Tag Archive | Susana Ellis

Romance of London: The Mermaid Hoax

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

John Timbs (1801-1875), who also wrote as Horace Welby, was an English author and aficionado of antiquities. Born in Clerkenwell, London, he was apprenticed at 16 to a druggist and printer, where he soon showed great literary promise. At 19, he began to write for Monthly Magazine, and a year later he was made secretary to the magazine’s proprietor and there began his career as a writer, editor, and antiquarian.

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

The Mermaid Hoax

The absurd notion, that there are “Mermen and Mermaids, half man or woman and the remainder fish,” has long been exploded; but, little more than 40 years ago since (in 1822) thousands of dupes were attracted to the Egyptian Hall, in Piccadilly, to see a pretended Mermaid, when 300 or 400 persons paid daily one shilling each for the indulgence of their credulity! The imposture was, however, too gross to last long; and it was ascertained to be the dried skin of the head and shoulders of a monkey, attached very neatly to the dried skin of a fish of the salmon kind, with the head cut off; the compounds figure being stuffed and highly varnished, the better to deceive the eye. This grotesque object was taken by a Dutch vessel from on board a native Malacca boat; and from the reverence shown to it by the sailors, it is supposed to have represented the incarnation of one of the idol-gods of the Molucca Islands.

This impudent hoax upon the good people of London was the work of a Japanese fisherman, who seems to have displayed ingenuity for the mere purpose of making money by his countrymen’s passion for everything odd and strange. He contrived to unite the upper half of the monkey to the lower half of the fish so successfully as to defy ordinary inspection. He then gave out that he had caught the creature alive in his net, but that it had died shortly after being taken out of the water; and he derived considerably pecuniary profit from his cunning in more ways than one. The exhibition of the sea-monster to Japanese curiosity paid well; but yet more productive was the assertion that the half-human fish, having spoken during the few minutes it existed out of its native element, had predicted a certain number of years of wonderful fertility, and a fatal epidemic, the only remedy for which would be the possession of the marine prophet’s likeness. The sale of these pictured mermaids was immense. Either the composite animal, or another, the offspring of the success of the first, was sold to the Dutch factory, and transmitted to Batavia, where it fell into the hands of speculation American, who brought it to Europe, and here, in the years 1822-23, exhibited his purchase as a real mermaid in every capital, to the admiration of the ignorant, the perplexity of some affectedly learned, and the filling of his own purse.

…Still, the creature must have been so unsightly as to reduce Dryden’s definition of a mermaid—a fine woman ending in a fish’s tail—to a witty fancy.

The Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly

The Egyptian Hall was commissioned by William Bullock to house his collection of curiosities and completed in 1812—the first building in England to be influenced by the Egyptian style. Before opening the hall (also called the London Museum or Bullock’s Museum), Bullock displayed his collection in Sheffield and Liverpool. He made money from selling tickets for various spectaculars. Bullock made £35,000 from exhibiting Napoleonic era artifacts, including Napoleon’s carriage from Waterloo. In 1819, the Hall became a major venue for exhibiting art, particularly very large pieces. Admission was usually one shilling.

Romance of London Series

Alicia Quigley: Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy (Giveaway)

Apr21

A Tale of Two Soldiers: Class in Wellington’s Army

by Alicia Quigley

Social hierarchy was rigid and strict in Regency England, and there were relatively few paths for ambitious sons of the middle classes to work their way in to the gentry. Only three professions offered a nearly certain entrée: the law, the Church, and the military. In the military an ambitious and brave young man could, if he survived and was clever about his career, make a reasonable income, achieve or purchase promotion, and eventually, perhaps even be knighted, or have a title created for him. Some well-known examples from Wellington’s era include General Sir Harry Smith, and General Colin Campbell who was made the 1st Baron Clyde.

However, the military was also viewed as a very good career for the younger sons of aristocrats, and they typically received preferential treatment. The stories of George Scovell, and Lord Fitzroy Somerset, who served on Wellington’s staff at the same time during the Peninsular War are good examples. The Duke of Wellington, who was the younger son of an Irish peer, held strong views about the importance of “family, money and influence” in moving up in the military, and surrounded himself with other scions of the aristocracy as his aides-de-camp whom he referred to as “my boys.” He distrusted the emerging new ‘scientific soldiering’ being introduced, which was particularly important in the case of the artillery, (which was rapidly gaining relevance) but also for all other aspects of soldiering.

In this post, let’s compare the careers of Lord Fitzroy Somerset, a younger son of the Duke of Beaufort, who was born in beautiful Badminton Castle, a privileged younger son of the Duke of Beaufort, and Mr. George Scovell, an ambitious young man with little breeding or money, but great intelligence and ambition.

George Scovell attended the recently established Royal Military Academy, learning the methods scientific soldiering and in 1798 purchased a commission as a Cornet in the 4th Queens Own Hussars, a cavalry regiment. A young Winston Churchill started his career as a Cornet in the same regiment 97 years later. The cavalry was the glamour side of the military, and Scovell was tremendously proud of this position. But, as a socially insignificant scientific soldier, promotions were hard to get.

As George also had siblings who needed financial help, he had to sell out of the cavalry and join the infantry, a drop in social status that he felt deeply. He moved to the Quartermaster General’s staff, where he excelled due to his education and diligence, although he had to purchase his promotions to captain and major. His accomplishments included, besides helping improve logistics in the Peninsula, standing up a new unit of Scouts with English, Spanish and Portuguese soldiers, and critically, cracking Napoleon’s Paris Chiffre in his spare time, thus making Napoleon’s plans available to the English.

Scovell was given the opportunity in 1813 to raise and command a new regiment, the Staff Corps of Cavalry, also known as the Staff Dragoons or the Corps of Gendarmerie which was the first recognized unit of military police in the British army. He was knighted and received the Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath (KCB) and continued his career in the Army, even becoming a colonel in the in the same cavalry regiment he had to sell out of earlier. Later, he was the Lieutenant-Governor and then Governor of the Royal Military College, Sandhurst(1829-1856), where he helped expand scientific soldiering in the British army. He received the Knight Grand Cross in 1860 and retired from the Army as a general. His hard work finally brought him success, but it was a long time in the making.

Lord Fitzroy Somerset also joined the Army in the peninsula as a Cornet, this time in the 4th Light Dragoons, in 1804. He was promoted to Lieutenant in 1805, and captain in 1808, presumably by purchase since he transferred to the 43rd Regiment of Foot. He went to Spain in 1808 as one of Wellingtons’s crew of aristocratic aides-de-camp. Somerset’s bravery and gallantry is not in question; he was involved in leading charges in any number major battles in Spain, and was the first over the wall at the bloody storming of Badajoz. He was only twenty-four when he was promoted to lieutenant colonel in 1812.

