inn. Nearly a month prior, he received a note via Sir Alexander Chandler that Rem’s presence was required at his home seat, and so he set out from France, where he had spent the last year, to answer another call of duty.

Sir Alexander offered little information on why someone summoned Rem home, only that the message came from his housekeeper. It did not matter that the journey required that Rem leave an ongoing investigation behind for he knew the others in service to Sir Alexander also possessed the knowledge and the stealth to see a successful end. Moreover, the baronet had assured Rem that several missions on English shores required Remmington’s “special” skills.

He caught the reins to turn the stallion in a tight circle. Tossing the groom a coin, he kicked Draco’s sides to set the horse into a gallop.

Even when the dark swallowed them up, Rem enjoyed the power the rhythm of the horse’s gait provided. He and the animal raced across the valley before emerging onto the craggy moors. At length, Rem skirted the rocky headland, and he slowed Draco as the cliff tops came into view. When he reached Davids’ Point, he urged the stallion into a trot. Rem could no longer see the trail, but his body knew it as well as it knew the sun would rise on the morrow. Eventually, Rem jerked Draco’s reins hard to the left, and as a pair they plunged onto the long-forgotten trail.

Rem leaned low over the stallion’s neck to avoid the tree limbs before he directed Draco to an adjacent trail that led upward toward the family estate, setting high upon a hill overlooking the breakwaters.

When he reached the main road again, Remmington pulled up on the reins to bring the animal to a halt. He patted Draco’s neck, as he stared through the night at his childhood home framed against the rising moonlight. It often made Rem sad to realize how much he once loved the estate as a child and how much he now despised it.

“No love left in the bricks,” he said through a thick throat. “Even the dowager countess no longer wishes to live here. How can I?”

It was not always so. Although he was a minor son, Rem always thought to share Tegen Castle with his wife and children. To relate tales of happier days.

“But after Lady Delia’s betrayal and then likewise that of Miss Lovelace, I possess no heart to begin again.”

In truth, of the two ladies, Rem had only loved Lady Delia. “Fell in love with the girl when I was but fourteen and she ten.” Rem crossed his arms over the saddle’s point to study the distant manor house. “Perhaps Delia could find no solace here,” he murmured aloud.

Even today, it bothered Lev to realize Delia did not care enough for him to send Rem a letter denying their understanding. He learned of Delia’s marrying Baron Kavanagh from Sir Alexander with whom Rem served upon the Spanish front. Sir Alexander’s younger brother delivered the news in a cheeky letter.

“I suppose Lady Delia thought being a baroness was superior to being Mrs. Davids. Little did she know I would claim the earldom. More is the pity for her.”

A large raindrop plopped upon the back of Remmington’s hand.

“If we do not speed our return to the castle, my friend, we will arrive with a wet seat.”

Rem caught up the loose reins, but before he could set his heels into Draco’s sides, a shot rang out. By instinct, Rem prepared to dive for the nearby ditch; yet, the heavy drink slowed his response, and Remmington knew the sharp sting of the bullet in his thigh.
Draco bolted forward before he had control of the stallion’s reins. Rem felt himself slipping from the saddle, but there was little he could do to prevent the impact.

He slammed hard into the packed earth just as the heavens opened with a drenching rain. The back of his head bounced hard against a paving stone, and a shooting pain claimed his forehead.

Even then, Rem thought to sit up so he might take cover, but the effort was short coming. The biting pain in his leg and the sharp pain claiming his vision fought for control. The blow to his head won, and Rem closed his eyes to welcome the new darkness.

* * *

“It still be raining, Miss Comfort,” the child said as she crawled into bed.

Comfort tucked the blankets about the girl. Little did she know when Baron Kavanagh ordered her to deliver Miss Deirdre to the Earl of Remmington that she would be more than a month tending the child without any sign of His Lordship.

“The weather shall not stop us from gathering herbs in the morning,” Comfort assured.
Deirdre took to the study of herbs and healing as quickly as had her mother.

Poor Lady Delia had tried every herb possible to increase her chances of delivering an heir for Kavanagh, but the baroness was not made to carry full term. She had lost several babes before Comfort had seen her to a successful delivery. Lady Kavanagh had drawn a shot straw in marrying the baron, and Comfort never understood the woman’s choice. Kavanagh treated his wife poorly and only when Lady Delia delivered the title’s heir did the man permit his baroness any surcease.

“Good,” the child declared. “I enjoy the days when we search for  herbs for our food and for assisting His Lordship’s tenants.”

Comfort smiled easily at the child: the girl was truly the spirit and image of her late mother.

