Tag Archive | London

The Microcosm of London or London in Miniature: The Admiralty

published by Rudolph Ackermann in 3 volumes, 1808–1811.

The Admiralty is a brick building, containing the office and apartments for the lords commissioners of the Admiralty, who superintend the marine department, and is contiguous to the Horse Guards on the north. With respect to the architecture, the principal front facing Parliament-street displays a proof that the noble lord and board who presided at the time it was built, had objects of more consequence than symmetry and proportion to attend to: it was designed and erected by Shipley. The screen in the front (which was designed and erected by Adams) is so peculiarly elegant, that it in a degree redeems the other part from disgrace. On the top of the Admiralty are erected two telegraphs, the inside of which may be seen by proper application to the porter, or person who works the machine.

The lord high admiral is classed as the ninth and last great officer of the crown; and the honour it conferred, and trust it vested, were formerly considered to be so great, that the post was usually given either to some of the king’s younger sons, near kinsmen, or one of the chief of the nobility. To the lord high admiral belongeth the cognizance of contracts, pleas, or quarrels made upon the sea, or any part thereof which is not within any county of the realm; for his jurisdiction is wholly confined to the sea. The court is provided for the trial and punishment of all offences committed on the high seas, and is a civil court. Courts-martial in the Admiralty have a judge advocate appointed to assist them. The present judge of the Admiralty is the Right Honourable Sir William Scott, Knight, LL. D. the salary 2500/. The present king’s advocate general is Sir John Nicholl, Knight, LL. D.

In King Henry III.’s days, and in the reigns of Edward I. II. and III. Richard II. Henry IV. V. and VI. there were several admirals; for the cautious wisdom of those days would not trust a subject with so great a charge, nor permit any one man to have a certain estate in a post of so great importance. But, nevertheless, in those days there was a great admiral of England.

King Henry VL in the fourteenth year of his reign, constituted John Holland Duke of Exeter, and Henry Holland his son, admirals of England, Ireland, and Aquitaine for life.

The power of this great officer is described in a statute of Charles II.: it is enacted that he may grant commissions to inferior vice-admirals, or commanders in chief of any squadron of ships, to call and assemble courts-martial, consisting of commanders and captains; and no court-martial, where the pains of death are inflicted, shall consist of less than five captains at least; the admiral’s lieutenant to be as to this purpose esteemed as a captain: and in no case when sentence of death shall pass, by virtue of the articles (for regulating and better governing his majesty’s navies, ships of war, and forces at sea,) aforesaid, or any of them (except in case of mutiny), there shall be execution of such sentence of death, without leave of the lord high admiral, if the offence be committed within the narrow seas. But in case any of the offences aforesaid be committed in any voyage beyond the narrow seas, whereupon sentence of death shall be given in pursuance of the aforesaid articles, or any of them, then execution shall be done by order of the commander in chief of that fleet or squadron wherein sentence was passed.

He hath also power to appoint coroners to view dead bodies found on the seacoast or at sea; commissioners or judges for exercising justice in the High Court, of Admiralty; to imprison and to release, &c.

Moreover to him belong, by law and custom, all fines and forfeitures of all transgressors at sea, on the seashore, in ports, and from the first bridge on rivers towards the sea; also the goods of pirates and felons, condemned or outlawed; and all waifs, stray goods, wrecks of sea deodands; a share of all lawful prizes, lagon, jetson, flotson; that is, goods lying in the sea, goods cast by the sea on the shore, not granted formerly, or belonging to lords of manors adjoining to the sea; all great fishes, as sea-hogs, and other fishes of extraordinary bigness, called royal fishes, whales only and sturgeons excepted.

“De sturgeoni observatur quod rex ilua intergram: de balneo vero sufficit si rex habeat caput et reginse candum.” Master William Prynne, who is one of the commentators upon the above curious law, says, that the reason must be, that “our wise and learned lawgivers willed the queen to have the tail of the whale, that her majesty might have whalebone to make her stays forgetting that this was made law upwards of two hundred years before stays were ever worn or thought of. Note farther, that the bone used for stays, is taken out of the head, and not the tail of the fish.

On this ancient law being once mentioned to the late Dr. Buchan, author of Domestic Medicine, ike. &c. he repeated the following little impromptu, which I think has never before been printed:

“If a sturgeon should chance to be cast upon land,

“Honest George, Heaven bless him! the whole may command;

“But if equal misfortune befal a poor whale,

“Let the king have the head, and the queen the tail.”

It is not the object of this volume to say much concerning the great power and interest which the king of England hath in the British seas; and as to the antiquity of the Admiralty Court, and of the name of Admiral, it may be found in a record mentioned by the Lord Chief Justice Coke (Coke’s Institute, p. 142, entitled “De Superioritate Maris Angliae, et Jure Officii Admiralitatis in eodem), said to be among the archives in the Tower of London.

He is called admiral from amir, an Arabic word signifying prefect us, and in Greek marimis. His patent formerly run thus: “Anglise, Hiberniee, et Aquitaiise magnus admirallus, et praTectus generalis clargis et marium dictorum regnorum.”

The various distinguished actions which have been recorded of many of our admirals, and establish the honour and superiority of the British navy, would fill volumes. To enumerate them would occupy more space than can be here allotted to it, and does not come into the plan of this work; but to close the recital of any thing tending to the establishment of our naval character, without inserting the name of the late Lord Nelson, -would be a very improper omission.

Painters have exhausted their art in pictured representations of his actions; sculptors have hewn marble monuments to eternize his heroic professional abilities, which have been placed in the most conspicuous situations in different public buildings throughout the kingdom; and poets have invoked the muse, and exerted their utmost efforts to perpetuate his fame, in praises that, used to any other individual, might have been deemed extravagant panegyric: but the whole nation appear to have been so gratefully alive to his exalted merit, and so highly to revere his memory, that it is hardly deemed equal to what his conduct peremptorily claimed from his surviving countrymen. The Right Honourable Horatio Viscount Nelson, and Duke of Bronte, was a most active, brave, and able officer. He defeated the French fleet in Aboukir Bay, August 1, 1798, and took eight sail of the line; for which he was raised to the peerage. He was second in command at the battle of Copenhagen, where he displayed great courage and conduct; for which he was raised to the dignity of viscount. He completely defeated the combined fleet of France and Spain, off Cape Trafalgar, October 21, 1805, in which he lost his life.