Somerset fought in numerous other brutal battles, and served at Waterloo, where he lost his right arm. He also received the KCB in 1815. He went into politics, became Military Secretary, and eventually returned to active duty. He was named Baron Raglan, and eventually Field Marshal. He is famous for being the general on whose watch the Charge of the Light Brigade occurred. As a sidebar on the advantages of being a duke’s son in the army, it is worth noting that Lord Fitzroy’s older brother Lord Robert Somerset, also became an army general!

Two soldiers of very different backgrounds, with very different paths to military success. What do you think of this?

In my soon-to-be-released Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy, we have a similar juxtaposition: our hero, Sir Tarquin Arlingby, is a titled gentleman involved in finding smugglers who are running guinea boats to France, and are getting letters back and forth for French spies.

Our heroine, Valerie Carlton, is a military widow, whose husband was more the George Scovell-type soldier. She followed the drum and learned first-hand the adventures, dangers and sense of commitment to something greater than herself that came from the experience. The two are thrown together through a series of odd events and find themselves in quite an exciting—and potentially deadly—adventure.

Excerpt

Note: This book will be up for pre-order soon! The author will choose a random commenter to receive of the first two books in the series, A Collector’s Item and The Contraband Courtship.

Sir Tarquin handed her to a seat in front of the fire, and then took a chair across from her, settling into it comfortably and crossing his elegantly booted ankles. “So, Mrs. Carlton, I find that I am almost vulgarly curious about your past. It is evident that you are a gentlewoman, yet I found you penniless and unescorted at the Angel this morning. How did that come to pass?”

Valerie gazed down at her hands, before looking at him. “I am the oldest daughter of Lord Upleadon and his first wife,” she answered, “and married Robert Carlton, an officer in the Light Division.”

“Upleadon?” exclaimed Sir Tarquin. “You are an Upleadon, yet I found you alone, penniless, and ready to board a mail coach?”

“My father did not approve of Mr. Carlton, I fear,” Valerie answered economically.

“That stiff rumped old tartar–” Sir Tarquin suddenly recalled that his listener was not only a lady, but also the daughter of the gentleman he was about to malign, and fell silent.

“Quite so,” Valerie responded with a definite hint of laughter in her voice. “In any event, when I insisted on marrying Mr. Carlton my father cut me off entirely. Even when my husband was among the dead at Sabugal he refused to see me.”

“While I’m not well acquainted with the baron, as he is a good deal older than I am and moves in very different circles, I’m sorry to say that I can easily imagine him lacking remorse. You must have been a mere child. How have you managed since then?”

“When I returned to England, several of my friends had married, and were happy to help me get on my feet. I was mourning my husband, and had no wish to remarry or to be a burden on them, however, so I quickly found a position as a governess.”

“But the Battle of Sabugal was three years since. Have you been a governess all this time?” Sir Tarquin asked.

She nodded. “I had only been with the Forneys for in a few months. When I first became a governess I was in charge of a young lady who needed some polishing before she came out, as her parents were not people of fashion. I enjoyed it very much; the daughter was charming and her mother and father were kind and grateful. Unfortunately the two positions that followed it have been much less satisfactory.”

Valerie fell silent, looking down at her hands, and Sir Tarquin, finding himself appreciating the sight of her blonde curls, fine figure, and aura of calm, didn’t need to stretch his imagination far to imagine the son of the Forney household had been unable to resist the temptation of the pretty governess.

“It makes me angry to think of you being preyed upon,” he said abruptly, much to his own surprise.

“It is a common enough problem, and far worse has befallen others. He did not force me and, while Mrs. Forney was unkind, I left of my own volition,” said Valerie uncomfortably. “My friends have helped me before and will help me now. I would rather spend my time with children, but perhaps I will have to seek employment as a companion to an older lady instead.”

“You do not deserve a life as a drudge to children or as the companion of elderly harridan, who will doubtless have a horrid grandson who will treat you as Mr. Forney did,” Sir Tarquin exclaimed. “You are young, and have given far too much.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

“You sacrificed a husband and a family to your country, did you not?”

“I suppose you could say so, although it has been three long years since then.” A wistful look came over her face. “It seems so long ago. Thinking of it now, Robert and I were both practically children; it is almost as though it happened to someone else, or was a story someone told to me.”

“Yet you are still all but penniless and without protection as a result, are you not? That is not much of an ending to the story.”

She gazed at him thoughtfully. “It was my decision, though I was far too young to understand the possible consequences. In some ways it was worth it all the same; I loved Robert as much as an eighteen-year-old can love anyone, and perhaps even more, I loved following the drum.”

Sir Tarquin looked startled. “Did you really? Surely it was a very hard life for a gently bred and sheltered young lady?”

Valerie laughed. “Indeed it was! I had no notion that such hardships were ahead of me. Yet the sense of purpose, of being needed and useful, and of having a meaning to my life was so powerful, that it overcame them all. I was always rather bookish, and never truly enjoyed the rounds of parties and balls, to my stepmother’s despair.”

“Even in the tail of the Army with all the camp followers, and rabble you felt so?” Sir Tarquin asked curiously.

“Oh, I rode with the column, Sir Tarquin,” she exclaimed proudly. “I had no children to care for and I was handy with horses even before I went on campaign, for my father’s stables are renowned and I spent a great deal of time in them as a child. I soon learned to kill and stew a chicken, and make sure that there was always something to eat at our billet, so it was not long before many of the other officers were to be found at our table.”

“You rode with the column?” her companion echoed in surprise.

“Except when an engagement was imminent, yes. In many respects it was as safe as being in the tail of the Army, for Robert’s friends would watch out for me. I moved rearward when there was any real danger.”

“But it must have been difficult to be so far ahead without any servants to help you.”

“Oh, my husband engaged a woman for me, a large, rather foul mouthed Scotswoman, who was a match for most of the men! She did much of the heaviest work, although I helped, of course.” Sir Tarquin watched as Valerie’s eyes filled with memories that were clearly dear to her. “His batman was also there, and it never seemed as though things were unmanageable. Difficult yes, but even the worst days were just another challenge to rise to…” Valerie’s voice trailed off, and she gazed into the fire, seeing another place and time.

Sir Tarquin watched her in pensive silence, for a moment and then stood, shaking his head to dispel the thoughts that filled it. “My glass is empty. May I pour you some more punch as well, Mrs. Carlton?”

