NineteenTeen

Help Me Name My Next Book!

2008-07-21T18:05:00.001-04:00

We're doing something a little different from our usual exploration of history today...instead of talking about bad boys and 19th century slang, we're going to talk about book titles. More specifically, we're going to talk about what to name my next book, due out next spring from Henry Holt Books for Young Readers.

Book titles are important. They can make people browsing in bookstores stop and pick up a book, or make them ignore it completely. They have to stand for the story and give an idea of what goes on in the book without giving everything away. And you know what else? They can be dreadfully difficult to come up with.

So I'm going to give you a brief "jacket copy" type description of my next book, and then a list of possible titles. Does one of them seem perfect to you? Or can you think of something completely different that isn't on the list? Let me know in the comments section...all commenters will be entered in a drawing to receive an advance reading copy of the new book some time late this fall (don't worry, I won't forget!)...and of course I'll post here as soon as the final name is decided on.

And so...

THE STORY:

Penelope Leland has come to Ireland to study magic and prove to herself that she's as good a witch as her twin sister Persy. But when Niall Keating begins to pay her court, she can’t help being distracted from her studies. Especially when she learns that the handsome young nobleman is reputedly an illegitimate cousin of the new young Queen Victoria, her friend and idol, whom her sister saved from an ambitious wizard’s control spell the year before.

Niall Keating has strict orders from his sorceress mother Lady Keating: to make young Miss Leland fall in love with him so that she can be convinced to use her magical powers to help reconcile him to his true father, the Duke of Cumberland, Queen Victoria’s uncle. Niall is delighted to comply until he discovers his mother’s true aim: to assassinate Queen Victoria by magic and put Niall’s father on the throne of England.

Penelope is thrilled when Lady Keating reveals her powers and offers to tutor her in magic. But Niall has fallen deeply in love with the lovely young woman. Even if he halts his mother’s evil plans, will Penelope be able to forgive him for trying to seduce her into a plot against her beloved queen? And what will Pen discover about Irish magic and the mysterious Triple Goddess whom Lady Keating serves?

THE (Possible) TITLES, in alphabetical order:

Betraying Season

Encircled

Maiden Voyage

Spellbound

The Queen's Maiden

Twice Bewitched

Good luck! I'll take comments through next Monday night (July 28). And have fun!

Nineteenth Century Bad Boys Part III: The King of Bad Boys

2008-07-15T09:23:00.000-04:00

The nineteenth century had some pretty memorable bad boys. Appropriately enough, the king of them all was, in fact, a king--Albert Edward (called Bertie by his family), who reigned in the United Kingdom from 1901 to 1911 as Edward VII. I mean, when a recent biography of his earlier years is titled Edward the Caresser (subtitled “The Playboy Prince Who Became Edward VII”, by Stanley Weintraub, The Free Press, 2001) you KNOW he must have been one very Bad Boy indeed.

It seems at first glance ironic that the uber-bad boy of the century should have been the eldest son of Queen Victoria, who remains such a symbol of prudishness to this day. But don’t forget what we discussed in some of the earlier posts here--that in her first two years as queen, Victoria was a total party princess like many of her Hanoverian forebears, dancing at balls till sunrise every chance she could. It wasn't until she married Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who hated staying up much later than 9:30 pm, that she changed her ways.

Bad Boy Bertie was born November 9, 1841, eleven months after his sister Vicky and not even two years after his parents married. Of course the country went wild at the thought of having a male heir (there were still sinister rumors circulating that the Duke of Cumberland, Victoria’s uncle, was plotting against her to seize the throne if she had no heirs). As befitted the heir to the most powerful nation in the world, little Bertie’s upbringing and education were planned down to microscopic levels by his parents, who were determined to make a paragon of the future king.

Unfortunately, Bertie had other ideas. He was probably dyslexic and had other learning disabilities which made sitting down and learning for hours each day totally hellish…and which earned him punishments and stern lectures from mom and dad. He was also rather homely--weak-chinned, short, and with over-prominent eyes--taking after his mother rather than his handsome father (much to Victoria’s dismay). Had he been born the son of a country squire, none of this would have much mattered…but his parents’ extreme expectations of him meant that poor Bertie was never good enough.

