Word Wenches

Tennis, Anyone?

Cara/Andrea here,

Like several of the other Wenches, I'm at the annual RWA Conference in NYC, which is always a whirlwind of activity, what with workshops, publisher meetings, editer pow-wows, and—perhaps most importantly—getting a chance to hug good writing pals from around the world and share gossip and laughs. I find that face-to-face connection is so fun, and so energizing. I always come home tired, but feeling that my creative batteries have been recharged by being around so many great, creative people.

But as I said, it's hectic here, and not always easy to get to a computer. So while we Wenches will be sharing Conference photos and stories very soon (Tonight is the Gala Awards Ceremony, and as Nicola, Joanna, Pat and I are among the finalists, we hope to report at least one Wenchly RITA on Sunday's news!) I am going to invoke Wenchly privilege for today and post an older blog. As it's the finals of Wimbledon this weekend, I thought it appropriate to talk a little about tenns.

So without further ado . . .

Wimbledon comes to a close this weekend, when the last tennis balls skid over the grass courts. It’s one of the “Grand Slam” events, a quartet of tournaments that are the crown jewels of the sport’s elite competitions. (Remember, I warned you all that I am the resident “jock” of the Wenches.) As it’s one of the grand traditions of a game that often appears in literature, it got me to thinking . . .

In historical novels, the words “Tennis, anyone?” conjure up vintage images of elegant figures clad in pristine whites moving gracefully across a swath of verdant lawn. (I’m particularly fond of E.M Forster’s A Room With A View and its descriptions of pastoral Edwardian garden party elegance.)

But take note—Edwardian is the key time frame here. Or late Victorian to be perfectly precise. Any time period earlier and an author is . . . hitting the ball into the net.

I cringe when I read Regency or Elizabethan authors having their characters play a set of tennis outdoors on the lawns. Yes, tennis has been around for centuries—but the game we know today as tennis was not invented until 1874, when Major Walter Clopton Wingfield  filed for a patent on a new sport he called sphairistike, which is Greek for . . . uh, well, lawn tennis. (Not that Achilles was known for his drop shot.)

Thankfully the Patent Office refused to patent the name (can you imagine trying to say “Sphairistike, anyone?” . . . especially after two gin and tonics.) But it did give him rights to the design of his court—which was first shaped like an hourglass, rather than the now familiar rectangle. Wingfield quickly published his rules as The Major’s Game of Lawn Tennis. The game was a hit with the younger sporting set, who were looking for something more vigorous than croquet to play at their country houses. It soon spread to the Continent and America, via Bermuda, and tennis tournaments became a popular pastime for the leisure class.

But back to the “real” story.

 The game of tennis (these days it is called real tennis, or court tennis, to distinguish it from the modern sport of lawn tennis) originated in the Middle Ages. Legend has it that the game was created by monks hitting a ball off the angled walls and roofs of their monastery or cloisters with their hands. (In France the game has always been known as jeu de paume—game of the hand.)

Racquets appeared in the early 16^th century and by the reign of the Tudors, tennis was so popular in England and France that numerous indoor courts were built for the game. (In 1600, the Venetian ambassador to Paris recorded that there were 1800 courts in the city. That sounds awfully high to me, but perhaps it was true,  because it’s also recorded that high stakes gambling on tennis was so prevalent in 1369 that Charles V had to issue an edict restricting play.)

Interestingly enough, one of the first mentions of a female athlete in history was a tennis player. In 1427, it’s recorded that Margot of Hanault played at a gambling house known as the Little Temple and attracted crowds when she took on all challengers.

Court tennis is often called the sport of kings, for royal names abound in the annals of the game. Louis X of France died from a chill he caught after playing jeu de paume.. Henry VIII, an ardent player, was said to have been executing a slice on the tennis court at Hampton Court as Anne Boleyn was losing her head. And on the Continent, Catherine de Medici was known to wear her hair styled in the shape of a tennis racquet.

Tennis also figured into the lore of the French Revolution. David’s famous painting of “The Tennis Court Oath” pictures the deputies of the Third Estate on the court at Versailles, swearing to fight for a constitution for France. (For the record, the monarchy went down to defeat in straight sets.) Napoleon and Wellington were also said to be aficionados of the game.

Classic literature abounds with references to court tennis. Perhaps the most famous is Act 1, Scene II in Shakespeare’s Henry V, where the King reacts to the French Dauphin’s insulting gift of tennis balls: “When we have matched our rackets to these balls/We shall in France, by God's grace, play a set/Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.”

A court tennis court is asymmetrical (so are the racquets) and the oddities reflect the game’s Medieval courtyard heritage. While all courts are approximately 110’ long by 38’ wide, no two are exactly alike. Each has its own unique little architectural details to bedevil the players, which is considered part of the charm of the game. However, the elements are the same. The ancient cloister roof is represented by the penthouse, a sloping ledge that runs along three sides of the court. On the fourth wall is a buttress called the tambour. There are openings in the walls called the dedans and the grille. A net crosses the center of the court, but it high at the ends and droops in the center because in past centuries, the monks had no way to tighten it. The floor is a hard, cement-like surface marked with painted lines that look more like football markings than the familiar lawn tennis layout.

As for scoring . . . oh, don’t ask. It’s incredibly complicated. Yes, the games and sets are scored the same as in modern tennis, but winning points is far more complex. As one top-ranked court tennis player admitted, ”If you haven’t played the game, it’s impossible to comprehend.” Suffice it to say, depending on where a ball lands, there are complex rules about playing hazards and chases, which are sort of games within games. (Cut to the chase is a term that comes from court tennis.) Sometimes the best way to win a point is not to play the ball at all! Even experienced players need a scorer to keep track of all the arcane permutations.

For modern tennis fans, this time of year marks the zenith of the game’s calendar. In May, the French Open—played on the glorious red clay courts at the Bois de Boulogne in Paris—is a much anticipated rite of Spring. And in the last two weeks of June, strawberries and cream at the grass courts of Wimbledon are a cherished English sporting tradition. So as you watch the modern athletes pummel the ball across the net, raise a toast to both the old and the new—and know that the roots of the game are far deeper than those emerald blades of grass.

So how about you—do you have a favorite summer game or pastime?

(P.S. There are ten court tennis courts in the U.S. Most are in Eastern private clubs, such as the Racquet & Tennis Club in NYC and Tuxedo Park, in Tuxedo, NY. However, there is one public court at the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport, RI.)

The Wine Glass over the Water

God bless the King
I mean our faith’s defender.
God bless — no harm in blessing — the Pretender.
But who Pretender is, and who is King —
God bless us all — That’s quite another thing.
          John Byrom

 
Joanna, here, talking about an interesting sort of drinking glass our hero and heroine might have encountered in their travels through Georgian or Regency England.

The Jacobite Drinking Glass.

These are wine glasses that form a body of distinctive Eighteenth Century artwork.

 

We have these through a confluence of lucky chances.

First off, by 1700, English glassmaking was particularly advanced. 
A century before, the champion glassmakers were Venetian. The best glass in England was made by imported Italian glass artists, working by Italian methods. 

This changed when the English developed flint glass.  'Flint glass' contains a high proportion of lead oxide, an ingredient that makes for tough, workable, clear-as-water product.  Excellent stuff, in short.  And it was an English specialty.

I'd always wondered why this kind of glass was called 'flint glass'.  In researching for this blog, I found my answer.  In the spirit of 'I have done my research and now you are going to suffer for it', let me tell you about flint glass.

The 'flint' part of it comes from flint stone.  Flint is found in the South Downs chalk deposits of southeast England. Think 'White Cliffs of Dover'.

When you go walking along around the South Downs, the ground underfoot is white, which is remarkable.  You're walking over exactly the kind of chalk you use on a blackboard.  In that chalk you find nodules of a brown, hard, glassy rock. 

The chalk is calcium carbonate from the skeletons of billions of microscopic algae and sea creatures. (You can thank these tiny sea critters next time you use chalk.) The calcium carbonate settled to the bottom of the ancient seas to become what geologists like to call 'a white ooze'.  So expressive.

Flint was laid down at the same time.  Flint comes from the remains of sponges and other bottom-dwelling denizens of the early sea that used silica as their support structure.  The silica gelled and flowed through the soft white calcium carbonite muck till it found a void left by the carapace of some crab or sea urchin or the tunnel of some burrower.  There, it settled in.  And, voilà, we have flint, sitting there in the chalk happy as a raisin in a plum pudding.

Flint is a heavy and smooth mineral.  Very glasslike.  Some of these flints fit three in your hand.  Some are big as cantaloupes.  They are just amazing stuff to pick up in the chalk matrix.

Our pretechnological ancestors found flint nifty stuff to chip into arrowheads and knives.  In the Seventeenth Century folks came up with a new use for it.  They ground it to produce pure, high-quality silica sand.  And silica sand is used for glassmaking.

Turns out, flint is just heavily endowed with lead oxide.  Glassmakers blowing this new sort of glass were doubtless delighted to discover their flint silica produced a heavy, strong, crystal-clear glass exactly suited for engraving.

Edward Dillion, in his book, Glass, talks of the this quintessentially English flint glass.

