Galla Placidia and “Bell, Book, and Wardrobe” + a Giveaway

December 1, 2022, will see the release of our annual Christmas anthology, A REGENCY CHRISTMAS DOUBLED, this one with a “twins” theme. My contribution is a piece entitle “Bell, Book, and Wardrobe.” In this tale, I have presented my heroine with the Christian name of “Galla.” Yes, I know Galla means “joyful,” which my character is, but I was thinking more of her being a woman who could change the destiny of a man, such as was Galla Placidia.

Ancient Roman coins in the Altes Museum Berlin ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galla_Placidia#/media/File:Galla_placidia,_solido_del_422.JPG

Not familiar with Galla Placidia? She was daughter of the Roman emperor Theodosius I, was a mother, tutor, and advisor to emperor Valentinian III, and a major force in Roman politics for most of her life. She was queen consort to Ataulf, king of the Visigoths from 414 until his death in 415, briefly empress consort to Constantius III in 421, and managed the government administration as a regent during the early reign of Valentinian III, until her death. Wow! Is that not impressive?

The only imperial burials known to have been discovered intact were found beneath the chapel of Santa Peronilla, a late antique mausoleum attached to Old Saint Peter’s Basilica.

Being a devout Christian, she was involved in the building and restoration of various churches throughout her period of influence. She restored and expanded the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls in Rome and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. She built San Giovanni Evangelista, Ravenna in thanks for the sparing of her life and those of her children in a storm while crossing the Adriatic Sea. The dedicatory inscription reads “Galla Placidia, along with her son Placidus Valentinian Augustus and her daughter Justa Grata Honoria Augusta, paid off their vow for their liberation from the danger of the sea.” [Mathisen, Ralph W., “Galla Placidia”, in Weigel, Richard D. (ed.), An Online Encyclopedia of Roman Emperors]

Interior of the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galla_Placidia#/media/File:Ravenna_1978_079.jpg

In 1458, a marble sarcophagus was discovered beneath the chapel floor. Within were two silver-platted coffins, each containing a body wrapped in cloth of gold. These were almost certainly the remains of the empress Galla Placidia and her son Theodosius. [Garrett Ryan, Naked Statues, Fat Gladiators, and War Elephants. 2021. Prometheus Books. pg. 199]

Visit the mausoleum on You Tube.

Book Blurb:

Bell, Book, and Wardrobe: A Georgian Romance 

They may be able to disguise their appearance, but not the love in their hearts. 

Miss Galla Casson wished with all her being her cousin Lady Helena Aldrete had consulted her before Helena ran off with a simple “Mr. Groton,” a country solicitor. However, Helena had not. Now, in desperation, Galla must pretend to be her cousin at a Christmas house party where Helena was to meet her intended, but just long enough for the Holy days to come to an end and for Galla to earn employment in London. 

Colonel Ian Coates did not relish pretending to be his brother, Evan, the Earl of Claiborne, but in order to reclaim several precious heirlooms stolen from Evan in a savage attack, Ian practices his deception. The only problem is the woman who is to marry Evan’s assumed attacker is a woman Ian has previously presented a small piece of his heart. 

Ian’s and Galla’s double deception threatens to overset their purpose in being at the same house party until a bell, a book, and a wardrobe lead them to a lifetime of singular devotion.

Book Excerpt from second half of Chapter One:

Galla Casson sucked in a slow and steady breath as Lady Wilton announced her presence to the room. So far, her scheme had worked perfectly. When Helena had sent Galla on a variety of errands nearly a week ago, Galla should have known something was amiss, but, as she adored her sweet, but very immature cousin, she had foolishly overlooked Helena’s guile of late. 

Despite her father, Lord Aldrete, being in negotiation with the Wiltons for a possible marriage between Helena and Lord Stephen Wilton, Galla’s cousin had foolishly taken a liking to Mr. Milo Groton, a young solicitor in the nearby village. The Wiltons were distant relatives, which worked to Galla’s advantage, for neither Galla nor Helena had ever met Lord Wilton, and Helena said she had not encountered Lady Wilton since she was age twelve or so. 

Looking back on how easily Helena had duped them all, she realized she had never presented her cousin with enough guile to pull off such a disguise. Helena had quite wisely waited for her father to travel to Dover on business before she took off with Milo for the Scottish border. Galla knew Lord Aldrete would be furious with Helena, but, more importantly to her own future, also with her. “My days as a companion are at an end,” she had told Helena’s empty suite of rooms when she read her cousin’s hastily written note. 

Galla had always known this day would come, for her cousin was a strikingly handsome young woman. “I just hoped I might have stayed on as a governess to Helena’s children when the deed was done and over,” Galla reasoned aloud. Lord Wilton, a man of which both Helena and Galla knew little, could have afforded, first, a nurse maid and then a governess for his children, whereas, Mr. Groton’s prospects were less stellar. Without a doubt, the man would be many years away from affording more than a suite of rooms for himself and his young wife. “Few servants, if any,” Galla whispered. 

Please do not send word to father until the morning,” Helena’s note had read. “Such will provide us at least a day and a half start on father’s pursuit.

Galla would do as her cousin asked, for it would make little difference as to how Lord Aldrete would view Galla’s complicity in this escapade. “No matter how often or how vehemently I swear my innocence and lack of knowledge of Helena’s deceit, his lordship will order my removal from his sight,” she had reasoned. “Instead, I should spend my time in pursuing my next post.” She had never gone through an agency to know employment, and Galla was quite lost by the prospect of where to begin. 

She looked again to Helena’s note. “You are welcome to Lord Wilton if it pleases you,” it read. 

Galla had shaken her head in dismay at her cousin’s bravado: Helena held no idea what her actions would do to Galla’s life, or her own for that matter. Foolish, foolish girl. Helena assumed once the deed was done, all would be forgiven, but Lord Aldrete did not often forgive anyone a transgression. Most assuredly, he would not forgive Galla, and likely not his own daughter. For Galla, his lordship’s anger would mean no letter of character for her to locate a new position. Helena had not thought to provide one, and, under the circumstances, Lord Aldrete would never acquiesce. 

Feeling total despair, Galla had sunk down on the edge of Helena’s bed to cry for the loss of her “home” again. “First, when Papa passed and the village replaced him with a new rector, a man with a wife and children of his own. And, now, I am once more alone in the world.” She had privately hoped the new rector would have been a single man, who might consider taking her to wife. She already knew all the villagers and how to run the rectory, for she had done so since a young girl, for her mother passed shortly after Galla was born and her father had chosen never to remarry. Tears rolled across her cheeks to land upon the skirt of her worn day dress.

Exhausted from worry and from fear for her future, she had laid out across the bed, pulling her knees up and curling into a ball of what could only be called “despair.” There she had remained for more hours than she cared to acknowledge before Judith found her. Galla had looked up into the maid’s worried expression. “I thought you would be with Lady Helena,” she had told the woman. 

“My girl said I would slow her down,” the maid admitted. “I think it be time we send word to Lord Aldrete. If not, we both’ll be blamed.” 

“I am not certain blame can be avoided, but I suppose you are correct,” Galla had said as she stood and pressed the wrinkles from her skirt with her hands. “We should act or his lordship will tell all we were complicit.” 

As Galla made her way to the desk, the maid told her, “Lady Helena left you a dozen of her dresses. I am not certain how they will assist you as a companion, but our girl thought you might sell them to tide you over until you can discover another position. There is even a number of gloves and hats and a couple pairs of slippers.” The maid confided, “I suppose, I, too, must seek another position. Mr. Groton cannot afford a lady’s maid for his wife. I fear my lady will be sorely disappointed when she realizes all she has given up.” 

Even if she agreed with the maid, Galla would not criticize Helena, for her cousin had been excessively kind to her in the months since her arrival in Lord Aldrete’s home. For nearly nine months, Galla had convinced herself she had a family again. “You will leave Aldrete Hall?” she had asked the maid. 

“Best to leave with my head held high and before his lordship returns to drive me away with a whip in his hand.” 

Galla did not think Lord Aldrete would be so cruel, but, like her own prospects, Judith’s were slim. “We likely have a day or two to determine how to proceed,” Galla had reasoned. “Surely his lordship will give chase from Dover rather than returning home first. I would expect him to send word of our immediate removal.” 

Judith frowned, but she agreed with Galla’s estimation. Even with a lack of a future on her mind, it was still the next day before either of them realized they would not so easily find new positions, for Christmastide was nearly upon them. They would not be able to secure employment until after Twelfth Night.

“According to Helena, she has no memory of meeting Lady Wilton in all her life,” Galla had shared with Judith. “My cousin is not likely to be familiar with the Wiltons as a family. She supposedly only stood up once with Lord Wilton. She was fifteen, and he had not yet inherited the title. His late mother had insisted upon their dancing at Helena’s birthday. Since that time, Lord Wilton has lost both his mother and father. His aunt runs his household in the absence of a wife.” 

“And you do favor Helena, although not as pretty,” Judith observed. 

“It should take a week or more for Lord Aldrete either to overtake Helena and Mr. Groton or to settle things with Groton in Scotland,” Galla reasoned. “Christmas is but a week removed. We could stay here for another few days and then join the Wilton household until at least the first of the year. When we are prepared to leave, I will announce his lordship and I will not suit, and we can make our exits before Lord Aldrete informs the Wiltons of Lady Helena’s impetuous nature.” 

“I have an aunt in London,” Judith admitted. “She could likely assist us in finding a place to stay until we discover new employment. We have the dresses . . .”

And so, she and Judith had performed as impetuously as had their employer. They had not considered all the ramifications of their venture, for, if they had, they likely both would have been waiting for their fate back at Aldrete Hall when the earl returned from Scotland with his daughter in tow. Neither Galla nor Judith thought his lordship would not be successful in locating Lady Helena. The only question was how long it would take him and how soon he would contact those at Wilton Hall. 

Now, Galla was being introduced to a roomful of houseguests as Lady Helena Aldrete, suddenly realizing Helena could hold the previous acquaintance of any number of people within this very room. After all, Helena had already had two London Seasons, although the girl had not been in the Capital for the last two years, as the Aldrete household had been in mourning for Helena’s mother. Galla attempted to keep the smile upon her lips as Lady Wilton provided her the names of each of the dozen or so people occupying the drawing room. 

She made herself concentrate upon the name of each, but her nervousness must have affected both her hearing and her sight, for Lady Wilton’s voice could be likened to the buzz of a bee near Galla’s ear and her eyes blurred with suppressed tears, until, at length, they fell upon what could only be termed as a familiar face, except it was not familiar at all. Only the eyes of the gentleman before her felt amicable; yet, she knew she had never met a man—a gentleman, no less—with facial hair, except for her paternal grandfather, who sported one long hair sticking out of a mole prominently displayed on his cheek. This man’s facial hair presented him a foreboding appearance, and she knew instantly, he was a man of importance. Yet, the gentleman’s eyes spoke a language she had only encountered once in her life for a few brief hours on a road in Oxfordshire. 

She belatedly realized no one in the room cried in outrage and declared her to be a fake. With a bit of caution, she followed Lady Wilton about the room, greeting each new guest with a certain reserve, until, at last, she stood before the gentleman she thought might recognize her. 

“Lady Helena, permit me to give you the acquaintance of one of Wilton’s dearest friends, Lord Claiborne.” 

In Galla’s opinion, there was something hauntingly familiar about the man. Then she remembered the stranger at the inn. She had known more than a few fantasies regarding the gentleman when she first arrived at Aldrete Hall, imagining him coming to “rescue” her from a fate unknown, but, eventually, her dreams had withdrawn until now. She recalled the gentleman had a brother, so she said, “I am thankful for your acquaintance, my lord. I believe I encountered your brother some months back. He spoke of you when we were stranded with a few dozen others at an inn in Oxfordshire. A colonel in the British Army,” she said, immediately realizing her mistake. Helena would not have been traveling alone, but no one, not even the gentleman, spoke of the impropriety of their meeting. 

Lady Wilton said, “Claiborne and Colonel Coates favor each other closely, but one must only be around them for a few minutes to know one from the other.” 

“Naturally, I cannot claim such familiarity,” Galla was quick to say, before asking, “Tell me, my lady, will Colonel Coates also be attending your gathering? It would be good to converse with the gentleman again. We had both several topics we cherished in common.”

“You and Wilton should be the ones conversing,” Lady Wilton declared. “Not you and Lord Claiborne’s other half.” 

It was Galla’s turn to blush. “Naturally, my lady. I did not mean an offense.” 

The supper bell rang, and the company matched up to file into the dining room. By instinct, Galla stepped aside to permit the others to lead, but Lord Wilton appeared before her to offer her his arm. The others held back, permitting her and Wilton to lead, which would be Helena’s place in the procession. She glanced over her shoulder to where Lord Claiborne walked slowly beside a rose-gowned woman who chatted easily with him, but his attention appeared to be on her and Lord Wilton, and it was a frown upon his lips, not a smile. Was the gentleman’s disapproval meant for her or for Lord Wilton?

NOW ON PREORDER AT ONLY $0.99 ON AMAZON. WILL ALSO BE AVAILABLE TO READ ON KINDLE UNLIMITED WITH A RELEASE DATE OF DECEMBER 1, 2022.