So Bertie was crammed with everything from mathematics to military and legal history, showing proficiency (and then not much) only in foreign languages and dancing and deportment. As his father wrote of him, "Bertie has a remarkable social talent.... But usually his intellect is of no more use than a pistol packed in the bottom of a trunk if one were attacked in the robber-infested Apennines." Nevertheless, he was sent on trips around Europe and then to be lectured at at Oxford University. A tour of America was shoehorned in, where he was mobbed in an eerily modern media frenzy, as well as a stint in the Grenadier Guards training camp where over the course of 10 weeks he was to learn the duties of every position and end up by theoreticlly having the competence to command a battalion and manoeuvre a brigade in the field.

Pretty crazy expectations, huh? And of course Bertie failed miserably...but during his weeks in the army he discovered the delights of female companionship in the form of a prostitute named Nellie Clifden. Nellie was to be the first of a long (very long!) line of the Prince's "special friends", which would include the famous actress Sarah Berhardt and dozens of other actresses and opera singers as well as members of the nobility and the wives of his friends.

Unfortunately for Bertie, the discovery of his liaison with Nellie sent his father into a depression and, already plagued by poor health and overwork, Prince Albert died at age 42. Victoria blamed Bertie for Albert's death and decided that the best thing to do was marry him off and remove temptation (she thought)...so Bertie was duly married at age 21 to the beautiful but vacant Alexandra of Denmark. They became the center of the "Marlborough House set", a hard-partying group of aristocrats named after Bertie's London home.

I could go on at length about the scandals Bertie went on to be embroiled in, including being named as co-respondent in a few divorce trials and more...but honestly, it really does take a book to describe them all. Despite his weaknesses, though, Bertie remained a fundamentally decent person who was notably free of social prejudice (his friendship with several prominent Jewish families and with non-aristocrats helped break down several social barriers in late 19th and early 20th British society). It's interesting to speculate how he might have turned out if his early education and upbringing had been different.

We Have a Winnah!

2008-07-11T14:23:00.000-04:00

Thanks to all those who guessed where I was standing so proudly in London. The correct answer was the gentlemen's club, Boodles, on St. James's. I actually thought it was White's at the time, but then I saw White's.

And the winner of the autographed copy of La Petite Four is Gillian Layne! Gillian, e-mail me at reginascott@owt.com and let me know where I should send the book.

Have fun with Marissa for the rest of the month. I'll pop in when I can and be back at the helm in August. And speaking of helm, here's one of the reasons I wasn't blogging last week. The tall ships were in my hometown of Tacoma. Watching them come sailing into harbor was a swoon-worthy sight indeed! This is the Lady Washington, which was featured in all three Pirates of the Carribean movies, setting out into Commencement Bay with the Merrie Ellen and a replica of the Nina in the foreground. Enjoy!

Even More Such Language!

2008-07-08T20:59:00.000-04:00

I had so much fun finding these that I'm doing more!

Caper Merchant: A dancing teacher (also hop merchant). (“Did you hear that Araminta Smithers ran away with her dancing teacher? Papa says that’s what happens when you let a caper merchant into the house.”)

Detrimental: A non-socially eligible young man--someone who would give your parents a stroke if he asked for your hand in marriage. (“Were you at the McGillicuddy’s ball last night? My dear, it was simply crawling with detrimentals…I barely found anyone at all worthwhile to dance with!”)

Kickshaws: French food, usually of a dainty or fussy nature…from the French “quelque chose” (“Oh, Lady Hart’s dinner last night was divine! She told us she had just hired a French cook and I was so embarrassed when Papa loudly grumbled something about kickshaws kicking up his indigestion that I simply wanted to melt into the table.”)

Squash: A party one attends because one must, not because one wants to. (“Dearest Petunia, I’d love to come to your party but I must attend my Aunt Agatha’s squash…can you believe she’s hired someone to sing the songs in ancient Greek that Uncle Mortimer composed on the death of his pet parrot?”)