Valerie shook off her memories, and handed him her empty glass. “Thank you, Sir Tarquin. You have a way with a punchbowl, it seems.” She watched as he walked away, enjoying the wide set of his shoulders, and athleticism of his gait. After some moments he returned and offered her the cup, now full of warm, spicy liquid. Her fingers brushed his slightly as she took it. She looked away, taking a sip.

“I so miss feeling part of something bigger than me,” she murmured. “A governess makes herself useful, I suppose, but it is not the same. Being a paid companion would be even duller, I fear.”

Sir Tarquin, who still stood beside her chair, reached out with one long finger and tipped her chin up, gazing into her face intently.

“You most assuredly must not be a companion to a querulous dowager,” he murmured. “It would be an utter waste.”

Valerie stared back at him, at a loss to answer. In the quiet and warmth of the private parlor they seemed removed from the world, and she simply waited for him to act. He gave a tiny sigh, and then lowered his mouth to hers, pressing her lips firmly yet gently as he sought the right pressure. Her mouth trembled a little, and he lifted his, only to press it against hers at a slightly different angle before drawing back, to kiss her cheek, and then one of her eyelids, which had fluttered closed, before releasing her chin and stepping away.

About the Author

Alicia Quigley is a lifelong lover of romance novels, who fell in love with Jane Austen in grade school, and Georgette Heyer in junior high. She made up games with playing cards using the face cards for Heyer characters, and sewed regency gowns (walking dresses, riding habits and bonnets that even Lydia Bennett wouldn’t have touched) for her Barbie. In spite of her terrible science and engineering addiction, she remains a devotee of the romance, and enjoys turning her hand to their production as well as their consumption.

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Romance of London: Lord Stowell’s Love of Sight-seeing

Apr18

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

William Scott, First (and only) Lord Stowell

William Scott (1745-1836) was born in Northumberland to a father who was in the business of transporting coal. Both William and his brother John became successful jurists, William becoming a judge of the high court of admiralty and elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and John eventually becoming Earl of Eldon and Lord Chancellor of England. William was raised to the peerage as a baron following the coronation of George IV in 1821. William was twice married, but as the only one of his four children was a female, the title became extinct after his death at age 90.

More information at Wikipedia.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AWilliam_Scott%2C_1st_Baron_Stowell_(1745-1836)%2C_by_William_Owen_(1769-1825).jpg

William Scott, 1st Baron Stowell (1745-1836, Wikimedia Commons

Lord Stowell’s Love of Sightseeing

Punch & Judy by Cruikshank, 1828

Lord Stowell loved manly sports, and was not above being pleased with the most rude and simple diversions. He gloried in Punch and Judy—their fun stirred his mirth without, as in Goldsmith’s case, provoking spleen. He made a boast on one occasion that there was not a puppet-show in London he had not visited, and when turned fourscore, was caught watching one at a distance with children of less growth in high glee. He has been known to make a party with Wyndham to visit Cribb’s, and to have attended the “fives court” as a favourite resort. “There were curious characters,” he observed, “to be seen at these places.” He was the most indefatigable sight-seer in London. Whatever show could be visited for a shilling, or less, was visited by Lord Stowell. In the western end of London there was a room generally let for exhibitions. At the entrance, as it is said, Lord Stowell presented himself, eager to see “the green monster serpent,” which had lately issued cards of invitation to the public. As he was pulling out his purse to pay for his admission, a sharp but honest north-country lad, whose business it was to take the money, recognized him as an old customer, and knowing his name, thus addressed him: “We can’t take your shilling, my lord; ’tis the old serpent which you have seen twice before in other colors; but ye shall go in and see her.” He entered, saved his money, and enjoyed his third visit to the painted beauty. This love of “seeing sights” was, on another occasion, productive of a whimsical incident. Some forty years ago, an animal, called a “Bonassus,” was exhibited in the Strand. On Lord Stowell’s paying it a second visit, the keeper very courteously told his lordship that he was welcome to come, gratuitously, as often as he pleased. Within a day or two after this, however, there appeared, under the bills of the exhibition, in conspicuous characters, “Under the patronage of the Right Hon. Lord Stowell;” an announcement of which the noble and learned lord’s friends availed themselves, by passing many a joke upon him; all which he took with the greatest good humor.

The Bonassus…proved to be a troublesome neighbour—a constant annoyance. The following letter was intended to have been sent to the “Annoyance Jury,” by the occupier of the house in the Strand (nearly opposite Norfolk-street) adjoining that in which the “Bonassus” was exhibited:—

March 28, 1822

“Gentlemen,—I Am sorry to trouble you but I Am so Anoyd By next Door Neighbour the Bonassus and with Beasts, that I cannot live in my House—for the stench of the Beast is So Great And their is only A Slight petition Betwixt the houses and the Beast are continually Breaking through in to my Different Rooms And I am always loosing my lodgers in Consequence of the Beast first A Monkey made Its way in My Bedroom next the Jackall came in to the Yard and this last week the people in My Second floor have been Alarmed in the Dead of the Night By Monkey Breaking through into the Closet and are Going to leave in Consequence this being the third lodgers I have lost on account of the Beast And I have been letting my Second Floor at Half the Rent—And those men of Mr. James are Bawling the whole Day Against My Window—and continually taking peoples attention from My Window—And I am quite pestered with Rats and I Am Confident they came from the Exhebition—And in Short the Injury and Nuisance is So Great as almost Impossible to Describe But to be so Anoyd By such an Imposter I think is Very Hard—Gentlemen your Early inquiry will oblige your Servant—T.W.—.

N.B. And if I mention anything to Mr. James He only Abuses me with the Most Uncouth Language.”

Susana’s note: Apologies to English teachers everywhere, who have no doubt suffered through many such essays in their noble careers.

Lord Stowell enjoyed attending boxing matches at Cribb’s, especially in his later years

Romance of London Series

Lillian Marek: Lady Emily’s Exotic Adventure (Giveaway)

Apr14

Hello Susana. Thank you for inviting me into your parlour today.

I’d like to talk about my Victorian Adventure series, which features the children of the Marquess of Penworth. They travel to exciting places and encounter dangerous villains, but there’s an aspect of their stories that you may not have noticed.

You see, in a previous life, before I discovered the joys of writing historical romance, I used to work on a newspaper. The part of the job I liked best was writing a weekly cooking column. That meant that I spent a lot of time thinking about food—not exactly a hardship for me!