Poor Deirdre suffered the venomous attack of Baron Kavanagh before Comfort and the child departed Ireland. It was a wonder the girl did not fear the world, but the child walked about with hope resting plainly upon her sleeve. Comfort supposed childhood resilience had something to do with how Deirdre had accepted her father’s words as the truth.

“I want Remmington’s bastard from my sight,” Kavanagh thundered as Miss Deirdre cowered behind Comfort’s skirts. “I cannot claim another to marriage while the earl’s by-blow wears my name.”

Comfort wanted to remind the baron that legally Deirdre would always be his responsibility and would never claim the name of Davids. She also wished to warn Kavanagh against using such crude language before the child, but she did neither. Instead, Comfort negotiated additional funds to tend to Miss Deirdre’s needs until Lord Remmington could claim the girl’s guardianship. Although she doubted there was a legal means for Lord Remmington to do so, she prayed the earl would treat Miss Deirdre more kindly than did the child’s father.

She set a candle on the far table to provide the child solace until Comfort could finish her chores and joined the child in the bed.

“My sweet Deirdre,” she thought as she glanced again to the countenance of the sleeping girl.

Comfort wondered at the irony of the choice of the child’s name. Deirdre was a tragic figure in an Irish legend that died of a broken heart when she was forced to marry Ulster’s King Conchobhar. The King killed her lover Naoise. Every true Irishman recognized the name “Deirdre” as coming from the old Gaelic name “Derdriu,’ meaning unknown.

The girl, less than six years of age, certainly held no identity. Kavanagh refused to claim his first born, and Lord Remmington knew nothing of the baron’s accusation.

“What vice have I executed against the child by escorting her to York?” she wondered.
“I pray the earl returns soon,” Comfort murmured. “This not knowing Miss Deirdre’s future has both of us playing a game I fear will break the child’s heart.”

* * *

Rem held no idea how often he had come to only to succumb to the darkness of his soul rushing in once again. Twice he attempted to reach where Draco ate his fill of the wet grass. Once he managed to lift his head to whistle for the stallion. Draco responded as Rem trained the horse to do, but Rem’s efforts to catch the stirrups proved fruitless. At length, Draco moved away to take up his unexpected feast, and Rem permitted the exhaustion to claim him.

Partially conscious throughout his ordeal, Rem knew when the heavy rain dwindled to the steady dripping from the trees. He recognized the slow decline in the temperature as the coolness slipped into every bone of his body except the one supporting the area where the bullet filled his veins with fire.

Will I die on this lonely road? His mind asked the question again and again. Irony. I am but a half mile from my childhood home, and there is no one to tend me.

Except perhaps his mother and his sister, Rem considered again how others would not think his demise worthy of note. He would be simply the latest Earl of Remmington to meet an unexpected death. His father tripped on a loose board upon the stairs and plunged head first to the foyer of the main hall, while his brother had an equally unprecedented accident less than a year into his reign as the 16th Earl of Remmington: Robinson Davids cleaned his favorite gun one too many times. The servants discovered Robinson slumped over his desk with a bullet hole in his chest.

Summoned home from the Continent to assume the earldom, Rem examined all the evidenced that Sir Alexander accumulated, but like the baronet, Rem uncovered nothing more suspicious than a dozen unanswered questions.

At long last, perhaps the baronet will know success, Rem considered. No one can call the bullet in my leg an accident.

* * *

Comfort tugged harder on the vegetable cart she rescued from the shed behind the dowager house she shared with Miss Deirdre. The three-wheeled cart bounced along the root-filled path.

When she and the child arrived at Tegen Castle, the earl’s butler refused them admittance, literally driving her and Miss Deirdre from the threshold. Only by the goodness of Mrs. Stoddard, the castle’s housekeeper, did they find a means to survive.

Against Mr. Flood’s wishes, Mrs. Stoddard presented Comfort the key to the dower house. “Her Ladyship retired to another of Lord Remmington’s properties, but if you are handy with a pot and a few chores, you may remain until I send for the earl.” Mrs. Stoddard caressed Deirdre’s cheek. “His Lordship would expect me to protect Lady Delia’s child. I will have the servants bring you firewood and as many supplies as I can spare from Mr. Flood’s oversight. Can you do as I ask, Girl?”

Needless to say, Comfort made all the necessary promises, but now she held second thoughts. Before she departed Ireland, she sent a letter and a promise to her cousin to join Isolde’s household to tend the Baroness Swenton’s delivery of the baron’s first child. Isolde married the baron six months prior, and Comfort was to assist Isolde’s time. Unfortunately, Comfort was more than a week tardy in her arrival at Swenton Hall.