On Saint Geoffrey’s Day: A facetious way of saying “never”, as there was no St. Geoffrey and therefore no day observed in his honor. (“I’ll give a waltz to that ghastly Sir Hugh on Saint Geoffrey’s Day and not a minute before!”)

Mrs. Princum Prancum: A fussy, fastidious woman. (“Lady Obadiah is such a Mrs. Princum Prancum--why, she insisted upon precisely one and three-eighths teaspoons of sugar in her tea this afternoon when she called on Mama!”)

Where in London is Regina Scott?

2008-07-04T08:29:00.000-04:00

Oh, I only wish I really was in London. I'm actually off visiting family with limited e-mail capabilities, so Marissa is posting this for me. But we have a new contest for you. Yes, you can win an autographed copy of La Petite Four, just in time for its original release date of July 3 (before it was moved up, you know).

All you have to do is guess where I am in this picture. Specifically, what was that building behind me in the nineteenth century, that it got my wonderful critique partner Kristin and me so excited we shot the place three times with her camera and twice with mine? I'm looking for the name of the place, not the actual address. If a number of you guess correctly, your names will go in the Regency hat box on my desk and the winner's name will be drawn at random.

And if you discover the name of the building somewhere online, please don't tell others where you learned the information. Let them have the fun of winkling it out. (Yes, winkle. I watched the Emma Thompson version of Sense and Sensibility again last weekend. What a lovely word, winkle, meaning to coerce information out of another person, usually by gentle means. Though I don't think I'd like someone to try to winkle out all my secrets, mind you!)

Winkle away, my dears. I'll check back the week of the 7th and see who won.

More Such Language!

2008-07-01T09:18:00.001-04:00

Summer’s here! After this week, Nineteenteen will be appearing on a slightly reduced schedule for the months of July and August: Regina will take most of July off, and I’ll be taking most of August off--so posts will appear once a week rather than twice. We’ll be back to our regular twice weekly posting schedule on September 1…and in the meanwhile, have a lovely summer!

Speaking of September…last fall Regina did a wonderfully entertaining post on nineteenth century slang, and I thought you might like to learn more from time to time. Have fun with these!

Mushroom: No, not something you sauté to put on top of a burger…a mushroom was a person or family suddenly raised to wealth and prominence from humble origins--just as a mushroom can spring up overnight. (“That Lady Smallbeer may be a mushroom--no one knew her at all last season before her husband was knighted--but she has the loveliest smile.”)

Cut: To publicly snub someone--a term that seems to have originated at Cambridge University. I’ll quote here from the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue because the definition is so wonderful:
“(Cambridge.) To renounce acquaintance with any one is to cut him. There are several species of the CUT. Such as the cut direct, the cut indirect, the cut sublime, the cut infernal, &c. The cut direct, is to start across the street, at the approach of the obnoxious person in order to avoid him. The cut indirect, is to look another way, and pass without appearing to observe him. The cut sublime, is to admire the top of King’s College Chapel, or the beauty of the passing clouds, till he is out of sight. The cut infernal, is to examine the arrangement of your shoe-strings, for the same purpose.”

Sing Small: To be humbled or abashed. (“That mean Miss Hornby! Did you see how she cut Lady Smallbeer? I expect she’ll sing small when it comes out that her Papa used to be in trade himself.”)

Roaratorios and Uproars: Slang for oratorios and operas. (“Darling Primrose, thank you so much for inviting me to hear Dame Rigatoni sing…Papa simply can’t be convinced to take us to Covent Garden and refuses to be dragged to listen to roaratorios and uproars.”)

Cap Acquaintance: People who know each other only slightly, enough to acknowledge each other in passing with a tip or touch to their hats. (“Did you see that handsome Mr. Roberts riding in Hyde Park this morning? I must convince Papa to call on him so that he can be more than just a cap acquaintance.”)

Dearly Beloved

2008-06-27T17:10:00.000-04:00

“Oh they say when you marry in June
You’re a bride, all your life.
And the bridegroom who marries in June
Gets a sweetheart for a wife.”
Johnny Mercer and Gene de Paul, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

The song isn’t exactly nineteenth century, though the setting was 1850 Oregon, but the sentiment still rings true. June is the time for weddings!