PURCHASE LINK

GIVEAWAY: I HAVE 2 eBOOK COPIES OF “A REGENCY CHRISTMAS DOUBLED” TO SHARE WITH THOSE WHO COMMENT ON THE POST. THE WINNERS WILL BE NOTIFIED IN ADVANCE, BUT THE eBOOK WILL NOT BE DELIVERED UNTIL DECEMBER 1.

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James Lackington: The Man Who Revolutionized Book Stores

In a time when we bemoan the loss of Borders, Waldenbooks, and fear the demise of Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million, it is hard for us to imagine what it must have been like for those who entered “The Dome of the Muses” (or “The Temple of the Muses”) in London in the late 1700s. Found in Finsbury Square, Moorgate, it was a shop like no other. “The Temple of the Muses, which was one of the first modern bookstores, was a mammoth enterprise, by far the largest bookstore in England, boasting an inventory of over 500,000 volumes, annual sales of 100,000 books, and yearly revenues of £5,000 (roughly $700,000 today).” (Lit Hub)  Owned by one James Lackington, the shop revolutionized the book buying experience, a model copied by many, even in the current times, where Amazon has taken away the joy of smelling new books and old ones on the shelf. 

You've got mail bookstore

scene from “You’ve Got Mail,” which sets the small book store against the large box stores

Nigel Beale in an article on Lackington described the experience found in “The Dome of the Muses” as such: ““A dome rises from the centre, on top of which a flag is flying…Over the principal entrance is inscribed ‘Cheapest Booksellers in the World’…We enter the vast area, whose dimensions are to be measured by the assertion that a coach and six might be driven round it. In the centre is an enormous circular counter…We ascend a broad staircase, which leads to ‘The Lounging Rooms’, and to the first of a series of circular galleries, lighted from the lantern of the dome, which also lights the ground floor. Hundreds, even thousands of volumes are displayed on shelves running round their walls. As we mount higher and higher, we find commoner books, in shabbier bindings; but there is still the same order preserved, each book being numbered according to a printed catalogue.”

But who was James Lackington? How did it come to envision such a business? 

220px-1794_James_Lackington.png Son of a shoemaker, one of eleven children, James Lackington was born in Somerset in 1748. His early life was anything but ideal. At age ten, he was a traveling pieman, becoming quite successful in his trade, so successful that his competitors threatened him with bodily harm. At the ripe old age of 14, he apprenticed with a shoemaker and found work in Bristol. He married his sweetheart, one Nancy Smith, a dairy maid, but it was not Nancy, who changed his stars, but rather a newfound love of reading. A friend purchased a copy of one of Epictetus’s works. [Epictetus was born into slavery about 55 ce in the eastern outreaches of the Roman Empire. Once freed, he established an influential school of Stoic philosophy, stressing that human beings cannot control life, only their responses to it. His teachings were written down and published by his pupil Arrian in his Discourses.] Afterward, it is said that Lackington chose to eat only minimally so he might purchase more books.

Temple_of_the_muses_exterior_colored

Exterior of the Temple of the Muses bookshop sold to Jones & Co. after Lackington’s death, circa 1828. ~ Public Domain ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Lackington#/media/File:Temple_of_the_muses_exterior_colored.jpg

Purchasing books became somewhat of an obsession. Beale tells us, “He moved to London in August, 1774. An inheritance of ten pounds from his grandfather gave them some furniture, plus a little extra to spend at the second-hand bookstores he had begun to frequent. Like all bona fide bibliophiles he dealt with temptation in the way Oscar Wilde advised, by giving in to it; he bought almost all the books he wanted most. One Christmas eve, when tasked with buying dinner, he instead came home carrying a copy of Young’s Night Thoughts.”

While the Merton Historical Society explains his more to London a bit differently.  “After his first marriage, to Nancy Smith, he left for London, with half a crown (12.5p) in his pocket. He set up a combined bookstall and shoemaker’s shop in Featherstone Street, just north of what became Bunhill Fields. His stock was a sack of old theological books for which he gave a guinea (£1.05) and some scraps of leather. But a loan of £5 from a Wesleyan fund (for much of his life he was a practising Methodist), his own hard work and his wife’s thrift enabled him to build up a stock worth £25 and to give up shoemaking.”

James and Nancy moved to Chiswell Street to be closer to his business. However, in 1776, both he and his wife caught a fever that took Nancy’s life. Their landlady, one Dorcas Turton, tended them during this ordeal. She even fell ill herself. James and Dorcas survived and later became man and wife. The MHS tells us, “Shortly afterwards this ‘charming young woman’ became the second Mrs Lackington. ‘Having drawn another prize in the lottery of wedlock’, wrote Lackington ‘I repaired the loss of one very valuable woman by the acquisition of another still more valuable.’ He was right; Dorcas loved books and proved most helpful in the business.

temple-of-the-muses.jpg

“By 1780 he had developed the trading policies that were to bring him both fame and financial success. His terms became (unusually for the time) cash only; he sold at rock-bottom prices, and he was a pioneer dealer in large quantities of publishers’ ‘remainders’, which he sold at cut price. He also bought up whole libraries, and was soon issuing catalogues of 30,000 volumes and more. By 1791, when his annual profits were £4000, and he wrote the first version of his Memoirs, he had installed himself with Dorcas in a country house in Merton and set up his own carriage.

“This was Spring House, the early 18th-century house in Kingston Road, which was demolished in the 1930s and replaced by the Spring House flats. As was quite usual at the time, the Lackingtons leased rather than bought their house, although they could have easily afforded to purchase.

“Around this time Lackington became the proprietor of a shop with a frontage of 43 metres (140 feet) at the southwest corner of Finsbury Square. Crowned with a dome from which flew a flag, it was called ‘The Temple of the Muses’, and was one of the capital’s tourist attractions. Within was an immense circular counter, round which it was said was room enough to drive a coach-and-six. ‘Lounging rooms’ were reached by way of a broad staircase, and there was a succession of Galleries, where the stock was cheaper and shabbier the higher one climbed.”

He knew success because he had learned his lessons on buying and selling at a young age. He marked every book with the lowest prices he could afford to sell it and still make a profit. He was not greedy in the sense we know it today. It is said his carriage doors held the inscription: “Small profits do great things.” He was known to drop tens of thousands of pounds at a single auction. He stuck to this ode by Samuel Wesley: 

“No glory I covet, no riches I want,
Ambition is nothing to me;
The one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant
Is a mind independent and free.”

51fQttH-ZRL.jpgLit Hub explains: “Late 18th-century London was a time of great social change. More people were learning to read, and the increase in leisure time among the working and middle classes meant an increased demand for books. But books were still an expensive luxury, and bookstores could be intimidating places. At the time, the typical bookstore did not encourage idle browsing or lounging. Lackington wanted to find a way to make books more affordable and accessible while still turning a profit, and with this in mind, he set about revolutionizing the book trade in at least four ways. His first innovation was to eliminate a staple of 18th-century commercial life: credit. He ran a cash-only business, which initially shocked his competitors and insulted some of his customers, but he reasoned that if he sold for cash, he could buy for cash instead of taking out costly loans; in this way he avoided interest charges as well as the losses incurred by customers unable to pay their debts. His second innovation had to do with his handling of remainder sales. The standard practice was for booksellers to buy large quantities of remaindered titles and then destroy as many as three-quarters of the books in order to drive up prices. But Lackington bought huge lots—sometimes entire libraries—and then drastically reduced the prices of all the books in order to sell them at high volume. In this way he kept books in circulation, made them affordable to a wider range of buyers, and turned a substantial profit all at the same time. Lackington’s third innovation will be familiar to anyone today who loves a bargain: he convinced his customers that they were getting a deal by refusing to haggle over prices. He posted this sign in his shop: The lowest priced is marked on every book, and no abatement made on any article.”

Sources: 

Lit Hub 

Merton Historical Society

Nigel Beale 

The Online Books Page: Online Books of James Lackington

Wikipedia

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Solving a Baby’s “Teething Woes” During the Regency

este-ano-habrian-muerto-mas-corales-que-nunca_full_landscape.jpg In one of scenes for Lady Chandler’s Sister: Book Three of the Twins’ Trilogy, a baby belonging to the story’s heroine is running a slight fever and is fussy. The physician summoned to the child’s aid suggests a coral for the child’s teething needs, but one of my Beta readers wondered if I knew of what I spoke, for her idea of “coral” was marine invertebrates that typically live in compact colonies of many identical individual polyps. 

During the Regency era, neither the parents nor many of the attending physicians knew much about the teething experience. When my son was small, every time he cut a tooth, he ended up with an ear infection. I knew something of what worked to ease the pain he experienced, but not so much for parents during the Regency. Many so-called intelligent adults of the period thought teething was one of the causes of infant deaths, claiming that  a child’s fragile nervous system caused the the baby to go into convulsions.

41nv-gmfuhL._SY291_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_.jpg Even though, Hippocrates: Volume I: Ancient Medicine (Loeb Classical Library, No. 147) [by Hippocrates (W. H. S. Jones, Translator)] said otherwise, the belief continued to be stated as if it were the truth. 

Hippocrates wrote

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content-1.jpg Because of this fear, a legend, of sorts, grew up around the use of a “coral” to relieve the child’s pain and to protect him or her from an early death. Such an attitude carried into the 20th Century. “So deadly has it become, that one-third of the human family die before the twenty deciduous teeth have fully appeared.” [J. D. White, John Hugh McQuillen, George Jacob Ziegler, James William White, Edward Cameron Kirk, Lovick Pierce Anthony, editors. The Dental Cosmos, Volume 36, S. S. White Dental Manufacturing Company, 1894.]

According to Wikipedia, the “coral” legend finds its roots, quite literally, in Greek mythology and the story of Perseus. In the story, Perseus changed Cetus, the sea-monster into a petrified state by employing the head of Medusa. Cetus had assisted in Poseidon’s revenge and the god’s holding of the Princess Andromeda. Cetus intended to swallow Andromeda. Having defeated Medusa, Perseus placed Medusa’s severed head upon the riverbank, so he might wash his hands of the blood. When he reclaimed the head as a prize, he noted that Medusa’s blood had turned the seaweed and the reeds to red coral. Thus, the Greek word for coral is ‘Gorgeia,’ as Medusa was one of the three Gorgons. The Romans, who later took up the tale, believed coral could protect children from harm as well as cure wounds made by snakes and scorpions and diagnose diseases by changing color. 

“At the beginning of the 1st millennium, there was significant trade in coral between the Mediterranean and India, where it was highly prized as a substance believed to be endowed with mysterious sacred properties. Pliny the Elder remarks that, before the great demand from India, the Gauls used it for the ornamentation of their weapons and helmets; but by this period, so great was the Eastern demand, that it was very rarely seen even in the regions which produced it. Among the Romans, branches of coral were hung around children’s necks to preserve them from danger from the outside, and the substance had many medicinal virtues attributed to it. The belief in coral’s potency as a charm continued throughout the Middle Ages and early in 20th century Italy it was worn as a protection from the evil eye, and by women as a cure for infertility.” (Precious Coral)

Ancient Egyptians believed coral would east the pain of teething. According to author Kathryn Kane at The Regency Redingote, “Though the ancient Egyptians were unaware of the Greek’s mythological story of the origins of coral, surviving Sumerian tablets more than three thousand years old record their use of coral for teething rings. The Egyptians believed the coral would ease their babies’ pain during teething and they had these coral rings inscribed with the head of Bes, a god which was known to protect children. Both the ancient Greeks and Romans believed that coral would ward off the falling sickness and a number of other infantile ailments and diseases. Plato wrote, ‘Coral is good to be hanged about … ‘ The Greeks hung coral ornaments on their babies’ cradles and in their nurseries while the Romans hung pieces of polished red coral around the necks of their babies to keep away evil influences. This belief in the supernatural power of coral survived into the Middle Ages in Europe, where coral gum sticks were given to teething babies of the upper classes. Parents believed the coral would ward off evil and prevent their babies’ gums from bleeding.

“In Renaissance Italy, a good-luck charm made of coral in the shape of a branch of red coral was worn by many adults. Such protective charms were even more often placed around the necks of many babies to ward off any evil influences. Curiously, it was also believed that coral would protect children from lightening strikes. By the sixteenth century, the use of coral to protect babies had spread across Europe and a necklace of coral beads had become a common christening gift to babies of the more affluent classes. Most children wore these coral beads for years. When the necklace became too small to be worn around the neck, the bead string was usually doubled and worn as a bracelet until the child became an adult. Some children actually chewed on their coral charms or coral beads while they were teething.”

Although the exact timing of can vary from child to child, babies typically begin teething around 6 months of age. Usually the front bottom two teeth (lower central incisors) emerge first, accompanied by the front top two teeth (upper central incisors). Teething can be a painful and difficult process for both babies and parents, as infants may become especially fussy or cranky while their new teeth emerge. Quintessential signs and symptoms of teething include irritability or fussiness, drooling, chewing on firm solid objects, and sore or sensitive gums. Parents also commonly conclude that teething causes diarrhea and fever, but research has shown this to be untrue. Teething does produce signs and symptoms in the gums and mouth but does not generate constitutional or other extended bodily symptoms.

