WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Contra Dance

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Contra Dance

I could have danced all night
I could have danced all night
And still have begged for more
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things
I’ve never done before

My Fair Lady, I Could Have Danced All Night, music written by Frederick Loewe and lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner, published 1956.

Contra Dance

A dance where the dancers of the different sexes stand opposite each other, instead of side by side, as in the minuet, rigadoon, louvre, &c. and now corruptly called a country dance.

Those of us familiar with the Regency era are well acquainted with dancing at balls and the obligatory appearance(s) at Almacks for a young marriage-minded miss, and we’ve heard the terms ‘minuet,’ ‘highland reel,’ and ‘quadrille,’ but what about those other dances mentioned by the estimable Mr. Grose?

Contra Dance

Popular since the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, the contra dance consisted of couples lining up opposite each other with men on one side and ladies on the other. The dance began at the top with the first couple, and they worked their way down the lines, weaving in and out. They were followed by the next top couple, until all couples had worked the line. As everyone had the chance to be the lead couple, the set could last a long, long time. A beautiful (albeit abbreviated) example of the contra dance is Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot from the cinematic version of Emma, 1995.

Minuet

Whether the dance as it was during the Regency period derived from the Italian or French versions, the minuet was so named due to its small steps. It was danced by couples in three-quarter time. This set opened balls as everyone knew how to navigate its steps, despite the fact the footwork was intricate. The dance was steeped in tradition and held with near reverence by the older crowd, likely because it quickly displayed a person’s grace (or lack thereof). It’s popularity began to wane in the Regency as the waltz gained popularity and eventual acceptance. (On a side note, the good Regency historian remembers that the waltz during this time was nothing like the waltz of the Victorian or current eras. This is the Viennese Waltz, with couples not dancing in the closed position, but rather semi-closed, side-by-side, then facing each other, as seen in the following illustration. Couples are very much embracing, but not tightly, bosoms brushing, as some might wish.)

Earl Waltz Steps from Thomas Wilson’s Treatise on Waltzing, 1816.

But I digress. A beautiful example of the minuet is presented by the Jane Austen Society of Florence and L’Atelier de Danse at the Grand Napoleonic Ball in Florence, in May of 2010, at the Villa del Poggio Imperiale, imperial residence of Napoleon’s sister, Elisa Baciocchi from 1809 till 1814 while she was Grand Duchess of Tuscany.

Rigadoon

This dance stumped me until I discovered it is a version of a more well-known dance group, the cotillion, which came to England from France in the mid-18th Century. The cotillion was another lengthy dance and the rigadoon was merely one step variation that could be showcased by the hostess. The rigadoon was a set a continuous steps and swirls with the pattern increasing in difficulty as the set progressed. I found a beautifully executed version of A New Rigadoon based on Mr. Isaac’s Rigadoon of 1706, performed at the 2012 Ottawa English Country Dance Ball.

 

If your map-reading and deciphering skills are especially acute, please feel free to interpret the original sketches of Mr. Isaac, the Rigadoon, from 1706. They are beautiful, and beyond my ken.

Mr. Isaac, The Rigadoon, 1706, plate one.

A Supplement of Steps by Raoul Auger Feuillet and translated by John Weaver, Orchesography, 1706.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louvre

This is actually a “nickname” for the Aimable Vainqueur Danse, a ballroom dance choreographed by Louis Pécour that premiered in December of 1700. It’s also documented with the ‘Loure’ spelling, making it somewhat difficult to discover in the depths of Google. It became one of the popular historical dances to include at balls through the early 19th Century because of its stately movements and traditional elegance. Once again, the steps are intricate and the pace is steady without any breaks, very similar to the Allemande. Giovanni-Andrea Gallini’s A Treatise on the Art of Dancing in 1778 states the Louvre and Minuet as the two dances most in fashion throughout Europe, and that the Louvre “pleases particularly” with the “just concert of motions” exhibited by the couple. It’s important again for the Regency historian to remember that dance was also another language of diplomacy, and that the most exclusive balls and routs would feature dances that all the European ambassadors and attachés would know well. A very baroque example of this dance is performed by Thomas Baird and Suzanne Paterson for La Belle Danse, exhibiting the original 1701 choreography by L.G. Pécour. The tune is from André Campra’s 1700 opera Hésione.

 

Keep Calm and Read This: A Counterfeit Heart by K.C. Bateman

Keep Calm and Read This: A Counterfeit Heart by K.C. Bateman

Today I’m rubbing my hands together with glee as Kate Bateman stops by to share some fascinating historical details about counterfeiting in the Regency era! She’s also sharing a sneak peak of her upcoming release — coincidentally featuring forgery . . .

Historical research; Real-life counterfeiting in the Regency Era

Many of the events in my regency-era novels are based on real-life historical facts. For example, Sabine, the heroine of A Counterfeit Heart, is a Napoleonic French counterfeiter, and I unearthed some amazing real-life stories of wartime forgery during my research into the subject.