"The Venetians in the preparation of their cristallo laid great stress on the hard white pebbles, the cogoli, from the bed of the Po or of the Ticino; these they regarded as an essential constituent of a good glass. We in England, during the reign of Charles II, succeeded in replacing these pebbles by our native flints; and this English flint-glass, properly so-called, early acquired a good reputation on the Continent."

Georgian artistic sensibilities and this perfect medium for their expression led to some of the most beautiful glassware ever created.  The slender stem of the glass in the Georgian years holds the bowl upward like a flower.  Just lovely.  The flint glass was absolutely transparent and brilliant.  The refractive index, which is close to that of natural crystal, fills cut surfaces with fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A characteristic elaboration arises at this time.  There was an older custom of putting a single 'tear drop' shape of air in the stem . . . see it in the example of an 'amen' glass from the Met there on the left.  (More about amen glasses later.)

In the Georgian era, artisans elaborated that single tear drop into twisting lines of light that run the length of the glass stem.  The example at the right is from the Victoria & Albert.  

These bright lines are tiny specks of air, made by pricking a line of bubbles into a rod of heat-softened glass, covering the bubbles with a film of molten glass, and then drawing the glass out thin.  The spiral is produced by twisting and stretching the rod of molten glass.  The twist descends from right to left.

A swirl of white ribbons, like in this example on the right, from the Met, would be made by bundling thin, opaque white rods of glass with rods of clear glass, heating, twisting, and drawing out the bundle.  This was very much a Venetian manner of handling glass and doubtless learned from those imported Venetian artisans.

After 1746, the fancification of drinking glasses was helped along by a whopping large excise tax on glass production. 

This is one of those unforeseen outcomes politicians delight us with from time to time.  The glass tax was charged on weight, so producers found it advantageous to 'add value' and sell the final product for a higher price.  The tax was the same for a plain glass sold cheaply or an engraved one sold for much more.  Taxation in support of the fine arts, as it were. 

Summing it up . . . the Eighteenth Century aesthetic gave us English drinking vessels of exceptional quality — light, airy, and elegant.  Flint glass provided strength and clarity.  And the English were part of a centuries-old European tradition of engraving on metal that could now be applied to glass. 

Thus, drinking glasses that were works of art.  And since there was this plethora of innovative and delicate artistry lying about, the British immediately put it to use making political statements.  Glasses were engraved with 'No Excise,' or ' Wilkes and Liberty' or 'No 45'.  And among the other political glasses, they made Jacobite glasses.
In England at this time, the term 'Jacobite' meant a follower of the house of Stuart.  The word Jacobite comes from Jacobus, which is Latin for James.  In this case, the James is James II of England, who was deposed from the English throne in 1688.  Here he is to the left.  One suspects this portrait was not painted by an admirer.
 
Jacobites attempted to return the Stuarts to the throne in 1689, 1690, 1708, 1715, 1719 and, finally and disastrously, 1745.  For close to a century, Jacobites stubbornly schemed.  Secret societies met and pledged loyalty to the Stuarts.  Plots to overthrow William III, Anne, George I, or George II were brainstormed.  Treasonous toasts were drunk to the King in exile; first to James II, then to his son, then to his grandson, Bonnie Prince Charlie.  Glasses were raised 'to his Majesty', and passed above a bowl of water. making this a pledge to 'the King over the water'.

Then all leap'd up, and joined their hands
With hearty clasp and greeting,
The brimming cups, outstretched by all,
Over the wide bowl meeting.

"A health," they cried, "to witching eyes
Of Kate, the landlord's daughter!
But don't forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water."

"But never forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water."
Then hats flew up and swords sprang out.
And lusty rang the chorus —

"Never," they cried, "while Scots are Scots,
And the broad Frith's before us."
          The White Rose Over the Water, 1744

Sometimes, they lifted what we call, 'Jacobite glasses', in these dangerous toasts.  

Bolder Jacobites engraved their drinking vessels with symbols or words that showed their loyalty to the Stuart cause and their hopes for its restoration.  This sort of Jacobite glass didn't survive the years without a good bit of winnowing.  (One imagines them hastily smashed in the night as government forces search the house.) Glasses that can be identified as bearing Jacobite designs are rare among Eighteenth century glass. 

This led to a lively market in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century fakes.  New engraving was done on genuine Georgian glass.  Very difficult to detect.  Recent scholarship finds the works of forgers in the best museums, including the Victoria & Albert and the Museum of London.

What was engraved on a Jacobite glass? 
Jacobite mottos, for one thing.  Probably the commonest Stuart motto was 'Fiat' — 'so be it', or 'make it so'.  (Think Jean-Luc Picard.)  Also used:  Redeat. May he return.  Redditi. Restore!  Revirescit.  It revives.  'Turno tempus erit.'   There shall be a time. 

One group of glasses — the most famous and among the earliest — are the 'amen' glasses.  The one above  and to the left is from the V&A.  There's another from the Met further up.  Amen glasses show two to four verses of the Jacobite version of 'God Save the King', a crown, and the word 'Amen'. 

God Save the King I pray,
God Bless the King I pray
God Save the King
Send him Victorious,
Happy and Glorious
Soon to reign over us
God Save the King.

God Bless the Prince Of Wales
The True-born Prince of Wales
Sent us by Thee
Grant us one favour more
The King for to restore 

As Thou hast done before
The Familie.

God save the Church I pray 

And bless the Church I pray
Pure to remain 

Against all Heresie 

And Whigs Hypocrisie 

Who strive maliciouslie
Her to defame.

God bless the Subjects all 

And save both great and small
In every Station 

That will bring home the King 

Who hath best right to reign
It is the only thing
Can save the Nation.

There are 37 known 'Amen' glasses.  Modern forensic scholarship, looking at the handwriting, suggests the work of a single hand, a Scots artist and line engraver, Sir Richard Strange, between 1743 and 1749.  For more information and pictures, see here.

And Jacobite symbols?

The most frequent was an open rose and two white buds, representing James II and his son and grandson.  You can't see it very well, but there's an example of this on the glass above with the opaque swir stem.

What else?  Oak leaves and acorns represented Charles Stuart's escape from his pursuers by hiding in an oak tree.  The thistle would stand for the Stuart's Scottish heritage.  A crown for kingship. 

A compass could symbolize true direction and loyalty.  A sunflower or a sun, the restoration of the Stuart kings.  A star, the birth of Bonnie Prince Charlie. 
(When the glass was raised to toast the Stuarts, the star, representing  Bonnie Prince Charming, rose also.)

A butterfly or moth would stand for regeneration and rebirth.  On one 'Amen' glass, the figure '8' hides among the scrollwork to represent the son of James II who would have been James VIII of Scotland.

This is way too many symbols.  It's been pointed out the Jacobites could have used a marketing consultant. 

Since we're talking about roses . . . I'll send one lucky commenter in the comment trail a signed copy of my book, Forbidden Rose.  it has nothing whatsoever to do with drinking glasses or the restoration of the Stuarts, but it has a fine picture of a rose on the cover. 

So tell me . . .  what secret society — real or imagined — would you like a heroine or hero to belong to? 

NewYork, New York!

Anne here —and I'm in New York! I'm here for the annual national conference of Romance Writers of America, which starts in a few days. I always come a few days early, because coming from Australia, jet-lag is always a problem, so I give myself time to recover before the conference starts.

There are people who say jet lag doesn't exist, that it's all imaginary. To those people I say,  bah, humbug! — you try sitting 24 hours on a plane and then attempt to interact intelligently with people at a time your body is normally asleep.

 Still, I didn't want to waste a moment of the day, so the first thing I did when I arrived was head for The Cloisters, a place I'd heard about from other WordWenches. 

A cloister is an open space, usually rectangular, surrounded by covered walks or open galleries. It's usually attached to a church, and is commonly associated with a monastic order of some sort. The word "cloistered" usually means enclosed, and when I first got there, I was sure it had housed an order of nuns or monks at some stage, it had such an aura of peace and contemplation.

But these cloisters were never a home to any monks or nuns  — it was built as a museum, taken from and inspired by the art and architecture of medieval Europe from the 12th to the 15th centuries. It's a branch of the Metropolitan Museum.

We went there by subway, and then walked through some stunning gardens, cool forests of tall trees, wonderful stonework, lush perennial beds, up on a rocky outcrop overlooking the city — Fort Tyron. Being jetlagged it was some time before we discovered the actual cloisters, but the gardens were so peaceful and lovely we probably wouldn't have minded if we wandered forever and never found the building. But eventually we did, and it was well worth the wandering.

It's a beautiful place, and contains thousands of ancient, precious and beautiful works of art brought over from Europe. I must confess, I felt ambivalent when I saw so many items taken from this little church in Italy, or that one in France or Spain. 

It reminded me that so many ancient works of art have been removed from their original sites and are on display far from their natural home, like the Elgin marbles in London, still a sore point for many Greeks, and the many ancient Egyptian artefacts scattered around the world, works displayed in some foreign site that had nothing to do with their original creations.

Even though I know that these items were purchased legitimately, and even though I was delighted to be able to see them so sensitively displayed in this beautiful site, I still felt a little ambivalent. 

Jetlag also played a part in how I responded to the various works of art. I did try to listen to the guide explaining all kinds of no-doubt-fascinating details, but my brain was a little floaty, and my concentration kept drifting off. My friend, who'd arrived a day before me and was therefore allegedly more on the ball, was just as bad, and we found ourselves quite distracted by various artists' portrayal of the Virgin Mary and various saints.