“For what do we search today?” Deirdre called as she danced along the rutted path before Comfort.

Comfort brought her thoughts to task at hand. “Soapwort for Mr. Thorne’s carbuncle,” she pronounced with a grunt of effort to right the cart when it veered to the left. “Devil’s claw for Mr. Pratt’s sore knee.”

When Mrs. Stoddard learned that Comfort had the gift of healing, the housekeeper turned several of the earl’s tenants to Comfort’s care.

“Shepherd’s purse for Mrs. Stoddard’s niece, Pearl,” Comfort thought aloud. “We can always use dandelion root, watercress, rosemary, parsley, and winter savory for the meals, so keep your eyes sharp for any of those.

“Can we not use the herbs in the estate’s garden?” Deirdre reasoned.

“I would prefer not to be more indebted to Mrs. Stoddard than we already are. The lady places her position in jeopardy to protect us. Moreover, we hold no knowledge of His Lordship’s ready return.”

Deirdre nodded her understanding, but the child appeared distracted by something up ahead.

“What is amiss, Deirdre?” Comfort called as she maneuvered the cart up the incline to the main road leading behind the estate.

Deirdre stood squinting into the early morning sun. “Do you see a bit of red where the forest opens for the lane leading to the manor?”

Comfort wiped her brow against her sleeve and used her arm to block the sun. A sense of dread skittered up her spine. “We should have a closer look,” she murmured. “Likely nothing more than a wildflower or a lady’s ribbon.”

Comfort took up the handles of the cart once more and started toward the spot Deirdre noted. She glanced to the child who walked a half step behind her. The girl knew fright, but she trusted Comfort to protect her. The idea pleased Comfort, but it also brought on her own anxiety. They approached the spot slowly. Neither of them spoke; the road curved at an odd angle, and a deceptively steep incline kept them from discovering the answer until they were within yelling distance of the place.

“It is a horse,” Deirdre declared as she rushed forward.

Comfort abandoned the cart and raced to reach the animal before the child.

“Wait, Deirdre,” she cautioned. “We must be certain a gentleman is not…”

“Not what?” The child screwed up her face in confusion.

Comfort swallowed her embarrassment. “Men are obstinate creatures, and we women cannot predict their ways.”

Her answer made little sense in relation to the child’s question, but Deirdre appeared satisfied.“You wait here. If I tell you to run,” Comfort warned. “Go quickly. Find Mrs. Stoddard.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Deirdre said in quiet fear.

Comfort edged closer to the horse. It was a beautiful stallion. Strong hindquarter. Black as coal. The bit of red was a line detailing the saddle’s engraving.

Éasca, mo áilleacht,” she said as she stroked the animal’s neck. “Where is your master?”
Comfort noted the saddle and harness were wet. The horse had been out in the rain all night. “An bhfuil tú gortaithe?” She ran her hands along the animal’s legs to search for swelling or a cut. Catching the harness, she turned the animal back toward the road.

“He is a mighty one,” Deirdre said in admiration. The child always wished for a pony of her own, but Lord Kavanagh denied the girl a place in his heart.

“He is at that,” Comfort spoke in caution. “I just wish I knew the whereabouts of his rider.”

“Do you think he is in the forest somewhere?” Deirdre’s fear flared again. “Should we not seek out Mr. Flood? He’d know if the horse belongs to one of His Lordship’s neighbors.”

Comfort glanced about them. “The horse was out in the rain overnight. A gentleman would never leave such a fine animal unless something amiss occurred. I think we should look about before we seek out Mr. Flood. His Lordship’s servant already holds us in contempt. If we bring a false tale to his attention, Mr. Flood will use it against us when Lord Remmington arrives. The earl’s butler will not be pleased if we set up a stir without proof.”

The child did not appear convinced, but Deirdre followed Comfort’s lead.

“Look for hoof prints. They should be clear after the rain,” she instructed. “But do not go into the woods alone. Just look for where the horse exited the forested area onto the road.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Comfort looped the animal’s reins loosely about one of the cart’s handles.

“I shall search this side of the road. You take the other side.”

Deirdre nodded her agreement.

They moved slowly along the lane, inspecting each marking. Comfort smiled when she noted how Deirdre squatted to look at several loose stones: The child embraced every task Comfort presented her. It was a true shame Baron Kavanagh treated the child so poorly. Lord Kavanagh would be blessed by Miss Deirdre’s pure affection.