A young lady in nineteenth century England could be married as early as twelve and a young man as young as fifteen, with parental permission. Thankfully, usually only royalty married that young and then only to cement friendships between countries or ensure royal bloodlines would be kept intact. The age of consent, when you could marry without parental permission, was twenty-one for women and twenty-five for men.

Most girls married somewhere between sixteen and twenty-five. How they married differed greatly from the beginning of the century to the end. Before Marissa’s beloved Queen Vic, weddings were in the morning (before noon), and more often in the home or garden of the bride, groom, or a relative than in a church. Wedding dresses weren’t necessarily white or very fancy; they were simply stylish day dresses. And the only attendants needed to be two people in good standing in the Church of England to witness the exchange of vows.

During Queen Victoria’s reign, weddings became more elaborate affairs, with bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girls, ring bearers, and the like parading down the aisle. The gorgeous white dresses came into fashion and never left. They too grew more bejeweled, reribboned, and bedecked with the passing years, as you can see by our progression of pictures.

And speaking of weddings, today happens to be Marissa’s wedding anniversary! Join me in wishing her and her dear one a very happy day! Blessings on you, my dears! Here’s to many, many more!

P.S. Stop by the Class of 2K8 blog where we've been interviewing YA and MG book reviewers, with an opportunity to win a book on each post (We're giving away 11 book in all!). Leave comments before June 29th to be entered.

P.S.S. If you find yourself misty eyed at the thought of June brides, check out my June release from Regency Reads, Be My Bride, a collection of three stories in which three dashing gentlemen find that it takes a small black kitten, three incorrigible boys, and a master French spy to win their lady loves.

One Hundred and Seventy One Years Ago This Week...

2008-06-24T09:54:00.000-04:00

"Tuesday, 20th June.-- I was awoke at 6 o’clock by Mamma, who told me that the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham were here, and wished to see me. I got out of bed and went into my sitting-room (only in my dressing-gown), and alone, and saw them. Lord Conyngham (the Lord Chamberlain) then acquainted me that my poor Uncle, the King, was no more, and had expired at 12 minutes p. 2 this morning, and consequently that I am Queen. Lord Conyngham knelt down and kissed my hand, at the same time delivering to me the official announcement of the poor King's demise. The Archbishop then told me that the Queen was desirous that he should come and tell me the details of the last moments of my poor, good Uncle; he said that he had directed his mind to religion, and had died in a perfectly happy, quiet state of mind, and was quite prepared for his death. He added that the King's sufferings at the last were not very great but that there was a good deal of uneasiness. Lord Conyngham, whom I charged to express my feelings of condolence and sorrow to the poor Queen, returned directly to Windsor. I then went to my room and dressed.

"Since it has pleased Providence to place me in this station, I shall do my utmost to fulfil my duty towards my country; I am very young and perhaps in many, though not in all things, inexperienced, but I am sure, that very few have more real good will and more real desire to do what is fit and right than I have.

