On December 1, 2022, A Regency Christmas Doubled, an anthology with romantic stories all about twins will be released. My story, Bell, Book, and Wardrobe, is one of the four delightful tales to read on a cold December night. My story takes place toward the end of the Georgian period in England. The main character, Colonel Ian Coates, while home on leave from his duties to the British Army in Burma, travels to the Menai Suspension Bridge on government business.
One of the major events of 1826, when the story is set, was the Menai Suspension Bridge, between Anglesey and the mainland. a distance of 176 metres (580 feet). It ran between Bangor, Wales, to the Isle of Anglesey.
When Ireland joined the United Kingdom in 1800 through the Act of Union the route between London and Holyhead became a physical link between Parliament and Ireland. Before the Menai Suspension Bridge this journey was a notoriously dangerous undertaking.
Thomas Telford began working on this project in 1819. His construction was truly a groundbreaking piece of civil engineering. Completed on 30 January 1826 and spanning the Menai Strait at its narrowest point, the Menai Suspension Bridge was then the biggest suspension bridge in the world. Composed of 935 iron bars each (a total of 2000 pounds of wrought iron), sixteen enormous chains held up 579 feet of decking, leaving 100 feet of space beneath. This space permitted large sailing ship to navigate the seaway by passing underneath. The journey from London to Holyhead was reduced by some 8 hours (from 36 to 27 hours). The deck was designed to permit two carriageways, suspended by iron chains from masonry towers at either end.
Though damaged by storms, the bridge survived because of the addition of transverse bracing and trussed railing. In 1939, to accommodate increased automobile traffic, the chains were replaced by steel cables.
In my new tale, Bell, Book, and Wardrobe, my hero, Colonel Ian Coates is one of the representatives of the English government celebrating the opening of the Menai Suspension Bridge. It is on his return to London, he first meets the heroine Miss Galla Casson.
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.
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.
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.
Bell, Book, and Wardrobe is part of the A Regency Christmas Doubled Regency romance anthology, four delightful tales all about twins, being released December 1, 2022, by Dreamstone Publishing.
My hero of Bell, Book, and Wardrobe is a British colonel during the Burmese War, specifically in December 1825. Ian Coates is the younger brother and twin to Evan, Earl of Claiborne. He is sent home after this battle, for he is injured. In late February 1826, he, quite by accident meets Miss Galla Casson at a coaching inn in Oxfordshire. This meeting is pivotal to the plot of Bell, Book, and Wardrobe, but first let us learn something of one of the wars which followed the Napoleonic Wars, the First Anglo-Burmese War (1824-1826).
In November 1825, the Burmese forces under Maha Ne Myo mainly consisted of several Shan regiments led by their own Shan sawbwas, made a daring push to recapture Pyay, and nearly succeeded. But by early December, the superior firepower of the British had won out and defeated the last-ditch effort by the Burmese.
Following the rainy season, the Burmese army in three columns approached Prome. Both flanks of the British position were threatened, but the control of the river was maintained by the command of the flotilla and a detachment, 26th Madras Native Infantry, at Padaung on the right bank. Despite their superiority in numbers, the Burmese forces remained in the protection of the cover of the jungle for several days after their arrival and maintained harassments against the British flanks. As noted by The Annual Register, Burmese warfare style at that time involved “creeping onwards slowly and certainly, stockading and entrenching … at every step, risking no general engagement …”
On 1 December General Campbell left four regiments of native infantry in Prome and marched against the division of Maha Ne Myo at Sinbaik, on the left position. To divert the attention of the centre position, a cannon barrage of the flotilla, led by Sir James Brisbane, commenced against the works on the river coordinated with Campbell’s march. The barrage was maintained for approximately two hours to maintain the diversion. At the Nawin (Naweng) river, the British army was divided into two columns, and the two columns marched parallel to each other along the river. The right column, led by Brigadier-General Cotton, first encountered the left division of Burmese army, estimated to be 10,000 men strong. The British stormed the Burmese position with a bayonet charge, and caused the Burmese to rout. The left column encountered the retreating Burmese finished their rout. Despite their swift defeat, the Shans troops were noted for their bravery; according to The Annual Register, the Shans ” … fought bravely … [and] maintained the contest till the greater part of them were cut down.”