In the advices some of our admirals have transmitted to the Board of Admiralty and others, there is a brevity, which Shakespeare says is the soul of wit; there is, however, a brevity, which is so admirable a model of epistolary writing, that I cannot resist transcribing one or two of them; premising, that as they are taken from memory, they may not do justice to the originals.

The first is from Sir George Rodney to the Governor of Barbadoes, and is as follows:

“Dear General,

“The battle is fought, — the day is ours, — the English flag is victorious; — we have taken the French admiral, with nine other ships, and sunk one. “G. B. R.”

The second letter was, I think, transmitted to the Admiralty.

“We have met the French fleet, and taken, sunk, or destroyed, as per margin.”

The last I shall subjoin is from a foreigner, but seems mixed up with a large portion of British spirit . It was written to Admiral Benbow, who died in October 1702, at Jamaica, of the wounds he received in an engagement with M. du Casse, in the West Indies, off the high land of St. Martha, in the same year.

Soon after Admiral Benbow’s return to Jamaica, he received a letter from M. du Casse, of which the following is a translation:

“Carthagena, August 1702.

“Sir,

“I had little hopes on Monday last but to have supped in your cabin; yet it pleased God to order otherwise: I am thankful for it. As for those cowardly captains who deserted you, hang them up; for, by G — d, they deserve it.

“Du Casse.”

The next print is a correct interior view of THE BOARD ROOM OF THE ADMIRALTY, with its appropriate decorations of globes, books, maps, & c. The lords commissioners are represented as sitting at the table, and may be naturally supposed engaged in some business relative to the naval interest of Great Britain: and considered in that point of view, may be fairly said to be transacting a business of more real importance to this country, than any other subject that could be debated; and if taken in all its nautical relations, the acknowledged preeminence of our navy, and the various appertaining et-ceteras, it is also a matter of infinite importance to all Europe.

After what has been said, it does not seem necessary to make any remarks on the extent of the building; but, as it has been before remarked, that the noble lords were engaged in transactions of more importance than attending to the symmetry and proportion of their house, which was probably left to the architect, who might in many cases leave it to the management of his foreman, it may afford some amusement to our readers, to recite a few sportive sallies of the wits of the time on the brick and mortar of the principal front.

They said, and truly said, that it is a contemptible piece of architecture. Of the portico of this building, composed of four Ionic columns, with a pediment of stone, a story is told, that, from the strange disproportion of the shafts, is highly probable. The architect, Shipley, had made them of a proper length, when it was found that the pediment of one of his shafts had blocked up the window of one of the principal apartments; and he endeavoured to remedy the error, by carrying his columns to the roof of the building: and in truth, in its present state, one is compelled to admit the truth of what was remarked by the late George Selwyn, that though the columns are certainly neither of the Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian order, they would be admirable models to take for a new one, which might be denominated the clis, or disproportioned order; “or,” added he, “if we chose to give it immortality, baptize it with an appropriate title, and name it the Robinsonian order, in honour of Sir Thomas Robinson.”

The figure of Sir Thomas Robinson must be in the recollection of many of our readers; — so long, so lank, so lean, so bony, that he struck every one who saw him, as distinct from all other men, and out of all manner of proportion. When the late Lord Chesterfield was confined to his room by an illness, of which he felt a consciousness that he should never recover, a friend, who visited him in the character of one of Job’s comforters, gravely said, he was sorry to tell his lordship, that every body agreed in thinking he was dying, and that he was dying by inches. “Am I?” said the old peer, “am I indeed? why then I rejoice from the bottom of my soul, that I am not near so tall as Sir Thomas Robinson.”

To return to the building: certain it is that such columns never were seen either in Greece, or Rome, or any other country.

The screen in the front, which was designed and erected by Adams, is so far from being liable to any part of this censure, that it forms a striking contrast, and would, if it were possible, shew in a more glaring light the gross absurdities of the principal front of the building.

On the inside of the Admiralty are two telegraphs, which may be seen by a proper application to the porter, or person who works, the machine.

More about the Admiralty Boardroom.

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The Microcosm of London or London in Miniature: The Royal Academy

Oct23

published by Rudolph Ackermann in 3 volumes, 1808–1811.

Previous to the institution of a Royal Academy, there was an exhibition at the Lyceum in the Strand. It was denominated THE SOCIETY OF ARTISTS OF GREAT BRITAIN; and the profits were to be applied to the relief of distressed artists, their widows and children. In this place were exhibited some very fine productions by Mortimer and other of our most celebrated painters.

The princes of the house of Hanover had many virtues of a description that adorn and dignify human nature. George II, was a gentleman of high honour and undeviating integrity; but he possessed no portion of taste for the fine arts, the professors of which were very coldly considered during his reign.

The accession of his present majesty displayed a very different scene, and those who had talents found now a sovereign who had taste to discern and appreciate them, and sought every opportunity of affording them countenance and protection.

The Royal Academy

In the year 1774, old Somerset Place was purchased of the crown, and an act of parliament passed for embanking the river Thames before Somerset House, and for building upon its scite various public offices, &c. The part of the building appropriated to the artists, is the object of our present enquiry.

The room on the ground-floor is allotted to models of statues, plans, elevations, and drawings.

The coved ceiling of the library was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds and Cipriani. The center is by Sir Joshua, and represents the Theory of the Art, under the form of an elegant and majestic female, seated on the clouds and looking up wards: she holds in one hand a compass, in the other a label, on which is written,

Theory is the knowledge of what is truly nature.

The four compartments in the coves of the ceiling are by Cipriani, and represent Nature, History, Allegory, and Fable. These are well imagined, and sufficiently explain themselves.

The adjoining room, being originally appropriated to models and casts from the antique, of which this society has a most valuable and curious collection, is plain and unornamented.