Well-meaning parents and physicians of the 18th and 19th centuries used a variety of cures and remedies, most of which were dangerous to the children involved, including: 

lancing the gums 

amulets adorned with magical charms: coral sticks, semiprecious stones, a wolf’s tooth (Some were placed around the neck, but others were placed around the waist.)

a lump of sugar wrapped in a cloth 

a necklace of coral or 9 strands of scarlet silk

a bag containing wood lice or hairs of a donkey placed about the neck 

a necklace of figwort stems or dried bittersweet berries or peony root or sea beans 

stems of elder or traveler’s joy were similarly made into teething beads

native plants such as the wild red poppy, as well as the imported opium poppy were used topically

leaves of groundsel infused in baby’s milk

rubbing the brains of a hare on the gums 

a folded over cloth saturated with brandy or other spirits

placing leeches on the baby’s gums to “bleed” him or her

Many parents swore by Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, for example, whose advertisements proclaimed, “Depend on it, Mothers, it will give rest to yourselves and relief and health to your babies.” It gave rest but not health: It was, essentially, a mixture of alcohol and morphine. 

A 17th C recipe from Sussex used dried roots of henbane, orpine and vervain, all soaked in alcohol and dried to form a necklace to chew on. 

A ready-made necklace, available commercially for purchase, used imported orris to ease the pain. 

Sources:

[Hatfield, Gabrielle. Encyclopedia of Folk Medicine: Old World and New World Traditions.]

[Day, Nicholas. Morphine? Wolf’s Teeth? Hare Brains? The Endless Quest to Solve Teething. Slate.com]

A look at this list shows the infant mortality rate likely had more to do with the “cures” than the teething process. 

At the middle of the 1700s, children of wealthy parents began to seek out a means to keep their children alive. They mixed in a bit of superstition and a bit of the best science of the times and demanded a popular item of the age: an era pacifier adorned with natural materials, such as coral or mother of pearl. The smooth surface of the coral or the mother or pearl provided the baby with something to suck and gnaw on and the miniature bells and rattles distracted the child from his teething pain. These “pacifiers” were typically made of sterling silver or gold. Silversmiths of the era made pacifiers and cups, commissioned by the aristocracy. There were many small parts on the typical coral ring, but no one of the age worried about a choking hazard. The pacifiers were meant to establish a person’s place in Society, the same as would be the commissioned tea service from the very same silversmith. Coral was chosen because of its long-standing belief to ward off ailments, and mother of pearl was used to symbolize purity and innocence. [Colonials Indulge Babies with Gold Pacifiers, Coral Teething Rings]

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These lavish rattles and pacifiers announced the wealth of the family, but they also served as a practical way to relieve the child’s suffering, for coral is a relatively soft gemstone, while firm, it is more “forgiving” than the bones and wood and raw carrots those of the lower class depended on. Coral also did not splinter or break. The Victorian era saw the use of the white mother of pearl rattles more so than those made of red coral. 

As my story is set at the end of 1820, shortly after George IV came to the throne, I was particular to double check the use of the “pacifiers” shown above, as well as the word “corals,” as I have the physician use it in the novel. I discovered that parents of this last of the Georgian periods preferred coral gum sticks, which is what Doctor Dalhauser suggests to the story’s heroine. 

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Posted in British history, George IV, Georgian England, Georgian Era, history, Living in the Regency, medicine, research, Victorian era | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Craigievar Castle, the Inspiration for Walt Disney’s Trademark Castle and a Ghostly Experience

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Are you still looking for the ghosts and goblins of Halloween? Permit me to introduce you to Craigievar Castle in Scotland, where you might hear ‘Red’ Sir John tell of ancient feuds between the clans and the murder of a Gordon, supposedly shoved out a window of the Blue Room by Sir John Forbes.  The Blue Room, better known as the Ghost Room gives visitors brave enough to enter quite a fright. Human forms are said to move about in the shadows and doors open and close on their own. The castle also “hosts” ghostly cocktail parties, where Scottish music and voices from the past can be heard. There are apparitions of children at play, and visitors have been known to have a tug or two on a sleeve when there is no one about.  Another ghost is said to be a fiddler, drowned in a well in the kitchen, who only appears to members of the Forbes family.

Craigievar Castle is said to have inspired the Walt Disney trademark castle. Set in beautiful wooded grounds in the rolling hills of Aberdeenshire near Alford in northeast Scotland. Sporting seven stories, it is a large L-plan tower house. Turrets, gables, chimney-stacks and corbelling crown the upper storeys; in contrast to the lower storeys, which are completely plain. The corners of the building are rounded and harled and pink washed. [In Scottish and Ulster usage, harling describes an exterior building-surfacing technique which results in a long-lasting weatherproof shield for a stone building. A pigment can be embedded in the harled material, thus eliminating the need for repainting. Harling as a technique provides the surface of many Scottish castles, but it is also used for a variety of common everyday building types. Long-lasting and practical, it well suits structures in the Scottish climate.]

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Component pieces of an ogee arch ~ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogee

The square tower, in the re-entrant angle, is crowned by a balustraded parapet enclosing a flat roof, with a caphouse topped by an ogee roof. [An ogee is a curve, often used in moulding, shaped somewhat like an S, consisting of two arcs that curve in opposite senses, so that the ends are parallel.} The castle stood in a small courtyard, with round towers at the corners, one of which survives.

“The entrance, in the re-entrant angle, leads to a vestibule to three vaulted chambers, and to a straight stair in the centre of the house, which rises only to the first floor. The hall, with a private chamber, occupies the first floor, and is a magnificent vaulted apartment, with mixed groin- and barrel-vaulting, and a fine plaster ceiling. A narrow stair leads down to the wine-cellar, and there is a small minstrels’ gallery. The hall has a fine large fireplace with ornamental stone carving, and there is a laird’s lug, accessed from a narrow entrance in the adjoining passageway. The floors above are occupied by many private chambers, reached by five turret stairs. Many of these rooms are paneled, and there is also good contemporary plasterwork. Items of interest include paintings by Raeburn and a collection of arms and armour.

main_craigievar_autumn_shadow_0118_a4d3b1d2372d193767395f89c3d28c77.jpg“The property belonged to the Mortimer family from 1457 or earlier, and they held it until 1610. They began the castle, but ran out of money, and it was sold to the Forbeses of Menie, who finished the building in 1626. Sir William Forbes of Craigievar, a Covenanter, was responsible for the putting down the freebooter and his band, and having them hanged in Edinburgh. He commanded a troop of horse in the Civil War, and was Sheriff of Aberdeen. Sir John Forbes of Craigievar is on record in the 1680s and 1690s. Forbes of Brux and Paton of Grandhome, who were both Jacobites, hid in the laird’s lug to avoid capture. Queen Victoria visited in 1879. Sir William Forbes inherited the title Lord Sempill, and the family became Forbes-Sempill. The castle was given to The National Trust for Scotland in 1963 by the then owner William Forbes-Sempill, 19th Laird of Craigievar, and the Forbeses of Craigievar are recorded as now living near Castle Douglas in Galloway. The tower was renovated and reharled from 2008 to 2010, and is now pink-washed.”

“In 2016 it was reported in the papers that unauthorised art nude photos had been taken in and around the castle some years earlier, with the model Rachelle Summers draped across antique 17th-century furniture’ Gabriel Forbes-Sempill, daughter of William, 19th laird, is reported in the The Scotsman (and elsewhere) as saying: ‘I am by no means a prude but I don‘t believe my parents gave the castle to the nation for this sort of thing.’ The NTS conducted an investigation and vowed that this would not happen again. A further development is that in November 2017, a legal action was raised by the photographer, claiming that the photos were authorised and that the publicty surrounding the controversy had damaged business. The case is ongoing.” (The Castles of Scotland)

Other Sources: 

National Trust of Scotland 

Undiscovered Scotland 

Vintage News 

Visit Scotland 

 

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Posted in architecture, British history, buildings and structures, history, legends, medieval, paranormal, real life tales, Scotland, spooky tales, suspense | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Buying a Commission During the Regency Era

In times of peace and of war, most promotions were achieved by purchasing a higher rank, rather than earning a field promotion, so to speak. This made it easy for a man to have a high rank without much actual experience. Therefore, in the last decade of the 1700s changes were made, with the United Kingdom at war on several fronts it became necessary to have officers with more experience. In 1795, the Duke of York insisted on several reforms. For example, regulations requiring a minimum number of years a person must be in a position before moving up was established. These minimum years were installed between each rank. No longer could a man move from lieutenant to colonel at the drop of a purse full of coins. A Subaltern (Lieutenant and below) had to serve at least three years before becoming a Captain; at least seven years in service (two as Captain) to become a Major; and nine years in service to be a Lieutenant-Colonel. However, lack of vacancies, or money, could mean that an officer (especially in the junior ranks) could spend several years without advancing.

Prince Frederick, Duke of York and Albany

JaneAusten.co.uk provides us this example of how Frederick Tilney, in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, might have reached the rank of Captain in the 12th Light Dragoons. It says, “Although it appears to have been set in 1798 (putting part of Frederick’s military career before the Duke of York’s Reforms) let’s assume he advanced in a less accelerated manner: Upon the age of 16 he (or more likely his father) would have placed the sum of £735, and Letters of Recommendation with a Regimental Agent. (Those of associates of an Officer like the senior Tilney would lend some weight.) Once he was accepted, the £735 was “paid” to a Coronet who wished to be promoted (or quit the service) and Frederick became a Coronet. However, it was very likely it would be with a Cavalry Regiment other than the 12th. He then spent a year or two learning his duties under the tutelage of his senior officers. When a Lieutenancy opened, an additional £262-10s was deposited with the Agents (to make up the £997-10s). That money would be credited to the holder of the desired Lieutenancy (which again could be in a different Regiment), while Tilney’s Coronet was sold to another civilian desiring to enter the army. Finally, after a year or two, the Captaincy in the 12th Light Dragoons opened up, and £1785 was transferred to the Agents (which, with the sums already paid, totaled £2782-10s), and Frederick gained the rank and position described in Northanger Abbey. (Meanwhile, a Coronet would buy Tilney’s Lieutenancy, whilst selling his own Coronet to another would-be hero, and so on.)”

All that being said, let us take a look as the process of becoming an officer, without out the leap frogging of purchasing a commission. First, a man needed to require the rank of Ensign or Coronet. “Ensign” was for those in the infantry, and “Coronet” was for those in the cavalry. Next, would be the promotion to lieutenant (or above). I am restating what I did in the first sentence: In peace time, rank was customarily purchased. During the Napoleonic Wars, however, progression was made based first on seniority within the regiment to fill its own vacancies, then by merit, and Purchase was the third option. “Advancement in the Ordnance Corps (Artillery and Engineers), as well as in the East India Company forces, was by Seniority only. A young Coronet or Ensign could advance to Lieutenant by paying the difference between his current and the next highest rank. [See Table of Commission Prices.] For example: a Lieutenancy cost £550, but an Ensign had already paid £400 to achieve that rank. He only needed to pay an additional £150 to make up the difference. As with the first purchase, this could only be done through the Regimental Agent. There were many regulations stating that no other moneys, or other incentives could be offered. The penalty for trying to pay more than the established price, was to immediately forfeit the Commission, and to be cashiered, while aiding and abetting constituted a Misdemeanor. Advancement above the rank of Colonel was by seniority only. In the late 1790’s it became apparent that some officers had proceeded too quickly through the ranks, and had not gained the necessary training and experience to fulfill their role on the battlefield.”

After 1795, while the wealthy still raised regiments, they were not given a colonel’s rank because under the new requirements, most did not have military experience. Thomas Graham [Thomas Graham, 1st Baron Lynedoch was a Scottish aristocrat, politician and British Army officer. After his education at Oxford, he inherited a substantial estate in Scotland, married and settled down to a quiet career as a landowning gentleman. However, with the death of his wife, when he was aged 42, he immersed himself in a military (and later political) career, during the French Revolutionary Wars and the Napoleonic Wars.] ran into this issue and remained a ‘temporary’ Lt. Colonel of the regiment he raised, having no seniority in the army for eight years until General Moore’s dying request to grant him the full army rank.

Only a third of the commissions were purchased between 1792-1815. More were purchased early in the wars, fewer later, more were Ensign and Lieutenant rank than captain, major, or Lt. Colonel. More guards and cavalry officers were purchased. The rank of colonel could not be purchased. In general, the attitudes and expectations of a Napoleonic British officer had little in common with the expectations of a modern officer, whether British or U. S.

Before 1795, men like Lord Paget could become colonels at any age through purchase. Even after the reforms of 1795, the only two requirements for anyone to become an officer was be 16 years old, and have the education of a gentleman, and the latter criterion was very flexible. After 1795, to be a captain, an officer needed 2 years experience, for major and then lt. colonel, 4 and 6 years. That the janeausten.co.uk website has 3, 7 and 9 years just goes to show you how quickly the requirements increased as the professionalism of the army became a priority. They were not the 1795 restrictions.