Just as in A Counterfeit Heart, Napoleon really did employ a team of forgers to print fake currency to ruin his enemies. (Letters written by him survive to prove the existence of a counterfeiting operation set up on his orders.) He used fake currency to pay his own soldiers in Russia, and sent large quantities of fake Austrian banknotes into the country to try to destabilize the Austrian economy. As I also mention in the book, Napoleon’s counterfeiting of Austrian currency put him in an awkward position a few years later when he married his second wife, the Austrian archduchess Marie-Louise. He was forced to issue a public ban on printing counterfeit money against her country, but of course, by then it was rather too late!

The use of counterfeit money has been a strategy in warfare for centuries. The idea is to flood the enemy’s economy with fake money, thus devaluing the real money and causing an economic collapse, rendering the enemy unable to fund their side of the war.

During the American Revolutionary War, for example, the Continental Congress decided to create a new Continental currency to fund the fighting. Among the people enlisted to print this new currency was Paul Revere. To counter this, Great Britain enlisted teams of counterfeiters to travel throughout the American Colonies, placing their counterfeits into circulation in the hopes that it would cause an economic disaster. These counterfeiters were known as “shovers,” presumably for their ability to “shove” the fake money into everyday use. David Farnsworth and his partner John Blair were among the best-known of these counterfeiters, having been caught with over $10,000 in fake Continental dollars in their possession. They were eventually hanged for being foreign agents and loyalists.

Counterfeiting was a problem in Georgian England, too. The Bank of England – the “head of all circulation” – took counterfeiting very seriously and employed a team of lawyers at great expense to ensure prosecutions. The statistics are dramatic: the period 1783-1797 saw only four prosecutions for forgery, but 1797-1821 saw over 2000 prosecutions and over 300 executions. The Bank spent thousands of pounds to secure these executions, and in some years, such as 1819, this amounted to more than was lost through forgery. Almost one third of all executions at this time were for forgery, but the vast majority of these were concentrated in the post-Napoleonic war period, when economic depression and the demobilization of thousands of troops and sailors produced ever greater incentives for the forger. In 1818, when almost 30,000 fake banknotes were in circulation, public sympathy for the hapless plebeian forger led to numerous acquittals.

Doubts were regularly expressed about the competence of the Bank of England in recognizing a fake from the real banknote, and the topic features in many of the satirical cartoons of the time. (Richard and Sabine, the hero and heroine in A Counterfeit Heart, make use of the printing press and premises of such an engraver in the story.)

In 1814 an anonymous caricature called A Peep into the Rag Shop in Threadneedle Street highlighted the theme. The print (below) shows a poor forger pleading with Bank of England directors who are examining a bank note. As the speech bubbles make clear, behind their callous bluster is dire ineptitude:

“Upon my soul I have my doubts but at all events—we had better declare it bad.”
“Take him out Thomas !!! he has a d——d hanging look.”
“Away with the Vagabond! Do you think we sit here for nothing!”

A Peep into the Rag Shop in Threadneedle Street, anonymous, 1814.

And this cartoon, by the well-known satirical illustrator George Cruickshank, also shows forged notes, and hints at the fact that paper currency was often considered untrustworthy in comparison to solid gold coins.

Johnny Bull and his Forged Notes!! or Rags and Ruin in the Paper Currency by George Cruikshank, published by J. Sidebotham, January 1819. (British Museum Satires 13197. Courtesy Trustees of the British Museum.)

In France, too, forgery was a very serious offence. Note what it says on the very top line of this French Assignat: ‘the law punishes the counterfeiter with death’. (La loi punit de mort le contrefacteur)


Here are some examples of both real and forged early 19th century banknotes:

A real 1818 Bank of England bank note, one pound.

A forged GB banknote of 1812.

A real British Banknote from 1811: one pound note with printed serials and date, signed in ink by the cashier.

And just to prove that ‘plus ça change,’ almost a hundred years after Napoleon’s attempts, another leader, Adolf Hitler, tried something very similar during the second World War, forcing prisoners to fake thousands of British banknotes in a plan called Operation Bernhart. The initial plan was to drop the notes by plane over Britain to bring about a collapse of the British economy. It was directed by, and named after, SS-Sturmbannführer (Major) Bernhard Krüger, who set up a team of 142 counterfeiters from inmates at Sachsenhausen concentration camp at first, and then from other camps, to forge British currency.

So as you can see, history is full of extraordinary examples of counterfeiting, and for A Counterfeit Heart I employed the age-old authorial tactic of wondering ‘what if . . ?’ What if Napoleon were defeated before he could put his plans to flood Britain with counterfeits into action? What if one of his forgers was a feisty young woman named Sabine de la Tour? What would she do with a fortune in fake money? A Counterfeit Heart is my answer.

A Counterfeit Heart by K.C. Bateman ~ Medium Heat Level ~ Historical Regency Romance

A feisty counterfeiter and a cocky British agent clash in this sultry Secrets and Spies novel by K. C. Bateman, whose witty, intelligent, and sexy historical romances have become her signature.