You know how, when you've read a book and you look at the picture of the hero and heroine on the cover, and you say, "no, that's not him, he doesn't look at all like that." 

That's what we found ourselves doing with some of the statues. "She looks too smug," I'd say about one statue.  "She's a nasty piece of work -- look at that hard mouth," my friend would say of another. This one was too superior and sanctimonious, that one was just plain exhausted, poor thing -- and look how tightly that poor baby was swaddled. 

We treated the various saints to the same irreverent attitude -- the improbable warrior angel, this very dodgy-looking magi (magus?) — would you let your  child accept a gift from this man?  

St Roch -- great legs, shame about the buboes --plague sores( he's the patron saint of the plague.) Also his eating habits left a bit to be desired, we thought. His dog, Linus, brought him bread to eat and licked his open sores.

And we debated whether this was animal abuse or not. I'll let you be the judge.

And yes, I admit it was a completely frivolous and no doubt reprehensible attitude to be taking in such an environment. I blame the jetlag.

Today we visited the Met and saw a regency era exhibition called Room With a view, which was charming. But then we went to the Alexander McQueen exhibition and it just blew us away. Amazing garments and a whole undertow of subtext that's not about fashion but about a worldview -- quite the most brilliant and thought-provoking exhibition I've seen in years.

We've ridden on the subway and on buses, we've shopped, we've looked and we've tramped all over the place until our feet are aching. Such a lot of wonderful things to see in New York and so little time. Today people will start arriving for the RWA conference, there are various get-togethers planned, wenchly and otherwise, and it will all build up to the RITA awards on Friday night. The finalists are here -- and so many wenches among them! And two of my retreat partners, so it's going to be an exciting night.

So I have a tiny window of opportunity to see a little more of New York. And then I'm off to Chicago for a couple of days before winging my way home. Any suggestions for places to visit in New York or Chicago? Any tips on who you think/hope will win a RITA?

And PS, I just heard that my dog back home in Australia has become very ill and might need an operation. So, please, good thoughts for my little Chloe dog. 

What Makes a Gentleman?

Nicola here, musing on what makes a gentleman. Class has always been a hot topic in English society and I’m wondering a little at my audacity – or even foolishness – in dipping a toe in the waters of it here. When did the “gentry” first emerge as a social class? Was belonging to the gentry synonymous with being a “gentleman”? What did the term mean in the Georgian and Regency period and what makes a gentleman these days? These are big questions but perhaps we can look at a few elements of them.

In 1583 Sir Thomas Smith wrote: “One who can live idly and without manual labour  and will bear the port (deportment) and countenance of a gentleman, he shall be taken for a gentleman.” The luxury goods and extravagant clothing of late 16^th and 17^th century London were an avenue to social mobility. Sumptuary legislation - the laws that governed the types of clothes that the different social classes were entitled to wear - had lapsed and a consumer revolution was taking over. A man could pose as a gentleman even if he did not have the birth for it.

Eighty years after Smith was writing, the diarist John Evelyn also complained: “How many times have I saluted the fine man for the master, and stood with my hat off to the gay feather, when I found the bird to be all this while but a daw.” In other words, in the 17^th century smart clothes and an appearance of wealth made the gentleman. Or perhaps gave the appearance of a gentleman. But people still believed that there should be more to it than that and looked down on those men whose birth was not equal to their appearance.

Sir William Craven (pictured in his mayoral regalia) was one such man who made good at the turn of the 17^th century. He was the son of an agricultural worker from Yorkshire who was apprenticed into the cloth trade in London. He worked hard, built up his business, married well, acted as moneylender to the court of Elizabeth I, bought himself a knighthood from James I, and was Lord Mayor of London. You can read more about his dizzying rise to social prominence here. By the time of his death he had amassed a fortune of billions in today’s terms and had moved firmly from the lower labouring classes to the upper echelons of the Middle Class. His sons were both given titles and moved into the aristocracy. Phenomenal social mobility and all through the acquisition of a fortune! But did this make them gentlemen or is the definition of such a term more nebulous? Certainly they were mocked at court for being nouveau riche and the sons of a cloth merchant. Perhaps there was some jealousy in the comments.

The original dictionary definition of the word gentleman was strict. It referred to a gentleman as a well-educated man of good family. It was also used to refer to a man whose income derived from property as opposed to a man who worked for a living (and again it is interesting that as soon as Sir William Craven had made his pile, he started to invest in land.) It appears that it was only in the eighteenth century that the term came also to mean a man who was cultured, courteous and well educated, with a code of honour and high standards of proper behaviour.

By the time of Jane Austen, the gentleman had come to be defined by his personal qualities as much as by his status as a member of the landed gentry. He was not a member of the nobility but was an “esquire” at the top of the pile of untitled landowners. Class distinctions were well defined: At the top the peerage, then the baronetage, then knights and below them the gentry. Jane Austen emphasises beautifully the superiority of Sir Walter Elliot, for example, as a hereditary baronet, over Lady Russell, the widow of a mere knight! A gentleman such as Mr Darcy, untitled but well-connected, with a beautiful house and a very good income, was sitting at the top of the gentry and was indisputably a gentleman in all particulars.

Further down the social scale was the “lesser gentry” constituting those in the military, attornies, doctors, clerics; the professional elite. This was not as straightforward as it seemed, since some gentlemen in the military and the church might be the younger sons of noble families. But these professions also offered opportunities for fortune and social advancement. The wealthiest of merchants and manufacturers were at the bottom of this “gentry pile”. As a group the gentry described themselves as genteel, polite and civil. They did not pretend to be members of “the Quality” although a connection to the Ton was highly prized. There was in fact a profound cultural gulf separating the lesser gentry from the landed aristocracy.

It is the gentleman of the Georgian period who was the precursor to the gentleman of the Victorian period in that he established a code of conduct based on the three Rs: Restraint, Refinement and Religion. During the reign of George III, the British began, through their reserve and emotional control, to distinguish themselves from the peoples of southern Europe whom they considered to have a more hot-headed temperament. This is where the move to define the gentleman by his manners rather than his birth or fortune began. There is a very great deal more to the emergence of the English Gentleman than this of course - a whole separate blog post on the gentleman in the Georgian and the Regency period.

By 1897 when Mrs Humphrey published her book “Manners for Men” the concept of the gentleman was still being hotly debated. She wrote: “ Gentleness and moral strength combined must be the salient characteristics of the gentleman, together with that polish that is acquired… through the influence of education and refinement. He must be thoughtful for others, kind to women and children and all helpless things… but never foolishly weak. There are few such men but they do exist. Reliable as rocks, judicious in every action, dependable… full of mercy and kindness.” A total paragon, in fact. Her comments on the “ill-bred young man,” the reverse of the gentleman, are very funny. He is unkempt in his personal appearance, is so untidy that he creates extra work for the maids, is late for meals and is irritable and rude. Those who use strong language in front of ladies are held up for particular criticism.

Mrs Humphrey then issues some extremely helpful instructions to those aspiring to be a gentleman. It is important for a gentleman to walk on the outside of a lady on the pavement so that he gets splashed by the traffic (and the contents of chamber pots raining down) and she does not. I remember that my grandfather, another self-made gentleman, was a stickler for this although the habit has somewhat died out now along with close encounters with chamber pots. The gentleman, of course, always offers his seat to a lady. Interestingly I noted that a lady should never ask for a seat; this is not ladylike (and that's another blog post - what makes a lady?). All Mrs Humphrey’s advice relates to manners and behaviour, the implication being that even a man without good birth or fortune can become a gentleman. In fact she notes that if he comes from a poor home and still turns out well that is even more laudable.

So in our modern age, do you think it is still important for a man to be a gentleman? What do you think are the qualities we look for in a gentleman?  Who is your favourite gentleman, real or fictional? I’m offering a copy of Unmasked, which features not one but two gentlemen heroes, to one commenter.

baggage

Here's Jo, visiting my sons and daughter in law in Ottawa, and the other two members of the Cabbage Patch family. Actually, I see that's Charlie Too with a chick. Well, they're all in their 20s really.

Today I'm going to blog about baggage in times gone by. The idea came to me when I arrived at this house without my suitcase. No, the airline didn't lose it; someone left with it, leaving me with an almost-clone. As they were as keen as I was to have the right one all is now well. My suitcase --------->

But it got me thinking. Where does the word suitcase come from? It would seem clear it meant a case for a suit, but that'd be a pretty small case. Why not a clothes case? Or a travel case? 

Then there are band boxes.

I first encountered band boxes in Heyer novels and they seemed exotic and exciting, as well as cumbersome when a heroine was trying to elope at night. So.... I went off to my favourite check point, Googlebooks, and put in the pub dates 1700 to 1820.

This modern, Chinese band box is tiny, but I wonder if ladies in the past had such pretty ones? Anyone know?