On 2 December, after the rout of Maha Ne Myo of the left division, Campbell was quick to follow up with an attack on the centre division of the Burmese army, led by Kee-Woonghee, on the Napadi hills. An attack against the defence at the base of the hills was led by six companies of the 87th regiment, and the Burmese army was quickly overwhelmed, retreating to the defensive positions on the hills. The Burmese army maintained a strong position on the Napadi hills, which were accessible only by a narrow road and guarded with artillery. The British army employed a multi-prong attack on the hills: the 13th and 38th regiment of the 1st Bengal brigade engaged the Burmese army from the front while the 87th regiment engaged from the right. The Burmese army was driven from the hills subsequently, and as a result, the two divisions positioned on the eastern shore of the Irrawaddy river had been routed.
On 5 December an attack on the Burmese division led by Minhla Minkhaung commenced with the transport of the troops to the western shore of Irrawaddy river. A rocket brigade and a mortar battery opened fire at the Burmese position and the Burmese troops retreated from the artillery attack. A manned attack led by General Cotton, Brigadier Richard Armstrong, and Colonel Godwin stormed the Burmese position immediately following the artillery attack and dispersed the remaining Burmese troops. [Wikipedia]
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 first half of Chapter One:
1826, Late Georgian England
Ian Coates claimed a spot near the fireplace. This evening would determine whether his deception would prove true or not. Despite Ian’s and Evan’s countenances being nearly identical, such was all they held in common.
“Not true,” he murmured beneath his breath. Most importantly, they shared a loyalty to family, especially to their mother whose idea this charade had been. Martin Coates may have been the powerful Earl of Claiborne, but it was the Countess of Claiborne who had crafted the rise of the earldom to its current prominence. Lady Geraldine Woolf had been a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte, and his mother had honed her connections carefully, so when she married the future Earl of Claiborne, she set her husband’s steps on the road to success. By the time their father had passed two years prior from a weak heart, Ian’s elder brother, Evan Coates, had inherited not only a much-coveted peerage, but also a number of their father’s mannerism, while Ian was their “passionate” mother made over, through and through.
“I did not expect you to attend this house party, Claiborne,” Lord Kingsolver said as he approached.
Ian had to remind himself all in attendance at Wilton Hall thought him to be his twin. He had spent the last three weeks practicing Evan’s mannerisms, which were much more fastidious than were his own. Therefore, he touched his fingertip to his mouth as if wetting it and reached up to smooth his eyebrow. Such was a habit Evan often practiced, as if his elder brother meant to add the “spit and polish” before he spoke. “Why should . . . I not?” Ian asked, making certain to add the occasional elongated pause between the words, another characteristic his brother had developed while speaking for his party in the House of Lords, where gentlemen were often obliged to speak over the shouts of objections from others. Timing the words to fall in between the few silent spaces was an unspoken, but true, skill of successful members of the aristocracy.
“Heard you were near death,” Kingsolver explained.
“Only a bit shaken,” Ian repeated, while lifting his cane as proof of his injury. In reality, Evan had been robbed and beaten nearly to death. His brother was fortunate to be alive.
Such was the reason for Ian’s presence at the Christmas house party being hosted by Lady Jarvis Wilton for her nephew Lord Stephen Wilton. Wilton reportedly had been one of the last men with Evan before the attack occurred.
“I am not assured I can be Evan with any degree of truth,” Ian had told his mother as they watched over his brother. There were few patches of skin on Evan’s person not sporting cuts and bruises.
“Who knows our Evan better than you?” his mother had argued. “You have been connected since before your birth.”
Ian knew her correct, but the path of their lives had been quite different. They had naturally attended school and university together, sharing all their experiences, but Evan had been groomed to be the next Earl of Claiborne while Ian was to be simply the Honourable Mr. Coates, more importantly, Colonel Coates, late of the British Army, a man who often found himself adrift, but few others knew of the turmoil he carried about. Ian worked hard to keep such a secret, especially from those who viewed him as an earl’s son.
“Look what they did to my son!” his mother had said with a mix of despair and resolve in her voice.