As a result, I like to make sure my characters are well fed. You just know they must work up an appetite when they’re escaping from the thieves and kidnappers and other miscreants who pop up in their stories.

There are elaborate dinners, of course. We are, after all, talking about aristocrats! But sometimes they just have a snack.

In the first book of the series, Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventures, the family travels to Italy to explore Etruscan ruins. Elinor has some more romantic plans as well. She and Harry have been riding through the hills where a number of Etruscan tombs are located. It’s a hot day, and they stop to rest in a bit of shade:

She heaved a sigh. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that she couldn’t win his interest. It was her own fault. She had mistaken his feelings. Although she was in love with him, his feelings were only brotherly. No passion. She had no right to complain. She wasn’t just being unreasonable. She was acting like a spoiled brat. Knowing it did not make her feel any better.

“Catch.”

She turned and put up her hands just in time to catch the object Harry had sent flying in her direction.

It almost splattered in her hands. “An orange. Lovely.” She smiled in delight and started peeling it immediately.

Harry had tossed aside his coat and neck cloth too, and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He plopped down on the ground beside her and grinned. “There’s another orange for you and some rolls. I remember how cranky you get when you haven’t been fed for a while.”

She slipped the first of the orange segments into her mouth, holding a hand under her chin to catch the drips. She held the morsel against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, letting the juices wash away the feeling of dust while the sweet-sharp scent of it cleaned the air she breathed. She swallowed and turned to him with a dreamy smile. “I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” The grin disappeared and he looked startled. “What did I do?”

“Well, if you don’t know…” She turned away and shrugged.

There was a brief silence, and then they both began to laugh.

“Idiot!” she said affectionately.

“Ninny!” he replied.

By the time they had demolished the crusty rolls and licked up the last drop of juice from the oranges, Elinor’s mood had improved mightily. She stood up and stretched before looking around. Harry was lying back and seemed to have fallen asleep. She picked up his jacket and began checking the pockets to see if he had anything else to eat. Preferably something sweet.

Part of the adventure when you’re far from home is the food, which can be very unlike your usual diet, especially when your travels take you to Mesopotamia and the ruins of ancient Nineveh. In Lady Emily’s Exotic Adventure, food seems especially important to Emily the morning after her family’s arrival in Mosul. She had slept through dinner, so she wakes up very early and very hungry, She gets herself dressed and then sets out to find something to eat:

Some time later, when Lady Penworth entered the courtyard, her daughter was sitting on the side of the fountain in the dappled shade of an overhanging tree.

“Good morning, Mama.” Emily waved at a tree. “The one in the corner over there is a lemon tree but this one and the others are all orange trees. And this is Shatha. She is the cook and makes the most delicious soft, flat bread.” She smiled at the small woman dressed in multicolored garments who was bent over a brazier on which something sizzled with an appetizing meaty smell.

Lady Penworth smiled at the cook and nodded her head in greeting. “As-salaam alaikum,” she said, pronouncing the Arabic greeting carefully.

Shatha beamed back and bowed. “Wa alaikum assalaam,” she said. What followed was a spate of Arabic that sounded like questions. When the only response was blank looks, Shatha popped up and directed Lady Penworth to sit on a bench in the shade of the loggia that surrounded three sides of the courtyard. She placed a folding table beside her, which was in no time filled with bowls of yogurt and dried fruit, boiled eggs, and a plate of steaming bread.

“Have some bread and honey,” Emily said. “The honey is incredibly delicious.” She was trying to be her usual cheerful self, but given the peculiar look her mother was giving her, perhaps she was not entirely successful.

Lady Penworth did not make any comment. She did, however, beam with pleasure when Shatha produced a steaming pot of tea and some cups. “Would you care for some?” she asked, as she filled a cup.

My next book, A Scandalous Adventure, will be available on August 2. It sends the third daughter, Lady Susannah, on an adventure in a small German principality in the Swabia region, where a princess has been kidnapped and villains are planning to seize the throne. In this scene, Susanna and Max von Staufen are riding through the forest with a few of his men, on their way to recuse the kidnapped princess. But they cannot manage without something to eat!

Eventually—to her relief—they stopped beside a small stream to rest the horses and themselves. She sat down on a log. It was no softer than the saddle, but at least it did not move. Breakfast appeared from Josef’s saddlebags—bread, a hard yellow cheese, and garlicky sausages that he cut into chunks with his hunting knife. To wash it down, there was icy water from the stream. Like the others, she ate with her fingers and drank from a shared tin cup.

It was a meal unlike any she had ever eaten, but somehow one of the finest. Max sat beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of him. It was enough to make her feel safe. He always made her feel safe.

“Do you see them smile?” He smiled too. “They are yours now.”

She blinked in confusion.

“My men,” he said, tipping his head toward Josef and the two other men—they had been introduced to her as Hans and Gustav—who had ridden out with them. “You sit here and eat with them, and do not scorn their food. You ride with them and do not complain. They would have protected you in any case because you are my wife. But now, now they will follow you because you have won their respect.”

“Because I ate a sausage?” She choked down a surprised laugh. “They are easily won over.”

He continued to smile at her, and there was pride in that smile. “Not easily. Josef will have told them that you rode with him to my rescue, that you never flinched on the journey, that you never complained. And now they see for themselves that you are prepared to ride with them, to face hardship, to do what must be done. My warrior countess.”

“Goodness. All that from a sausage?” She flushed, embarrassed by the thought. She was about to protest that she was really a very conventional person, a proper English lady, but then a smile began to spread. Was she a warrior? Was that who she really was? A warrior countess. She liked that image of herself. It was certainly better than Susannah, the dutiful daughter, who always knew the proper thing to do and never caused anyone a moment’s worry. That Susannah who had somehow become very boring.

What about you? Do you like to read about food in historical romances? Or are there other things about life in the past that you want to read about? Leave a comment telling me what you think and I’ll send a copy of Lady Emily’s Exotic Journey to a random commenter.

And just for fun, I’m adding on a recipe for Hussar Rounds, a cookie that Lady Susannah might have enjoyed with her coffee while she was in Swabia.

Hussar Rounds

1 cup butter

½ cup sugar

½ teaspoon vanilla

¼ teaspoon almond extract

3 egg yolks

3 – 3 ¼ cups flour

1 egg white

3 tablespoon chopped almonds

jam

In an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar. Add the vanilla and almond extracts. Beat in the yolks alternately with flour until firm and smooth. Shape into slightly flattened 1-inch balls and place on baking sheet. With a finger make an indentation in the middle of each cookie. Brush with egg white and sprinkle with nuts. Bake at 350° for 20 – 25 minutes. Before serving, place a dab of jam in the center of each cookie. (If you use several different colors of jam, it increases the jewel-like look of the platter.)