Training was done entirely by the regiment. What officers learned depended a great deal on the colonel and what he demanded of his officers. A major conflict in the officer corps during this time was the often rough struggle to move from a provincial, aristocratic view that all the upper class needed to do was be an example of bravery. Learning the basics of military life was seen as too much like ‘trade,” which is NOT what a true gentleman did. All that was left to the non-commissioned officers.

As more middle class men became officers and the need for more professionally knowledgeable officers advanced to compete with the French professionalism, many officers began to pride themselves on their military knowledge, but it was hardly universal.

What is quite surprising is that this method actually produced some brilliant officers like Wellington. The method was aristocratic privilege + experience + talent + tradition. Wellington had nearly 15 years experience commanding by the time he came to the Peninsula.

There were several key reasons behind the sale of commissions:

  • It preserved the social exclusivity of the officer class.
  • It served as a form of collateral against abuse of authority or gross negligence or incompetence. Disgraced officers could be cashiered by the Crown (that is, stripped of their commission without reimbursement).
  • It ensured that the officer class was largely populated by persons having a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, thereby reducing the possibility of Army units taking part in a revolution or coup.
  • It ensured that officers had private means and were unlikely to engage in looting or pillaging, or to cheat the soldiers under their command by engaging in profiteering using army supplies.
  • It provided honourably retired officers with an immediate source of capital. (Military Wiki)

Other Sources:

Purchasing Commissions During the Napoleonic War (an earlier piece from me on the subject)

Entry Into the Officer Corps

Military Wiki (also has a list of prices for officer commissions)

Prices of Officer Commissions

The Purchase System in the British Army 1660-1871

Wikipedia (also has a list of prices for officer commissions)

YouTube – Purchasing a Commission in British Army

Posted in British history, Georgian, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, history, music, Napoleonic Wars, Northanger Abbey, political stance, Regency era, research | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Happy 10th Book Birthday to “Second Chances: The Courtship Wars”!!!!

Most of you know me as a Regency romance/mystery/romantic suspense writer, but I have dabbled in a few contemporary romances. One of those turns 10 years old today.

One morning in 2008, I was watching the Today Show, and Dr. Laura Berman shared a study involving pheromones and the connection to Nerve 0 and the human sex drive. The short piece caught my interest so much so I did additional research on the findings. There was a wonderful article “Sex and the Secret Nerve” from Scientific American, which was not too far over my head. http://mugwump.pitzer.edu/~bkeeley/pix/Portugal/Nervus_Terminalis.pdf

Nerve 0 has endings in the nasal cavity, which are attached directly to the sexual regions of the brain. This nerve has no olfactory cortex, meaning it is not used to smell, but to identify sexual cues of potential partners. We are attracted to those with scents in opposition to our own. Family members share similar chemical makeup, a means to keep humans from seeking sexual partners within one’s own family. This next fact is the one that caught my attention in the study. Pregnant women are drawn to people with similar chemical makeups, likely to seek comfort. As the pill “simulates” pregnancy conditions in a woman’s body, women on the pill often choose someone of a similar makeup rather than the opposite. Could this be the reason for so many divorces? I found that possibility totally confounding.

Anyway, combining Nerve 0 with the study of MHC (Major histocompatibility complex) proteins became the basis of Gillian Cornell’s research, and a contemporary romp began. When I retrieved the manuscript from mothballs, I pressed Rebecca Young (Abigail Reynolds’s daughter) into creating a jazzy new cover and made major revisions to the story line. 

Dr. Lucian Damron, a noted psychologist, has it all: good looks, a high society girlfriend, a growing fan base, and a media deal for his own television show. Yet, when he meets Gillian Cornell, he ironically sees what he does not have—a love which will complete him. A bit of a control freak, Gillian Cornell does not need complications such as Lucian Damron in her well-ordered life. He is shallow and surprisingly self-assured. Moreover, Gillian has her own goals to define, and she has responsibilities the infantile Dr. Damron would never understand. However, a once-in-a-lifetime love dangles teasingly within their reach if they can put their former prejudices regarding each other to rest and work together on television’s newest reality show “Second Chances.”

Each week the show’s contestants compete for a dream wedding and a quarter million dollars. To do so, the couples, who were previously married but presently divorced, must undergo psychological therapy and good, old-fashioned competitions. As the medical support staff, Gillian and Lucian find themselves thrown head first into the competitions also. It seems the American public are enthralled with their blossoming relationship. Tuning in each week to watch the next level of competition and to vote for their favorites, viewers tell the show’s producers they like the battling psychologists as much as they do the contestants. Ultimately, Lucian and Gillian become the show’s stars and the face of the franchise. Meanwhile, secrets of a former life and previous relationships threaten to end their budding happiness, keeping it barely beyond Lucian’s and Gillian’s grasps. Can their love survive the complex emotional swirl forcing them to put their trust to the test? Is “happily ever after” only a dream?

Book Blurb:

Rushing through the concourse to make her way to the conference stage, Gillian Cornell comes face-to-face with the one man she finds most contemptible of everyone she knows, and suddenly her world tilts. His gaze tells stories she wants desperately to hear. As he undresses her with his eyes, Gillian finds all she can do is stumble through her opening remarks. The all-too-attractive cad challenges both her sensibility and her reputation as a competent sexologist.

Dr. Lucian Damron never allows any woman to capture his interest for long. He uses them to boost his career and for his own pleasures. Yet, Lucian cannot resist Gillian’s stubborn independence, her startling intelligence, and her surprising sensuality. Sinfully handsome, Lucian hides a badly wounded heart and a life of personal rejection.

Thrown together as the medical staff on Second Chances, a new reality show designed to reunite previously married couples, Lucian and Gillian soon pique the interest of the American viewing public, who tune in each week, fascinated by the passionate electricity between them. Thus begins an all-consuming courtship, plagued by potentially relationship-ending secrets and misunderstandings and played out scandalously on a national stage.

Excerpt (using a bit of the research in the opening):

“Time Does Not Bring Relief”

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Who told me time would ease me of my pain!

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;

I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

The old snows melt from every mountain-side,

And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;

But last year’s bitter loving must remain

Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.

There are a hundred places where I fear

To go, – so with his memory they brim.

And entering with relief some quiet place

Where never fell his foot or shone his face

I say, “There is no memory of him here.”

And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Chapter 1

“Jackson,” Lucian Damron extended his hand as he maneuvered the man out of earshot of other conference attendees. “Any news?”

Jackson Ryder knew what Lucian wanted to hear. “We’ve made progress.” Jackson dropped his voice. “Starline is developing a new reality show, and they want you as one of its medical consultants. If this one goes the way we think, they’ll pick up the talk show format for the fall season.”

“You’re not kidding me, are you, Ryder?”

“We’ll meet after your session, and I’ll give you all the details.” Lucian realized Ryder lived for such moments–teasing his clients, dangling the proverbial carrot before them. “One of my other regulars could also be picked up by the show. Maybe we can all meet–hash out the details.”

* * *

Praying she wasn’t late, Gillian Cornell rushed into the civic arena’s conference room only to find clusters of people standing around waiting for the session to begin. Out of breath from running through the concourse, Gillian stood, chest heaving, before making her way to the stage. She wondered if she’d made a mistake in accepting Jackson Ryder’s proposal to be part of this conference round table. Her science wasn’t the science of the rest of those in attendance. Gillian practiced what most of the conference attendees would call “New Age Medicine,” although Gillian certainly didn’t call it that. In fact, that particular term was so passé. A sex therapist and relationship counselor, Gillian held hopes of releasing her first book soon. If Ryder’s promise of the new Starline reality show came through, she could launch her book to a national audience.

* * *

As he settled into his place at the presenters’ table, Lucian Damron’s eyes surveyed the room before settling on the still open doorway. Riveted to the portal, he couldn’t curtail his instinctive appraisal of a striking beauty rushing through the entrance: a bit disheveled in her appearance, but oh so breath-taking, he noted how a moment of insecurity played across her countenance. Unexpectedly, he found himself rising to assist her.

“Is there a problem, Damron?” the moderator asked.

“No…no. I was just looking for the water pitcher before we began.”

“I will take care of it for you,” the man offered, but Lucian merely nodded; his eyes still searched the room for the woman.

Then he found her, and an uncomfortable deep rush of blood to his lower body, as well as a lift of his brow accentuated the pleasure he experienced in watching the slender woman march purposefully toward the front of room. The conference participants blocked part of Lucian’s sight lines, but he managed to find her immediately each time she reappeared from behind another cluster. He enjoyed this perverted game of hide-and-seek as the woman, zigzagged her way through the crowd. Then, she began to ascend the stage’s steps. So, she’s part of the program, Lucian thought. Perhaps a late night rendezvous.

As she settled her belongings under the table, a sensual delight in the woman’s perfection—her thin, aquiline nose and lush lips—coursed through him. When her eyes narrowed in response to Lucian’s stare, he turned his head quickly, looking the other way for several minutes; yet, those same magnificent eyes drew him back to the woman’s countenance. It had been a very long time, if ever, for Lucian to be taken so instantly with someone, but, this auburn-haired beauty had left his senses rattled. Unfortunately, for him, the moderator cleared his throat to set the program’s beginning.

* * *

 “Are you telling me . . . telling this audience, you seriously believe we choose our mates by how they smell?” After several less than stellar presentations, the discussion had become a heated one between him and the pretty brunette. In the back of his mind, Lucian considered how tantalizing it would be to argue and then have make up sex with his opponent.

“Why not? Attraction must be based on something . . . an intangible,” she retorted. “Is science absolutely certain it knows what attracts two people to each other.”

Although her impertinence infuriated him, a crooked, boyish smile played across Lucian’s features. “Maybe it is something as tangible as a person’s looks.” Her appearance had certainly piqued his interest.

The woman quipped. “Or their body odor.” A snicker crisscrossed the room as Lucian felt a twinge of indignation; in claiming her own respect from the audience, she had dismissed his.

His voice rose with the embarrassment: No one spoke to him with such bravado, especially not a woman. He knew full well his appeal to women for he had used it to carve out his current success. No cheeky female, despite how attractive she might be, would show him up. “Then explain to me, Miss Cornell, why there are so many divorces if all we must do is sniff people to find our perfect mate. Maybe we should act more like dogs.”

Incredulously, she flushed before saying, “Some women already think men act like dogs.” Again, came the snickers of laughter. “In reality, it is not so simple.”

Lucian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest, symbolically closing off the discourse and denying her ideas their validity. “It never is.” A look of amusement overspread his face, and the laughter accorded him lasted longer than what his sexy opponent had engendered.

Despite his being her target, Lucian liked the fact she did not concede defeat. It spoke to the type of woman she was. The type he normally avoided. Miss Cornell demanded, “Dr. Damron, do you challenge the existence of Nerve ‘O’?”

“I am a man of science, Miss Cornell; I am willing to accept the possibility of what you purport.” He thought he saw the flash of her eyes, and Lucian smiled as if they were already lovers.

However, the lady brushed off his overtures, a fact he duly noted. Obviously, the woman meant to spend her time discussing her research and placing her agenda on the table. She had no time for him, and Lucian wondered if he had made a mistake in demonstrating an interest in the woman. “Reproductively speaking,” she continued, “MHC may determine how healthy our offspring will be, and as far as our susceptibility to another person, it does appear, sir, that next to our brain, our nose is a powerful sex organ.” The crowd responded as tainted images drifted among the attendees. “Women in my research groups report a connection between a satisfying sex life and their guy’s scent.”

“Oh, God, save us from scent aphrodisiacs!” Lucian protested loudly.

“A study by the Berlinger Foundation discovered which smells increase a man’s arousal by increasing the blood flow to the penis,” she countered. “Would you be interested in knowing what those might be, Dr. Damron?” Her voice held its own taste of sarcasm.

“Of course, Miss Cornell, enlighten me. I may need to know what scents to avoid in the future.” Smugness crept across Lucian’s countenance.

Even though the lady apparently meant to put him in his place, Miss Cornell laughed, and Lucian could hear the seductiveness of it. “Turn up your attraction,” she smirked, “by having your mate indulge in pumpkin pie or black licorice or a donut or lavender.”

* * *

“You were magnificent,” Charlotte purred into his ear as she laced her arms around Lucian’s neck. “You had the entire audience hanging on your every word.” She kissed him intimately behind the ear.

Lucian smiled, but his attention lay elsewhere. His eyes searched the room for the likes of Gillian Cornell. Once they had exited the presentation, he had watched her move from one group to another, relishing in the attention but not dwelling with any one person too long. Lucian had found he liked that idea. Unrealistically, the idea of her being with someone special didn’t set well with Lucian. Charlotte moved closer and allowed her hand to caress his hip. For some nine months, a casual sexual relationship had existed between Lucian and Charlotte Blakeley. The casual part had existed purely on Lucian’s side: Charlotte held hopes of something more permanent. “You certainly put that Cornell woman in her place,” Charlotte intoned in her best socialite attitude.

“That was never my intention.” Lucian nonchalantly extracted himself from Charlotte’s hold while he distractedly searched the crowd for another glimpse of Gillian Cornell.