I hit on Swift and the duel in which the Duke of Hamilton died, but I'll keep that as it's relevant to the MIP, A Scandalous Countess. However, right after it,

we have an early parcel bomb! (1712)

"* The truth of the fact concerning the band-box sent to the lord treasurer, we are informed, is as followeth:—On Tuesday morning, the 4th instant, the penny-post man delivered a small parcel at the lord treasurer's house, directed to his lordship's porter, in which upon opening was found inclosed a band-box, directed to the lord treasurer. The box was carried up to my lord's bed-chamber, and delivered to his lordship, who, stretching up the lid as far as the packthread that tied it would give way, said, he. saw a pistol; whereupon a gentleman in the room desired the box might be given to him; he took it to the window, at some distance from my lord, and opened it, by cutting with a penknife the packthreads that fastened the lid. The first thing that appeared was the stock and lock of a pocket-pistol, lying across the middle of the band-box, and fastened at each end with two nails. On each side of the fire-lock were laid the middle pieces of two large ink-horns charged with powder and bait,, and touch holes bored at the butt-ends of them, to which were fastened two lint bags of gun-powder; and at the other end of the bags were two quills filled with wild-fire. These two artificial barrels were placed with the muzzles contraryways, and the quill of one of them directed to the pan of the pistol, as the other probably was though disorded by the carriage. how I came to have so much presence of mind, which is usually not my taleht; but so it pleased God, and I saved myself and him; for there was a bullet piece. A gentleman told me, " that if I had been killed, the whigs would have called it a judgment, because the barrels were of inkhorns, with which I had done them so much mischief."

That could form part of a plot, couldn't it? From the description of contents, I'd say it was about the size of a large shoe box.

I envision the same sort of box in this snippet of evidence from a crim con trial from 1771. "which letters this deponent sent to the said Miss Caroline Version, her ladyship's sister, in a band-box or parcel with millinery goods ;"

In a 1775 dictionary, we have "Band'box "A small light box to carry any fine and light parts of dress." That's clear, but I doubted people would use band boxes for travel luggage. I was wrong. It seems they were the preferred way to take light and delicate articles, and also a source of contention.

Traveling with band boxes.

The Annual review and history of literature 1806. We begin with an interesting description of a gentleman's entourage as he sets out on a hunting tour of Europe in 

"The colonel's establishment in the present expedition wras not so magnificent as that which he took with him into the Highlands of Scotland ; the whole party consisting of imself; the ci-devant Mrs. T ,and Mr. Bryant, as secretary and draughtsman; with two valets, a game-keeper, and huntsman. He also took with him from Thornville Royal, twelve fox-hounds; but one of them was unfortunately lost at Brighton, previous to his embarkation for France.

For the easy conveyance of these, a carriage was built under his own direction, a description of which we shall lay before our readers in the words of the editor, hoping that it may afford an useful hint to such gentlemen as are in the habit of frequently travelling with their ladies.

" Colonel Thornton's equipage, which was purposely constructed, after his own plan, for this tour through. France, was remarkably commodious, and enabled him to transport a dozen dogs, in boxes upon springs,at the front and backof the carriage; whilst the interior of the vehicle contained a secret repository of guns and fishing-tackle. The dickie, on which the servant sat, was formed to carry two terriers, if necessary, and might be removed behind the carriage at pleasure. The imperial, also, might be put on before or behind, for the purpose of easing the post-chaise, if required, as a Iandaulet, by which the travellers were greeted with an uninterrupted wiew of the surrounding country. In addition to these conveniencies the colonel ordered a light circular box, which, being placed under the windows, so as not to derange the symmetrical appearance of the carriage,was designed to preclude those unpleasant bickerings which frequently arise in jouraics from the multiplicity of the ladies' band-boxes ; necessary indeed to the softer sex, but which generally prove very objectionable to gentlemen when travelling."

There follows an account of a duke who refused to allow his wife's bandboxes to travel in the coach with them.

Another tid-bit

In my wanderings through Googlebooks I came across a book that could prove useful. 

The law of carriers, inn-keepers, warehousemen, and other depositories of goods for hire, 1815 This link should take you to the section about luggage, if you're curious.

Words for traveling containers.

I found references to portmantle/portmanteau, trunk, and valise. Baggage, however, only seems to be used in a military context.

I don't know how many of these reproductions are accurate, but they're lovely to look at. Heavy, though. My suitcase above is one of the new super-light ones. Not sure I'd want a wooden one!

Questions

Do you have anything to add on the subject of historical luggage?

What do you understand by the above terms? If you came across them in a book, would you have a clear picture of what was meant?

Next Wednesday I, and some of the other Wenches, will be at the RWA signing for literacy at he Marriott Marquis, Times Square, NY. If you're able to get there, we'd love to see you!

Next week, The Demon's Mistress will be out as an e-book. This is a novella set in my Rogues World. It originally appeared in the collection In Praise of Younger Men, and then as part of the omnibus, Three Heroes.

Wealthy widow, Maria Celestin, feels she's inherited a debt to the new Lord Vandeimen. When she's only just in time to stop the ex-officer from killing himself, she has to take him under her wing. But what's she supposed to do with this troubled young man, especially when he tries to seduce her, and she finds it very hard to resist?

It was a RITA finalist.

The picture is from the web site of the cover model, Stefan Andreas Swartze, but I couldn't get his new web site to work. This picture was used on the cover of Three Heroes. Apart from not being blond enough, I thought he was splendid for Van. 

There's always more about my books on my web site.

Jo

 

 

 

 

Summer Reading List

Pat here. Devilish Montague, my latest Regency romance, will be coming out in a few weeks and I’ll have to plug it hither and yon then, but self promo is tedious. Since I’m scheduled to blog both Bookviewcafe and Wordwenches today, I thought I’d gift our readers (and myself) with a summer reading list. I’ve gathered the list from among the wordwenches and BVC members, but we’re remaining anonymous because there are so many good books and we can only recommend so many. As it is, I’ll have to cut all the suggestions in half and do more later. Below is an eclectic mixture of recommendations from my reading buddies…

Anything by Terry Pratchett. He writes fantasy, but if you don't like fantasy, don't be put off. It's down-to-earth, witty, funny fantasy. It's really hard to pick one, but women will probably enjoy Witches Abroad, and most men seem to really like Pyramids. But really, anything. http://www.terrypratchettbooks.com/

Jo Beverley’s An Unlikely Countess, historical romance  set in 1765, tells the story of the impoverished daughter of a scholar who becomes entangled with an equally impoverished ex-soldier, but fate makes him an earl, and life becomes very complicated indeed.

The Attenbury Emeralds,  Jill Paton Walsh's third novel based on Dorothy Sayers' beloved Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane.  It's a powerful and entertaining story where the mystery exists mostly as a structure for the family, social, and romantic relationships and an elegiac look at post WWII England.
 

Hunting and Gathering, by Anna Gavalda. French and a little quirky, about four people, pretty much adrift in the world, damaged by life and barely surviving -- but before you screw up your nose and say, 'not for me,' it's not at all grim. It's the kind of book that makes you smile, and the ending leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy. The French title is "Ensemble, C'est Tout" which means  "Together is Everything" and that's what the book is about -- people needing people, forming families by chance and though random acts of kindness. And it's a romance.

Vienna Waltz by Teresa Grant (the new pen name of Tracy Grant), an historical murder mystery set at the Congress of Vienna, and is a fabulous mix of political intrigue, complex psychological layering rich historical detail and scintillating dialogue.

For delicious urban-fantasy-done right: Desdaemona by Ben Macallan (BVC’s own Chaz) and Katherine Kerr's Water To Burn (an August release).

Immortal by Pati Nagle, a contemporary elves and vampire romance in both print and digital, and a darker paranormal/fantasy romance by Pati Nagle, Heart of the Exiled in ebook.

Thistle Down by Irene Radford, a light and fluffy paranormal romance masquerading as urban fantasy.  Pixies in the park. Good for YA. 

Vampire Chef #1: A Taste of the Nightlife by Sarah Zettel comes out July 5.  Humorous, paranormal, mystery with vampires.  And food!

Trey Shiels, The Dread Hammer, "An enthralling, darkly comic fairytale of love, war, murder, marriage, and fate."

Martha Well's The Cloud Road. Epic fantasy/adventure with a PW starred review

Sherwood Smith, The Trouble With Kings, a romantic fantasy from Samhain

Madeline Robins: Althea, an old-fashioned "sweet" Regency, which will be followed in July by My Dear Jenny (also Regency, also sweet), ebooks from bookviewcafe. Also, her Sarah Tolerance books: Point of Honour and Petty Treason, a fusion of Regency, noir, and swashbuckler set in a slightly-alternate England in ebook format

The Iron Druid trilogy by Kevin Hearne, a new urban fantasy author with a light, intelligent touch.  The first two books, HOUNDED and HEXED are out, and HAMMERED will be along in a few weeks.
 
Evil Genius by Patricia Rice--mystery, romance, and a wickedly colorful cast of eccentric characters in this e-book only story.
 
  SILK & SHADOWS, & SILK AND SECRETS by Mary Jo Putney--these are e-book editions of the exotic Silk Trilogy.  The third, VEILS OF SILK, should be out soon.  I loved reading these books, and it's great that they're available again.

Katherine Kerr, License to Ensorcell , a Nola O'Grady urban fantasy,

Among Others, by Jo Walton, a wonderful combination of fantasy, coming-of-age, and modern historical (girl with magic in her extended and peculiar family, growing up in the 70s in Wales).