As Sabine de la Tour tosses piles of forged banknotes onto a bonfire in a Paris park, she bids a reluctant farewell to her double life as a notorious criminal. Over the course of Napoleon’s reign, her counterfeits destabilized the continent and turned scoundrels into rich men, but now she and her business partner must escape France—or face the guillotine. Her only hope of surviving in England is to strike a deal with the very spy she’s spent her career outrunning. Now after meeting the arrogant operative in the flesh, Sabine longs to throw herself upon his mercy—and into his arms.

Richard Hampden, Viscount Lovell, is prepared to take any risk to safeguard England from the horrors of the French Revolution. To lure the insurgents out from the shadows, he’s even willing to make a pact with his archenemy: Philippe Lacorte, the greatest counterfeiter in Europe. But when a cheeky, gamine-faced beauty proves herself to be Lacorte, Richard is shocked—and more than a little aroused. Unlike the debutantes who so often hurl themselves at him, this cunning minx offers a unique and irresistible challenge. Richard will help her. But in return, he wants something that even Sabine cannot fake.

Chapter 1

Bois de Vincennes, Paris, March 1816

It didn’t take long to burn a fortune.

“Don’t throw it on like that! Fan the paper out. You need to let the air get to it.”

Sabine de la Tour sent her best friend Anton Carnaud an exasperated glance and tossed another bundle of banknotes onto the fire. It smoldered then caught with a bright flare, curling and charring to nothing in an instant. “That’s all the francs. Pass me some rubles.”

Another fat wad joined the conflagration. Little spurts of green and blue jumped up as the flames consumed the ink. The intensity of the fire heated her cheeks so she stepped back and tilted her head to watch the glowing embers float up into the night sky. It was a fitting end, really. Almost like a funeral pyre, the most damning evidence of Philippe Lacorte, notorious French counterfeiter, going up in smoke. Sabine quelled the faintest twinge of regret and glanced over at Anton. “It feels strange, don’t you think? Doing the right thing for once.”

He shook his head. “It feels wrong.” He poked a pile of Austrian gulden into the fire with a stick. “Who in their right mind burns money? It’s like taking a penknife to a Rembrandt.”

Sabine nudged his shoulder, well used to his grumbling. “You know I’m right. If we spend it, we’ll be no better than Napoleon. This is our chance to turn over a new leaf.”

Anton added another sheaf of banknotes to the blaze with a pained expression. “I happen to like being a criminal,” he grumbled. “Besides, we made all this money. Seems only fair we should get to spend it. No one would know. Your fakes are so good nobody can tell the difference. What’s a few million francs in the grand scheme of things?”

“We’d know,” Sabine frowned at him. “‘Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.’”

Anton rolled his eyes. “Don’t start quoting dead Greeks at me.”

“That’s a dead Englishman,” she smiled wryly. “Geoffrey Chaucer.”

Anton sniffed, unimpressed by anything that came from the opposite—and therefore wrong—side of the channel. He sprinkled a handful of assignats onto the flames. “You appreciate the irony of trying to be an honest forger, don’t you?”

It was Sabine’s turn to roll her eyes.

Anton shot her a teasing, pitying glance. “It’s because you’re half-Anglais. Everyone knows the English are mad. The French half of you knows what fun we could have. Think of it, chérie—ballgowns, diamonds, banquets!” His eyes took on a dreamy, faraway glow. “Women, wine, song!” He gave a magnificent Gallic shrug. “Mais, non. You listen to the English half. The half that is boring and dull and—”

“—law-abiding?” Sabine suggested tartly. “Sensible? The half that wants to keep my neck firmly attached to my shoulders instead of in a basket in front of the guillotine?”

She bit her lip as a wave of guilt assailed her. Anton was only in danger of losing his head because of her. For years he’d protected her identity by acting as Philippe Lacorte’s public representative. He’d dealt with all the unsavory characters who’d wanted her forger’s skills while she’d remained blissfully anonymous. Even the man who’d overseen the Emperor’s own counterfeiting operation, General Jean Malet, hadn’t known the real name of the elusive forger he’d employed. He’d never seen Sabine as anything more than an attractive assistant at the print shop in Rue Pélican.

Now, with Napoleon exiled on St Helena and Savary, head of the Secret Police, also banished, General Malet was the only one who knew about the existence of the fake fortune the Emperor had amassed to fill his coffers.

The fortune Sabine had just liberated.

Anton frowned into the flames. The pink glow highlighted his chiseled features and Sabine studied him dispassionately. She knew him too well to harbor any romantic feelings about him, but there was no doubt he had a very handsome profile. Unfortunately, it was a profile that General Malet could recognize all too easily.

As if reading her mind he said, “Speaking of guillotines, Malet would gladly see me in a tumbril. He’s out for blood. And I’m his prime suspect.”

“Which is why we’re getting you out of here,” Sabine said briskly. “The boat to England leaves at dawn. We have enough money to get us as far as London.”

Anton gave a frustrated huff and pointed at the fire. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we have a pile of money right—”

She shot him a warning scowl. “No. We are not using the fakes. Its high time we started doing things legally. This English lord’s been trying to engage Lacorte’s services for months. One job for him and we’ll be able to pay for your passage to Boston. You’ll be safe from Malet forever.”