"Breakfasted, during which time good faithful Stockmar came and talked to me. Wrote a letter to dear Uncle Leopold and a few words to dear good Feodore. Received a letter from Lord Melbourne in which he said he would wait upon me at a little before 9. At 9 came Lord Melbourne, whom I saw in my room, and of COURSE quite ALONE as I shall always do all my Ministers. He kissed my hand and I then acquainted him that it had long been my intention to retain him and the rest of the present Ministry at the head of affairs, and that it could not be in better hands than his. He then again kissed my hand. He then read to me the Declaration which I was to read to the Council, which he wrote himself and which is a very fine one. I then talked with him some little longer time after which he left me. He was in full dress. I like him very much and feel confidence in him. He is a very straightforward, honest, clever and good man. I then wrote a letter to the Queen. At about 11 Lord Melbourne came again to me and spoke to me upon various subjects. At about ½ p. 11 went downstairs and held a Council in the red saloon. I went in of course quite alone, and remained seated the whole time. My two Uncles, the Dukes of Cumberland and Sussex, and Lord Melbourne conducted me. The declaration, the various forms, the swearing in of the Privy Councillors of which there were a great number present, and the reception of some of the Lords of Council, previous to the Council in an adjacent room (likewise alone) I subjoin here. I was not at all nervous and had the satisfaction of hearing that people were satisfied with what I had done and how I had done it. Receiving after this, Audiences of Lord Melbourne, Lord John Russell, Lord Albemarle (Master of the Horse), and the Archbishop of Canterbury, all in my room and alone. Saw Stockmar. Saw Clark, whom I named my Physician. Saw Mary. Wrote to Uncle Ernest. Saw Ernest Hohenlohe who brought me a kind and very feeling letter from the poor Queen. I feel very much for her, and really feel that the poor good King was always so kind personally to me, that I should be ungrateful were I not to recollect it and feel grieved at his death. The poor Queen is wonderfully composed now, I hear. Wrote my journal. Took my dinner upstairs alone. Went downstairs. Saw Stockmar. At about 20 minutes to 9 came Lord Melbourne and remained till near 10. I had a very important and a very comfortable conversation with him. Each time I see him I feel more confidence in him ; I find him very kind in his manner too. Saw Stockmar. Went down and said good-night to Mamma &c. My dear Lehzen will ALWAYS remain with me as my friend but will take no situation about me, and I think she is right."

Queen Victoria went on to rule until 1901...the longest reign of any British monarch.

Get Thee to the Church on Time

2008-06-19T23:25:00.000-04:00

Jennifer Rummel—please contact Regina Scott at reginascott@owt.com. We have a book for you! If we haven’t heard from you by July 1, we’ll sadly have to draw another winner.

London has some of the most amazing architecture on earth. 17th century buildings stand side-by-side with ultra modern wonders like the Great Gherkin. Some of the most beautiful designs can be seen in London’s churches. So, where would a nineteenth century young lady go to church on Sunday mornings with her family?

If you were one of the fashionable, you’d likely attend St. George’s Hanover Square (1725), one of the closet churches to Mayfair, the “in” location for London’s aristocracy. When it was founded, it counted among its parishioners seven dukes, fourteen earls, seven barons, and twenty-six “other persons of title.”

If you wanted to cozy up to King George IV, you could have attended All Souls Langham Place. While Prinny wouldn’t have been in attendance, it was designed by his favorite architect, John Nash. Nash built it as a fitting place to worship for those wealthy elite he planned to live near Regent’s Park.

If you were hopelessly romantic, you might attend St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. Though a church has been recorded on the grounds as early as 1222, the current building dates from 1726. St. George’s Hanover Square was actually carved from the St. Martin’s parish. My critique partner Kristin swears that there’s no more romantic place on earth for a nineteenth century miss to wed than in St. Martin’s.

Of course, the poet Robert Browning might have argued with her. He married Elizabeth Barrett in St. Marylebone Parish Church in 1846. The interior of the church was also featured in Hogarth’s The Rake’s Progress, a series of satirical paintings from the eighteenth century.

And speaking of marriages, come back next week for a post on brides and weddings. It is June, after all. :-)

Queen Victoria Part VII: Troubled Times and the Last of Sir John

2008-06-18T08:40:00.000-04:00

It occurs to me that I left poor Victoria hanging…the last we heard, she was on her throne and safe from Sir John Conroy…

Or was she?

Victoria spent the first year and a half of her life as queen in a haze of happiness. She pretty much made the rules, at least in her personal life. In her public life she relied on her Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, to teach her the political ins and outs of being a constitutional monarch. He was a charming, intelligent man and genuinely cared about Victoria in a fatherly way, and did his best in his own sometimes indolent, cynical way to guide her. The Coronation took place in 1838 and was a huge success, and the country seemed delighted with its new little queen.

But Sir John wasn’t entirely gone. He remained as the Duchess of Kent’s comptroller much to Victoria’s discomfort even though she never actually saw him. And he was on the lookout for a way to revenge himself on Victoria and on Baroness Lehzen, her former governess, who remained at Victoria’s side and whom he blamed for coming between him and Vic (never underestimate human capacity for self-deception!).