Charlotte’s apparent jealousy sounded through her tone. “You cannot possibly believe the woman’s opinions hold any merit?”

“Most certainly, I don’t find her opinions valid.” Lucian’s voice carried a little too far. “The woman is a sex therapist for Christ’s sake,” he protested.

“Actually, I am a sexologist.” Lucian turned to face a furious Gillian Cornell. “That means I have a psychology degree—the same as you, Dr. Damron.”

Lucian flushed at being caught calling forth his masculinity before his acquaintances. “I stand corrected, Miss Cornell.” He made her an exaggerated bow before stepping away from the contrariness displayed on the woman’s countenance. “Your advanced education is duly noted.” Her cheeks began to burn, and for that he felt a twinge of guilt; but in reality, the lady had her life and so did he. Lucian purposely threaded Charlotte’s hand into the crook of his arm as he walked away. From behind him, he had no doubt it was the very correct Gillian Cornell who growled, “Pompous ass!”

Posted in book excerpts, books, contemporary romance, dancing, eBooks, Industry News/Publishing, marriage, publishing, reading habits, romance, science, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | Comments Off on Happy 10th Book Birthday to “Second Chances: The Courtship Wars”!!!!

Dressmakers and Fashion and What Jane Austen Said of Both

A woman’s dressmaker, or “mantua maker,” as they were often known during the late Georgian era, were essentially paid to know what was the latest fashion trends. Most of us who are obsessed with the era, know something of fashion plates and La Belle Assemblée, but did you know many dressmakers had “fashion dolls” in their shop to allow customers to view the latest fashion in miniature. According to The Hidden Wardrobe, “Before Vogue and before The Sartorialist how on earth did Georgian ladies keep up with the fashions across the Channel?? Meet the Pandoras…the miniature dolls that were sent over from France in the eighteenth century to keep the Georgian fashion pack in the know about the latest trends, in every detail. These dolls were considered to be more accurate than word of mouth. They were invented as a means of conveying costume detail long before the technology of the woodcut and copperplate were available to create the fashion plate….”

Pandora from the Victoria and Albert Museum

Many fashionable women actually owned a pair of these dolls, one dressed grandly, which was known as the Grande Pandore, and one in en dèshabille, known as Petit Pandore. French fashions dolls could be found throughout Europe. Meanwhile, English fashion dolls were shipped to America. Paper dolls were also used to preview one’s choice of wardrobe or coiffure.

Before a new gown was commissioned or sewn, ladies were required to make decisions regarding the type of sleeve, flounces, a train, etc. Ladies sewing a garment at home did not have pattern books available to them. One might find full sized patterns of children’s garments, however. Most women took apart a gown they already owned and used it as the pattern. A dressmaker who hold a piece of paper or fabric up the lady and would shape and cut it. If the dressmaker used fabric in this process, that fabric would become the lining for the dress. A person could also purchase an item/dress to use as the pattern.

White gowns were elegant, but difficult to keep clean. Even colored fabrics could be problematic if not handled properly. The dye would wash away. Informal day wear could customarily be calico, chintz, etc. Evening wear was made from fine muslins, sarsenet, and satin.

A few dressmakers kept a stock of fabric in their shops, but as this was costly for them, this practice was rare. Customers, generally, provided their own fabric, which could be purchased at shop or from door-to-door peddlers, who sold fabric and drapery goods.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Jane Austen speaks often of fashion, dressmaking, and the like in her stories and in her letters. Check out these comments from her letters regarding fashion:

“We are busy making Edward’s shirts, and I proud to say I am the neatest worker of the party.” (1 September 1796)

“I have made myself two or three caps to wear of the evenings since I came home, and they save me a world of torment as to hair-dressing.” (1 December 1798)

“I believe I shall make my new gown like my robe, but the back of the latter is all in a piece with a tail, & will 7 yards enable me to copy it in that respect?” (18 December 1798)

“I cannot determine what to do about my new Gown; I wish such things were to be bought ready made.” (25 December 1798)

“But I will not be much longer libelled by the possession of my coarse spot, I shall turn it into a petticoat very soon.” (25 December 1798)

“It is to be a round gown, with a jacket and a frock front, to open at the side. The jacket is all in one with the body, and comes as far as the pocket holes –about half a quarter of a yard deep, I suppose, all the way round, cut off straight at the corners with a broad hem. No fulness appears either in the body or the flap, the back is quite plain–and the side equally so. The front is sloped round to the bosom and drawn in, and there is to be a frill of the same to put on occasionally when all ones handkerchiefs are dirty, which frill must fall back. She is to put two breadths and a half in the tail, and no gores–gores not being so much worn as they were. There is nothing new in the sleeves; they are to be plain, with a fulness of the same falling down and gathered up underneath. Low in the back behind, and a belt of the same.” (January 1799)

My cloak is come home, I like it very much, and can now exclaim with delight, like J. Bond at hay harvest, ‘This is what I have been looking for these three years.’ I saw some gauzes in a shop in Bath Street yesterday at only fourpence a yard, but they were not so good or so pretty as mine. Flowers are very much worn, and fruit is still more the thing. Elizabeth has a bunch of strawberries, and I have seen grapes, cherries, plums, and apricots. There are likewise almonds and raisins, French plums, and tamarinds at the grocers’, but I have never seen any of them in hats. A plum or areengage would cost three shillings; cherries and grapes about five, I believe, but this is at some of the dearest shops.” (2 June 1799)

“I am quite pleased with Martha and Mrs Lefroy for wanting the pattern of our Caps, but I am not well pleased with Your giving it to them.” (2 June 1799)

“Though you have given me unlimited powers concerning Your Sprig, I cannot determine what to do about it, & shall therefore in this & in every future letter continue to ask you for further directions.” (11 June 1799)

“Mary has likewise a message—. She will be much obliged to you if you can bring her the pattern of the Jacket & Trowsers, or whatever it is, that Eliz[abe]th’s boys wear when they are first put into breeches—; or if you could bring her an old suit itself, she would be very glad.” (22 January 1801)

“I shall want two new coloured gowns for the summer, for my pink one will not do more than clear me from Steventon. I shall not trouble you, however, to get more than one of them, and that is to be a plain brown cambric muslin, for morning wear; the other, which is to be a very pretty yellow and white cloud, I mean to buy in Bath. Buy two brown ones, if you please, and both of a length, but one longer than the other–it is for a tall woman. Seven yards for my mother, seven yards and a half for me; a dark brown, but the kind of brown is left to your own choice, and I had rather they were different as it will be always something to say, to dispute about, which is the prettiest. They must be cambric muslin.” (25 January 1801)

“Gores not being so much worn as they were…” (6 May 1801)

“I find my straw bonnet looking very much like other people’s, and quite as smart. Bonnets of cambric muslin on the plan of Lady Bridges’ are a good deal worn.” (6 May 1801)

“Mrs. Tilson’s remembrance gratifies me, & I will use her patterns if I can; but poor Woman! how can she be honestly breeding again! (1 October 1808)

“[H]ow is your blue gown?—Mine is all to pieces.—I think there must have been something wrong in the dye, for in places it divided with a Touch.—There was four shillings thrown away.” (7 October 1808)

I am to be in Bombazeen & Crape, according to what we are told is universal here [Southampton]; & which agrees with Martha previous observation.” (15 October 1808)

“I can easily suppose that your [Cassandra’s] six weeks here will be fully occupied, were it only in lengthening the waist of your gowns.” (17 January 1809)

“Your letter came just in time to save my going to Remnants, & fit me for Christian’s where I bought Fanny’s dimity. I went the day before (Friday) to Laytons as I proposed, & got my Mother’s gown, 7 yds at 6/6.” (24 May 1813)

“I learnt from Mrs Tickar’s young Lady, to my high amusement, that the stays now are not made to force the Bosom up at all;—that was a very unbecoming, unnatural fashion. I was really glad to hear that they are not to be so much off the shoulders as they were.” (15 September 1813)

“I am glad you like our caps—but Fanny is out of conceit with hers already; she finds that she has been buying a new cap without having a new pattern, which is true enough.” (23 September 1813)

“Miss Chapman’s name is Laura & she had a double flounce to her gown. —You really must get some flounces. Are not some of your large stock of white morn[in]g gowns just in a happy state for a flounce, too short?” (14 October 1813)

“I have determined to trim my lilac sarsenet with black sattin ribbon just as my China Crape is.” (6 March 1814)

“I have been ruining myself in black sattin ribbon with a proper perl edge; & now I am trying to draw it up into kind of Roses, instead of putting it in plain double plaits.” (7 March 1814)

“I wear my gauze gown today, long sleeves & all; I shall see how they succeed, but as yet I have no reason to suppose long sleeves are allowable.” (9 March 1814)

“Mrs Tilson had long sleeves too, & she assured me that they are worn in the evening by many. I was glad to hear this.” (9 March 1814)

“I am amused by the present style of female dress; —the coloured petticoats with braces over the white Spencers & enormous Bonnets upon the full stretch, are quite entertaining. It seems to me a more marked change than one has lately seen. — Long sleeves appear universal, even as Dress, the Waists short, and as far as I have been able to judge, the Bosom covered. —I was at a little party last night at Mrs Latouche’s, where dress is a good deal attended to, & these are my observations from it. —Petticoats short & generally, tho’ not always, flounced. —The broad-straps belonging to the Gown or Boddice, which cross the front of the Waist, over white, have a pretty effect I think.” (2 September 1814)

Molland’s Circulating Library

Women in World History Review

For more of Austen’s wit and wisdom, I might suggest The Letters.

Posted in British history, England, fashion, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, history, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Regency era, research | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Breaking an Engagement in the Regency Era (Round 2)

After my last post in August on the issue of a breach of promise in the Regency, I have received several more questions on the subject. I hope some of what I am sharing below will clear up those concerns.

I believe the first time I came across a breach of promise situation, as a reader, was in Georgette Heyer’s The Grand Sophy. In the tale, Sophy must convince the lady the arrangement is not a good match. This is an era in which marriage is pretty much forever, and engagements mean you are just as good as married. Neither person can call it off without damage to his or her reputation, but the lady has more leeway to back out. Even so, she still risks being labeled a jilt if she makes a habit of this.

Of course if the man is a “rotter,” then he can cry off, but the lady (or her family) could sue him for breach of promise. Likewise, if she has the money and he is losing it due to her crying off, he can sue her. The beach of promise before 1754 was different from what it was afterwards. It also changed in the 19th century. There were many such suits in the early 20th century. Some were what have been called palimony cases.

It may surprise quite a few people to learn the very right to bring such an action is relatively a “new trend,” rather than being buried in ancient law. It was also a right peculiar to the common law of England and those countries who have derived their system of jurisprudence from English ties. Unfortunately, today, the action is used often as a form of blackmail and fraud, rather than for what it was originally designed. It did not exist in Roman law nor among later civilizations, nor does it exist today, as we know it, in any country where civil law prevails.

Originally matters affecting marriage or divorce came under the protection of the ecclesiastical courts. Those courts gave no damages for breach of promise or marriage, but they did decree “specific performance of the promise where the words of promise had amounted to matrimonium pèr verba de presenti, which, by the canon law, of itself constituted a marriage, all that was enforced being the additional formality of solemnization ‘in face of the church.’

“But the notion of compelling parties to enter into and maintain so sacred and delicate a relation as that of matrimony was repugnant to the growing sense of refinement which came with advancing civilization. In England, the action for specific performance of such a contract fell into disuse, the last instance of it being in 1752, and the right to bring the action was formally abolished by the Act of 27 Geo. II, (1754). In lieu of the old proceeding, however, there was developed by a course of ‘judicial’ legislation the common law action for damages arising from the breach of the marriage.” [Wright, Harter F. The Action for Breach of the Marriage Promise. Virginia Law Review. March 1924, Vol. 10, No. 5, pp. 361-383, Online]

In other words, it was common law which defined how a breach of promise suit would proceed. It became what is legally known as an “assumpit,” meaning, an express or implied promise or contract not under seal on which an action may be brought. It is a former common-law action brought to recover damages alleged from the breach of an assumpsit. It is an action to recover damages for breach of a contract.

Ironically, an assumpsit action was not originally considered a contract at all. It was a “tort” action, meant to recover damages for a wrong executed against the person. Originally only those suing for misfeasance were permitted to seek damages in such cases. The idea of “deceit” on one of the parties involved became part of the ‘unstated’ law. In all forms of contracts there is the assumption both parties will perform in an agreed upon manner. To those overseeing these trials, a promise to marry was equivalent to a promise to build a new house out of a certain type of material. A promise is a promise.

Moreover, most marriages of the time held some sort of monetary value. The judges of the day, consequently, not only saw these cases as a “promise,” but they also took into consideration the contract was not only an agreement to marry, but something of monetary value to one or both parties involved.

In light of these stipulations, one can understand how, early on, more men than women launched the suit, for they were expecting a hefty dowry with the marriage. Young men often borrowed money against expected income from a woman’s dowry. Remember her fortune became his fortune once they were married. However, when we think of the idea of a jilted “bride,” it is easy to see how they came about. A woman’s reputation was a large commodity, even up through the Victorian and Edwardian eras.