The council room is more richly decorated ; the stucco is in a good taste, and in the center compartment of the ceiling are five pictures painted by Mr. West. The center picture represents the Graces unveiling Nature; the others display the four elements from which the imitative arts collect their objects, under the description of female figures, attended by genii, with Fire, Water, Earth, and Air, exhibited under different forms and modifications. The large oval pictures which adorn the two extremities of the ceiling, are from the pencil of Angelica Kauffman, and represent Invention, Composition, Design, and Colouring. Besides these nine large pictures, there are in the angles, or ospandrells in the center, four coloured medallions, representing Apelles the painter, Phidias the sculptor, Apollodorus the architect, and Archimedes the mathematician; and round the great circle of the center, eight smaller medallions, held up by lions, on which are represented, in chira-obscuro, Palladio, Bernini, Michael Angelo, Fiamingo, Raphael, Dominichino, Titian, and Rubens; all of which are painted by Rebecca.

Sir Joshua Reynolds

Sir Joshua Reynolds was the first president ; and his urbanity of manners, and high rank in the arts, gave him a respectability with the society, which it will not be easy for any of his successors to equal.

It is not proper to pass the name of this great man without some general account of his character:

“His art was nature, and his pictures thought.”

He was born heir to the manor of portrait-painting, the soil of which he has so improved, enriched, and fertilized, as to give this hitherto barren spot in the province of art, an importance it was never before thought capable of receiving. At the hour he began to paint he was the leader of his art, and, whatever improvements were made by his contemporaries, preserved that rank to the last year of his life. He was sometimes praised for excellences which he did not possess, and sometimes censured for errors of which he was not guilty. To analyze his character fairly, it is necessary to consider the state of the arts when he began to paint; and to say a man was superior to the painters who immediately succeeded Hudson, is, with very few exceptions, saying little more than that he was a giant among pigmies. By his fondness for experiments in colours, he frequently used such as vanished before the originals they were designed to commemorate, and many of them the world need not lament.

Every succeeding year of his life he improved; and that some of his later pictures have been painted with colours that fled, every man of true taste will regret; at the same time that the mezzotintoes so frequently engraved from them, shew us in shadow, that such things were. He did not aim at giving a mere ground-plan of the countenance, but the markings of the mind, the workings of the soul, the leading features which distinguish man from man; by which means he has represented real beings with all the ideal graces of fiction, and united character to individuality. Invention and originality have been said to be the leading excellences of a poet or a painter, and the president has been accused of borrowing from the works of others. Let it be remembered, that the merit does not lie in the originality of any single circumstance, but in the conduct and use of all the branches and particular beauties which enter into each composition. Such appropriation has a right to the praise of invention, and to such praise was Sir Joshua entitled. He frequently united the elegance of the French style with the chastity of the Roman; he imitated the brilliant hues of Rembrandt, but never introduced what was either mean or disgusting; he had the richness of colouring of Rubens without his excess and tumult; and by thus judiciously selecting and skilfully blending the colours of the various masters, he has formed a style wholly his own, on the merit of which other painters have separately about as high claim, as the mason who hewed the stones for Whitehall had to the honours due to Inigo Jones.

Considered in every point of view, he has given a new character to portrait-painting, and his pencil may, without exaggeration, be called creative.

The School

The stated professors of painting in its different departments, read lectures to the students in their various branches; and as they possess a most capital collection of casts and models from antique statues, &c. they have what may be fairly deemed a good school for drawing. A school for colouring they still want; and it has been recommended to them to purchase a collection of pictures, to which the students might resort, and compare their own productions with those of the great masters, whose works have stood the test of ages. The Lectures by Sir Joshua Reynolds are published, and are models of elegant composition as well as scientific taste. Those by Mr. Barry were published a few years ago, and contain much original and useful information, blended with some of this singular painter’s peculiarities.

Mr. Sheldon, professor of anatomy, delivers six lectures annually, during the summer season.

Prize medals (of silver), for the best academy figure, are delivered once a year.

Gold medals for historical compositions in painting, sculpture, and designs in architecture, once in two years. The latter are presented to a full assembly, and succeeded by a discourse from the president.

Students have generally during the whole year an opportunity of studying nature from well chosen subjects, and of drawing from the antique casts.

Admission to the lectures is by a ticket signed by an academician; they are held on Monday evenings, at eight o’clock, in Somerset Place.

The annual exhibition generally opens in May, and every person admitted pays one shilling ; and sixpence for a catalogue, if he wishes to have one.

A VIEW OF THE STUDENTS IN THE ROYAL ACADEMY, AT SOMERSET HOUSE, DRAWING FROM THE LIFE.

The room in which this is done we have already described; and by the manner in which it is arranged, and their errors being pointed out, a number of our young students draw with great correctness. It is devoutly to be wished that their colouring was as meritorious as their drawing; but for colouring they have not yet a good school, though several of the royal academicians have made many attempts to obtain it; but, alas! those attempts have not hitherto been crowned with success.

THE GREAT ROOM AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY, AT THE TIME OF AN EXHIBITION.

This most spirited drawing is covered with the representation of pictures and figures, in a manner with which it would not be easy to find one with which it could be paralleled; nor would it be easy to find any other artist, except Mr. Rowlandson, who was capable of displaying so much separate manner in the delineations placed on the walls, and such an infinite variety of small figures, contrasted with each other in a way so peculiarly happy, and marked with such appropriate character. The peculiar mode by which different persons shew the earnestness with which they contemplate what they are inspecting, and display an absorbed attention to the object before them, is incomparably delineated; and the whole forms an admirable little picture of that busy scene, in which such crowds are annually engaged in watching the progress of the fine arts as annually exhibited at the Royal Academy.

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Susana’s 2019 Adventure in England: Day One

May8

May 7-8: Travel and Preparations

I like the cubicle near the windows. So much more private there!