Tim Powers, On Stranger Tides--"Whether or not the Pirates of the Caribbean film satisfied, try the original novel by Tim Powers. Almost nothing of Powers magnificent yarn was taken for the film, so you won't feel as if you're reading anything tied to a movie.  Adventure, romance, pirates, and supernatural wonders abound.  Highly recommended."

Lois McMaster Bujold's The Curse of Chalion and its sequels—fantasy

And as the weather gets hot, nothing is more cooling than to read works about British explorers freezing to death: The Birthday Boys by Beryl Bainbridge, a Booker finalist.

Speak to Our Desires by Brenda Clough, mystery/thriller set in the Summer of Love in the 60’s, for those looking for e-fiction.

We, Robots  by Sue Lange, a humorous fantasy novella about a young girl who is given a robot nanny. The story is told from the viewpoint of the robot and explores what effect  technology has had on  the meaning of life


Vonda McIntyre, The Moon and the Sun: Nebula Award winner.  Set in the court of Louis XIV, a secret history revealing what happens when the king's natural philosopher, Yves de la Croix, captures a sea  monster -- a mermaid -- or is it something more? 

Ashley Gardner's Gabriel Lacey regency mysteries. They're not "light" exactly, but very engaging—rather perfect for long summer evenings when a bit of London fog is just the thing. Book One is The Hanover Square Affair.

Maya Bohnhoff: Taco Del and the Fabled Tree of Mystery is a good summer eBook read and The Meri (in print fantasy) and Star Wars: Patterns of Force (in print SF)

Kelley Armstrong's Dime Store Magic and Industrial Magic, urban fantasy 

K.E. Kimbriel’s Nuala SF novels contain romance, but are easier to find in e-book and usually cheaper.

Jennifer Stevenson’s completely light, romantic comedy about blue-collar men and the women who pursue them: 
King of Hearts and Fools Paradise

Andrea Penrose, Sweet Revenge, Regency mystery  (Deception with a dash of murder is a recipe for disaster…)

Cara Elliott, To Surrender To A Rogue, a historical romance RITA finalist (Lady Alessandra della Giamatti arrives in Bath to excavate newly discovered Roman ruins-only to find herself caught in a web of evil intrigue . . .)



Susan King, The Black Thorne's Rose, medieval historical romance, now on Kindle and Nook

Susan Fraser King, Queen Hereafter, Scots historical fiction about saintly Queen Margaret

 

Wow, and that was just the start of the suggestions I've collected! Please, add more below if you like. Give a little bit about them so readers know if they're the kind of book they like to read. There are so many amazing books out there, it's so very hard to choose among them. Hope we've given you some choices!

Winners!

We've had lots of winners since our last Winner Announcement!  Jami Smiley won a book from Mary Jo Putney  Jóhanna Gunnlaugsdóttir (all the way from Iceland!) won a book from Jo Beverley. Anne won an e-book from Susan King. Amy Conley and Heather Fulcher each won a book from guest Christina Brooke. Molly Wilsbacher's blog topic suggestion garnered her a book from Patricia Rice.  Barbara Bettis won a book from guest Joan Wolf.  Whew, that's a lot of books!  Congratulations, winners!

Remember to check here on Sundays for Winner Announcements, as well as the Winners sidebar on the right.  In most intances we can look up an e-mail address and send you a private notice asking for your mailing address.  However, in some cases we are unable to locate an e-mail address and must rely on your contacting us after you see your name here or in the sidebar.  In those instances where winners don't contact us, they forfeit their win.  We hate when that happens, but if we have no way of contacting you, it cannot be helped.

So remember to check here on Sundays, which are reserved for announcements and winner notices!

A Reluctant Queen: An Interview with Joan Wolf

by Mary Jo

Today we’re honored by a return visit from Joan Wolf, one of the grande dames of the romance genre.  Her first romance was published in 1980, and she immediately became a star of the Signet Regency line.  Over the years, she has also written historical romancess, contemporaries, pre-history romances, and medieval mysteries. 

Now she is embarking on a new publishing path.  Joan, welcome back to the Word Wenches, and please tell us about your latest work:

  Joan Wolf:

I am so pleased to be invited to your blog to write about my new book, A Reluctant Queen, The Love Story of Esther. I was a guest on Word Wenches once before and it was a lot of fun, so thanks so much for having me back.
 
This novel is a change for me in that the subject is biblical, but in other ways it’s not really a change at all.  One of my favorite themes for a novel is to take an old story and make it new. 

I did that for the Arthurian myth, and my novel The Road to Avalon is still in print after thirty years. In fact, a fan has done an incredibly beautiful movie version of Avalon.  If you are interested in taking a look you can find the link on my website (joanwolf.com).

This Esther book has been a long time in coming.  I have always loved the story and fifteen years ago, when my father was dying, I wrote the first version of what would become A Reluctant Queen.  I just needed to go someplace far away in my mind, and regency England had become so familiar to me by then that it wasn’t far enough, but the Persian Empire was. 

Writing this book helped me through a bad time, but no one wanted to publish it fifteen years ago.  So I put it away and pretty much forgot about it.  Then, when I felt I couldn’t write the kind of hot romance that editors wanted because it was flying off the shelves, I remembered Esther.

The Story of Esther:

In some ways the story of Esther resembles every girl’s favorite fairy tale.  The peasant girl comes to court dressed as a princess and is so beautiful that the prince marries her and they fall in love.  But he still believes that she is a true princess, and her deepest fear is that if he finds out about her lowly origins he won’t love her anymore.

Yet the stakes are much higher in the Esther story than they are in a fairy tale.  If Esther reveals to the king who she is, she may lose his love but she will save the lives of the entire Jewish people.  The moral imperatives of this story go far beyond the Brothers Grimm and turn Esther into one of the great heroines of the Old Testament.

It’s a wonderful story, but it is definitely not a hot romance.  So I looked into the area of Christian publishing (even though Esther is Jewish, not Christian), and Thomas Nelson bought it and has published it.  They gave it a wonderful cover and are even having a contest with a Kindle as the prize!  If you’re interested in entering, you can go to my website and sign up.  

A Reluctant Queen is available at Barnes and Noble and other bookstores (I think you’ll probably have to ask where they’ve shelved it).  It is also available on Amazon, Amazon’s Kindle, and as an audio book.  It has questions for book clubs at the back, and if anyone wishes to suggest it for a book club, and the members have questions, I would be most happy to answer them. 

New Directions:

This has been such an invigorating experience for me that I almost feel like a brand new writer.  I’m at work right now on my next biblical romance for Nelson - it’s about Rahab and it’s set during the fall of Jericho.  The farther back in time I go, the happier I am!  Thanks so much for giving me your attention and I wish everyone a happy summer.
 
Thanks so much for visiting, Joan!  And for graciously offering a copy of The Reluctant Queen to someone who leaves a comment on the blog between now and midnight Saturday.

Mary Jo, who can’t wait to see where Joan goes next!

Ask A Wench--about pseudonyms

In our monthly ask-a-wench blog:

Molly asks: I'd love to know whether or not you and your fellow Wenches use pen names? If so, why? Is it to keep your genres separate or some other reason? Also, how did you come up with your pen name? I'm amazed at how many copyrights are under a name other than the "author" of the book

Ah, Molly, a rose by any other name… You’ll be receiving my one and only available copy of THE DEVLISH MONTAGUE for your question!

Pen names have been around throughout the ages for many reasons. Charlotte Brontë used "Currer Bell," and her sisters used similar pseudonyms when they published their first novels. In Charlotte’s words:

"Averse to personal publicity, we veiled our own names under those of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell; the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names positively masculine, while we did not like to declare ourselves women, because—without at that time suspecting that our mode of writing and thinking was not what is called 'feminine' — we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice;"

Today, we usually don’t have to disguise our gender, although some still do. Men writing romances will often write under an ambiguous name for marketing purposes, and women writing in a mostly male genre may do the same. But we no longer have the social stigma the Brontes expected to suffer.

Sometimes our decision to use a pseudonym is a legal matter. In the old days, some publishers owned all rights to the names their authors wrote under. If an author wanted to write for a different publisher, they had to take a new name. Many of today’s authors still publish under those pseudonyms because that’s how they’re known by their readers.

I started out using the name I’m known by at home, Pat Rice. When I sold to a different publisher very early in my career, they wanted the full Patricia, which I hate to this day. So now that I’m dipping my toe into fantasy, I’ve come up with my dream name. Not quite ready to reveal that yet…

As for the other wenches, I’ll let them speak for themselves:

Susan King writes: I've got three author names in play. Susan King is my married name. When I was first published in historical romance, I wanted to use a pseudonym, but my editor thought my name was perfect to use - easy to remember and spell, looks good in cover designs, and is smack in the middle of the alphabet for readers browsing bookstore shelves. Later, when I went to another publisher and wanted to keep my Susan K. name for the mainstream historicals that I was beginning to write, my new name came about by editorial committee. The voting favorite was a combo of family names: Sarah Gabriel (easy to spell, easy to Google, shelved near big names, etc.). For my mainstream historicals, the publisher wanted a triple name so it would sound more academic for the bigger historical books. Well, my maiden name is Italian and not easy to spell or pronounce. Can't find that easily on Amazon, they said, what else do you have? So I used my Scottish grandmother's surname and became Susan Fraser King.