“I plan to inspect the path upon which we discovered the horse,” Comfort instructed. “I shan’t go far, just deep enough into the passage to determine if the stallion and his rider followed the lane.” She pointed to a large elm overspreading the main road. “You are to go no further than the large tree at the fork. Wait for me there. Call out if you discover anything.”

* * *

In the deepest recesses of Rem’s mind, he thought he could hear someone talking, but the words remained garbled. His last conscious thought was of his impending death, so were the voices that of God’s angels.

Although he was certain his expression did not change physically, the thought brought a smile to Rem’s lips. “More likely the Devil’s disciples,” Rem’s mind announced. “You are not likely to know God’s mercy.”

The voices dwindled to an uncomfortable silence, and Rem fought for the clarity his injury denied him. For several elongated moments, his unconscious mind claimed dominance, and Rem found himself tumbling toward the darkness once again, but just as he abandoned the hope of the angels claiming him, a comfortably heavy weight landed upon his chest.

Thump.

The suddenness of the attack had Rem searching for his next breath.

“Here!” A screeching voice demanded. “Down here!”

There was fear and anxiousness in the tone, and something in Rem’s body reacted to the cry for assistance. His mind shut the door leading to the dark pit and began its climb toward the speck of light beckoning to him.

“Wake up!” the voice demanded.

Hands caught the lapels of Rem’s jacket to tug him forward. Even so, it was several seconds before he ventured to open his lids. When Rem did so, the light pierced his eyes causing him to blink hard to protect his sight.

“Can you hear me?” the voice asked as a body blocked out the sunlight to tower over him.

“I’m not deaf, demme it,” he hissed as he cracked his eyelids open to claim the light once more.

At length, the face hovering above his took on a familiar form. Dark curls. A heart-shaped face. The soft complexion of youth. The image brought him comfort while it frightened him beyond reason for he knew the figure before him dead.

“So, it is true?” Rem struggled through a dry throat, swallowing hard against the unreality of the situation. “God prefers his angels to possess the innocence of children.”

“I am no angel,” the face assured.

“You are…” Rem stumbled over the familiar name.

“Deirdre.”

“Delia.”

They said together.

“What?” Rem squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision, but when he opened them again, the childlike image remained. “Are you Delia or not?” he demanded testily.

“Not,” the figure pronounced as confusion crossed her features.

Yet before Rem could gather his thought, the image retreated to be replaced by another. Blue-green eyes. Golden-red wisps of hair flamed with the light behind it. Full lips. Creamy white skin touched with flecks of the sun’s kiss. This was Remmington’s idea of an angel. Unfortunately, concern crossed the celestial being’s expression.

“Can you tell me what occurred? Are you injured?”

The “angel” ran her hands over Rem’s body to search for his wounds, but Rem held no thoughts of the woman’s charity. Her clean, slightly floral scent tempted him as nothing had in some two years. It claimed his reason and his desire to know the truth of the one “not” called “Delia.”

“Oh, my,” the woman said on a gasp as her fingers grazed his bloody leg. She jerked a scarf from her head and leaned over Rem’s body to wrap the cloth about his leg.

Rem knew he should warn her not to touch his wound, but the heat of her body draped over his danced through his veins. Her breasts brushed against his manhood, and despite his every limb feeling the numbness of inaction and the overnight rain, his body reacted to her closeness.

“We must remove you to safety,” she said in anxiousness as her image returned to a point above him. Without the scarf to cover her locks, the woman was more spectacular than before, and Rem permitted himself the hint of a smile.

“I shall return to the manor and plead for assistance,” she said as she prepared to stand. “You must have the services of a surgeon.”

Her words cleared the fog clinging to Rem’s mind. “No!” he snapped as he caught the stranger’s arm to stay her rise.

“You require a surgeon,” she reiterated.

Rem knew her correct, but his wound was no accident: He did not know whom he might trust among those at Tegen Castle.

“Even though I recovered your horse, I simply cannot permit you to attempt to ride on your own.”

“You found Draco?” he asked with an attempt to sit up only to have the woman shove downward on his shoulders.

“You cannot ride without assistance,” she insisted.

“You are not my demme mother,” Rem accused.

She shoved hard against his frame, and although he knew the woman meant it as part of her chastisement, his mind returned to the pleasure of having her so draped across his body. It was the first time in more than a year that he had felt an instant attraction to a woman.

“First, Sir, will not speak so freely before the child. If you continue to act without respect for Miss Deirdre’s tender nature, I shall leave your carcass here to rot.” The woman poked Rem’s chest with one of her fingers to punctuate her threat.“Moreover, from the cut of your clothes, I presume you to be a gentleman; therefore, you are expected at Tegen Castle.”