Most of us think of breach of promise suits as being brought by a jilted woman against her former fiancé. And so they typically were later on, in the Victorian era and the Edwardian era. With a shorter “shelf life,” so to speak, and fragile reputations, a long engagement which came to nothing was far more likely to damage the intended bride’s future prospects than the groom’s.

Ginger S. Frost in her book Courtship, Class, and Gender in Victorian England calls such suits “the myth of breach of promise.” She cites Dickens’s Pickwick Papers and Gilbert and Sullivan’s Trial by Jury, as being responsible for some or our misconceptions, writing:

Suits for breach of promise of marriage were well known to the public in Victorian England. From at least the 1830s a variety of writers recognized the inherent humor and drama of the action and began to fictionalize the cases as they were then brought. The depictions of trials during the century gave a strangely uniform representation of the people who brought such litigation and the outcome of their conflicts. This interpretation built up an idealized myth of breach of promise, one which influenced the perception of the suit far more than actual cases did.

Do you recall this episode of the episode of Downton Abbey where the man dies in Lady Mary’s bed? For a quick refresh, in Season 1, episode 3, Kemal Pamuk (Theo James – yes, Theo James who played in Sanditon) and Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) enjoyed a fleeting steamy romance, which ended when the pair got into bed together and Pamuk died in flagrante delicto. With a fresh corpse lying in her bed, and the prospect of her reputation being shattered by the scandal looming, Lady Mary wakes Anna Smith, her lady’s maid (Joanne Froggatt), and her mother, the Countess of Grantham, Cora Crawley (Elizabeth McGovern). Then, the trio carry Pemuk’s lifeless body back to his own room to make it look like he died in his sleep, alone. The “adventure” was based on a true story. You can read all about it HERE.

Tainted reputations were hard to repair, even with a public trial. Remember: Neither the male nor the female were permitted to provide oral testimony in these cases. It was purely a paper trail until the late 19th Century. Doing so was considered to prejudice those trying the case.

It was to a person’s advantage to employ a barrister with a certain “flare” for the dramatics. The man could possible sway the jury, although the judgement was supposed to be based on such factors as the actual costs incurred by either or both, the loss of reputation (and, Heaven forbid, virtue), the defendant’s ability to pay, the length of the engagement, etc.

Obviously, some unscrupulous individuals hid their money or even leaving the country to keep from paying the judgments against them. As society changed, so did the breach of promise suits. Men were eventually seen as “weak” and “unmanly” if they pursued the suits. Therefore, by Victorian times, most breach-of-promise cases were initiated by women. However, the law abolishing the action was not passed until 1971. As women earned other rights under law (ability to own property, voting privileges, employment and fair wages, etc.), dependence upon making a “good marriage” was no longer necessary for a woman to know success. Obviously, unlike the Regency era, a woman of today does not need to be a virgin to know success in marriage.

Posted in British history, family, Georgian, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Great Britain, history, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK, marriage, marriage customs, real life tales, Regency era, research, tradtions | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Happy 7th Book Birthday to “Elizabeth Bennet’s Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary”!!!

EBEA Cover-2 copy

Elizabeth Bennet’s Excellent Adventure is another of my Pride and Prejudice vagaries. For those of you unfamiliar with the “variation” genre, the author changes one key event in the original story line and sends the tale in a different (often more complicated) direction. Elizabeth Bennet’s Excellent Adventure begins with Elizabeth’s first refusal of Mr. Darcy’s proposal. Instead of Darcy disappearing from Elizabeth’s life until she encounters him again at Pemberley, Maria Lucas, with whom Elizabeth shares a room at Hunsford Cottage discovers Mr. Darcy’s letter, forcing Elizabeth’s hand. You see in Jane Austen’s time, a man and a woman could not exchange letters if they were NOT engaged. 

I am one of those people who write “caustic letters” (which I do not mail) to people who offer me a great offense. Such is one of my means to be rid of the anger I wish to control, as well as to curb the urge to say things I might regret later. Therefore, in this story, after the refusal Mr. Darcy does not imagine a joining with Elizabeth Bennet ever being possible. Therefore, he writes more than one letter to Elizabeth. In the first, he blatantly tells her the truth of Mr. Wickham, but he thinks it too strongly worded for a woman’s sensibilities. Next, he writes a letter where he demands justice for the accusations Elizabeth made against him. Realizing this second letter is not what a gentleman should say to a genteel woman, especially as Elizabeth previously accused him of ungentlemanly behavior, Darcy begins a third, more formal letter – the one we know from the original tale. 

To mix up the tale further, I placed Darcy in a dire situation. He is attacked by footpads outside of the jewelers, where he purchased Elizabeth’s ring. He is beaten and left for dead, and so, he does not make it to the wedding ceremony. A woman shunned in such a manner would be thought to be loose in her morals. Elizabeth assumes his absence from the wedding is Mr. Darcy’s means of taking revenge on her initial refusal of his hand. Therefore, she sets out on an “adventure” to view parts of England she will never be able to see as the “eccentric aunt” to her sisters’ children. Along the way, she encounters a certain melancholy captain in the form of Frederick Wentworth, who has longed for what might have been with Miss Anne Elliot in Persuasion. When he is healed enough to do so, Darcy must track Elizabeth down and then fend off Wentworth’s attention to claim Elizabeth to wife. This is a convoluted tale you cannot help but enjoy.

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Book Blurb: 

The Last Man in the World She Wishes to Marry is the One Man Who Owns Her Heart!

ELIZABETH BENNET adamantly refused Fitzwilliam Darcy’s proposal, but when Maria Lucas discovers the letter Darcy offers Elizabeth in explanation of his actions, Elizabeth must swallow her objections in order to save her reputation. She follows Darcy to London and pleads for the gentleman to renew his proposal. Yet, even as she does so, Elizabeth knows not what she fears most: being Mr. Darcy’s wife or the revenge he might consider for her earlier rebuke.

FITZWILLIAM DARCY would prefer Elizabeth Bennet held him in affection, but he reasons even if she does not, having Elizabeth at his side is far better than claiming another to wife. However, when a case of mistaken identity causes Darcy not to show at his wedding ceremony, he finds himself in a desperate search for his wayward bride-to-be.

Elizabeth, realizing Society will label her as “undesirable” after being abandoned at the altar, sets out on an adventure to mark her future days as the spinster aunt to her sisters’ children. However, Darcy means to locate her and to convince Elizabeth his affections are true, and a second chance will prove him the “song that sets her heart strumming.”

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Excerpt from Chapter 2: 

THE MOMENT ELIZABETH OPENED THE DOOR to the room and spotted the pale countenance of Maria Lucas, she knew her world tilted upon its points. Maria held Mr. Darcy’s letter in her hands.

“What are you about?” she demanded as she attempted to conjure up an appropriate excuse for the letter’s presence in her belongings.

Maria jumped in surprise. A flush of color spread across the girl’s cheeks.

“Oh, Lizzy, I am so sorry. I searched for the green ribbon you borrowed two nights prior.”

The letter fluttered in the air as Maria gestured to the dresser they shared. As foolish as it would sound to others, Elizabeth prayed Maria’s handling of the letter did not damage it.

“I did not mean to intrude,” the girl pleaded.

Elizabeth closed the door behind her. “Yet, you did intrude on my privacy.”

Maria glanced to the still open drawer containing Elizabeth’s intimate wear. “This letter,” the girl whispered through her bewilderment. “It is from Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth fought the urge to groan. “It is,” she said simply.

Maria lifted the pages as if to read from them. “Who would think stuffy old Mr. Darcy could write such a letter?” Maria declared in awe.

Elizabeth crossed the short space to snatch the pages from the girl’s fingers. “Still waters carve a deep path to reach the river,” she snapped. Elizabeth had no idea why she defended the man, but she strongly disliked the idea of anyone calling Mr. Darcy “stuffy,” but her.

“Mr. Darcy is in love,” Maria continued.

“Perhaps,” she said enigmatically as she unconsciously smoothed the pages to refold them.

“No perhaps,” Maria protested. “Mr. Darcy is violently in love with . . . ” Maria gasped for air, and Elizabeth braced her shoulders against the accusation. She had not had time enough to analyze Mr. Darcy’s professions of affections.

“In love with . . . Miss Bennet. With your sister Jane. Did Mr. Darcy ask you to serve as courier? Is such the reason you always disclaim the gentleman’s worth?”

The girl’s words stunned Elizabeth, and it took several elongated seconds before she drew her wits about her. “I assure you, Maria, Mr. Darcy does not speak of Jane,” she said evenly.

“But the letter is addressed to Miss Bennet, and it speaks of another man not your sister’s equal. Surely Mr. Darcy speaks of Mr. Bingley’s connections to trade,” Maria reasoned. “I never thought of Mr. Bingley’s wealth being a detriment to his attentions to Miss Bennet, but now I understand the gentleman’s quick withdrawal from Netherfield after the ball he hosted.”

Elizabeth shook her head in the negative before sighing heavily in resignation. “While in Kent, I am ‘Miss Bennet’ to Lady Catherine and her household,” Elizabeth argued. “Without doubt, you heard her ladyship address me as such.”

Maria’s gaze ran over Elizabeth’s dowdy appearance. “Why would Mr. Darcy write such a passionate letter to you?”

“Ask your sister,” Elizabeth said testily. “Charlotte remarked more than once of late upon the gentleman’s growing regard for me.”

“Which you denied,” Maria said suspiciously.

“I did not recognize Mr. Darcy’s regard,” Elizabeth said honestly.

“What will you do about Mr. Darcy’s ardor?” Maria demanded. “Unless you mean to marry him—unless there is an understanding, Mr. Darcy should not speak to you with so much familiarity.”

Elizabeth replaced the letter in the drawer and closed it. She cursed herself for being so lackadaisical in regards to the letter’s security.

“Is there any hope you could forget you saw the letter?” she asked cautiously.

Maria’s frown lines deepened. “It is not proper, Lizzy. A gentleman should not take such liberties. You are a gentleman’s daughter, not a woman the man means to make his mistress.”

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed. “Would you permit me to speak to Charlotte before anyone learns of this letter, especially my cousin? Mr. Collins would take umbrage with my drawing Mr. Darcy’s regard from Miss De Bourgh. This situation must be treated with discretion.”

“Mr. Darcy must be made to speak an honest proposal, Lizzy,” the girl asserted.

Elizabeth thought of last evening’s confrontation with the gentleman. “Trust me, Maria. Mr. Darcy did exactly that.”

***

Two days later, over Lady Catherine’s objections of how a proper young lady would not act so foolishly, Elizabeth took the public coach to London. Her Uncle Gardiner would have sent his carriage for her, but there was no time for the luxury of a private coach. Charlotte agreed that Elizabeth must speak to Mr. Darcy as quickly as possible, and so Elizabeth and her long time friend constructed a tale of Mrs. Gardiner taking ill and requiring Elizabeth’s assistance.

Thankfully, Mr. Collins did not recall how Jane remained at Gracechurch Street, and Elizabeth could be spared if there were a true need for a caretaker.

“I shall write to Mama to say I mean to keep Maria with me an extra sennight,” Charlotte assured. “Such should provide you time to convince Mr. Darcy to renew his affections.”

Elizabeth was not so certain. She provided Charlotte an abbreviated version of the gentleman’s proposal, but at much as Elizabeth wished for a second opportunity to know Mr. Darcy better, she doubted the gentleman would be so inclined. Who would believe the always-practical Elizabeth Bennet would succumb to Mr. Darcy’s pretty words of devotion?

Her relations welcomed her with surprised exclamations, but they readily accepted her excuse of Sir William’s upcoming return to Kent as the reason for Elizabeth’s early departure.

“I could not subject Charlotte to another banishment to Mr. Collins’ quarters,” she said with a mischievous shutter. “This way, Maria can move in with Charlotte, and Sir William may have the smaller bedroom.”

“You should have sent word,” her Uncle Gardiner chastised.

“I did, but we received word of a seat available on the mail coach, and I took advantage of it.”

If all went as planned, her uncle would receive the hastily written post later that very day.

Jane hugged Elizabeth affectionately. “You are always so adventurous; I wish I possessed your mettle.”

Elizabeth did not feel adventurous; the possibility of another confrontation with Mr. Darcy frightened her. Yet, she knew it would be only a matter of time before Maria Lucas carried the tale of a lascivious letter to the Meryton neighborhood.

Elizabeth’s keeping the letter announced her complete ruin. Even so, she could not think upon the man’s words without a now more familiar warmth claiming her cheeks. She knew she should curse the fates which prevented her from burying Mr. Darcy’s letter before returning to Hunsford Cottage, but Elizabeth’s pride at engendering such a passion in a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature had her acting without reason—acting very much of the nature of her two youngest sisters.

Over supper, she laid the plan. “I did not tell you, Jane,” Elizabeth said with casual practice, “Mr. Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, joined Lady Catherine’s household perhaps a fortnight prior. The gentlemen attend to her ladyship’s affairs at the quarter day.”