“It could be a trap,” Anton murmured darkly. “This Lovell says he wants to employ Lacorte, but we’ve been on opposite sides of the war for the past ten years. The English can’t be trusted.”

Sabine let out a faint, frustrated sigh. It was a risk, to deliver herself into the arms of the enemy, to seek out the one man she’d spent months avoiding. Her heart beat in her throat at the thought of him. Richard Hampden, Viscount Lovell. She’d only seen him once, weeks ago, but the memory was seared upon her brain.

He, of anyone, had come closest to unmasking her. He’d followed Lacorte’s trail right to her doorstep, like a bloodhound after a fox. She’d barely had time to hide behind the back-room door and press her eye to a gap in the wood before the bell above the entrance had tinkled and he’d entered the print shop.

It had been dark outside; the flickering street lamps had cast long shadows along Rue Pélican. Sabine had squinted, trying to make out his features, but all she could see was that he was tall; he ducked to enter the low doorway. She raised her eyebrows. So this was the relentless Lord Lovell.

Not for the first time she cursed her short-sightedness. Too many hours of close-work meant that anything over ten feet was frustratingly blurry. He moved closer, further into the shop—and into knee-weakening, stomach-flipping focus.

Sabine caught her breath. All the information she’d gleaned about her foe from Anton’s vague, typically male attempts at description had in no way prepared her for the heart-stopping, visceral reality.

Technically, Anton had been correct. Richard Hampden was over six feet tall with mid-brown hair. But those basic facts failed to convey the sheer magnetic presence of his lean, broad-shouldered frame. There was no spare fat around his lean hips, no unhealthy pallor to his skin. He moved like water, with a liquid grace that suggested quietly restrained power, an animal at the very peak of fitness.

Anton had guessed his age as between twenty-eight and thirty-five. Certainly, Hampden was no young puppy; his face held the hard lines and sharp angles of experience rather than the rounded look of boyhood.

Sabine studied the elegant severity of his dark blue coat, the pale knee breeches outlining long, muscular legs. There was nothing remarkable in the clothes themselves to make him stand out in a crowd, and yet there was something about him that commanded attention. That drew the eye, and held it.

Her life often hinged on the ability to correctly identify dangerous men. Every sense she possessed told her that the man talking with Anton was very dangerous indeed.

Sabine pressed her forehead to the rough planks and swore softly. The Englishman turned, almost as if he sensed her lurking behind the door, and everything inside her stilled. Something—an instant of awareness, almost of recognition—shot through her as she saw his face in full. Of all the things she’d been prepared for, she hadn’t envisaged this: Viscount Lovell was magnificent.

And then he’d turned his attention back to Anton, and she’d let out a shaky breath of relief.

She’d dreamed of him ever since. Disturbing, jumbled dreams in which she was always running, he pursuing. She’d wake the very instant she was caught, her heart pounding in a curious mix of panic and knotted desire.

Sabine shook her head at her own foolishness. It was just her luck to conceive an instant attraction to the least suitable man in Europe. The thought of facing him again made her shiver with equal parts anticipation and dread, but he was the obvious answer to her current dilemma. He had money; she needed funds. Voilà tout.

At least now she was prepared. One of the basic tenets of warfare was ‘know thine enemy,’ after all. Sabine drew her cloak more securely around her shoulders and watched Anton feed the rest of the money to the flames. The embers fluttered upwards like a cloud of glowing butterflies.

When this was all over she would be like a phoenix. Philippe Lacorte would disappear and Sabine de la Tour would emerge from the ashes to reclaim the identity she’d abandoned eight years ago. She would live a normal life. But not yet. There was still too much to do.

Sabine brushed off her skirts and picked up the bag she’d packed for traveling. There was something rather pathetic in the fact that her whole life fit into one single valise, but she squared her shoulders and glanced over at Anton. “Come on, let’s go. Before someone sees the smoke and decides to investigate.”

They couldn’t go home, to the print shop on Rue Pélican. Malet had already ripped the place apart looking for ‘his’ money. Her stomach had given a sickening lurch as she’d taken in the carnage. Books pulled from the shelves, paintings ripped from the walls, canvases torn. Old maps shredded, drawers pulled out and upended. Their home, her sanctuary for the past eight years, had been utterly ransacked.

But there had been triumph amid the loss. Malet had found neither Anton nor the money. And if Sabine had anything to do with it, he never would.

Anton hefted the two bags of English banknotes that had been spared the flames as Sabine turned her back on Paris. For the first time in eight long years she was free. It was time to track down Lord Lovell.

 

 

 

Kate Bateman (writing as K. C. Bateman) wrote her first historical romance in response to a $1 bet with her husband who rashly claimed she’d ‘never finish the thing.’ She gleefully proved him wrong with a historical set in the Italian Renaissance. Now writing for Random House Loveswept, her latest ‘Secrets & Spies’ Regency-era series features her trademark feisty, intelligent heroines, wickedly inappropriate banter, and heroes you want to alternately strangle and kiss—all mixed up in the intrigue and turmoil of the Napoleonic wars.