Such was when Ian had put his mind to the task his mother had designed. The surgeon had said it would be a month to six weeks before Evan could even rise from his bed and likely another month or two before he would be back to some sort of normal, although Lady Claiborne had other ideas, and few dared stand against her ladyship when she set her mind to a task.
Somehow, after the attack, his mother had managed to whisk Evan off to the family’s home estate in Hampshire before anyone could learn of the extent of Evan’s injuries. She had even managed to postpone Evan’s marriage to Lady Alberta Jamison, the eldest daughter of the Marquess of McElmurray, without raising questions of a breach of promise suit. It was impossible to hide the fact Evan had been attacked, for it was in the newsprints of the day, but the extent of his injuries and the need to find the missing family jewels was a secret his mother had managed to contain, for they all wanted the marriage to happen, for it was a brilliant match for both families.
“I wish I could tell you more of what occurred when Evan foolishly followed several of his ‘so-called friends’ to one of London’s most notorious gaming halls,” his mother had declared as she watched the shallow rise and fall of Evan’s chest, “but those involved shut down communications immediately.”
Ian had opened his mouth to protest his brother’s innocence, but their mother had raised her hand to halt his words. “I know Evan is far from being a saint,” she said without looking at Ian. “I have always been cognizant of the foibles belonging to each of my sons. However, Evan had made me a solemn promise to cut ties with certain gentlemen before his marriage to Lady Alberta.”
“Evan never makes a promise he does not mean to keep,” Ian had said softly. In that manner, they were more than alike.
“Exactly,” his mother had confirmed. She grinned at him then. “You will be required to permit your beard to grow out before you attend the Wiltons’ Christmas party, as well as become accustomed to styling your hair differently if you are to pretend to be your brother.”
Ian did not relish the idea of pretending to be Evan, but he would deny his mother nothing within his power. “What do you know of what occurred?”
The countess again looked hard upon Evan’s bruised face. “Your brother has said only one word since the Metropolitan Police carried him to my door. He said what sounded of ‘Smithers,’ but it could equally have been ‘Wilkerson’ or ‘Wilton.’ They were all seen with him earlier in the evening and briefly with him at the Red Rooster. Evan was reported to have been so inebriated as to be staggering frequently and falling down. His purse was missing; he had no jewelry upon him, not the jeweled stick pin and diamond ring I presented your father on our wedding night and Evan has worn since Martin’s passing or the family’s signet ring holding the family’s crest. As you know, such has been passed down for five generations.”
With no further arguments, Ian had permitted his beard to grow enough to cover the slight scar he had along his chin line, as well as to favor his brother’s style of dress and mannerisms. He had allowed Evan’s valet to alter several of his brother’s jackets and waistcoats to fit him and placed his personal toilette in the hands of the venerable Mr. Quinn, leaving his batman, Mr. Cutlar, to assist the countess with Evan, and had set out for the Wilton estate, where he meant to pretend he did not suspect any of his brother’s acquaintances of an act most foul.
“I am glad your ‘little’ evening out brought you no real harm,” Kingsolver continued. “Likely, it will be your last escapade before Lady Alberta brings you up to toe the line, heh?”
Ian fought the urge to tell the man of how it was not in Evan’s nature to be involved in an “escapade” of any kind, but such was not his mission at this house party, nor was he so convinced of Evan’s “goodness” as was his mother. He had heard more than one reference to his brother’s taste for cards and a possible mistress since Ian had returned to England from the latest war. Yet, he knew his mother was not a fool. Lady Geraldine Coates knew each of her son’s “stories.” If she was convinced Ian could find his father’s stick pin and the family rings, he would put his mind to discovering who had arranged the attack on his brother. Ian had employed his skills of reconnaissance often enough for the British Army and would do his best to return the family jewelry to his mother’s care.
“I thought my appearance at Wilton Hall would soften the speculation of my demise,” he said in bored tones.
“What of that brother of yours?” Kingsolver asked, apparently testing the idea Ian could be Evan.
“Ian is in Wales, I believe, handling some of the legal matters dealing with the Menai Suspension Bridge. Not aware of what all that entails, but he has a head for such matters. I am simply glad the government puts their trust in my family.”