Note: If you are going to store them (they keep well), wait with the jam until just before serving.

Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventure

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Lady Emily’s Exotic Adventure

Amazon • Apple • Barnes & Noble • Books-A-Million • Chapters • Indiebound • Kobo

A Scandalous Adventure (pre-order)

Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Books-A-Million • Chapters

About the Author

Lillian Marek was born and raised in New York City. At one time or another she has had most of the interesting but underpaid jobs available to English majors, including too many years in journalism. She greatly prefers writing fiction, where the good guys always win and the villains are properly punished.

The first book in her Victorian Adventure series, Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventures, won first prize in both the Launching A Star and the Windy City Four Seasons contests. She was also a first prize winner in the Beau Monde’s Royal Ascot contest.

Romance of London: Milkmaids on May-Day

Apr11

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

Milkmaids on May-Day

On this gay festival, the Londoners of the present century have seen little. J.T. Smith, in his amusing Book for a Rainy Day, describes the carnival of nearly a century since, May 1771: “The gaiety during the merry month of May (says Smith) was to me most delightful; my feet, though I know nothing of the positions, kept pace with those of the blooming milkmaids, who danced round their garlands of massive plate, hired from the silversmiths, to the amount of several hundreds of pounds, for the purpose of placing round an obelisk, covered with silk, fixed upon a chairman’s horse. The most showy flowers of the season were arranged so as to fill up the openings between the dishes, plates, butter-boats, cream-jugs, and tankards. The obelisk was carried by two chairmen, in gold-laced hats, six or more handsome milkmaids in pink and blue gowns, drawn through the pocket-holes, for they had one on either side; yellow or scarlet petticoats, neatly quilted; high-heeled shoes; mob-caps, with lappets of lace resting on their shoulders; nosegays in their bosoms; and flat Woffington hats, covered with ribbons of every color. A magnificent silver tea-urn surmounted the obelisk, the stand of which was profusely decorated with scarlet tulips. A smart, slender fellow of a fiddler, in a sky-blue coat, wit his hat covered with ribbons, attended; and the master of the group was accompanied by a constable, to protect the plate from too close a pressure of the crowd, when the maids were dancing.”

One of Hayman’s paintings in Vauxhall Gardens, was the Milkmaids on May-day: here the garland of plate was carried by a man on his head; the milkmaids, who danced to the music of a wooden-legged fiddler, were very elegant. They had ruffled cuffs; their hats were flat, but not Woffingtons, but more resembled those of the Billingsgate fish-women. In Larcom’s Cries of London, published by Tempest, there is “a Merry Milkmaid;” she is dancing with a small garland of plate upon her head; and her dress is of the latter part of King William the Third’s reign, or the commencement of the reign of Queen Anne.

Francis Hayman’s May Day (Supper-box) Painting

From the V & A:

One of the ancient customs observed on May Day that persisted until the early 19th century was the ‘Milkmaid’s Garland.’ The milkmaids would dress in their best clothes and dance in the streets for their customers. A donation from the customers and from passers-by was expected. A ‘garland’ – a pyramid of borrowed silver tankards, plates and flagons decorated with flowers – was paraded by the milkmaids or carried, as in this painting, by a porter. Francis Hayman also included another May Day custom in his picture: that of the young chimney-sweeps noisily beating their brushes and shovels.

Francis Hayman, Vauxhall Gardens, supper-box painting, ©Victoria and Albert Museum, London

See more about May-Day here.

So… what’s a Woffington hat?

Here’s a portrait of famous courtesan Nelly O’Brien wearing what is described as a “Woffington hat” in Great Portraits Seen and Described by Great Writers.

Actress and courtesan Nelly O’Brien in a Woffington hat

Apparently, this flat style of hat was named after Peg Woffington, Irish actress and lover of David Garrick in Georgian England.

Irish actress Peg Woffington

Oh, and about Billingsgate fish-women…

In the 18th century, fishwives frequently appeared in satires as fearsome scourges of fops and foreigners. Their vigorous and decisive mien was contrasted with that of politicians who were, by contrast, portrayed as vacillating and weak. For example, in Isaac Cruikshank’s A New Catamaran Expedition!!!, a fleet of Billingsgate fishwives sails across the English Channel to terrorise the French and shame the British Prime Minister Pitt for his inaction.

By Isaac Cruikshank (publisher- Willm. Holland, London) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Romance of London Series

Sandra Masters: My Divinely Decadent Duke (Giveaway)

Apr7

The Kiss

by Sandra Masters

“What about love and passion?” she wondered until she realized she spoke the words aloud. Enough. Everything but the one thing I want. And you think you are not cruel, Gordon?

“They shall take care of themselves with time. I will not force myself on you… unless you wish it of me. I would like the opportunity to demonstrate to you I am a good man you may wish to know better, Cassandra. Goodness knows you’ve seen many sides of me.”

Somehow the arrangement didn’t sound as insane as before. It could work. At least she wouldn’t have to marry Ashcombe, a perfect stranger. Her choices were an older gentleman, or the younger scandalous rake she loved.

Her mind spun.

Her world twirled.

She swayed.

He held her steady in his arms.

Her heart broke.

And then he did a terrible thing.

He kissed her with tender gentleness and coaxed open her lips. Their mouths melded together. Her body molded to his and it was perfect. She heard heart beats, pulse beats, thunderous beats. To be so close to him, so near, so in need—it was so unfair. She rested her head on his broad chest and made her decision.

“You are an innocent and a temptation I cannot afford, but I want you,” he murmured.

Was it better to be miserable with him than without him?

When God wants to punish you, he grants your dreams.

About My Divinely Decadent Duke (Book 2, the Duke series)

Orphaned and abandoned by family, Lady Cassandra Montgomery yearns for love. Beautiful and innocent, she attracts the attention of a renowned rake, the Duke of Althorn. When her security is threatened, she offers him a proposal for an arranged marriage in exchange for his guarantee of safety for her and her ward. After her first taste of desire in his arms, she finds the sexual attraction irresistible. Finding herself in a family way, she leaves his home, unsure of his love.

The Duke is at first enraged by the brazen behavior, yet he sees Cassandra as a captivating caregiver for his mother and impossible to resist. He agrees. The arrangement becomes inconvenient because love and sensuality enter the equation.

Will she believe her husband truly loves her and return to his waiting arms?

Will the Duke admit his love and use his rakish skills to woo Cassandra back to his bed?