When not traveling to exotic locations ‘for research’, Kate leads a double life as a fine art appraiser and on-screen antiques expert for several TV shows in the UK, each of which has up to 2.5 million viewers. She splits her time between Illinois and her native England and writes despite three inexhaustible children and a husband who has flatly refused to read any of her books ‘unless she hits the NY Times Bestseller list.’ It is—naturally—her fervent desire to force the semi-illiterate, number-loving cynic to do so. He still owes her that dollar.

Kate loves to hear from readers. Contact her via her Website, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or Amazon Author Page.

And don’t forget to always #ReadaRegency!

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Dining Room Post

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Dining Room Post

This week’s phrase comes courtesy the dedicated thief who’s in it for the art of the deception, with the Rube Goldberg-esque planning and implementation of the steal.

Dining Room Post

A mode of stealing in houses that let lodgings, by rogues pretending to be postmen, who send up sham letters to the lodgers, and, whilst waiting in the entry for the postage, go into the first room they see open, and rob it.

Arrest of a Woman at Night by Thomas Rowlandson, date unknown, The Samuel Courtauld Trust at The Courtauld Gallery, London.

As we all know, however, crime rarely pays, or at least fails to pay for the long run. It can be argued that the Regency era gave rise to the (more) modern  and organized police man. During this time, criminals were pursued by constables, the night watch, thief-takers, and Bow Street Runners. The Metropolitan Police themselves were formed in 1829, a few years removed from the Regency but during the reign of George IV (the former Prince Regent). These various officials of law enforcement were notoriously tough and dogged in their pursuit of criminals (or at least the payment at the end of the pursuit). Some lawmen were fresh from lives of crime themselves, and used their considerable knowledge and connections to ferret out criminals.

The Night Watchman Picking Up a Wayward Girl by Thomas Rowlandson, Bonhams, New York.

Interestingly, when searching for period graphics to illustrate this post, the majority I found were of women being arrested rather than men. I’m not sure if there’s a less-than-subtle message to be inferred here, but at least one engraving by Thomas Rowlandson showed they didn’t all go down quietly.

Attacking the Night Watchman by Thomas Rowlandson, date unknown.

 

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Gentleman of Three Ins

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Gentleman of Three Ins

Lots of things come in threes.

Little pigs. French hens. Little kittens. Feet in a yard. BLT ingredients. Brontë sisters.

Sometimes frightening things come in threes: witches in Macbeth, Cerebrus’s heads, Hanson brothers. And this week’s slang.

Gentleman of Three Ins

In debt, in gaol, and in danger of remaining there for life; or, in gaol, indicted, and in danger of being hanged in chains.

I wrote several posts last year concerning the perilous nature of gaols and imprisonment in Regency England, which can be found here, here, here, and here. I won’t rehash the past, but instead rely on my dear Mr. Gillray to provide some period figurative illustrations rather than literal interpretations of this week’s slang.

In debt:

John Bull ground down by James Gillray, published by Hannah Humphrey 1 June 1795, National Portrait Gallery.

From the British Museum:

John Bull’s head and shoulders emerge from a gigantic coffee-mill. He is being ground by Pitt into guineas which pour from the spout of the machine into the inverted coronet of the Prince of Wales, held out by the Prince (left). The Prince points out his harvest of coins to a row of creditors. John Bull, his hands clasped, shrieks “Murder! Murder!” Pitt (right), both hands on the handle, is working hard, stripped to his shirt. His coat lies across an enormous heap of guineas on which he rests his left knee. He says: “God save great George our Ki . . .” Behind him, and in the upper right corner of the design, is the crown, the centre of a sun whose rays extend behind Pitt’s head, with the words: “Grind away! grind away grind away Billy! never mind his bawling! Grind away.” Other words from the crown are directed towards the victim: “What! – What! – what! Murder hay? why, you poor Stupe, is it not for the good of your Country? hay? hay”. Between Pitt and the post of the mill Dundas and Burke are grovelling for guineas: Burke, frowning, uses both hands; Dundas, who wears a plaid, fills his Scots cap.

In gaol:

Exaltation of Faro’s Daughters by James Gillray, published by Hannah Humphrey 12 May 1796, British Museum.

From the British Museum:

Lady Buckinghamshire (left) and Lady Archer (right) stand side by side in the pillory, heads and hands closely confined, their heads in profile to the right, weeping angrily. Both wear tall feathers in their hair and large pendent ear-rings. Lady Buckinghamshire is forced to stand painfully on tip-toe, a short petticoat exposes her fat legs. On the front of the platform is a placard: ‘Cure for Gambling Publish’d by Lord Kenyon in the Court of Kings Bench on May 9th 1796’. This is raised above the heads of the crowd, with grinning upturned faces in the foreground. Eggs, a cat, &c. fly through the air; the pillory and the dresses of the victims are bespattered. On the right is a house with spectators in the windows.