In truth, Ian had been recently in Wales on both personal business, carrying the news of the demise of several of his fellow soldiers to their families, as well as revisions to the contracts for the bridge built by Thomas Telford, an engineer. The bridge had opened in January of this very year and connected the island of Anglesey and the mainland of Wales.
Before more could pass between him and Kingsolver, Lady Hendrics slid her arm through Ian’s and nestled close to him. His lordship’s eyebrow rose in a bit of disapproval when she said, “Claiborne, darling. I am delighted you are here. I thought this would be a most dull entertainment, but it shan’t be with you among Wilton’s guests.”
Kingsolver bowed and quietly withdrew. If Ian had had a choice, he would have followed the man.
Instead, he declared in a voice which he hoped would reach the lady’s husband, who notedly kept company with Wilton and Smithers, “I fear I shan’t be such good company.” He lifted his cane as proof. “I am not so agile as one might assume. I will not be available for walks in the garden or standing up on the dance floor.”
Her ladyship smiled up at him as she leaned in to say seductively, “I can name an activity in which you will not require your cane.”
Ian had not spent as much time in society as had his brother, but he prayed Evan had never lain with the likes of Lady Hendrics. Remembering to respond as Evan, he unlaced their arms. “I am . . . to be a married man in a matter . . . of months, my lady,” he hissed in warning tones.
Her eyebrows rose in derision. “A little indiscretion never bothered you previously.” She licked her bottom lip in what he supposed to be a seductive manner, but all Ian could think was she appeared frightened or desperate, before she patted his supposedly bruised cheek with a gentle caress. As she moved away, Ian noted the deathly glare Lord Hendrics presented him. Before he could decide how to respond, Lady Wilton escorted another guest into the room. Ian’s eyes landed upon a familiar face, and, like it or not, his breathing hitched higher.
He had spent two hours with the lady some months back at a coaching inn outside of Oxfordshire. A torrential rain had made traveling too dangerous and so the passengers from two different coaches, as well as a number of gentlemen making their way on horseback, sought shelter within. He had been using the family’s traveling coach at the time, on his way to his home seat to spend time with his mother and brother and learn to be a civilized human being once again after so many years at war. Seating at the inn had been limited, and the innkeeper had asked the lady’s permission to seat a married couple and Ian at her table.
Mr. and Mrs. Daversham had eaten quickly and then carried their chairs over to join several of others of their traveling companions for cards, essentially leaving Ian and an unescorted female to share a table and a meal. He had had no complaints, for she was the most intelligent and amiable and beautiful woman he had encountered in more years than he could name, although he was relatively assured other men would not find her as strikingly handsome as did he, for, in his humble opinion, the lady’s intelligence and amiability were equally as important as was her comely countenance. She spoke to him fluently on literature and history and political issues, and Ian had been quite mesmerized by the woman.
Unfortunately, he learned she was traveling on to Berkshire to assume a position in a relative’s home. With embarrassment, she had explained something of her father’s passing and having no one else to claim as a relation. He knew, as a companion to a cousin, the lady was below him socially, even as a second son, but he had thought of the woman often and had been tempted upon more than one occasion to seek her out. She had told him she would be living with Lord Aldrete. He did not know much of his lordship, but Ian assumed the earl would have welcomed him into his home if Ian had been brave enough to pursue his connection to the woman, which he was not. He had proven himself brave in other ways, but not in that manner.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lady Wilton was saying when he realized he had been daydreaming, “please permit me to give you the acquaintance of my grandniece, Lady Helena Aldrete. It is our hope Lady Helena will soon be joined to my nephew, Lord Wilton.”
With effort, Ian swallowed the protest rushing to his lips.
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.
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.
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.
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 theWalls in Rome and the Church of the HolySepulchre 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]
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]
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?
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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.
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?
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.
Purchasing books became somewhat of an obsession.Bealetells 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.
“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.”
Lit 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.”
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.
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.
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.
[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]
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.
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, harlingdescribes 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.]
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.
“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)
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)
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!”
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)
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 isa 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.
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.
Lit 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.”
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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. 
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.” [
“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.”
Every Woman Dreams... 