“Is Remmington not at the castle?” Rem said suspiciously. Some of his renowned reasoning had returned: After all, the woman leaning over him was a stranger. Perhaps she was involved in the attack upon his person.

“The earl is expected,” the woman repeated in what sounded of earnestness.

When she looked with more purpose upon his countenance, Rem noted a flicker of confusion crossed her expression.

“Even though you object,” Rem spoke with the authority he developed during his time serving under Wellington, “I mean to mount Draco and seek my own assistance.”

The woman continued to study Rem’s expression closely–too closely for his ease.

“Very well,” she said at length. “Permit me to lead your stallion to the shade of the tree. Draco will be waiting for you there.”

With that, the woman strode away to catch the girl by the hand and tug the child along behind her. In her anger, the female was magnificent. Rem raised himself to his elbows so he might observe her retreat. It was as he expected: He enjoyed the sway of her hips as she sidestepped her way across the short expanse leading to the back road of his estate.

Swallowing a cry of pain as he lifted his weight to a seated position, Rem calculated how many steps it would take to reach the large elm. “Twelve,” he grunted while rolling to his one good knee. Grabbing the spindle-like branches of a large shrub, Rem pulled himself to a standing position, purposely not placing weight on his left leg.

Blowing out a short breath, he took a tentative step forward, followed by a hobble step. His good leg remained numb from lack of use, while his injured one shot pains through his body to lodge in his tightened jaw. “Four,” Rem hissed as he repeated the maneuver, and his determination took hold.

However, the rocky path had a mind of its own. It rose up to claim his footing, and he stumbled to land face first in the mud.

“Hold the horse,” the woman instructed the child. She was scampering over the short distance to reach him.

“Keep back?” Rem growled as he shoved himself upward. The woman came to a stumbling halt. “I require no assistance.”

Biting down on his stubborn will, Rem slowly repeated the process of standing–this time without the aid of the shrubbery. Yet, his resolution had suffered a blow with his fall, and he swayed in place. His disorientation was enough to send the woman into action again. She rushed forward to brace Rem’s stance, and her floral scent filled his lungs, causing the dizziness to increase.

“Please permit me to assist you,” she pleaded.

“It is not necessary,” Rem insisted.

“Allow the woman her due,” a very masculine voice called out from behind where the child waited with Draco.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Rem snapped as he took in the countenance of his former friend.

Yet before the Marquess of Malvern could respond, the woman shoved hard against Rem’s chest, sending him backward to land upon his posterior.

“I warned you, Sir, I would not tolerate your foul tongue!”

Posted in book excerpts, book release, books, British history, castles, estates, family, Georgian Era, Great Britain, historical fiction, Living in the Regency, marriage customs, medicine, mystery, primogenture, Regency era, Regency romance, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

What is a “Letters Patent” and Why Is the Term Always Plural?

Letters patent is defined as a “type of legal instrument in the form of a published written order issued by a monarch, president or other head of state, generally granting an office, right, monopoly, title or status to a person or corporation. Letters patent can be used for the creation of corporations or government offices, or for granting city status or a coat of arms. Letters patent are issued for the appointment of representatives of the Crown, such as governors and governors-general of Commonwealth realms, as well as appointing a Royal Commission. In the United Kingdom, they are also issued for the creation of peers of the realm.”

Letters patent are so named from the Latin verb pateo, to lie open, exposed, accessible. The originator’s seal was attached pendent from the document, so that it did not have to be broken in order for the document to be read. They are called “letters” (plural) from their Latin name litterae patentes, used by medieval and later scribes when the documents were written in Latin. This loanword preserves the collective plural “letters” (litterae) that the Latin language uses to denote a message as opposed to a single alphabet letter (littera). [Cassell’s Latin Dictionary, revised by Marchant & Charles, 260th. thousand: “Literae, Plur: that which is written; Cicero: Dare alicui literas (plur) ad aliquem: to give to a messenger a letter for a third person” via Wikipedia]

Basically, it is a legal statement which takes the form of a published written order. The person in charge of the government is generally the one who issues this type of document/order, though I will mention a few exceptions further down in this piece. The person receiving the letters patent is being presented with an exclusive right, privilege, title or office.