Hanging in:

Hanging. Drowning. by James Gillray, published by Hannah Humphrey 9 November 1795, National Portrait Gallery.

From the Historical and Descriptive Account of the Caricatures of James Gillray:

Fox. Pitt. Dundas. Another allusion to the love of the two Ministers for the bottle. It represents the different feelings with which the different parties in this country were supposed to have looked upon the decline of Republican principles in France at this time.

And lest we forget, three is a magic number.

 

Slang term taken from the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue.

Keep Calm and Read This: The Reluctant Wife by Caroline Warfield

Caroline Warfield is over the moon to finally be able to release The Reluctant Wife into the wild. She joins me here today to share all about her newest release … and her Grand Prize Giveaway.!

Title: The Reluctant Wife
Children of Empire, Book 2
Heat Level: Medium
Genre: Historical Romance, Pre-Victorian

When all else fails, love succeeds…

Captain Fred Wheatly’s comfortable life on the fringes of Bengal comes crashing down around him when his mistress dies, leaving him with two children he never expected to have to raise. When he chooses justice over army regulations, he’s forced to resign his position, leaving him with no way to support his unexpected family. He’s already had enough failures in his life. The last thing he needs is an attractive, interfering woman bedeviling his steps, reminding him of his duties.

All widowed Clare Armbruster needs is her brother’s signature on a legal document to be free of her past. After a failed marriage, and still mourning the loss of a child, she’s had it up to her ears with the assumptions she doesn’t know how to take care of herself, that what she needs is a husband. She certainly doesn’t need a great lout of a captain who can’t figure out what to do with his daughters. If only the frightened little girls didn’t need her help so badly.

Clare has made mistakes in the past. Can she trust Fred now? Can she trust herself? Captain Wheatly isn’t ashamed of his aristocratic heritage, but he doesn’t need his family and they’ve certainly never needed him. But with no more military career and two half-caste daughters to support, Fred must turn once more—as a failure—to the family he let down so often in the past. Can two hearts rise above past failures to forge a future together?

The author dedicates this book to her father, the constant soldier, who understood duty and loyalty as few people do.

The ballroom at Government House, Calcutta, 1835

Clare had stopped listening. A prickle of awareness drew her gaze to the entrance where another man entered. He stood well above average height, he radiated coiled strength, and her eyes found his auburn hair unerringly. Captain Wheatly had come. The rapid acceleration of her heart took her off guard. Why should I care that he’s here?

“Clare? The lieutenant asked you a question.”

Lieutenant? Clare blinked to clear her head, only to see Mrs. Davis’s icy glare turned on Captain Wheatly. “Is that your strange captain from the black neighborhood?” she demanded in a faux whisper.

The lieutenant’s avid curiosity added to Clare’s discomfort. “Is that Wheatly in a captain’s uniform? I thought they might demote him after the business with Cornell,” he volunteered.

Clare forced herself to turn to the lieutenant. “Cornell?” she asked to deflect Mrs. Davis’s questions.

Collector at Dehrapur. Wheatly assaulted the man. Unprovoked, I heard,” the lieutenant answered.

She looked back, unable to stop herself. Merciful angels, he’s seen me. She watched the captain start toward them. At least Gleason could make introductions.

The lieutenant went on as though he had her full attention. “He was in line for promotion, the one that went to your brother instead. Philip posted over there right after it happened.”

Clare found it impossible to look away. The captain gave an ironic smile when he saw her watching. Mrs. Davis gave a sharp intake of breath when she realized Wheatly’s intent. “He’s coming here? Clare, I think I should warn you that a man who has been passed over as this one was—”

Before she could finish, Colonel Davis, who had been coming from the other direction, met the captain and greeted him with a smile. Clare couldn’t hear the words, but Captain Wheatly’s self-deprecating grin seemed to indicate at least a modicum of respect. The two men approached together.

“Captain Frederick Wheatly, may I present my wife, Mrs. Davis.” The captain bowed properly, and the colonel went on, “And our house guest, Miss Armbruster.”

This time the captain’s eyes held a distinct twinkle. “Miss Armbruster and I are acquainted. I met her when she visited her brother in Dehrapur.”

“Of course, of course! I should have remembered,” the colonel said jovially. He leaned toward Clare and winked. “He’s a catch, this one. Doesn’t like to boast of his connections, but earls and dukes lurk in his pedigree. His cousin stepped down from Under-Secretary for War and the Colonies just last year!”

Captain Wheatly looked discomfited by that revelation.

Gleason looked skeptical. “The Duke of Murnane?” he gasped.

Before anyone could answer, the small orchestra hired for the occasion began to play, and the captain cocked an eyebrow as if to ask a question.

“I think the captain wants a dance, Miss Armbruster. It’s your patriotic duty to see to the morale of the troops,” the colonel said coyly.

Captain Wheatly put out a gloved hand, and she put her equally gloved hand in his. Walking away from Gleason and the Davises, she admitted two things to herself. She was glad he came, and she planned to enjoy the dance.