Amazon

Excerpt

It was time he schemed, too. “I’ll select a gown for you, if you like. I’ll be proud to have my two duchesses by my side in their jeweled tiaras. Your maid will bring all to you as befits this special occasion. The King’s ball demands no less of us.”

“Thank you.” A smile curled her lips, her eyes glistened. “I appreciate there is no ill will between us.” She turned her face away.

“You’d be surprised at how much more there’ll be between us, my wife.” He turned to the dowager. “I do believe my mother tires.”

“Shall I have a servant escort you, Mother?”

Before she could offer to leave the table with Lady Madelaine, his brow arched in contained fury; his gaze shot across the length of the table. Cassandra’s lips stilled.

“Thank you, Gordon.” The dowager arose and a servant walked behind her as she took to the steps.

He simply stared at Cassandra, perused her body, and how her generous bosom invited his attention even in the simple frock she wore. His face couldn’t hide his anger.

“You have left my bed of your own accord. That is a serious dereliction of duty on a wife’s part in England, punishable by beatings… and other dire measures.”

“It wasn’t the intent of our agreement to chain me to you and your bed.”

He poured more cognac into his snifter. “Now that conjures a seductive thought—perhaps you would enjoy such activity?”

“Stop it, Gordon. You are like a two-sided coin. One side is gracious and the other side is lascivious.” She clasped her hands in her lap.

“Did you expect me to jump for joy at the prospect of your early departure from my house on a permanent basis? After all we’ve shared, Cassandra? Did it mean nothing to you? Did you simply use me as a connoisseur of decadent lingerie?” He rose from his chair, glass in hand and walked the long length to her position.

“No, but I did not expect you to display fits of anger. It couldn’t have been a surprise to you.”

“Cassandra, allow me to recollect. You proposed the agreement. I originally refused and because I took pity on you, I agreed to our business arrangement, as you put it.”

“You took pity on me? Is that what changed your mind? I didn’t need you as much as you needed me to care for your mother and get her well. You ass.”

“I might well be an ass since I trusted you, but you have stolen from me, my wife.”

She stood and faced him with defiance. “I have stolen nothing and only taken those items that were mine. Gowns, jewelry, coins, all are left behind.” Her napkin dropped from her lap.

“You are a thief, Cassandra. You have stolen the love of my mother, stolen the love of my dog, stolen the affection of my staff, and you claim you’re not a thief?”

“I did not steal them. It was theirs to give and I accepted—all to please you. You’re a dolt.”

“Hmm, did you take the lingerie you designed?”

“Yes, they were mine. I paid for them before I met you, Gordon.”

“Do you intend to put them to future use?” he asked, and moved an alcohol-braced whisper’s breath away from her.

“How do I know? If you want them, I’ll leave them for you to lavish on one of your other women.”

His hand slid around her waist. “There have been no other women since I met you. You are aware of that fact, aren’t you?”

“I hadn’t given it a thought. You’ve kept me so occupied, I don’t have free time to think.”

“I believe you lie to yourself, however, I indicated I wouldn’t stop you if you wished to leave, and that is so. Yet, I wonder if you would entertain one last night with me for a final end to a four month marriage of convenience that has suddenly turned inconvenient.”

“I’d rather sleep in a stable than by your side,” she spat.

“I would never force myself on you, but perhaps you could be coaxed to have mercy on your poor husband who’ll be left without any conjugal rights available to him?”

“No.”

“Then one last kiss? The memory of it will warm me on cold nights.”

“If you do take to cold nights, a servant can bring you a warm brick, and perhaps you can strike yourself on the head with it.”

Then a simple thing happened. They laughed. He extended his arm. She accepted as they walked out of the room. Together.

As they ascended the steps, there were snickers and smiles. He pointed Cassandra to her chambers, opened his bedroom door, and closed it.

He would win her back, if it killed him.

Besides, the King’s Ball had many balconies, and they were dangerous together in such an atmosphere. How he loved a challenge. And the chase.

Two random commenters will win digital copies of My Divinely Decadent Duke.

The Duke Series

Once Upon a Duke

My Divinely Decadent Duke

Thorn, Son of a Duke

About the Author

Retired executive, Sandra Masters, rose from a humble beginning in Newark, NJ, a short stay at a convent in Morristown, NJ, to the board rooms of NYC, and a fantastic career for a broadcasting company in Carlsbad, California, to the rural foothills of the Sierras of Yosemite National Park, she has always traveled with pen and notebook. It’s been the journey of ten thousand miles with a few miles left. She left her corporate world behind and never looked back.

Website • Facebook • Twitter

Romance of London: Nancy Dawson the Hornpipe-Dancer

Apr4

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

Nancy Dawson

Nancy Dawson, the famous hornpipe-dancer, of Covent Garden Theatre, in the last century, when a girl, set up the skittles [a form of bowling] at a tavern in High Street, Marylebone. She next, according to Sir William Musgrave’s Adversaria, in the British Museum, became the wife of a publican near Kelso, on the borders of Scotland. She became so popular a dancer that every verse of a song in praise of her declared the poet to be dying in love for Nancy Dawson; and its tune is so lively as that of Sir Roger de Coverley. In 1760, she transferred her services from Covent Garden Theatre to that other house [Drury Lane]. On the 23rd of September, in that year, the Beggar’s Opera was performed at Drury Lane, when the playbill thus announced her: “In Act iii, a Hornpipe by Miss Dawson, her first appearance here.” It seems that she was engaged to oppose Mrs. Vernon in the same exhibition at the rival house, and there is a full-length print of her in the character. There is also a portrait of her in the Garrick Club collection.

Nancy died in Hampstead, on the 27^th of May 1767; she was buried behind the Foundling Hospital, in the ground belonging to St. George the Martyr, where is a tombstone to her memory, simply inscribed “Here lies Nancy Dawson.”

From Wikipedia:

Nancy Dawson was the stage name of Ann Newton (c.1728-1767), a famous London dancer and actress. She rose to fame performing a solo rendition of a hornpipe between acts in The Beggar’s Opera at Covent Garden Theatre in 1759.

Her early life is unclear; she may have been born at Axminster, Devon. At sixteen she joined the company of a certain Griffin, a puppet-showman, who taught her to dance; and a figure dancer of Sadler’s Wells, seeing her performance, found her a place at his own theatre. As the story goes, her figure, novelty and technical excellence made her career.