In my experience, the first and second days sort of meld together. Those lost six hours from Chicago to London make you feel out of whack for awhile, no matter whether you travel economy or first class. I’ve never done first class, but if I can accumulate enough miles on my British Airways card to go business class, it’s definitely preferable to being squashed together like sardines in economy. In business class you can stretch out your legs (if you’re 5’6″ or under) and enjoy a bit of privacy in your own little cubicle. I don’t really sleep much, though. The arm rest gets in the way, especially if you try to sleep on your side. I end up tossing and turning and hoping I’m not disturbing the passenger on the other side of the divider. STILL beats coach travel out of the water, though. Even better, you get out sooner than everyone else and you fast-track through security and immigration. THAT little perk is worth its weight in platinum—I’ve spent two hours waiting to get through immigration when everyone is tired and cranky, hoping my taxi driver will still be there waiting for me when I get through.

I want to say a few words extolling the Airbus a380. This amazing plane has two boarding levels, which cuts boarding time in half. Those of us on the top level filed in through the top door; the bottom level had its own door. The lavatories are significantly larger than the tiny cubicles on most planes, and even have a little padded bench for changing baby diapers. I wonder how mothers managed to do it before now. Must have been pretty miserable.

Another perk of traveling business class is the airline lounge. You can go there and enjoy snacks, drinks, and a meal while you wait for your flight. Also television and wifi out of the madding crowds of the massive airport. And they’ll announce when your flight is boarding so you don’t risk missing it.

British Airways Business Class Lounge Chicago O’Hare Airport

So, getting through immigration was a whiz, and eventually my driver found me. (How it took him so long I’ll never understand. He was supposed to look for the lady with the pink and white hair. I was the ONLY one!) Turned out he’s the same Sri Lankan driver I had last year. Still wants to match me up with a Sri Lankan. He doesn’t quite “get” that some women prefer being single. But I enjoy listening to people’s opinions, and he certainly has a lot of them.

Once I got into my flat on Crawford Street (near Baker Street in Marylebone), I fell into bed for a couple of hours. Turned on the TV and caught Prince Harry and Meghan showing off their sweet baby. Cutie pie! But I was hungry and there was no food in the flat. Also, I needed to replace the SIM card in my UK phone so I’d have a phone to use when necessary. Walked down to Oxford Street to Selfridge’s, but the Carphone Warehouse is no longer there, so I had to walk a few more blocks to find a place who could do it. While I was waiting, some customers walked off with some merchandise from the store. Something small. But it reminded me that there are pickpockets everywhere on Oxford Street. It pays to be aware of what’s going on around you.

The Bond Street Tube Station was nearby, so I took the Tube to Baker Street—after a frappuccino from Starbuck’s. I was feeling weak from hunger, and that really helped. Interestingly enough, after I got onto a train, a young man sitting in a priority seat got up and let me have his seat. Wasn’t that sweet? He said he was getting off at the next stop, but so was I. It reminded me that wherever there are thieves and villains, there are also very nice people who will give you the shirt of their back (or at least their seat on the subway).

Upon leaving Baker Street Station, I crossed the street and had some cannelloni at the Pizza Express, one of my regular places. Then I purchased some food at the Tesco Express and returned to my flat. Where the construction crew was still pounding and sawing outside my window and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Oh well. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with that at this flat. Do you believe this is the SIXTH time I’ve stayed here in six years?

At one point during the day I got soaked from rain, a few other times was sprinkled on, but most of the time it was pretty decent. A bit windy and chilly, but hey, it RAINS in England! No big deal.

Turning in early tonight. Sorry I won’t make it today’s tea party. Next week for sure!

A Home for Helena: Release Day is Here!

Mar29

The Story Behind the Story

I wrote A Home for Helena and sent it out to my critique partners and beta readers around two years ago, but as with other projects, I put it aside in favor of working on new projects. Frankly, the initial first draft writing is much more exciting for me than making revisions. If I don’t have a deadline looming, I tend to leave past projects in limbo indefinitely. Fortunately, last year I got involved in three group projects with deadlines which forced me to actually finish things. Those were Lost and Found Lady (from Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles), The Third MacPherson Sister (Sweet Summer Kisses), and The Ultimate Escape (Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem).

The Ultimate Escape, the story of Lady Pendleton’s eldest daughter escaping to the future, revived my determination to get A Home for Helena out to readers. Because The Ultimate Escape takes place five years before A Home for Helena—even though the latter was written first—it became Book 1 in The Lady P Chronicles, with Helena becoming Book 2. As for Book 3, I’ve got a few ideas mulling about, but I’d like to get some of my other unfinished projects out there too.

Want to know how Lady Pendleton evolved? Check out my post on Caroline Warfield’s blog: http://ow.ly/ZTiNP

I really, really hate deadlines

I know I have to get started right away, but I don’t feel like it. I’ll just have another cup of coffee first. Let me finish this one episode of Dateline first, and then I’ll work on my project. OMG, I forgot to get my blog post up today! I really should take care of the credit card bill first, then I’ll get started on the project. Is it time for lunch already? I’ll just take a little break for Facebook games and then I know for sure I’ll be ready to write. The phone rings and I realize I haven’t talked to this friend for several weeks. People are more important than things, right? Suze Orman always says so. OMG, is it 5:00 already? I’m too tired to write. I’ll just get up early tomorrow and write twice as much…

But I can’t get things finished without them!

As you can see, deadlines are a necessary evil. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em. Well, I probably could live without ’em, but I’d be a certified couch potato and a has-been writer. And no, that’s not the way I want to live.

So I am learning to set deadlines for myself. And even though I don’t always meet them exactly on the nose, I do get things done, which wouldn’t be the case otherwise. I’ve also learned that having the cover done is a great motivator. Mari Christie, who created the cover for Helena has also done several others for me, including my two stories with Ellora’s Cave that revert back to me in a couple of weeks. Treasuring Theresa will be Book 1 of the Hertfordshire Hoydens series and Book 2 will be Cherishing Charlotte, which is another unfinished project I hope to have completed by the end of the summer. And I still have several others after that, which will keep both Mari and me busy for the foreseeable future.

About A Home for Helena

After a wise woman suggests that she has been misplaced in time, Helena Lloyd travels back two hundred years in an attempt to find out where she belongs.

Widowed father James Walker has no intention of remarrying until he makes the acquaintance of his daughter’s lovely new governess.

Lady Pendleton, a time-traveling Regency lady herself, suspects that these two belong together. First, however, she must help Helena discover her true origins—and hopefully, a home where she belongs.