 

 


The Reluctant Wife is book 2 in the Children of Empire Series ~ Three cousins, torn apart by lies and deceit and driven to the far reaches of the empire, struggle to find their way home.

The prequel to this series, A Dangerous Nativity, is always **FREE**. Click here for your copy.

 

Traveler, poet, librarian, technology manager—Caroline Warfield has been many things (even a nun), but above all she is a romantic. Having retired to the urban wilds of eastern Pennsylvania, she reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows while she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Caroline is a RONE award winner with five star reviews from Readers’ Favorite, Night Owl Reviews, and InD’Tale, and an Amazon best-seller. She is also a member of the writers’ co-operative, the Bluestocking Belles. With partners she manages and regularly writes for both The Teatime Tattler and History Imagined.

You may find Caroline at her website, Facebook, TwitterAmazon, and Goodreads. Or drop her a line via email.

And now for the Giveaway!

Caroline is sponsoring a Grand Prize Giveaway in celebration of her release. To enter, click here

And don’t forget to always #ReadaRegency!

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Up to Their Gossip

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Up to Their Gossip

This week’s phrase took very little effort on my part after I stumbled upon a terrific post at Flavorwire. I have long admired Jane Austen’s works and delved into her life through her remaining correspondence and notes – she really had the greatest sense of comic timing and a deft hand at using words to their greatest effect. After reading this compilation of her best bon mots from Pride and Prejudice, I was again reminded of her genius way with words.

This will be fun.

Up to Their Gossip

To be a match for one who attempts to cheat or deceive; to be on a footing, or in the secret. I’ll be up with him; I will repay him in kind.

“But that’s none of my business.” ~Fitzwilliam Darcy

To me, Lizzy Bennet is the epitome of the definition of being Up to Their Gossip. Never let them see you sweat.

The following are the 15 Best Disses and One-Liners From Pride and Prejudice, according to Flavorwire.

1. Mr. Bennet on Mrs. Bennet’s nerves:

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.”

2. Mr. Darcy’s original stone-cold snub of Lizzy Bennet, to Mr. Bingley:

“She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

3. Lizzy Bennet to Mr. Darcy on his weaknesses:

“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”

“Such as vanity and pride.”

4. Mr. Darcy to Caroline Bingley on the appeal of Lizzy Bennet’s eyes, despite her conceitedly independent choice to walk in ankle-deep mud:

“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied; “they were brightened by the exercise.”

5. Mr. Bennet to Lizzy, after she refuses to marry Mr. Collins:

“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”

6. Lizzy to Caroline Bingley on the matter of George Wickham:

“His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite’s guilt; but really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better.”

“His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,” said Elizabeth angrily; “for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself.”

7. Mr. Bennet to Mrs. Bennet on longevity:

“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” said she, “it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take her place in it!”

“My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.”

8. Mr. Darcy to William Lucas on dancing:

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”

“Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”

Not. Amused. By. Savages. At. All.

9. Mr. Darcy, in peak jerk mode, even as he proposes to Lizzy:

“Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?—to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”

10. Lizzy to Mr. Darcy on his previous comments:

“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”

That condescending curtsy, though. 19th Century equivalent of the slow clap.

11. Darcy to Caroline Bingley on Lizzy’s fine eyes, part II:

“I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty…But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.”

“Yes,” replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, “but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

12. Lizzy to her seduction-victim little sister Lydia on finding a spouse:

“And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the winter is over.”

“I thank you for my share of the favour,” said Elizabeth; “but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands.”

13. Lizzy to Lady Catherine on whether or not she’ll marry Mr. Darcy:

“You are then resolved to have him?”

“I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”

14. Lizzy, to Jane, on falling for Mr. Darcy:

“My dearest sister, now be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?”

“It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.”

15. Lizzy and Darcy on Lady Catherine’s influence on their love:

I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”

And they all lived happily every after.

 

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Knight of the Rainbow

WOW ~ Word of the Week ~ Knight of the Rainbow

The Flower must not blame the Bee —
That seeketh his felicity
Too often at her door —

But teach the Footman from Vevay —
Mistress is “not at home” — to say —
To people — any more!
~Emily Dickinson, 206

They were to be tall, handsome, young, strong, and silent. They were to be seen and admired, but not heard. They were there for the heavy lifting (of tea trays, trunks, and whatnot).

They were there to pester the maids.

The Jealous Maids by John Collett, published by Robert Sayer and engraved by Robert Lowery L.aurie on 2 March 1772, Victoria and Albert Museum.

Observe the elaborate livery worn by the male servant, a froth of lace at his throat, his waistcoat  and facings festooned with gold. Even his buttons are gold!

Knight of the Rainbow

A footman: from the variety of colours in the liveries and trimming of gentlemen of that cloth.

Many others have gone into great detail on the lives, both personal and professional, of male domestic servants. I won’t rehash the particulars, but will include links below for those of a researching mind. Instead, I propose to show some prime examples of those noble Knights of the Rainbow.

Unlike female domestics, males were arrayed in a variety of fabrics and colors, with no shortage of embellishments and gee-gaws to ornament their costumes. The more public the servant, the more ostentatious and ornate his livery. Colors and style were as distinctive to families as was the crest on their carriage.