Letters patent are used to create peerages. Letters patent must explicitly name the recipient of the title and specify the course of descent; the exact meaning of the term is determined by common law. For remainders in the Peerage of the United Kingdom, the most common wording is “to have and to hold unto him and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten and to be begotten”. Where the letters patent specifies the peer’s heirs male of the body as successors, the rules of agnatic succession apply, meaning that succession is through the male line only. Some very old titles, like the Earldom of Arlington, may pass to heirs of the body (not just heirs-male), these follow the same rules of descent as do baronies by writ and seem able to fall into abeyance as well.

In the UK, letters patent are issued for appointing representatives of the Crown (i.e., the governor of one of the Commonwealth realms), as well as appointing a Royal Commission. They can be used for the creation of a peerage, as in this example of Wellington being made a duke.

CREATION OF FIELD-MARSHAL the Marquis of Wellington

to be Marquis of Douro and Duke of Wellington

64 Geo. III

1814

George the Third, by the grace of Godof the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of our other realms and territories, to all archbishops and all Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and all other of Our subjects whatsoever to whome these presents shall come, Greetings! Know ye that we of Our especial grace, certain knowledge and mere motion, have advanced, preferred and created our right trusty and entirely beloved cousin and councillor Field-Marshal Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, in our county of Somerset, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, to the state, degree, style, dignity, title and honour of Marquis Douro, And for Us Our heirs and successors do appoint, give, and grant unto him the said name, state, degree, style, dignity and honour of Marquis of Duoro. And moreover it being Our will and pleasure to dignify the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, with the title of Duke, and to admit him amongst the Dukes of our United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland of our more abundant especial grace and of our certain knowledge and mere motion, We have advanced, preferred, dignified, constituted and created the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, Duke of Wellington, in our county of Somerset, Also to the state, degree, style, title, dignity, name and honour of Duke of Wellington aforesaid. And him the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, Duke of Wellington, in our county of Somerset, Do by these presents advance, prefer, dignify, constitute and create, And we have appointed, given and granted by these presents for us, our heirs and successors, Do appoint, give and grant unto him, the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, the name, state, degree, style, dignity, title and honour of Duke of Wellington aforesaid. And him the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, by these presents we do dignify, invest and really enoble with such name, style, title, state, degree, dignity and honour of Duke of Wellington, in our county of Somerset, by girding him with a sword and putting a cap of honour and a coronet of gold on his head and by giving into his hand a rod of gold. To have and to hold the name, state, degree, style, dignity and honour of Duke of Wellington aforesaid, with all and singular pre-eminences and other honours belonging or appertaining to such name, style, title, state, degree, dignity and honour of Duke of Wellington aforesaid unto him the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten and to begotten for ever. And further we will and by these presents for us, our heirs and successors, Do give and grant unto the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, and his heirs male aforesaid, that he and his heirs male aforesaid, and every of them successively may bear and have the name, style, title, state, degree, dignity and honor of Duke of Wellington, and that they and every one of them successively may be called and styled by the name of Duke of Wellington. And that he, the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, and his heirs male aforesaid, and every one of them successively, may be held and deemed Dukes of Wellington, and be treated and reputed as dukes, and that they and every one of them successively may have, hold and possess a seat, place and voice in the Parliaments of us, our heirs and successors, within our United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland amongst other nobles and peers of this our United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland as Dukes of Wellington, and also that the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, and his heirs male aforesaid may enjoy and use, and every one of them successively may enjoy and use by the name of Duke of Wellington aforesaid, All and singular the rights, privileges, pre-eminences, immunities and advantages to the state of a duke in all things duly and of right belonging which other dukes of this our United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland have heretofore honourably and quietly used and enjoyed or as they do at present use and enjoy. And further we will and by these presents for us, our heirs and successors of our more ample grace Do grant unto the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, and his heirs male aforesaid, that these our letters patent or the enrolment thereof shall be sufficient and effectual in the law for the dignifying, investing and really enobling him, the said Arthur, Marquis of Wellington, and his heirs male aforesaid, with the several respective names, titles, dignities and honours of Marquis Douro and Duke of Wellington, in our county of Somerset, and this without any investiture, rites, ornaments or ceremonies whatsoever in this behalf due and accustomed which, for some certain reasons best known to us, we could not in due manner do and perform any ordinance, use, custom, rite, ceremony, prescription or provision due or used, or to be had, done or performed in conferring honours of this kind or any other matter or thing to the contrary thereof in any wise notwithstanding..

In witness whereof we have caused these our letters to be made patent. Witness Ourself at LOCATION) the nth day of MONTH in the xth year of Our Reign

The British monarchy might also use a letters patent to make an important announcement. Our dearest Queen Elizabeth II signed a letters patent only a few days before her passing. In it, the town of Colchester was presented the status of a “city.”