Jo Beverley: I don't use a pseudonym for a number of reasons, but the main one is that I  think I'd go dotty if people were suddenly calling me Susie, or Melanie, or  Seraphina. However, if I had a name I disliked, I might want to escape it, and  if my name would turn off romance readers I'd suffer in the cause. Bertha  Ramsbottom, for example.  The other reason I would probably use a pseudonym would be if I were published  in something completely different -- violent thrillers, for example, or more  possibly, SF or fantasy. Then it would be to help readers distinguish between  my types of work.

Joanna Bourne: I could point out that I use 'Jo Bourne' just about everywhere in my life, but decided  to use 'Joanna Bourne' for writing, because there was this bestselling Historical Romance writer directly next to me on the shelf who was 'Jo' something or other starting with a 'B'.  But that's about the only thing I can say since I'm using my real name for everything and lead a really dull life, pseudonym-wise.

Nicola Cornick: I don't have a lot to contribute to this topic either, simply because I have always written under my own name. I did think about taking a pseudonym when I started out and I think I was probably a little naive in not doing so as I can see it is useful. However it hasn't caused me any problems, even when I was working in a military college and everyone knew I was a romance writer in my spare time. As and when I start writing other things I will probably revisit the question.

Mary Jo Putney: Having a backstage sort of personality, I fully intended to take a pseudonym when I sold my first book.  I was leaning toward "Justine Kingsley" since Kingsley is a family name and Justine Kingsley struck  me as Very Regency. However, my agent and editor talked me out of that, citing the advantages of using my own name, including the fact that legally, the name was mine and couldn't be taken away.  So Mary Jo Putney I was and remain. 
 
Except when I'm M. J. Putney. <G>  That is what is considered an open pseudonym--close enough to my regular name that it's probably obvious that M. J. and Mary Jo are the same, but meant to signify that they're different kinds of books.  My first genre fantasy novel, STOLEN MAGIC, was done as M. J. Putney, but all the chain store book buyers put the book in romance instead of science fiction/fantasy anyhow, so we reverted to Mary Jo on the next book. 
 
Now that I've ventured into Young Adult fantasy novels, I'm using M. J. Putney again to make it clear that the books are different from my adult romances.  Besides, I still owned the mjputney.com domain name. <G> 

Cara Elliott/Andrea Penrose: Since I think I hold the Wench record for pen names I 'm well-qualified to discuss this question! The answer is . . . there are a variety of reasons, and trust me I seem to have touched on them all. When I did my first Signet regency book, my editor was afraid that people wouldn't know how to pronounce my real last name, so we picked "Pickens" which had a nice English ring. That moved with me when I went into historicals . . . then my publisher decided to relaunch me as Cara Elliott (I won't bore you with details of the book buying business, but there were marketing strategies involved). Finally, when I branched into mystery, my other pub thought it was better to have a different name so readers would know what genre to expect. I confess, some days I don't know who I am. But in some ways, I'm not unhappy having pen names to use on FaceBook and my website. I feel I have a bit of privacy, and really don't have to deal with mixing my real life with my writing life.

And Sherrie adds: I have a writer friend who writes erotica and uses a pen name.  She does this to keep her identity secret, as she is the secretary at her church.  <g>
 
Do you mind that we play with different personalities? If you were a writer, what would you choose to do?

Love Stories, Old and New

Cara/Andrea here,

To celebrate the launch of her new series (the first book hits the shelves at the end of the month) my good friend Christina Brooke is joining us today to talk about two subjects near and dear of all of our hearts—history AND romance.

HEIRESS IN LOVE is the first book in the Ministry of Marriage saga, On her website, Christina describes the MOM as  . . "the nickname of a cabal in which the leaders of the most prominent families in Britain negotiate, facilitate and approve dynastic marriages. Each family represented in the organization has a rich history full of rivalries, allegiances, legends and secrets. Their fortunes have risen and fallen for hundreds of years depending on their success in war, their religious leanings, or which heir to the throne they support. . . " Sounds delicious, doesn't it!

And now, speaking of marriages, I shall turn the keyboard over to Christina! (I couldn't resist added a lovely pic below of her storyboard for visualizing her characters.)

It’s such a pleasure to be here with the Word Wenches today. Thank you to my lovely friend, Cara Elliott and the rest of the Wenches for inviting me along!

Like so many of you, I love history and I enjoy researching the historical romance novels I write. I’d be the first to admit, however, that some aspects of the past are not at all romantic! That’s why I’m always enchanted to stumble over tales of ‘true romance’ in the course of my research. Today, I have three thoroughly romantic true stories to relate.

The first is of a very unconventional lady, Jane Digby. This woman has fascinated me since I read her biography years ago. Many have written about her, even during her remarkable lifetime, yet she remains relatively obscure.

Jane Digby was the exquisitely beautiful granddaughter of Coke of Norfolk, a man who repeatedly refused a peerage because he preferred his independence to kowtowing to any monarch. Jane was lively, intelligent and a trifle spoiled as a child. She was given a boy’s education (always a dangerous thing!) and later groomed for her debut by a governess. When presented at the age of sixteen she was dubbed ‘Light of Day’ and later ‘Aurora’ by her many admirers. Before long, Jane fell in love with—or perhaps, more accurately, became infatuated with—and married Lord Ellenborough, who was twice her age.

The marriage was not a success and it seems our Jane fell in and out of love (or infatuation) at an alarming rate. She was an intimate of Countess Lieven and Princess Esterhazy but unlike her contemporaries among the ton, she seemed incapable of maintaining discretion over her affaires. Jane eventually ran off with a German prince before her husband divorced her, and she later enjoyed various liaisons throughout the courts of Europe. Her lovers included a Greek count, the King of Bavaria and an Albanian chieftan. Some might call her promiscuous, and perhaps she was. However, I see Jane as an intelligent, passionate woman who was desperately seeking the love of a lifetime and would not settle for anything less.

Jane wound up in Syria at the age of fifty, but her great love story was yet to begin. Sheikh Medjuel el Mezrab, the Arab nobleman who escorted Jane’s caravan to the ruined city of Palmyra, fell in love with her. He was young enough to be her son, but their love endured until the end of her life. Across the foot of the English-style gravestone where Jane was buried, Medjuel added a large block of pink desert limestone brought from Palmyra, where Jane spent the happiest days of her life. On it, he engraved in Arabic with his own hands: “Madame Digby el Mezrab”. He never remarried.

The second is a poignant story of love unrequited that might be familiar to those of you who are addicted (as I am) to the Antiques Roadshow. A young gentleman named Humphrey Prideaux made the Grand Tour and in 1740, had his portrait taken by the celebrated eighteenth century Italian artist, Rosalba Carriera. This pastel hangs in the morning room at Prideaux Place in Cornwall, so if you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop in and say hello to Humphrey.

What Humphrey never knew was that while capturing his likeness, the artist fell in love with him and wrote him a passionate letter, which she secreted behind the portrait. It wasn’t until the pastel was cleaned in 1914 that the letter was discovered. This story illustrates one of the many aspects I love about writing historical romance—that love so often remained unspoken due to barriers that seem easily surmountable to modern people.

And lastly, a romance with a happy ending. This charming tale has inspired many a romance novel, I believe! The story of the arranged marriage between Lady Sarah Cadogan and Lord March, later the second Duke of Richmond.*

The first Duke of Richmond was an inveterate gambler and while in The Hague, he won an enormous sum (five thousand pounds, I believe) from Lord Cadogan. Lord Cadogan couldn’t afford to redeem the debt but he had two daughters who stood to inherit a fortune from their mother, a Dutch heiress. The fond papas agreed that the debt would be canceled if Lady Sarah Cadogan’s hand in marriage was given to the duke’s eldest son, Lord March.

Eighteen-year-old Lord March was called back from college and a bewildered Lady Sarah Cadogan (aged thirteen) was brought from her nursery for the ceremony. Lord March is said to have exclaimed: “Surely you are not going to marry me to that dowdy!” The ceremony was performed, however, and March immediately went off with his tutor on the Grand Tour.

Three years later, March returned to London. Instead of seeking out his ‘dowdy’ wife, he went directly to the opera, where he was staggered by the sight of a most beautiful lady. He turned to the person beside him to ask the name of this exquisite creature. He was told he must be a stranger to London, because it was the town’s reigning Toast, Lady March! Lord March lost no time in introducing himself to his wife. One hopes she punished him a little for his rudeness on their wedding day before she forgave him! Whatever the case, the couple lived together affectionately for the rest of their lives. In fact, when the Duke of Richmond (as March became) passed away 38 years later, Lady Sarah died of shock and grief soon afterward.

I love marriage of convenience stories, which is why I’m writing an entire series of them. My Ministry of Marriage series kicks off on June 28 with HEIRESS IN LOVE. In this story, a very prim widow must marry a rake to restore a fractured estate and keep the little boy she loves. Publishers Weekly gave HEIRESS IN LOVE a starred review, saying “Each scene is more passionate and sensual than the last.” You can read more about HEIRESS IN LOVE on my website: www.christina-brooke.com.

What about you? Do you like marriage of convenience stories, and if so, what are your favorites? Would you like to share a tale of ‘true romance’? Two lucky readers will each receive a signed copy of HEIRESS IN LOVE!