A Home for Helena is Book 2 of The Lady P Chronicles.

Book 1, The Ultimate Escape, originally published in the Bluestocking Belles’ anthology, Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem, will soon be available individually.

Amazon

$0.99 until April 5, then $2.99

Free on Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt

Newsome Grange

Kingswood, Kent

Later that morning

“Miss Dray is dead?”

James stared incredulously at Sir Henry, who, for once, was not wearing his normal easy-going expression. Instead, he leaned against the mantel of the fireplace of his study, studying the grate as though there were a fire blazing in it.

“Good God, what happened? Is Annabelle all right?”

“She’s fine, James.

Lady Sarah strolled through the doorway and into her husband’s arms. In spite of her words, she looked worn out. Strands of her blonde hair were falling out of her chignon, and he thought he saw the remains of tears on her cheeks.

“The girls are quite distressed, of course. They were fond of Miss Dray. As were we all,” she said with a glance at her husband, whose arm remained tightly clasped around her shoulders. “She was a dear thing, but very strict. The perfect governess. I don’t know how we shall go on without her.” Her voice broke and she buried her face on her husband’s chest.

“They found her in Abbey Wood,” Sir Henry explained. “Wednesday was her half-day, and when she didn’t return, we sent out a search party. No signs of foul play. The doctor says it was natural causes—her heart just gave out.”

His wife erupted in sobs again, and James decided he should find his daughter and leave the Newsomes to their grief, giving voice to that decision.

Lady Sarah turned to face him, accepting her husband’s handkerchief to dab her eyes with.

“Oh no, James, you needn’t do that. The nanny will manage until Mother can send us a replacement. Emily and Theodosia simply love having Annabelle around, and it will only distress them further if she leaves as well. And as for Colin, I’ve no doubt he thinks Annabelle’s his mother by now. She has a way with babies, it seems.”

James was not convinced. “Still, it takes time to find a governess.” He should know—the agency he’d consulted in London had yet to send him information on any potential candidates.

Sir Henry chuckled. “Have you met my mother-in-law?”

Lady Sarah smiled in spite of herself. “We sent an express requesting her aid. If I know her, she’ll come herself if she can’t find someone suitable to fill in until we find a permanent replacement.”

Sir Henry winked at him. “Perhaps she’ll bring along that pretty Miss Lloyd she has residing with her. I think she liked you well enough.” He chuckled. “Not looking for a husband, though. Or so she says.”

James frowned. He’d nearly succeeded in forcing the image of the forthright Miss Lloyd out of his mind, and now she had installed herself right back in again. If he were truthful with himself, he’d admit he wouldn’t be sorry to see her again. She was quite an eyeful.

It was really too bad he hadn’t been able to visit Violet while in London. It seemed her new protector demanded exclusivity, and he’d not been able to get past her burly butler. He hadn’t been near an attractive woman in ages, and this Miss Lloyd was proving strangely difficult to dismiss from his thoughts.

Lady Sarah looked thoughtful. “What do you know about this Miss Lloyd, Henry? Where did she come from? I don’t believe Mother has ever mentioned her before.”

Sir Henry grinned as he looked down at her. “She’s your mother, my dear. Surely you know by now how unpredictable she can be.”

Lady Sarah drew a deep breath. “I do know that. That’s precisely why I’m—concerned.”

James cleared his throat. “I appreciate your kindness in offering to keep my daughter, but you obviously have more than enough to deal with at present. If you would be so kind as to call her down… I can send for her things later.”

But the Newsomes wouldn’t hear of it. Lady Sarah was so vehement that he could see she was almost ready to burst into tears again, and after Sir Henry shook his head in warning, James visited his daughter briefly and left without her.

As he rode home, no matter how he fought it, his mind’s eye kept reverting to a pair of bright green eyes and the lovely face that went with them. Would he be seeing them again?

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Lauren Smith: The League of Rogues, Book 2

Jan22

Character Interview with Lucien and Horatia

from His Wicked Seduction

Rochester Hall in Kent was full of life for the Christmas holidays. I was fortunate that I could take a chance to interview Lord Rochester and his soon to be bride Horatia Sheridan. Their engagement had caused quite a scandal because Horatia’s brother Cedric was Lucien’s friend, and they had fought a duel on Christmas day over Horatia’s honor, and then all three of them were nearly killed by an assassin from Lucien’s past. It was a story I needed to hear more details about and had reached out to Horatia for an interview.

Shortly after arriving at the beautiful mansion in the countryside via coach, I was escorted to a drawing room to wait for his lordship and Horatia to arrive. A few moments later, a maid with a tea tray bustled in, followed by a handsome man in his early thirties with dark red hair and a wicked, yet playful smile. He tugged the edges of his silver waistcoat down and walked over to where I sat on the settee and bowed gracefully.

“Tis a pleasure, Madame.” He captured my hand and feathered a light kiss across my knuckles.

“Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” I knew I was blushing, and by the amused glint in his eyes, he knew I was blushing too. Even betrothed and most decidedly off limits to a woman like me, Lucien, Lord Rochester, was irresistible.

The door opened again, to admit a woman I recognized, my friend Horatia Sheridan. In a rich blue silk gown, a color more suited to a married lady than a unmarried one, she looked stunning. In Rochester Hall, away from society’s judgmental eyes, Horatia was wearing gowns that looked much better with her fair skin.

“Lauren!” She rushed to greet me and we embraced.

“I’m so happy for you, Horatia. When I heard the news, I knew I had to come down and speak to you and meet your future husband.”

“Thank you.” Horatia snuck a little glance at Lucien who was grinning openly. The rogue. I smiled too.

“Why don’t we sit down and you can ask us your questions.” Horatia suggested.

Me: Lucien, it is no secret that you are a member of the League of Rogues. What is it like to be branded a rogue by London’s society?

Lucien: “Good lord, you don’t hold back, do you? Well, yes, I’m a member of the League. There are six of us: Godric, Cedric, Ashton, Charles, Jonathan and myself. I don’t mind the amusing moniker of the name. It suits me quite well. I’m both an acknowledged rake and a rogue, so why deny it?” he leaned back in his chair and crossed one booted knee over his ankles.