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-essex-63741872

Here in the U.S., a letters patent (which we have a tendency to shorten to “patent,”) presents someone the patent for a new invention or discovery. The modern patent is protected by U.S. patent law, granting exclusive rights in an invention or a design.

Investopedia tells us, “Rights to a patent are effective only in the jurisdiction that granted the patent. The new invention is required to provide a different way of doing something or a unique solution. The opposite of letters patent is letters close, which are personal in nature and sealed so that only the recipient can read their contents.

“A letters patent is not sealed. Instead, it is open for public viewing at the patent and trademark office or another appropriate venue. A letters patent gives the rights of an invention to a person or entity for a limited period, usually for 20 years. The government may also refer to a patent as a ‘license’ giving its holder rights to the innovative process, design, or invention for a certain amount of time.

“The term appears to have originated from the Latin words “litterae patentes,” translated as “open letters” or “exposed letters” for public documents published by a monarch. The phrase evolved in English to refer to public documents signifying the rights to a new patent.”

The primary source of letters patent in the United States are intellectual property patents and land patents, though letters patent are issued for a variety of other purposes. They function dually as public records and personal certificates.

Public Domain ~ The Cooper Collection of Historical US Documents.
A U.S. General Land Office land patent for 40 acres of land in Dixon, Illinois, dated September 1, 1845. It is signed on behalf of President James K. Polk by Col. J. Knox Walker, the President’s private secretary and nephew. ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Letters_patent#/media/File:US_General_Land_Office_Deed_1845.jpg

Posted in Act of Parliament, American History, aristocracy, British history, commerce, England, George IV, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, history, kings and queens, laws of the land, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK, peerage, real life tales, Regency era, Regency personalities, research, terminology, Victorian era, word play, world history | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on What is a “Letters Patent” and Why Is the Term Always Plural?

Frances “Fanny” Austen and the Character of Mrs. Croft in Jane Austen’s “Persuasion”

Before discussing Fanny Austen, we must, first, establish the lady’s relationship to the author Jane Austen by mentioning the lady’s husband, Rear Admiral Charles John Austen (23 June 1778 – 7 October 1852), who was the sixth and youngest son of the Reverend George Austen. Like his elder brother, Sir Francis Austen, Charles joined the Royal Navy Academy, eventually becoming a midshipman on HMS Daedalus and served throughout the French Revolution, the Napoleonic Wars, and beyond, achieving the rank of Rear Admiral.  

Austen married Frances Palmer, the subject of this piece, in 1807. She was the youngest daughter of the late Attorney-General of Bermuda. Together, they had three children. [Please note: After the death of Frances in 1814, Charles married his late wife’s sister, Harriet Palmer in 1820, which was, at that time contrary to the law of the land and considered a Voidable Marriage. Charles and Harriet had 4 children. One of his sons by Harriet followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the British Royal Navy.]

Yet, this piece is designed to use Fanny Austen as the model for Mrs. Croft in Jane Austen’s novel, Persuasion. Do you recall this scene? 

“Oh! Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you. –All idle refinement! –Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house in England. I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I know nothing superior to the accommodations of a man-of-war. I declare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch Hall,” (with a kind bow to Anne), “beyond what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in; and they have been five altogether.”

“Nothing to the purpose,” replied her brother. “You were living with your husband, and were the only woman on board.”

“But you, yourself, brought Mrs Harville, her sister, her cousin, and three children, round from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was this superfine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then?”

“All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist any brother officer’s wife that I could, and I would bring anything of Harville’s from the world’s end, if he wanted it. But do not imagine that I did not feel it an evil in itself.”

“Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable.”

“I might not like them the better for that perhaps. Such a number of women and children have no right to be comfortable on board.”

“My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray, what would become of us poor sailors’ wives, who often want to be conveyed to one port or another, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings?”

“My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs Harville and all her family to Plymouth.”

“But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days.”

“Ah! my dear,” said the Admiral, “when he had got a wife, he will sing a different tune. When he is married, if we have the good luck to live to another war, we shall see him do as you and I, and a great many others, have done. We shall have him very thankful to anybody that will bring him his wife.”

“Ay, that we shall.”

“Now I have done,” cried Captain Wentworth. “When once married people begin to attack me with,–`Oh! you will think very differently, when you are married.’ I can only say, `No, I shall not;’ and then they say again, `Yes, you will,’ and there is an end of it.”

He got up and moved away.

“What a great traveller you must have been, ma’am!” said Mrs Musgrove to Mrs Croft.