*This story is told by Sir William Napier in The Life of Charles James Napier. Additional detail may be found in Lady Russell’s The Rose Goddess and other Sketches of Mystery and Romance.

Guests This Week

CHRISTINA BROOKE - JUNE 13

Tomorrow, Christina Brooke will be the guest of Cara/Andrea.  Christina writes historical romance for St. Martin's Press.  Heiress in Love (England, 1814) is due out June 28 and has received great reviews already, including a starred review from Publishers Weekly and a K.I.S.S. award for the hero from RT Book Reviews.

JOAN WOLF - JUNE 17

Honorary Word Wench Joan Wolf returns on June 17 as the guest of Mary Jo. A prolific writer, Joan's career has taken a new turn to biblical romance, writing for Thomas Nelson publishers.  Joan's new series is about biblical queens, and the first book comes out this month, entitled A Reluctant Queen: The Love Story of Queen Esther from the Old Testament.  It's the story of an unknown Jewish girl who marries the King of Persia and saves her people from annihilation.

Highland Shirts and Romances

I’m delighted to announce that another of my early historical romances, The Raven’s Wish, is newly available in ebook format, with a gorgeous new cover and some author edits (I can’t resist cleaning up some of my newbie prose!). "Powerful, magical and delightful--a memorable romance that will keep readers on the edge of their seats." - Romantic Times

This book, of all of them, is special to me--it's the first of my Scottish historical romances. While researching and writing this novel, I discovered how much I love Scotland and Scottish history ...and after many historical romances and two mainstream Scottish historicals so far, I’m still in love with Scotland.

A legend from my own Scottish heritage, Clan Fraser, first inspired me to try my hand at Scottish historical fiction. I learned that after the Battle of the Shirts in 1544 (Blar na Léine in Gaelic, literally the Field of Shirts)--when the Frasers met the MacDonalds in a Highland clash that nearly wiped out both clans--a legend arose about the renewal of Clan Fraser.

On a hot, sunny day in July, 1544, a brewing dispute between Frasers and MacDonalds boiled over on a golden reedy meadow at the head of Loch Lochy in the Highlands (west of Loch Ness in the chain of lochs - see my photo of the site at right). The dispute concerned who should be the new chief of Clan Donald. The direct heir was a young MacDonald who had fostered with his Fraser mother’s people, and so he had Fraser loyalty behind him. Another candidate had staunch MacDonald backing.

And besides, the young heir had insulted his MacDonald kin by refusing to eat chicken. 

Yes, chicken—a food considered too ordinary (along with fish) to offer a Highland chief. So the “hen-chief” and "Gallda" or stranger, as the MacDonalds called him, was sent packing to the Frasers, who gathered in huge numbers in his defense—meeting an even larger group of MacDonalds on the loch meadow, each ready to defend their favorite’s claim.

The day had the sort of sweltering heat that comes rarely to the Highlands, and the men each broke a stick and scratched a mark or initials into it before engaging, by Gaelic custom. As the skirmish escalated, the men shed their heavy woolen plaids in the heat—by the 16^th century, wrapped, belted plaids were commonly worn by Highland men—and they fought in their shirts and then without them. With hack-and-slash combat and heavy bladed weapons, the men struggled fiercely on the banks of the loch. They must have looked more like wild, furious Celts than men of the 16^th century.  

Finally the field was littered with bodies and scattered with plaids and shirts--so the battle is remembered as Blar na Léine, or Field of Shirts. Of over a thousand men, only five or six Frasers and eight or ten MacDonalds retrieved their notched sticks that day.

A clan legend arose from the tragedy. Fraser tradition holds that 80 Fraser women widowed that day were all pregnant. Within months, 80 sons were born, bringing hope to a depleted clan, whose plant badge was the yew tree—which sprouts new branches from within the old trunk.

It is recorded that 18 years later, the Fraser chief, Hugh, was a handsome 17 year old who charmed 20-year-old Mary, Queen of Scots (and was considered for her husband). Hugh had 79 cousins of the same age who formed his “tail” or escort.

So I wondered: what if one other Fraser had been born that year—a girl? And out of that question came The Raven's Wish.

Elspeth Fraser, a cousin of Hugh and the others born after Blar na Leine, has been raised with wild Highland lads, and she's resilient, nimble, bold—and a gifted Highland seer. When Queen Mary sends one of her lawyers, Duncan Macrae, to the Highlands to settle a dispute between wild young Frasers and some rowdy MacDonalds, Elspeth senses danger for the handsome lawyer and tries to warn him away. But Duncan does not believe in visions, and ignores the wild, beautiful girl's warning…and besides, he has a private score to settle now that he is back in the Highlands…

If you'd like to know more about Blar na Leine, please click here to read my historical article on the battle written for Clan Fraser Society UK.

And if you, too, have a weakness for Scottish historical romance—tell us why! Comment below and you’ll be entered in a random drawing to win a copy of The Raven’s Wish in e-book format!

Thanks, hope you enjoy my second-ever historical - and first Scottish romance, now available in ebook format on Kindle, Nook, and most other venues! (Special thanks to Nina Paules of ePublishingWorks! for creating another beautiful ebook - and for making the ebook giveaway possible!)

Susan

P.S. FYI, the price has just been lowered for the ebook of The Black Thorne's Rose!   

 

 

The Royal Ascot Races

Anne here, blogging about an event that's soon to start on the other side of the world — the Royal Ascot Races, also known as Ascot Week, which will take place from the 14th-18th June. 

I first learned a little of the history of the Royal Ascot when I was doing research for one of my books, His Captive Lady. Harry, my hero, and his friend Ethan, breed, train and race horses, and I'd planned to have some scenes take place at the races. Horse racing was a popular entertainment in the Regency but it's not often seen in books, and Ascot has always been a traditionally elegant and fashionable event. However, as often happens, that book took another direction and those scenes never did eventuate, so I'm using some of my research for another purpose.

The Royal Ascot Meeting is one of the premier race meetings of Europe and has been for generations. You might be wondering why the 'Royal' in the title. Well, it's an event that has been closely connected to the Royal family ever since its inception in 1711, when Queen Anne commissioned a course to  be laid out where horses could "gallop at a stretch"  about six miles from Windsor Castle. She further offered a prize of "Her Majesty's Plate" then worth a hundred guineas -- a great deal of money in those days. (A guinea is one pound and one shilling, or twenty-one shillings.)

Ever since, the monarch and other members of the royal family have attended the Royal Ascot, turning it into an enormously fashionable event. Each day starts with the famed Royal Procession, where at 2pm, the royal family arrive at the racecourse in an open, horse-drawn carriage, making their way from the Golden Gates to the Royal Enclosure.

You might be interested to know this tradition was begun by George IV — better known to Regency readers as the Prince of Wales, the Regent of the Regency, "Prinny" to his friends. In 1825, when he was king, he and the rest of his party, in four carriages, drove up the centre of the racecourse in front of the crowds, and the tradition has continued to this day.

The Queen is very keen on horse racing and attends each year, rarely missing a day, and is usually accompanied by  the other members of her family. This of course means that its a very popular day for royal-watchers, and the press keeps a close eye on the royal boxes. 

Racing is known as "the sport of kings" for a good reason: the Queen owns many racehorses, and so far has had 20 winners at Ascot. The Queen Mother was just as keen. Before he became a writer, bestselling crime writer Dick Francis was a champion jockey and rode for the The Queen Mother from 1953 to 1957. 

Significant races have been named after various royal personages; The King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes (run in July) and the Queen Anne Stakes, the King's Stand Stakes, St. James's Palace Stakes, Prince of Wales's Stakes and the Queen Mary Stakes.

There's a strict dress code for the Royal Enclosure: ladies must wear a formal day dress, and a hat or fascinator. No bare shoulders or midriffs. Gentlemen are expected to wear black or grey morning dress and a top hat.  During the Regency, Beau Brummell, arbiter of fashion and still a close friend of the Prince Regent at that point, decreed that men of elegance should wear 'waisted black coats and white cravats with pantaloons.' The gentleman on our right, however, is dressed in morning dress from 1901.

Strict dress codes don't stop people being outrageous however, and huge, bizarre and fabulous hats are particularly featured on Ladies' Day. I just love this red hat below. Click here for a glimpse of some of the fabulous and outrageous hats that have appeared at the Royal Ascot.

Ladies' Day isn't just about frivolity and hats, however -- the Ascot Gold Cup is run on that day, with prize money of over £3,000,000. The Gold Cup was inaugurated in 1807.

 I'm not much of a one for going to the races, but I think if I were in England next week, I'd make a point of going to the Royal Ascot, for the fashion, the tradition, the elegance and the fun. Call it research. <G>

 So what about you? Are you a racegoer? A Royal watcher or observer of the rich and famous? A lover of outrageous hats? Would you go to the Royal Ascot or give it a miss?

A Private Function

Nicola here, talking a little about historical concepts of privacy. The idea came to me this weekend when I was showing a group of visitors around Ashdown House. We were discussing the layout of the bedrooms and the fact that there are no inter-connecting doors between them and someone pointed out how unusual that was in a relatively grand 17th century house. As historian Lucy Worsley commented recently in a fabulous BBC TV series, If Walls Could Talk, most of our ancestors were accustomed to living far more communally than we are now. Sharing living space was the norm and privacy was a luxury.