Me: So, Lucien – tell us about this Midnight Garden we’ve heard about? Is it the type of place you would think to encounter a young girl?

At this Lucien actually paled. “Right, well. It’s a place of ill repute,” he hesitated. “You know, a place where a man or woman with sensual appetites can be sated. Certainly not a place for a well bred young woman.” He coughed and shot a direct gaze at Horatia. She shrugged at him, then smoothed her skirts, as though unperturbed by his silent chastisement.

Me: Then it must have about given you a heart attack when you noticed Horatia there! Tell us about it?

“I’ll tell you,” Horatia butted in before Lucien could speak. “I think I was more shocked than he, even though it was my plan to find him. You see, I bribed one of his servants to find out where he went in the evenings, and decided that if he wanted a woman to take to bed, it had better be me, since I was so completely in love with him. Then when I came into his room, we each wore masks per the rules of the Garden, but he recognized me, and I knew it was him.” Horatia finally looked over at her lover, a playful little smile on her lips. “He thought he’d teach me a lesson and half-seduce me, but we both lost ourselves to the passion and it was wonderful.”

Me: Horatia – it must have been quite frightening to go to that place – what made you decide to do that?

“Lucien was afraid to fall in love with me because he is my brother’s best friend. Cedric would have killed him if he even looked at me in a desiring way. But I knew I had to be with Lucien, and that meant taking wild risks in order to save him from his attempt to hide from me.”

Me: It seems like you took a round about way to love – did you ever have any doubts that you would be separated?

Lucien answered this time. “Well, when her brother had his pistol pointed at my chest there were definitely doubts that I might shed this mortal coil and never seen my beloved, darling Horatia ever again.”

Horatia’s eyes sparked with tears. “And that wasn’t even the worst of it. When that assassin trapped us in the burning gardener’s cottage, I was convinced we would not make it out. But we did.” She took Lucien’s hand and they shared a secret look of love.

Me: You’ve known each other since you were quite young. Any fun childhood memories?

Lucien laughed. “I was a young man when I met Horatia. She was only fourteen and I was in my twenties. She was also so serious as a child, determined to replace her deceased mother in the family and take care of her older brother Cedric and her younger sister Audrey.”

“And you were all charm and teasing, Lucien. It’s what drew me to you. Like a flower to the sun, I craved your light-hearted spirit to ease my serious one,” Horatia added.

Me: Were any of those memories at Rochester Hall? Had you ever spent the Christmas holidays there before with Lucien’s family?

Horatia shook her head. “I only spent one real holiday at Rochester Hall and it wasn’t during Christmas. I was there during the spring and accidentally ruined Lucien’s attempt to propose another woman. I spilled a bucket of water over her head from the top of a gazebo.”

Lucien chuckled. “I was so furious with you, love, but now I can only thank you from saving me from marrying that awful creature.” He turned to face me. “You see, I was going to marry Melanie Burns. She ended up marrying my dreaded enemy, Hugo Waverly. It was him who sent the assassin after us to kill us, but not because of Melanie. That’s another story, I won’t share here.”

Me: As one of the League of Rogues, we had never thought you’d settle down – not for years! What was it that Horatia did or said to get you to abandon your single life so quickly?

Lucien smirked. “What indeed?” He slid a hand into the pocket of his dark blue trousers and pulled out a piece of fine red silk cut into a strip. “I discovered my little Horatia had a taste for bondage in bed, she like to be tied up, just as much as I loved to tie her up, among other things.” He winked at his future wife. “But the truth is this, she wasn’t afraid to be herself with me, even when I was a fool and tried to push her away. She was brave, bold and beautiful, and I knew a woman like that was a rare find and I couldn’t deny my feelings for her any longer. A woman like that deserves to be loved and cherished, even by a scoundrel like me.”

Me: Are you sad to leave your reputation as a playboy behind – or are you excited for whatever new adventures lie in front of you with your new wife?

He laughed. “Sad to leave behind my lonely bachelor ways? Absolutely not.”

Horatia giggled. “He’s most happily entertained with me. I keep him busy and satisfied.

“No doubt,” Lucien continued. “We’ll have plenty of children to keep us both busy. My mother will get her wish for grandchildren sooner rather than later I expect.”

Me: And now the most important question of the interview – now that Lucien is in wedded bliss, which of her children will Lady Rochester now turn her matchmaking abilities to?

“My mother? Who will her next matchmaking victim be? That’s a frightening guess to make. I feel, if I answer that I’d condemn one of my younger brothers or my sister to a wedding. But, then again, I’d love to torture one of my siblings. Let’s see, next in line by age is Lawrence, he’s like me, too stubborn for even my mother to arrange anything. Then there’s Avery, the family spy, always off on the Continent doing lord knows what to save King and Country. Then there’s Linus, he’s lovestruck with Lucinda Cavendish but far too young to marry, he’s only twenty-one. I would have to my bet on Lysandra, my only sister, just nineteen. However, she’s a real blue stocking, addicting to education and learning, not into husband hunting. I imagine my mother will set her sights on poor Lysa.”

I laughed and thanked Lucien and Horatia for allowing me to ask those rather personal questions. They in turn insisted that I stay with them through the remainder of the holidays. A Russell family Christmas? How could I refuse? Humming merrily, I picked up my belongings and went straight to my rooms, determined to write their story, His Wicked Seduction, one more adventures of the League of Rogues. I can’t wait!

About The League of Rogues, Book 2

Can the League’s most wicked rakehell be tamed? Or has this Rogue fallen too far?

Horatia Sheridan has been hopelessly in love with Lucien, her brother’s best friend, ever since he rescued her from the broken remains of her parents’ wrecked carriage. His reputation as London’s most notorious rakehell doesn’t frighten her, for under his veneer of cool authority she has glimpsed a man whose wicked desires inspire her own.

Lucien, Marquess of Rochester, has deliberately nurtured a reputation for debauchery that makes every matchmaking mother of the ton quake with fear. His one secret: he is torn between soul-ripping lust for Horatia, and the loyalty he owes her brother.