Footman Livery, made for the attendants of the 3rd Earl of Ashburnham of Ashburnham Place, Sussex, in 1829 for his installation as Knight of the Garter, at Manchester Art Gallery.

From the Manchester Art Gallery label:

Coat: Light blue-green cloth trimmed with red cloth and wool braid with uncut pile woven with coat of arms and coronet in red, yellow and black on white; lined with red glazed twilled wool; high standing collar; fronts each in one section, fastening at chest with 2 hooks and eyes, 17 metal buttons on right edge from neck to hem, cord imitating buttonholes on left, pocket at waist each side with shaped flap over three buttons; back in two shaped sections with centre back vent; long sleeves in two sections lined with white cotton, collar and turned-back cuffs of red cloth, strip of red cloth each side of front and centre back opening; braid on all edges and seams, outlining pockets and in chevrons down outside of sleeves; two loops white, red and yellow silk cord with metal points attached to right shoulder under crest embroidered in coloured silks on red cloth;
Breeches: Red cloth; shaped waistband lacing over gusset at centre back, fastening at centre front with 3 plain buttons under flap fastening with two buttons on waistband and one of centre front buttons; pocket each side with small button at corner on hip; narrow pocket in waistband on right of centre front; horn buttons for braces each side front and back; legs fastening at outer knee with four buttons and coloured silk braid kneeband with slot for buckle.
Waistcoat: red cloth lined with white cotton; front and skirt faced with red glazed wool; fronts each in one section fastening to waist with small metal buttons, buttons continue above and below fastening, high standing collar, fronts cut away at angle below waist, pocket each side of waist with shaped flap over three buttons; back in two sections, centre back vent; two pairs of linen tape ties at waist; collar, fronts and pockets edged with same braid as coat.

Footman’s Livery Uniform circa 1840-1860, via Manchester Art Gallery.

From the Manchester Art Gallery label:

Coat; Made from a dark blue cloth. Front edge curved out over chest fastening with hook and eye, slit pocket inside left front. Six brass buttons with crest of rampant lion on right edge, braid imitating buttonholes on left. Low standing collar of yellow cloth. Centre sections extending to form centre back skirt, open at centre below waist. Side sections padded and lined black cotton satin. Long sleeves with turned-back cuffs of yellow cloth. Edges outlined wool braid with uncut pile with geometric pattern in blue and yellow. Collar and cuffs trimmed smaller button.
Breeches: Made from yellow wool plush, partly lined twilled cotton. Straight waistband lacing at CB over gusset. Fastening at CF with three plain buttons under flap the whole width of front fastening with four buttons on waistband. Slit pocket each side of fastening under flap. Long narrow pocket in right front waistband. Buttons for braces at side front and CB. Legs fastening at outer knee with three brass buttons and kneeband with small brass buckle.
Waistcoat: Made from yellow cloth, unbleached linen back, lined with cream twilled cotton. High neck with low standing collar. Fastening with five brass buttons. Pocket shaped flap each side of waist.

Livery Coat circa 1875-1890, via Manchester Art Gallery.

From the Manchester Art Gallery label:

Coat: Blue wool, embroidered with braid and frogging. Purple blue cloth, braid-embroidered, lined dark blue twilled wool; fronts each in one section to waist extending to side back, fastening edge to edge at centre front with 6 hooks and eyes to v-neck with high standing collar; converging row of 6 silk-covered buttons each side of front; skirt fronts in one flared section extending to side back, side back edge stitched down onto back section under stitched-down pleat headed with button; false pocket each side of waist with shaped flap over three buttons; back in two shaped sections extending below waist to form centre back skirt, open below waist at centre; long sleeves in two sections, separate cuff sections, lined glazed linen; all edges, collar, cuffs, and side back seams outlined with wool braid in two shades of blue with diamond pattern in uncut pile; narrow blue silk braid in elaborate scrolling designs forming borders round the wider braid and frogging round buttons from neck to waist; lining padded and quilted on shoulders and under arms; pockets in lining each side of skirt and left breast.

Random specimens of livery

There is often a glut of information (and mis-information) on the internet, and the following costumes came without descriptors. But they were too pretty to pass.

Livery, early 19th Century, Italian, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Livery, early 19th Century, Italian, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Sleeved livery waistcoat, early 19th century.

Ceremonial livery, Court Footman, late 19th Century, Hermitage Museum.

Ceremonial uniform of the Chief Chamberlain, late 19th Century, Hermitage Museum.

Not everyone was impressed by the finery and frippery, however.

Country Characters. No. 4: Footman by Thomas Rowlandson 30 August 1799, Royal Collection Trust.

Thomas Rowlandson and his well-honed satire: A conceited and “dandy-fied” Town footman stands admiring himself in a mirror, much to the disapproval of the country housemaid and butler. He is sure his charms and posy of flowers will win him the admiration of the country chits at the local pub; the monkey on a chain, imitating the footman, is certainly awed.