“Were you much in Mr. Darcy’s company?” her aunt asked more in an afterthought, rather than a question requiring a response. “I wonder if he resembles his late father.”

Elizabeth’s Aunt Margaret resided many years in Lambton, a village near the Pemberley estate. Mrs. Gardiner knew something of the Darcy family.

“Her ladyship invited Mr. Collins’ household to tea quite often and to cards upon occasion,” Elizabeth confided. “Periodically our paths crossed when walking the parkland.”

She offered no more information as her aunt appeared content to speak at length upon the Darcys and the family’s connections to the Fitzwilliam family of Matlock.

Only once did Elizabeth experience regret at her manipulations. It was when Jane made a private inquiry of Mr. Bingley. Her sister’s crestfallen countenance had Elizabeth modifying her plan to contact Mr. Darcy. She would use the opportunity to foster a reunion between Jane and Mr. Bingley.

***

“A letter, sir.”

Darcy glanced up from his ledger to meet his butler’s scowling expression. “Did not the post arrive earlier?” Darcy inquired.

A shiver of anticipation ran up Darcy’s spine. He had returned to London four days prior, but the ghost of Elizabeth Bennet still haunted his days and his nights.

“This one came from a young servant at a house in Cheapside,” Mr. Thacker said in distaste.

“Thank you, Thacker,” Darcy murmured as he examined the flourish of his name upon the paper. It was a feminine hand which wrote his directions upon the folded over page. The realization had Darcy swallowing hard. Did his letter change the lady’s mind? Did Miss Elizabeth forgive him?

Darcy wished it were not so early: He would pour himself a stiff drink to bolster his resolve before he broke the wax seal.

“Fool,” he grumbled. “The woman is a devious chit. Miss Elizabeth likely means to insult your pride again, saying all the things of which she wishes to accuse me.”

Darcy used a penknife to cut away the wax and unfolded the single page. His eyes scanned it to know its purpose.

Mr. Darcy,
As you are likely to recognize, I rejoined my family in London yesterday. As such, it would please me to accept your call at Gracechurch Street during the customary receiving hours. My sister Jane remains in London with our aunt and uncle. If Mr. Bingley resides at his London address, I am certain Miss Bennet would thrive under the gentleman’s attentions.

E. B.

“That is all,” Darcy grumbled. He turned the page over thinking something must certainly be amiss. “Why in bloody hell did Miss Elizabeth return to London so soon after my departure from Kent? Does she place Mr. Bingley’s return to Miss Bennet’s side as a contingency to our future connection? Why is Miss Elizabeth suddenly ‘pleased to accept my call’? What demme foolishness does the woman practice?”

Darcy thought to ignore her summons, but when he returned to his ledger, the paper teased him from where he tossed it upon his desk. Taunted him. Coaxed him.

“I can never refuse an intriguing puzzle,” he grumbled as he took up the letter again. “I must be a glutton for misery to permit the woman’s manipulations.”

With a sigh of resignation, Darcy rose to summon his man. He must call at the house Bingley let in Town. Darcy prayed Miss Bingley remained in the country with her older sister. It would take all of Darcy’s persuasion and likely a well overdue confession to convince Bingley to take up his pursuit of the eldest Bennet daughter, but Darcy would risk losing Bingley’s acquaintance if it meant he might maintain a hope of claiming Elizabeth Bennet to wife.

***

He did not provide Bingley a full confession for Darcy considered the possibility his friend would not accompany him to Gracechurch Street, and Darcy suspected Bingley’s appearance would please both Bennet sisters. He did explain to Bingley how he and Miss Elizabeth argued over whether Bingley meant to break Miss Bennet’s heart by withdrawing from Netherfield when Darcy and Elizabeth connected in Kent.

“I would never act so cruelly,” Bingley protested.

“If you wish to reclaim your acquaintance, I have it on reliable information Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth temporarily reside with Mrs. Bennet’s brother in Cheapside. Miss Elizabeth explained as such before I departed Rosings Park,” Darcy said with false calmness.

“Then we must make our addresses,” Bingley said with an energy long absent from his friend’s demeanor.

Likely when Miss Bennet told Bingley of Caroline’s snub and her denial of Miss Bennet’s call, Darcy’s friend would hold second thoughts regarding their association, but Darcy would face that dilemma when it occurred.

At length, Mrs. Gardiner’s servant showed them into the parlor, and Darcy bowed before Elizabeth’s aunt. Surprisingly, it was a flush of color upon Elizabeth’s cheeks and the smile turning up the corners of her lips, which caught at Darcy’s heart.

***

“Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said with what sounded of perfect calm, but she was anything but calm. “Please permit me to give you the acquaintance of my aunt Mrs. Gardiner. Aunt, may I present a gentleman from Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bennet’s nearest neighbor in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley.”

“Gentlemen,” her aunt said graciously. “How kind of you to call upon our household. Permit me to send for refreshments.”

“It is you who are kind to receive us without notice, ma’am,” Bingley said with his typical amiability. “When I learned from Darcy of Mr. Bennet’s daughters being guests in your household, I insisted we renew our acquaintance. I pray you will not think us too presumptuous.”

“Never so,” Elizabeth added quickly. “You are most welcomed.”

“Please be seated,” Aunt Gardiner gestured to a grouping of chairs. It did Elizabeth well to observe how Mr. Bingley claimed the seat closest to Jane. Perhaps things would progress in that matter.

As to the other gentleman, Mr. Darcy came as she knew he would, but how was she to explain to the man he must save her honor with another proposal.

“I would recognize you anywhere, Mr. Darcy. You have the look of your late father,” her aunt remarked as Elizabeth rang for tea to be brought in.

Mr. Darcy’s response spoke of the gentleman’s surprise. “You were familiar with my father, ma’am?”

“My aunt fares from Lambton, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth explained.

“My father was Mr. Montgomery, the surgeon,” Aunt Gardiner added.

Mr. Darcy nodded his understanding. “I am familiar with your family, ma’am. You lost Mr. Montgomery some years past.”

“Nearly five years,” Aunt Gardiner replied sadly. “Along with my eldest brother. They attempted to save a family caught in the river’s rising waters after a terrible storm and lost their lives.”

“God moves in unexplained way, Mrs. Gardiner,” Mr. Darcy said with what sounded of genuine sympathy. “I am sorry for your loss, ma’am. Our loved ones always leave us too soon.”

Elizabeth wondered for the first time of his parents’ passings. How old was he when the late Mrs. Darcy left the world? And what of Mr. Darcy’s father? How long had the current Mr. Darcy known the responsibility for his family?

Her aunt bowed her head graciously before saying, “Let us speak of more pleasant things. Elizabeth tells me you were recently in Kent, Mr. Darcy.”

And so the next half hour passed in harmonious conversation. It pleased Elizabeth to observe Mr. Bingley’s tender gestures toward Jane and Mr. Darcy’s genuine care of Aunt Gardiner’s reminiscences. But such was not the reason Elizabeth asked the gentleman to call upon her.

“Mr. Bingley,” she addressed Darcy’s friend rather than the man himself. “Perhaps Jane and I might show you and Mr. Darcy Aunt Gardiner’s prize roses. It is a pleasant day.”

“I would enjoy the opportunity to praise Mrs. Gardiner’s gardening skills,” Mr. Bingley replied with a wide smile.” “What of you, Darcy?”

“Most assuredly.”

Elizabeth was glad to hear the gentleman acquiesce. Out in the spring sunshine, she walked in silence beside Mr. Darcy. It did not surprise her when Mr. Bingley directed Jane’s steps toward the rose arbor.

Mr. Darcy nodded in the direction of his friend. “If your sister still wishes the match, it is hers to claim.”

“Did you explain your perfidy in Mr. Bingley’s unexpected withdrawal from Netherfield?” Elizabeth asked with more sharpness than she intended.

Mr. Darcy shrugged his response. “Not completely, but I will. Today I feared appearing on your doorstep without Mr. Bingley in tow would earn me no favor.”

“And you wished my favor, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I wished to learn of the urgency your note implied,” he corrected.

Elizabeth gestured to a nearby bench. Once seated, she swallowed a deep steadying breath. She kept her eyes on her hands rather than to look upon Mr. Darcy’s countenance. “Obviously, your letter brought me moments of unrest,” she began softly.

“Unrest was not my objective,” Mr. Darcy assured. “I simply wished to clarify my actions, especially as to my conduct with Mr. Wickham.”

“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth looked up in confusion.

“There is little in the letter that speaks of Mr. Wickham, and nothing where your former friend is specifically named.”

“You must be mistaken,” the gentleman insisted. “I disclosed the secret of Mr. Wickham’s attempted seduction of a member of my family and the shame he delivered to her door. I pleaded for your discretion, but I thought it important for you to know the truth.”

Elizabeth’s irritation grew by leaps and bounds. “Mr. Darcy, if you offered me such confidences, you can be assured I would never abuse them; however, there is a mistake, but not on my end. I reread the letter only this morning. It is as if we speak of two different missives.”

The gentleman frowned in deep disapproval. “Would you please describe the letter you received?” he asked in what sounded of dread.

Elizabeth could not keep the blush from claiming her neck and cheeks. “A lady cannot repeat such promises to a gentleman,” she said with a squeak in her voice.

“Please, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy pleaded.

Elizabeth looked away in embarrassment. She could not understand why Mr. Darcy meant to torment her. She shook her head in the negative as another flush of color sped across her skin.

Mr. Darcy spoke with sympathy. “Did the letter address my desire to cherish, adore, and protect you?”

Elizabeth nodded in the affirmative this time, but she kept her eyes diverted from Mr. Darcy’s.

The gentleman cleared his throat. “I must apologize, Miss Elizabeth. I wrote more than one letter during the slow hours of the night. The first one, I burned because I spoke of Mr. Wickham in very unflattering terms. I fear my anger controlled my response. Upon second thought, I realized that particular letter was not fit for your eyes.”

Mr. Darcy paused as if considering what to say next, and Elizabeth permitted herself several quick glances at his expression, but his features were unreadable.

“I must confess,” he continued, “my emotions ruled my response to your refusal of my hand. I suspect the letter I presented you was my reasoning out what occurred at Hunsford Cottage. Again, the letter was never meant for anyone’s eyes but mine.”

Elizabeth admitted, “Many write of their anger. Mr. Bennet does so. I have witnessed my father scratching out a rant only to toss his efforts into the nearest grate.”

“The letter where I offered what I hoped was a logical explanation for my involvement in Bingley’s affairs and a recitation of my connection to Mr. Wickham and my turning from my former associate remains in my travel case. It grieves me my lack of forethought exposed you to my baser side. Please forgive me.”

Elizabeth looked upon him for Mr. Darcy spoke of his earnest contrition. “I am not a wilting flower, sir,” she declared. “And although I knew shock at the familiarity with which you spoke, your words provided me a mirror to your person.”

Mr. Darcy grimaced in remorse. “Pray say the letter softened your heart on my behalf, rather than making you detest me further,” he whispered.

Elizabeth was not certain she could admit the emotional turmoil his letter elicited. “I remain uncertain, sir. I would appreciate a more thorough explanation in the near future of our sticking points. More importantly, a giving of my heart is not the reason I summoned you to Gracechurch Street.”

“Then pray tell what did,” Mr. Darcy said testily.

“Whether my heart is engaged or not is irrelevant,” Elizabeth declared. She wished her words held the truth, but she suspected Mr. Darcy’s passion invaded her soul. “Miss Lucas discovered the letter where I secreted it away when I returned to Hunsford Cottage. Mrs. Collins’ sister read part of the letter.”

Mr. Darcy groaned in disapproval.

“Miss Lucas assumed you meant the letter for Jane and the unworthy gentleman of which you spoke was Mr. Bingley. I immediately claimed the letter as mine. I could not . . .”

Elizabeth broke off, but Mr. Darcy finished her thought. “You could not bear to see your sister forced into a marriage with an ogre such as I,” he said in sadness.

Elizabeth protested, “Jane could not thrive with a man of your disposition. That fact is more than obvious. My dearest Jane accepts the foibles of others more kindly than I.” Since accepting Mr. Darcy’s devotion as a reality, Elizabeth did not think she could bear to observe another at the gentleman’s side, but she could not give voice to those feelings. They would make her too vulnerable, and they were too new.

His lips twisted in irony. “Yours is an understatement of the extreme.”

“My temperament is not to your liking, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth taunted.

“Not so much your temperament, but I do not find your shrewish tongue brings me much pleasure,” he admitted.

“No, I suppose not,” Elizabeth agreed.

Mr. Darcy replied with a silent shrug, which left Elizabeth feeling a bit off kilter. She would prefer the gentleman would counter her assertions with words of praise. The Mr. Darcy of the letter and the one sitting beside her on the garden bench were quite in opposition.

“I am assuming,” he said cautiously, “Miss Lucas will spread news of our lack of propriety to your Longbourn neighbors.”