In her second summer season at Sadler’s Wells Nancy Dawson was promoted to the part of Columbine, and in the following winter she made her first appearance at Covent Garden Theatre under Edward Shuter, in The Prophetess by Thomas Betterton. On 22 April 1758 the Merry Wives of Windsor was played for her benefit. In October 1759, during the run of The Beggar’s Opera, the man who danced the hornpipe among the thieves fell ill, and his place was taken by Nancy Dawson. From that moment she became a celebrity. The production enjoyed an unusually long run, and the house was crowded nightly.

Nancy Dawson was induced by an increase of salary to move to Drury Lane, where she appeared for the first time on 23 September 1760 in The Beggar’s Opera. Here for the next three years she dance in its frequent revivals, and in a variety of Christmas entertainments, such as ‘Harlequin’s Invasion,’ ‘Fortunatus,’ and the ‘Enchanter’ in which there also appeared Joseph Grimaldi and the Miss Baker who succeeded Nancy Dawson in popular favour as a dancer. On Christmas Eve 1763 a pantomime called the ‘Rites of Hecate’ was produced at Drury Lane, and on that day and the 26^th of the month Nancy Dawson appeared; but her name is absent from the bills of subsequent representations.

The Hornpipe

From Sonny Watson’s Sweetswing.com:

The lively Hornpipe is really very characteristic of the English in nature and is a very old Celtic solo dance that is very much based on the sailor’s abilities during the dancing with the sailors originally performing it with folded arms. The steps are clearly ship wise such as hauling in the anchor, climbing or rigging ropes etc. The Sailor’s Hornpipe was most popular during the 16th to 18th Centuries but the original (Hornpipe) goes much farther back and was originally done by men only.

It is said that the English sailing ship and Royal Navy Captain James Cook (1728-1779) thought dancing was most useful to keep his men in good health during a voyage. When it was calm, and the sailors had consequently nothing to do, he made them dance —

Sailors’ hornpipe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBU0z3xdC0o

The Ballad of Nancy Dawson*

Of all the girls in our town,

The red, the black, the fair, the brown,

That dance and prance it up and down,

There’s none like Nancy Dawson.

Her easy mien, her shape so neat,

She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet;

Her every motion’s so complete,

I die for Nancy Dawson.

See how she comes to give surprise,

With joy and pleasure in her eyes:

To give delight she always tries,

So means my Nancy Dawson.

Was there no task, t’obstruct the way,

No shutter old, no house so gay,

A bet of fifty pounds I’d lay,

That I gained Nancy Dawson.

See how the opera takes a run

Exceeding Hamlet, Lear and Lun

Though in it there would be no fun,

Was’t not for Nancy Dawson.

Though beard and brent charm ev’ry night

And female peachum’s justly right,

And filch and lockit please the sight,

‘Tis kept by Nancy Dawson.

See little davey strut and puff,

‘Confound the opera and such stuff,

My house is never full enough,

A curse on Nancy Dawson”.

Though G[arric]k he had has his day

And forced the town his laws t’obey,

With Jonny Rich is come in play,

With the help of Nancy Dawson.

*Lyrics attributed to George Alexander Stevens. Tune attributed to Thomas Arne

Hear it performed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTan2rliiKU

Romance of London Series

Donna Hatch: The Suspect’s Daughter (Giveaway)

Mar31

Interview with Donna Hatch

Susana: What inspired you to start writing, and how long have you been doing it?

Donna: I’ve always been imaginative—as a child, I played make-believe constantly—but when I was about eight, a little voice inside my head kept nagging me until I finally wrote what it told me to write. Later, I learned people call this little voice “The Muse.” By eighth grade, after I’d written many stories both short and long, a teacher suggested I should aspire to be a published author, something that had never occurred to me to attempt. But I didn’t know how to go about it, so I was a closet writer for years until I finally found the courage and knowledge necessary to submit my novel to a publisher. It was a long path, with plenty of rejections, disappointments, learning, and revising. But three years after getting serious about writing as a career, my first book, The Stranger She Married, Book 1 of the Rogue Hearts Series, was accepted for publication.

Susana: Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Donna: I am a combination writer. I start with a concept and characters, then form a few basic plot points in the story. After that, I write more or less by the seat of my pants.

Susana: Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

Donna: The murder plot in my newest book, The Suspect’s Daughter, Book 4 of the Rogue Hearts Series, was inspired by a true event in England known as the Cato Street Conspiracy, which thankfully, was averted largely in part due to an undercover Bow Street Runner. This event happened in 1820, the same year my book takes place. When I read about that, I knew something like this just had to be Grant’s story.

Susana: Are you working on something at present that you would like to tell us about?

Donna: I am working on a 100-page novella for a new series, and also Book 5 of the Rogue Hearts Series about a fugitive charged with the murder of her husband. By the way, all of my books are stand-alone, so you don’t have to read the first three in the series before reading Book 4.

Susana: What author or authors have most influenced your writing?

Donna: Laura Ingalls Wilder heavily influenced me. Reading her books as a child instilled in me a love of historical novels, as well for as a romance plot. Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre helped cement my love of romance. And I couldn’t be a Regency author if it weren’t for Jane Austen’s brilliance.

Susana: What is your work schedule like when writing?

Donna: I write sporadically, whenever I can fit it in. With a busy family, I don’t have the luxury of sitting down to a clean desk with candles and music to inspire me. Most often, I write while waiting in a doctor’s office, or during soccer practice, or early afternoons when my children are gone, or even late at night when everyone is asleep.

Susana: If your publisher offered to fly you anywhere in the world to do research on an upcoming project, where would you mostly likely want to go? Why?

Donna: That’s a no-brainer—I’d want to go to England. I’ve done tons of research, but I’ve never seen it in person. Since my novels take place in England, I’m dying to go there. I could have a much better grasp on the sights and sounds and smells of England to create an even more believable setting for my books.

I’m also planning on writing a book that takes place in Italy, so I’d love to go there, too.

Susana: Who gave you the writing advice that sticks with you to this day?

Donna: Marsha Ward, author of western novels, told me once that I should set a really underwhelming daily word count goal. Hers, I believe, is twenty words. It sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? And counterproductive. But I discovered the wisdom of that advice. If I think I don’t have time to write on any given day, I think, “But I only have to write twenty words.” It’s pretty easy to make time to write a mere twenty words. Usually, those twenty words turn into a hundred, or five hundred. Even if I only wrote that very small, daily minimum goal, in a year I could write a full-length novel.

Thank you so much for hosting me!

Note: The author will be giving away e-copies of The Stranger She Married to two random commenters on this blog post.