That loyalty is put to the test when an old enemy of the League threatens Horatia’s life. With Christmas drawing near, he sweeps her away to his country estate, where he can’t resist granting her one wish—to share his bed and his heart.

But sinister forces are lurking, awaiting the perfect moment to exact their revenge by destroying not only whatever happiness Lucien might find in Horatia’s arms, but the lives of those they love.

Warning: This book contains an intelligent lady who is determined to seduce her brother’s friend, a brooding rake whose toy of choice in bed is a little bit of bondage with a piece of red silk, a loyal band of merry rogues and a Christmas love so scorching you’ll need fresh snow to extinguish it.

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Excerpt

She is going to be the death of me.

“Lucien! You’re not even listening to me, are you? I’m in desperate need of a new valet and you’ve been woolgathering rather than offering suggestions. I daresay you have enough for a decent coat and a pair of mittens by now.”

Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, looked to his friend Charles. They were walking down Bond Street, Lucien keeping careful watch over one particular lady without her knowledge and Charles simply enjoying the chance for an outing. The street was surprisingly crowded for so early in the day and during such foul wintry weather.

“Admit it,” Charles prodded.

Lucien fought to focus on his friend. “Sorry?”

The Earl of Lonsdale fixed him with a stern glare which, given that his usual manner tended towards jovial, was a little alarming.

“Where is your head? You’ve been out of sorts all morning.”

Lucien grunted. He had no intention of explaining himself. His thoughts were sinful ones, ones that would lead him straight to a fiery spot in Hell, assuming one wasn’t already reserved for him. All because of one woman: Horatia Sheridan.

She was halfway up Bond Street on the opposite side of the road, a beacon of beauty standing out from the women around her. A footman dressed in the Sheridan livery trailed diligently behind her with a large box in his arms. A new dress, if Lucien had to hazard a guess. She should not be out traipsing about on snow-covered walkways, not with these carriages rumbling past, casting muddy slush all over. It frustrated him to think she was risking a chill for the sake of shopping. It frustrated him more that he was so concerned about it.

“I know you think I’m a half-wit on most days, but—”

“Only most?” Lucien couldn’t resist the verbal jab.

Charles grinned. “As I was saying, it’s a bit obvious our leisurely stroll is merely a ruse. I’ve noticed we’ve stopped several times, matching the pattern of a certain lady of our acquaintance across the street.”

So Charles had been watchful after all. Lucien shouldn’t have been surprised. He hadn’t done his best to conceal his interest in Horatia Sheridan. It was too hard to fight the natural pull of his gaze whenever she was near. She was twenty years old, yet she carried herself with the natural grace of a mature and educated queen. Not many women could achieve such a feat. For as long as he’d known her, she’d been that way.

He’d been a young man in his twenties when he met her, and she’d been all of fourteen. She’d been like a little sister to him. Even then, she’d struck him as more mentally and emotionally mature than most women in their later years. There was something about her eyes, the way her doe-brown pools held a man rooted to the spot with intelligence—and in these last few months, attraction…

“You’d best stop staring,” Charles intoned quietly. “People are starting to notice.”

“She shouldn’t be out in this weather. Her brother would have a fit.” Lucien tugged his leather gloves tighter, hoping to erase the lingering effects of the chill wind that slid between his coat sleeves and gloves.

Charles burst out into a laugh, one loud enough to draw the attention of nearby onlookers. “Cedric loves her and little Audrey, but you and I both know that does not stop either of them from doing just as they please.”

There was far too much truth in that. Lucien and Charles had known Cedric, Viscount Sheridan for many years, bonded during one dark night at university. The memory of when he, Charles, Cedric and two others, Godric and Ashton, had first met always unsettled him. Still, what had happened had forged an unbreakable bond between the five of them. Later, London, or at least the society pages, had dubbed them The League of Rogues.

The League. How amusing it all was…except for one thing. The night they’d formed their alliance each of the five men had been marked by the Devil himself. A man by the name of Hugo Waverly, a fellow student at Cambridge, had sworn vengeance on them.

And sometimes Lucien wondered if they didn’t deserve it.

Lucien shook off the heavy thoughts. He was drawn to the vision of Horatia pausing to admire a shop window displaying an array of poke bonnets nestled on stands. Her beleaguered footman stood by her elbow, juggling the box in his arms. He nodded smartly as Horatia pointed out a particular bonnet. Lucien was tempted to venture forth and speak with her, possibly lure her into an alley in order to have just a moment alone with her. Even if he only spoke with her, he feared the intimacy of that conversation would get him a bullet through his heart if her brother ever found out.

Charles had walked a few feet ahead, then stopped and turned to kick a pile of snow into the street. “If this is how you mean to spend the day then consider me gone. I could be at Jackson’s Salon right now, or better yet, savoring the favors of the fine ladies at the Midnight Garden.”

Lucien knew he’d put Charles out of sorts asking him to come today, but he’d had a peculiar feeling since he’d risen this morning, as though someone was walking over his grave. Ever since Hugo Waverly had returned to London, he had been keeping on eye on Cedric’s sisters, particularly Horatia. Waverly had a way of creating collateral damage and Lucien would do anything to keep these innocent ladies safe. But she mustn’t know he was watching over her. He’d spent the last six years being outwardly cold to her, praying she’d stop gazing at him in that sweet, loving way of hers.

It was cruel of him, yes, but if he did not create some distance, he’d have had her on her back beneath him. She was too good a woman for that, and he was far too wicked to be worthy of her. Rather like a demon falling for an angel. He longed for her in ways he’d never craved for other women, and he could never have her.

The reason was simple. His public reputation did not do justice to the true depth of his debauchery. A man like him could and should never be with a woman like Horatia. She was beauty, intelligence and strength, and he would corrupt her with just one night in his arms.

Within the ton, there was scandal and then there was scandal. For a certain class of woman, being seen with the wrong man in the wrong place could be enough to ruin her reputation and damage her prospects. These fair creatures deserved nothing but the utmost in courtesy and propriety.