Sleeping

Back in the Middle Ages almost everyone would eat and sleep in one room. This applied whether you were a peasant in a single-roomed cottage or part of a grand household. In the Great Hall of a manor servants would sleep on a sack stuffed full of straw - hence the phrases "hitting the sack" or "hitting the hay." Before pillows were invented they would lay their heads on a log of wood. Hardy folk. The master and mistress had a private room above the hall from where they could literally look down on their household below. This private chamber was a sign of status, privacy and status being inextricably linked. But even then you wouldn't really have the sort of privacy we take for granted now. The chamber would be shared with the rest of the family, with servants and animals (I guess the animal bit still happens quite a lot these days!) A proper bed as we know it was very expensive, carved from wood and with costly hangings. It was another sign of status, hence the fact that people often took their own bed with them when they travelled.

By the 16th century the "middling" sort of people, a yeoman farmer and his wife, for example, would have their own upstairs chamber with a bed that might be the equivalent in value of a third of their worldly goods. The room would also contain a chest and a rod for the hanging of clothes. It would also contain the children and a servant or two. The bedroom was a social room up until the 18th century; it was the place where you might receive guests, hold events and you could even get married there! 

A house like Ashdown, built in the 17th century, would more normally have had a series of inter-connecting bedrooms. (The picture on the left is one of the bedrooms at Ashdown). So whilst you might have your own room you would be accustomed to people tramping through it to reach their chamber. This was also the case in cottages. When were moved out of London 20 years ago I fancied living in a 17th century country cottage. I lost count of the number of houses that had one bedroom which could only be reached by walking through another one. The only privacy would be found behind your bed hangings. 

 It was in the Georgian period that the servants were finally banished from the bedroom, into the attics or the basement or possibly even separate quarters, necessitating the invention of the bell to call them back again when you needed them! From that point the bedroom became a luxurious use of personal space. In the grand houses the idea of a vista of state apartments also fell out of fashion. By the nineteenth century the aim was very much for privacy.

Washing

The bathroom is the room of the house that has taken the longest to evolve and washing, like eating and sleeping, was for many centuries a communal activity (if it happened at all.) I was fascinated to learn from Lucy Worsley's programme that in the Middle Ages the urban population of Britain was very keen on washing. No unwashed peasants here! Every city had communal bath houses, a fashion established by the knights returning from the crusades bringing with them the idea of the steam bath. It sounds delightful; the steam was mixed with spices and herbs in the water and after the steam you would rinse yourself in rose water. London bath houses were the most sophisticated in the country. In addition to bathing they offered musical entertainment, a haircut, a shave and even a meal. But there were problems; bathing was communal and mixed and it was not long before the public bath houses gained a reputation for immorality.

By the end of the sixteenth century, washing oneself had fallen out of fashion as an urban habit. There was no clean fresh water in the crowded Tudor cities and medical opinion of the day believed that one could absorb sickness through the skin. Instead of washing the person, the upper classes wore white linen next to the skin to soak up the dirt and sweat. Eventually in the seventeenth century a way was found to pipe fresh water into the cities through pipes made of elm. Lead attachments took the water from these pipes into the houses. But only if you paid, of course. This system was so efficient that it was still in use in the Georgian period. This has interesting implications for books set in the London in the Georgian era. The streets and squares were crowded with not only carriages and people but up to nine water pipes above ground! You could have trouble manoeuvring your carriage past all that. And water was not available each and every day. Different streets had different  "Water Days." When it was your turn for the water you would fill up every receptacle you could find to last you until the next water day.

The water was piped into the basement where it was a servant's job - assuming you had one - to carry it  upstairs for the family to use. Here, again in the Georgian era, we see the birth of the idea of the bathroom. A little corner of the bedroom was set aside for washing purposes with a wash stand, jug and basin. New items of furniture were introduced to fit this new fashion. There were men's shaving tables. The bidet was introduced. It was a hit in France but never caught on in England. But washing was still a communal event, even a social one. You might invite your friends around to watch you wash in the morning and it was a vast privilege to be invited to attend upon Queen Caroline, wife to George II, when she took her morning toilette. The concept of a private bathroom only really came in with the Victorians, aided by all the inventions of the industrial revolution, and of course for many people indoor plumbing only became a reality in the twentieth century. 

The first public lavatories in London were also established in the Middle Ages, most practically, on London Bridge. Again they were communal, a place to go for a chat! The use of these died out along with washing in the Tudor period and it was not until the Victorian era that public loos were re-introduced. They cost four pence to use but they were not popular, especially with ladies who were ashamed to be seen using them as it was considered immodest. (Until the 20th century it was not publicly acknowledged that women needed to fulfil this necessary function at all!) There are many Victorian conveniences still in use across the UK - these ones are in Oxford. Note the smart iron railings.

If  you get the chance to see Lucy Worsley's programme If Walls Could Talk or to pick up the accompanying book then it's well worth it as both are packed with fascinating detail of life in the British home down the centuries. In these days of privacy and having our own space it's sometimes difficult to imagine what communal living must have been like. How do you think you would have coped having to share your living space - or having servants about you all the time? How would you have found the privacy that sometimes we all need? And would you have fallen in with the Tudor fashion of not washing?

Forbidden River

Hi, I'm Jo, and I like to put words together oddly. *G*

I'm not actually blogging about a forbidden river, though the two words do begin to conjure stories.....That's an interesting way to spark the imagination, actually.

Odd word pairings.

Randomly pick a noun and adjective and see what new ideas it sparks. Even "random spark" takes my mind somewhere. Or write a noun and then add an adjective that doesn't fit. "gruesome garden" "perfumed tractor" "leisurely labour"

I know, let's make this your challenge, should you choose to accept it. Do as I said -- pick a noun, then an adjective that doesn't fit, and then share what story idea comes up. Don't worry, you don't have to write the story; only a sentence or so. For example, gruesome garden leads easily to a garden in which someone has been burying corpses, but it could be a garden where all the plants are poisonous. A perfumed tractor could belong to a Legally Blond sort of farmer, or perhaps it's used in the lavender fields of Provence.

Go for it. There's a prize for the one that delights me most -- a copy of the reissue of Forbidden. Or, if you are willing to wait a few months, the reissue of Dragon's Bride or An Unwilling Bride. They're all books from my Company of Rogues world.

Forbidden

The title still bugs me! I had a number in mind, though I can't remember what they were, but in 1994 single word titles were the rage and they insisted. I should have stood firm for Scandalous, even though there'd been a couple, but I let the publisher go with Forbidden because it hadn't been used. And found my book one of three Forbiddens that year!

I suppose it was "forbidden" for Serena to rape Francis -- for that's what it amounts to -- but the rest was pure scandal and social chaos.

Serena had been sold into marriage at fifteen, and to "Randy" Riverton, a disgusting older man who kept her at his country estate and used her as a sexual plaything. Now Riverton's dead, her brothers are planning a second sale, so Serena runs, determined never to stay free, even if it means becoming a courtesan. Far better than a married slave.

On the road, she's helped by the gallant, and virginal, Francis Lord Middlethorpe, who's on the point of proposing marriage to the sadly crippled daughter of a duke.....

I have mixed feelings about the new cover. That does look like Serena, but she'd never be looking so provocatively at anyone. I like to think it portrays a time after the end of the book, when she and Francis are enjoying a provocative game. After all, why else would she be naked under her gown?

This is the cover for the new issue of An Unwilling Bride. I suppose it's runaway bride! And a very modern wedding dress with a zip down the back. But it's pretty, and there's plenty of white space for my name and the title.

Going Up The River

I'm writing A Scandalous Countess at the moment (out next February) and Georgia, Dowager Countess of Maybury, aged twenty, is disgusted when her father forbids her to remove to London. She's dutifully spent her mourning year in rural Worcestershire, and she wants to get back to life. It's 1765, however, and to use the old phrase, the peasants are revolting -- too complex a story for here -- and so the best he'll offer is a visit to her dull sister, Winifred, who lives out of town, in Hammersmith.

A modern reader might say "Hammersmith!" in the same tone of disbelief as Georgia did, but for different reasons. Nowadays, Hammersmith isn't a particularly elegant place. Back in 1765 it was an acceptable retreat from the dirty city, but favoured by scholars and clergy. Before her husband's death, their retreat by the river had been in fashionable Chelsea.

So when we had reason to go up to London, we took a boat trip from Westminster, right by the Houses of Parliament, to Kew, where the famous Kew Gardens are. (Click on any picture to see the full size view.)

Once out of central London, it's surprising how much green there is, and the Thames now is very clean and healthy. There is a wide range of birds living on its edges. I'll have a better idea of what Georgia sees when she travels by river from Hammersmith into Town, to the York Steps, near St. James's, where the completely ineligible but surprisingly appealing Lord Dracy awaits to escort her.

Here's Hammersmith today at the river side, where we can still see the Georgian houses. I'm  adding a couple of other pictures we took along the way.

But don't forget the contest. Put together those two jarring words and say what the phrase brings to mind.

I've created a couple of Amazon stores just for my books. If you want to see them all in one place, this is the American one.

And this is the British one.

All best wishes from Devon, where we're ready to start the rain dance. We haven't had rain for months. This is England?????

But it's good for getting into the mood of 1765, which was an unusually hot summer, perhaps inflaming tempers.

Jo