Elizabeth surrendered to the pressing demand for a response, a response she considered for the last four days, but now that it became her time to agree, she held second thoughts. Even so, Elizabeth kept her unwavering focus on Mr. Darcy: He was truly a handsome man in the classical sense of the word. She could imagine him as a centurion of the Roman army. Swallowing hard against the panic claiming her voice, Elizabeth inclined her head in affirmation. “I thought . . . I thought since you previously proposed . . . ” She could not say the words. What if Mr. Darcy had changed his mind? What if the gentleman refused to see the necessity in their joining? Perhaps it would be better for Uncle Gardiner to speak to Mr. Darcy’s honor. Elizabeth did not tell her aunt and uncle of her dilemma for fear they would demand to read the letter and then think poorly of her.

“You thought since I previously proposed,” Mr. Darcy said in kinder tones than Elizabeth expected, “I would agree to save your reputation with a second offering of my hand.”

“It sounds so sorted when said as such,” Elizabeth insisted.

“A marriage of convenience is often sorted,” the gentleman observed.

“Of convenience?” Elizabeth whispered. Shrouded in what felt of despair, her eyes looked up into Mr. Darcy’s expressionless countenance.

“You do not affect me,” Mr. Darcy said baldly.

“No,” she murmured. “But perhaps.”

His frown deepened, not that Elizabeth could blame him. Cynicism colored his response. “I hoped for more than convenience,” he explained, “but I will not desert you, Elizabeth, if you will agree to accept my hand in marriage.”

Shockingly, Elizabeth wished to hear him repeat the sentiments his letter held, but she supposed her earlier refusal hardened Mr. Darcy’s ardor.

Noting Bingley’s return, Mr. Darcy whispered in rushed tones, “If you will permit me to escort you tomorrow, we will settled things between us then. Until that time, let us keep our counsels private.”

***

Claiming a prior engagement with his man of business, Darcy departed before Bingley. It stung Darcy’s pride to recognize the quick return of Miss Bennet’s regard for Bingley. Certainly he held culpability in Bingley’s withdrawal from the eldest Bennet daughter; yet, Darcy ached with the irony of the situation: He never deserted Elizabeth Bennet. Nothing or no one could convince him to do so, but although both he and Bingley would claim the women they adored, only Bingley would know his lady’s affections.

“Unfair,” he grumbled as he dismounted before Darcy House. Darcy tossed the reins to a waiting groom and glanced up to his Town residence.

Could he make Elizabeth Bennet the mistress of this property and of Pemberley? Could he spend a lifetime with the woman at his side and never know the perfection of her heart? Could he enjoy the lilt of Elizabeth’s laugh, the sharpness of her wit, and the pleasure of her body beneath his without the love he coveted?

“Better than the alternative of taking another to wife,” Darcy told his foolish heart. “Even a marriage of convenience to Elizabeth Bennet is infinitely preferable to a lifetime of wondering if she is well and happy with another. You will not possess all for which you wish, but a bit of heaven trumps the hell out of a lonely heart.”

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Inheritance and Illegitimate Heirs + “The Earl Claims His Comfort” + Excerpt

INHERITANCE FOR ILLEGITIMATE SONS

Could an illegitimate son inherit during the Regency? We are speaking of the illegitimate son inheriting the man’s property, not necessarily his peerage/title. First one must realize that there is actually a rule against perpetuity law (a restriction saying the estate cannot be taken away from or given away by the possessor for a period beyond certain limits fixed by law) which addresses an entail that lasting more than the three lives (generally the grandfather who is the holder of the entailed property, his first born son, and his first born grandson) plus twenty-one years. Keep in mind that an entail can be renewed when the original owner’s son (meaning the first born son), as described above, becomes the grandfather, the original grandson becomes the father, and there is a new grandson.

The common rule against perpetuities forbids instruments (contracts, wills, and so forth) from tying up property for too long a time beyond the lives of people living at the time the instrument was written. For instance, willing property to one’s great-great-great-great grandchildren (to be held in trust for them, but not fully owned, by the intervening generations) would normally violate the rule against perpetuities. The law is applied differently or not at all, and even contravened, in various jurisdictions and circumstances. Black’s Law Dictionary defines the rule against perpetuities as “[t]he common-law rule prohibiting a grant of an estate unless the interest must vest, if at all, no later than 21 years (plus a period of gestation to cover a posthumous birth) after the death of some person alive when the interest was created.” At common law, the length of time was fixed at 21 years after the death of an identifiable person alive at the time the interest was created. This is often expressed as “lives in being plus twenty-one years.” (Wells Law Blog http://wellslawoffice.com/2011/05/remember-the-rule-against-perpetuities/)

Another point to keep in mind is that property and peerages followed different rules of inheritance, so customarily matters were set up so that the family seat went along with the title.

Property was disposed of through deeds, marriage settlements, and wills. Trusts were established to hold property for the benefit of the real owners. The rules of descent and distribution of these trusts could be set up any way one wanted-—within reason, of course. If property was disposed of by a settlement that was in force for the three lives in being + 21 years (as described above), at the end of that time it would need to be resettled by creating a new entail. That is what many did. If the property was not resettled, or dealt with in a will, it descended by through PROPERTY LAWS, not by LAWS GOVERNING PEERAGES. As long as the  property went from father to son or from grandfather to grandson along with the title, all was well. However, if there suddenly was no male heir in the direct line, other provisions were established for disposing of the property. The title might go to a cousin twice removed, but the property could even go to a daughter or the offspring of a daughter.

Male heirs were preferred only because males, especially of the gentleman class, did not want the property to go to another family. Though daughters have as much family blood as a son, when a daughter married (at least, up until the 1870’s) her property came under the control of her husband. Her son would belong to a different family then.

The laws of descent and distribution and inheritance of real estate are complex. It should be remembered that property and peerage have different rules of descent. The family seat can be separated from the title. Property cannot be extinct though titles could be. Property was rarely forfeited to the Crown due to lack of heirs. Usually it was due to a criminal action.

For example, Richard Seymour-Conway, 4th Marquess of Hertford, died without legitimate issue. In 1871, his illegitimate son, Richard Wallace, inherited all his father’s unentailed estates and an extensive collection of European art, while the title and a country estate passed to a distant cousin. Later, Wallace was made a baronet for his services during the siege of Paris, when he equipped several ambulances (using his own funds), founded the Hertford British Hospital, and spent lavish sums to bring relief to those afflicted by the clash.

Another example of the illegitimate son inheriting comes to us from Charles Wyndham, 2nd Earl of Egremont, who was the eldest son and heir of Sir William Wyndham and Catherine Seymour, daughter of Charles Seymour, 6th Duke of Somerset. He succeeded to the Orchard Wyndham estates as 4th baronet on his father’s death in 1740, and in 1750, he succeeded by special remainder as 7th Duke of Somerset, 1st Earl of Egremont and received his share of the Seymour inheritance, the former Percy estates, including Egremont Castle in Cumbria, Leconfield Castle in Yorkshire, and the palatial Petworth House in Sussex. Charles’ son George, the 3rd Earl of Egremont, inherited in 1763, but after the 3rd earl’s death in 1837, his son inherited all but the title due to illegitimacy. How so, you may ask?

George Francis Wyndham, 4th Earl of Egremont was the son of William Frederick Wyndham (youngest son of Charles Wyndham, 2nd Earl of Egremont and Frances Mary Hartford, the illegitimate daughter of Frederick Calvert, 6th Baron Baltimore. George’s father’s eldest brother, George O’Brien Wyndham, 3rd Earl of Egremont of Petworth House, Sussex, died without legitimate male issue and so George Francis Wyndham as the heir male succeeded him as Earl of Egremont, as well as Baron Wyndham and Baron Cockermouth. Unfortunately, George Francis Wyndham did not inherit the Petworth estate or mansion, which was inherited by the 2nd Earl Egremont from the Percy family). Instead, the 3rd Earl of Egremont bequeathed that property to his natural son, Colonel George Wyndham, who was created Baron Leconfield in 1859.

Royalty often bestowed titles upon their illegitimate children. King William IV, for example, presented his illegitimate son, George Augustus Frederick FitzClarence with the title(s) 1st Earl of Munster, 1st Viscount FitzClarence, and 1st Baron Tewkesbury on 4 June 1831.

For a more modern take on the law of perpetuities, check out this piece from CBS News, dated 9 May 2011. “Millionaire’s Heirs Get Inheritance After 92 Years.” https://www.cbsnews.com/news/millionaires-heirs-get-inheritance-after-92-years/

front cover-2 copy.jpgIntroducing The Earl Claims His Comfort: Book 2 of the Twins’ Trilogy (releasing September 16, 2017, from Black Opal Books)

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 Frederick Troutman’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 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.

Excerpt:

Howard’s expression became more serious. “In the beginning, I enjoyed the novelty of the situation. When we called in at the clubs, everyone thought Troutman was you. I knew a few meals would not break your credit, and so Frederick and I considered it amusing. But soon I heard rumors of your accepting invitations to some of the ton’s finest events. I am profoundly grieved, Remmington, that my lack of forethought encouraged Troutman’s deception.”

“So this Troutman fellow learned of my directions and my habits from you?”

“I fear so,” Howard admitted. “I beg you to extend your forgiveness.”

“When we finish our conversation,” Rem instructed, “I will expect you to repeat your story to Sir Alexander.”

Howard nodded his agreement. Rem had not offered his forgiveness, but eventually he would. He learned long ago to keep Howard on a short rope.

“How long did you remain Troutman’s associate?”

“No more than a fortnight,” Howard confided. “I enjoyed his company at first, but over the first sennight his interrogation regarding your comings and goings began to wear thin. In the midst of our second week of acquaintance, Troutman said something that set my hackles on alert.”

“And that was?” Rem asked suspiciously.

A vaguely disturbing smile crossed his cousin’s features. “One day in the midst of a conversation as we reviewed new quarters for my residence, Troutman said if he were the earl, then he would see that I did not go without, and that is was a grave oversight on your part that I was to know less than I deserved. I attempted to explain how my fortune came from a yearly allowance from my revered father, and I was not your dependent, but Troutman was adamant that I was your responsibility.

“Then he said it would serve you right to lose the earldom to a stranger with ties to the title. I explained that, with my father’s poor health, many saw me as your heir presumptive for even if father first succeeded, I would soon follow. I also explained that if another had a right to claim the earldom that it would not lessen your position in Society. Parliament accepted you as Remmington, and even if another proved to be the earl, the fortune and the unentailed lands would remain with you. The claimant would have Tegen Castle and Davids Hall and little else. From what could be salvaged from those properties, your mother retains her widow’s dower.”

Rem wondered if his pretender had aspirations of unseating him as the earl. “Is there anything else that I should know?”

“Yes,” Howard said as he set his glass upon a nearby table. “The remark that caused me to curtail my association with him was when Troutman asked if I thought you were the father of Lady Kavanagh’s daughter.”

Rem lifted his brows in surprise. He wondered who spoke so intimately to Troutman of Rem’s business.

Howard continued as if Rem had not reacted to the remark. “Certainly it is possible that Troutman overheard those awful rumors, but as many in Society thought Troutman were you, I cannot imagine any fool would speak so freely to your face.”

Rem presented his cousin a slow nod of agreement.

“As I suspected,” Howard confirmed. “It appears Troutman matched his name. The man fished for information about you.”

“Those I questioned speak of my pretender walking with a limp. Was that also true when you knew Troutman?” Rem inquired.

“Yes,” Howard confirmed. “Troutman said it was from a childhood injury, but I hold no personal knowledge of how it came about. I did not ask, and Troutman did not confide the information.”

51Qc31W5ZSL._SX326_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep: Book 1 of the Twins’ Trilogy

Huntington McLaughlin, the Marquess of Malvern, wakes in a farmhouse, after a head injury, 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 in 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 that has robbed him of parts of his memory, his best friend, the Earl of Remmington, makes it clear that he intends to claim Angelica as his wife. Hunt must decide whether to permit her to align herself with the earldom or 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 at his side?

Lady Chandler’s Sister: Book 3 of the Twins’ Trilogy

Sir Alexander Chandler knows his place in the world. As the head of one of the divisions of the Home Office, he has his hand on the nation’s pulse. However, a carriage accident on a deserted Scottish road six months earlier has Sir Alexander questioning his every choice. He has no memory of what happened before he woke up in an Edinburgh hospital, and the unknown frightens him more than any enemy he ever met on a field of battle. One thing is for certain: He knows he did not marry Miss Alana Pottinger’s sister in an “over the anvil” type of ceremony in Scotland. 

Miss Alana Pottinger has come to London, with Sir Alexander’s son in tow, to claim the life the baronet promised the boy when he married Sorcha, some eighteen months prior. She understands his responsibilities to King and Crown, but this particular fiery, Scottish miss refuses to permit Sir Alexander to deny his duty to his son. Nothing will keep her from securing the child’s future as heir to the baronetcy and restoring Sir Alexander’s memory of the love he shared with Sorcha: Nothing, that is, except the beginning of the Rockite Rebellion in Ireland and the kidnapping of said child for nefarious reasons.

An impressive ending to the beautifully crafted Twins’ Trilogy – Starr’s ***** Romance Reviews

Love. Power. Intrigue. Betrayal. All play their parts in this fitting conclusion to a captivating, romantic suspense trio. – Bella Graves, Author & Reviewer

2019 International Book Award Finalist in Historical Romance 

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