For others, the widows still longing for love, those who had no interest in husbands but did from time to time seek companionship, and that rare lovely breed of woman who had both the wealth and position to afford to not give a toss about what society thought, there was Lucien. He seduced them all, taught them to open themselves up to their deepest desires and needs, and seek satisfaction. Not once had a woman complained or been dissatisfied after he had departed from her bed. But there was only one bed he sought now, and it was one he should never be invited into.

He glanced about and noticed a familiar coach among the other carriages on the street. Much of the street’s traffic had been moving steadily and quicker than the people on foot, but not that coach. There was nothing unusual about it; the rider was covered with a scarf like all the others, to keep out the chill, yet each time he and Charles had crossed a street, the coach had shadowed them.

“Charles, do think we’re being followed?”

Charles brushed off some snow from his gloved hands when it dropped onto him from a nearby shop’s eave. “What? What on earth for?”

“I don’t know. That carriage. It has been with us for quite a few streets.”

“Lucien, we’re in a popular part of London. No doubt someone is shopping and ordering their carriage to keep close.”

“Hmm,” was all he said before he turned his attention back to Horatia and her footman. One of her spare gloves fell out of her cloak and onto the ground, going unnoticed by both her and her servant. Lucien debated briefly whether or not he should interfere and alert her to the fact that he and Charles had been following her. When she continued to walk ahead, leaving her glove behind, he made his decision.

Lucien caught up with his friend still ahead of him on the street. “I’ll not keep you. Horatia’s dropped a glove and I wish to return it to her.”

“Plagued by a bit of chivalry, eh? Go on then, I want to stop here a moment.” He pointed to a bookshop.

“Very good. Catch me up when you’re ready.”

Lucien dodged through the traffic on the road and was halfway across the street when pandemonium struck.

Bond Street was turned on its head as screams tore through the air. The coach that had been shadowing him raced down the road in Lucien’s direction. Yet, rather than trying to halt the team, the driver whipped the horses, urging them directly at Lucien.

He was too far across the street to turn back; he had to get to safety and get others out of the way. Horatia! She could be trampled when it passed her. Lucien’s heart shot into his throat as he ran. The driver whipped the horses again, as if sensing Lucien’s determination to escape.

“Horatia!” Lucien bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Out of the way!”

About the Author

Amazon Best Selling author, Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets: a feisty chinchilla, sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including being an Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.

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“Smith’s fast-paced historical keeps readers on their toes as they’re taken hostage by a whirlwind of characters and an unforgettable romance. Readers will get their fair share of emotional outbursts, which includes laughter, lust, anger and sadness…it’s action-packed, sizzling hot and readers of all genres will enjoy the scramble to the finish.”—RT Book Reviews Magazine

“Lauren Smith’s debut League of Rogues novel is a fun, clever and wonderfully sympathetic read that will no doubt earn her a number of fans. Her insight into her characters and willingness to take risks with them is impressive…and brought a fresh voice and a heap of compassion, transforming it into something highly readable and quite enjoyable.”—The Romance Reviews

“The best thing for me was the quality of Lauren Smith’s writing. I will read her again. She is a fresh voice to watch out for.”—Romantic Historical Reviews

“I really enjoyed Wicked Designs, Lauren Smith’s debut Regency historical novel. This witty and entertaining romance features an emotionally scarred hero, a smart heroine and a loveable group of rogues… Emily is a delightful heroine. She is smart, courageous and spirited enough to stand up for herself. I love her determination to outwit her captors and escape. She certainly keeps those five rogues on their toes!”—Rakes and Rascals.com

Planning My London Adventure: Part I

Mar13

As a longtime reader of historical romances set in London, I’ve picked up bits and pieces of the city over the years. Names like Astley’s Amphitheatre, the British Museum, the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, Carlton House, and Covent Garden are as familiar to me as my own house. Of course, I’ve never actually seen them—most of them no longer exist, or if they do, they do not bear much resemblance to the places my Regency heroines would have visited. And since my previous visits to London have been of short duration—no more than four or five days at a time—it was impossible to do much more than visit a few museums and places that do exist

But this year, I decided to go all out and rent a flat in the center of London for a whole month! I had to draw a few deep breaths before hitting “Pay now”—a flat on Baker Street during the tourist season carries what I consider an astronomical price—but it is considerably cheaper than the Sherlock Holmes Hotel where I have stayed in the post, and I am familiar with the neighborhood.

However, since I am paying through the nose for this fabulous trip of a lifetime, I’m determined to have a detailed plan of places to visit while I’m there. I’ve purchased several travel guides and researched online, and I thought I’d share my thoughts with you, in case you too get to travel to London at some point in the future.

Daily Schedule

First of all, I’m definitely not going to spend my entire day visiting one sight after another. My back won’t take it, and when I’m in pain, I get cranky. No way do I want to spend a month in London being cranky. Not to mention that I want to be able to get some writing done while I can still feel the magic of the past. (Yes, I will take my noise-canceling headphones with me!)

So the plan is to write in the morning and do my touristy stuff in the afternoon. Of course, I’m planning some trips afield, like to Leeds Castle, which features in my current WIP, but for the most part I’ll be doing my visiting in the afternoons.

The Plan

In future posts, I’ll share some of the places I’ve noted on my spreadsheet, and I hope some of you will share your favorite “must-see” places as well. I’d rather have too many places on my list to choose from than not enough. This won’t be my last trip, but I want to make sure I make good use of the time I have.

Walking Jane Austen’s London: A Tour Guide For the Modern Traveller

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Louise Allen’s book comes in print as well as Kindle. I bought both. My original intention was to leave the print book at home and use the Kindle edition on my iPad mini while there, but I’m reconsidering. The iPad is slippery and the screen is hard to read in the glare of the sun, and I’m always bumping something accidentally and losing my place. The print book isn’t heavy, so I might just have to save on suitcase weight some other way. [Sigh]

The book offers eight walks through various parts of London, designating places of interest to Regency era fans. Many of these are mentioned in Jane Austen’s writings, as places visited by herself and/or her characters. The book is chock-full of images from drawings or paintings, so even if the actual building no longer exists or has significantly changed, you can look at the picture and imagine what it used to be like in the early 19^th century. Priceless!