A way soon became obvious. I’ll have to summarize a lot of the main points or we’ll still be here tomorrow morning, but it involved a phantom scandal, a lot of poor judgement, and bad feelings coming home to roost.

The Duchess of Kent had a lady in waiting named Lady Flora Hastings. She was an unmarried daughter of the Marquess of Hastings and had been with the Duchess for years. Victoria had never been very fond of her although--or perhaps because--the Duchess had always forced them together despite the wide gap in their ages (Lady Flora was a good 20 years older than Vic). Lady Flora was also a supporter of Sir John.

In January 1839, Lady Flora came back to court after visiting her family, and it was noticed that she had gained weight…but in such a suggestive way that Victoria wrote in her journal that she was quite sure Lady Flora was pregnant--and moreover, she was sure Sir John was the father of the child because they had been known to have traveled alone in a carriage together for several hours late that past autumn. Lady F. of course denied that she was pregnant and claimed to be suffering from bilious attacks. But the scandal would not die down until she agreed to be examined by physicians who certified that she was indeed not pregnant and in fact was a virgin. Victoria overcame her dislike of Lady Flora enough to admit she had behaved badly and apologized, and that should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't. Sir John would not leave the situation alone and harped on it to the Duchess and to Lady Flora herself, encouraging Lady Flora to continue to complain about Victoria and about Baroness Lehzen to her politically powerful family who just happened to belong to the opposition Tory party (the present government was Whig) even while she was accepting the Queen’s apologies. Lady Flora’s uncle took it upon himself to publish parts of Lady Flora’s letters in the The Times partly as way to discredit the Queen and especially to help destabilize the Whig government, already on shaky ground due to some issues related to the governance of Jamaica. Lord Melbourne and his government fell from power, though only briefly.

More importantly to the Queen’s personal life, it caused an almost open break between her and the Duchess. This was a serious issue--don’t forget, Victoria was not quite yet 20 and still would have been considered a minor if she hadn’t been queen. It cut deeply into her popularity, so deeply that the once-popular queen was actually hissed in public. Something had to be done, and it was. The Duke of Wellington, hero of the Napoleonic Wars and a figure revered by all, convinced Sir John that he had to not only leave the Duchess’ employ, but leave the country for at least a year or two. He finally left in June 1839, and poor Lady Flora died of cancer a few weeks later. The scandal and hubbub died down after that, and Victoria was at last rid of Sir John Conroy’s influence in her life.

The Lady Is Entitled

2008-06-13T15:35:00.000-04:00

Have you noticed that many times in books the young lady is angling to marry a title, but the gentlemen all want a wealthy heiress? That’s because, sad to say, very often the lady’s title, if she even had one, couldn’t be passed to the next generation. It couldn’t even be shared with her husband. If Miss Annabelle Pretty married the Duke of Studley, she became Lady Studley. But if Mr. Studley married Lady Annabelle, he stayed Mr. Studley and she became Mrs. Studley!

She could, if she were very high in the instep (read conceited), continue to be called Lady Annabelle, but she would never be Lady Studley. The lady’s rank rose or fell to that of her husband.

If you weren’t married yet and your father was a duke, marquess, or earl, you were entitled to call yourself Lady Firstname. That’s why Lady Emily, the heroine of La Petite Four, is Lady Emily Southwell, not Lady Emerson (her father is the Duke of Emerson and Southwell if the family’s last name). Daughters of other titled fellows might be the Honourable Miss Lastname, such as Persephone and Penelope Leland in Marissa’s Bewitching Season, but the term “honourable” was usually only used in formal correspondence.

Your father’s rank gave you a few other privileges. A young lady took the same precedence as her eldest brother. So, if, as Marissa mentioned Tuesday, your papa was a duke, and his first-born son held the courtesy title of a marquess, than your “Lady” was equivalent to a marchioness (the female version of marquess). That meant that in social situations, you sat below the marchionesses at the table but quite a bit above your younger brothers. (Look for more on this whole precedence thing in a future post.)