“Pretty well, ma’am in the fifteen years of my marriage; though many women have done more. I have crossed the Atlantic four times, and have been once to the East Indies, and back again, and only once; besides being in different places about home: Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar. But I never went beyond the Streights, and never was in the West Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies.”

Mrs Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she could not accuse herself of having ever called them anything in the whole course of her life.

“And I do assure you, ma’am,” pursued Mrs Croft, “that nothing can exceed the accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you know, of the higher rates. When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined; though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in one of them; and I can safely say, that the happiest part of my life has been spent on board a ship. While we were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared. Thank God! I have always been blessed with excellent health, and no climate disagrees with me. A little disordered always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea, but never knew what sickness was afterwards. The only time I ever really suffered in body or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when the Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North Seas. I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next; but as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me, and I never met with the smallest inconvenience.”

From Austen’s letters, as well as others in her family such as Caroline Austen (Fanny’s niece) and Fanny Knight who wrote in her diary in May 1807, “Uncle Charles and the lovely Fanny Palmer are married at Bermuda.” (Deidre Le Faye’s Chronology of Jane Austen and Her Family, page 339)

Charles Austen first met Frances Fitzwilliam Palmer when Fanny was but 15. Charles was twelve years her senior. They, however, reportedly fell deeply in love. Eventually, they were married in St. Peter’s Church, Bermuda on 19 May 1807. She was 17, at the time.

His land base during their early years of marriage was St. George’s, Bermuda, where Fanny tended to their daughters, Cassandra Esten (born in December 1808) and Harried Jane (who arrived in February 1810). We know something of her life with Charles in the letters she wrote to family during their years together. From those letters we know that Fanny looked up to her husband with much admiration. We know they appeared to be a happily married couple, who enjoyed each other’s company. They had an active social life together in Halifax, as his promotion to post captain and the command of the Swiftsure, the flagship of his commander-in-chief, Admiral Sir John Borlase Warren, placed him thusly.

As to the character of Mrs. Croft, like Fanny, Mrs. Croft was noticeably content in sharing her husband’s lifestyle. Mrs. Croft and the Admiral were a “particularly attached and happy” pairing. Austen allows the reader to view their relationship in some detail. For example, when the Crofts are out driving in a gig, we read: “But by coolly giving the reins a better direction herself, they happily passed the danger; and by once afterwards judiciously putting out her hand, they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart; and Anne, with some amusement at their style of driving, which she imagined no bad representation of the general guidance of their affairs, found herself safely deposited by them at the cottage.” Mrs. Croft does not criticize her husband, she simply assists him where needed.

As did Mrs. Croft when she said: The only time I ever really suffered in body or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when the Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North Seas. I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next…, Fanny Austen wrote of her anguish when Captain Austen delivered troops close to the battle ground in Portugal during the Peninsular War. She wrote (summer 1810): “Captain Austen’s sudden departure, and the uncertainty of his returning…if he is not here by the middle of September, I shall give him up.” 

Later, in late 1813, Fanny wrote to her brother-in-law, James Christie Esten, who resided in Bermuda, at the time. “Charles is very anxious to be in active serve just now…should he be fortunate enough to get a frigate before the American War is over, he will certainly endeavor to go out to that station and has promised I shall accompany him.” 

We know that Fanny made several journeys with her husband, especially between Bermuda and Halifax on a variety of ships. She also made a transatlantic voyage back to England in June 1811. As noted above, Mrs. Croft lived on five of her husband’s ships and crossed the Atlantic four times. Also above, one must note how Mrs. Croft tells Mrs. Musgrove, “[W]e do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies.” One can easily assume Jane Austen learned something of Bermuda from Frances Austen, her sister-in-law. 

Others have dared to compare Fanny Austen to the ill-fated Fanny Harville, also in Persuasion. If one recalls, Captain Benwick, Captain Wentworth’s lieutenant when they were sailing on the Laconia, had been engaged to Captain Harivlle’s sister, Fanny. Benwick was attempting to win enough prize money so they might marry. Unfortunately, Fanny Harville dies while Benwick is away at sea. He goes into a deep depression. Ironically, Fanny Austen died early also (at age 24) from complications of child birth, Charles Austen’s short-lived daughter, Elizabeth. This event happened in September 1814, before Jane wrote Persuasion. Many wonder if Charles Austen grief was recorded in the character of Captain Benwick. 

 

 

 

 

Posted in America, American History, British history, British Navy, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Persuasion, real life tales | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Frances “Fanny” Austen and the Character of Mrs. Croft in Jane Austen’s “Persuasion”