About The Suspect’s Daughter

Determined to help her father with his political career, Jocelyn sets aside dreams of love until she meets a mysterious gentleman with dangerous secrets. Working undercover, Grant’s only suspect for a murder conspiracy is the father of a lady who is getting increasingly hard to ignore. They must work together to find the assassins. England’s future hangs in the balance…and so does their love.

Smashwords • B & N • Amazon

About the Author

Donna Hatch is the award-winning author of the best-selling Rogue Hearts Series. A hopeless romantic and adventurer at heart, she discovered her writing passion at the tender age of 8 and has been listening to those voices ever since. She has become a sought-after workshop presenter, and also juggles freelance editing, multiple volunteer positions, and most of all, her six children (seven, counting her husband). A native of Arizona who recently transplanted to the Pacific Northwest, she and her husband of over twenty years are living proof that there really is a happily ever after.

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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?

Susana’s March Events & Giveaways

A Home for Helena Rafflecopter: through March 31st

http://www.susanaellis.com

Susana’s March Quiz: through March 31st

http://susanaellis.com/Susana_s_Quiz.html

Susana’s Newsletter Subscriber Drive: through March 31st

http://www.susanaellis.com

A Home for Helena Release Party: March 29, 2016, 4:00-11:00 p.m. EDT

Guest authors • Prizes • Fabulous gowns • Swoonworthy heroes • Fun for everyone

https://www.facebook.com/events/534215620086552/

About Lady Pendleton

Lady Pendleton is a frequent guest of Susana’s in the 21^st century, both in Toledo and Florida, where Susana splits her time. She began appearing in Susana’s blog, Susana’s Parlour, in 2013.

Lady Pendleton’s Social Media

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Romance of London: The May Fair and the Strong Woman

Mar28

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

Mayfair

From Wikipedia:

Mayfair was mainly open fields until development started in the Shepherd Market area around 1686 to accommodate the May Fair that had moved from Haymarket in St. James’s.

Mayfair was part of the parish of St Martin in the Fields. It is named after the annual fortnight-long May Fair that, from 1686 to 1764, took place on the site that is Shepherd Market. The fair was previously held in Haymarket; it moved in 1764 to Fair Field in Bow in the East End of London, after complaints from the residents.

Sir Thomas Grosvenor, 3rd Baronet married Mary Davis, heiress to part of the Manor of Ebury, in 1677; the Grosvenor family gained 40 hectares (100 acres) of Mayfair. Most of the Mayfair area was built during the mid 17th century to mid 18th century as a fashionable residential district, by a number of landlords, the most important of them being the Grosvenor family, which in 1874 became the Dukes of Westminster. In 1724 Mayfair became part of the new parish of St George Hanover Square, which stretched to Bond Street in the south part of Mayfair and almost to Regent Street north of Conduit Street. The northern boundary was Oxford Street and the southern boundary fell short of Piccadilly. The parish continued west of Mayfair into Hyde Park and then south to include Belgravia and other areas.

Present-day Mayfair Neighborhoods

May Fair a Century Ago

We find a curious picture of this west-end carnival by that painstaking antiquary, John Carter, who, writing in 1816, says: “Fifty years have passed away since this place of amusement was at its height of attraction: the spot where the Fair was held still retains the name of May Fair… The market-house consisted of two stories: first story, a long and cross aisle for butchers’ shops, and, externally, other shops connected with culinary purposes; second story, used as a theatre at Fair-time for dramatic performances… Below, the butchers gave place to toy men and gingerbread-bakers. At present, the upper story is unfolded, the lower nearly deserted by the butchers, and their shops occupied by needy peddling dealers in small wares; in truth, a most deplorable contrast to what once was such a point of allurement. In the area encompassing the market building were booths for jugglers, prize-fighters both at cudgels and back-swords, boxing-matches, and wild-beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters, ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-ditto, up-and-downs, merry-go-rounds, bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding-eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other similar pastimes.”

Tiddy Doll, Gingerbread Baker (NYPL Digital Library)
Tiddy Doll was a famed 18th century gingerbread vendor, a well-known sight amongst the butchers and toy-men, jugglers and fire-eaters at London’s Bartholomew Fair and Shepherd’s Market in Mayfair. He was even known to ply his wares at public executions, and can be seen in the lower right-hand corner of Hogarth’s Idle Prentice Executed at Tyburn, waving a spicy cake to the boisterous mob. His real name was apparently Ford, acquiring his nickname from a habit of ending his addresses to the crowd with the last lines of a popular ballad, “tid-dy did-dy dol-lol, ti-tid-dy ti-ti, tid-dy tid-dy, dol.” Wearing a white apron over his customary white gold laced suit, ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather and silk stockings, “like a person of rank,” his name was associated for many years with a person dressed out of character, as “you are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll; you are quite Tiddy-doll,” etc.

The Woman and the Anvil

18th century anvil

One of the marvels of May Fair, in its latest revival, was the performance of a strong woman, the wife of a Frenchman, exhibited in a house in Sun Court, Shepherd’s Market. The following account is given by John Carter, and may be relied on, as Carter was born and passed his youthful days in Piccadilly [Carter’s Statuary]. He tells us that a blacksmith’s anvil being procured from White Horse Street, with three of the men, they brought it up, and placed it on the floor of the exhibition-room. The woman was short, but most beautifully and delicately formed, and of a most lovely countenance. She first let down her hair (a light auburn), of a length descending to her knees, which she twisted round the projecting part of the anvil, and then, with seeming ease, lifted the ponderous mass some inches from the floor. After this, a bed was placed in the middle of the room; when, reclining on her back, and uncovering her bosom, the husband ordered the smiths to place thereon the anvil, and forge upon it a horse-shoe! This they obeyed: by taking from the fire a red-hot piece of iron, and with their forging hammers completing the shoe with the same might and indifference as when in the shop at their constant labour. The prostrate fair one seemed to endure this with greatest composure, talking and singing during the whole process: then, with an effort, which to the bystanders appeared supernatural, she cast the anvil from off her body, jumping up at the same moment with extreme gaiety, and without the least discomposure of her dress or person. That there was no trick or collusion was obvious from the evidence: the spectators stood about the room with Carter’s family and friends; the smiths were strangers to the Frenchman, but known to Carter, the narrator. She next placed her naked feet on a red-hot salamander, without injury, the wonder of which was, however, understood even at that time.*

Blacksmith’s shop

*Mr. Daniel, of Canonbury, thought the Strong Woman to have been Mrs. Allchorne, who died in Drury Lane in 1817, at a very advanced age. Madame performed at Bartholomew Fair in 1752.