Once in a rare while, you might also have your own title. The title of duke and baron could go to a daughter, if she had no brothers. If she had sisters, they all took the title (duchesses or baronesses), but they couldn’t act on it until the reigning monarch settled which one was considered the title holder. That didn’t have to be the oldest sister. But in no case in the 1800s could a lady take her seat in the House of Lords, and in many cases the responsibilities that went with the title had be to undertaken by her husband. That didn't change until 1963.

So, I guess the lady wasn’t very entitled after all!

Barons and Viscounts and Earls, Oh My!

2008-06-10T08:32:00.000-04:00

Before we get started, a quick note from Regina...

Thanks to all who commented last week! The winner of the autographed copy of La Petite Four is Jennifer Rummel. Jennifer, e-mail me at reginascott@owt.com and provide mailing details as well as the name you'd like on the book. I'll be on travel this week, but will let you know as soon as I get your e-mail when you can expect the book. Thanks again!

Congratulations, Jennifer!

Now, it occurred to us that we discuss a lot of people with titles of nobility here--and while we're comfortable with those terms and what they mean, not all of our readers might be as familiar with them. So today's post is a brief lesson on what we're talking about when we refer to the Duke of Thisplace or Viscount Thatplace.

First, I want to note that we're talking about titles of nobility in England. Though titles with the same or similar names might have existed in other countries in Europe, they don't necessarily hold the same rank...so a Duke in England is not necessarily the same as a Duke in, say, France or Russia. Just so you know.

The Peerage in England consisted of the following titles (which were awarded my the ruling monarch and almost always handed down through the male line--that is, except for a very few specialized cases, females did not inherit or pass on titles). Being a peer meant that you were entitled to sit in Parliament in the House of Lords.

1. Duke: the highest rank below royalty...though there were several ducal titles that were pretty much reserved for the use of the king if he had an extraordinary number of sons (think George III and his 15 children). A Duke was addressed as "Your Grace" by non-nobles and as "Duke" by those closer to him in rank.

2. Marquis (or Marquess--two spellings were in use in the earlier part of the century until Marquess won out): next below dukes. A marquis/marquess was referred to as "Lord Title name"...so John Breeches, the fifth Marquess of Fancypants would be called Lord Fancypants, not Lord Breeches. Note that Fancypants wasn't his actual family name--the name of a peer's title and of his family were generally different (though again, exceptions do exist just to confuse things.) The same goes for the rest of the ranks of nobility.

3. Earl: Next in rank after marquesses. There were a LOT of earls, many more than dukes or marquesses. As with marquesses, earls were called "Lord Title name".

4. Viscount: A newer rank, relatively speaking, that first came into use mostly in Tudor times. Like marquesses and earls, viscounts were adressed as "Lord Title name", but there was a slight difference in that there generally wasn't an "of" in there...for example, while we had the Marquess of Fancypants, his neighbor the viscount would be Viscount Whitecravat, not the Viscount of Whitecravat.

5. Baron: the lowest rank of peerage, also addressed as "Lord Title name".

Below the peerage were two other classes of titles. Being one of these did not get you a seat in the House of Lords, but you could be elected to the House of Commons.

1. Baronet: An inherited title...a baronet was called Sir Firstname Lastname.

2. Knight: A non-inherited title--that is, it would not get passed down to a man's son. Knighthoods were given out for various reasons, usually for some service to the Crown (but which could be something pretty trivial. Remember Sir William Lucas in Pride and Prejudice? He got made a knight after delivering a speech to the king, but had started out "in trade"--that is, working for a living. None of his sons would become Sir Whomever after him.)

So that's it for the titles of nobility. There are just a few other concepts that go along with them that you ought to know:

Titles went to a peer's eldest son. If his eldest son died, then his next son would inherit. If the eldest son died but had married and left a son, then that child would inherit. A peer did not decide who would inherit his title and any land or estates tied to it--there were legal rules that declared the line of inheritance.
Titles went through the male line. If a peer had only daughters, none of them could inherit his title and the heir would probably his next youngest brother, if he had one. If he didn't, then genealogical research would indicate the next living male relative most closely related to his father. It could get very complicated, as you might guess.
Precedence among nobility depended on the age of their title. So if you were trying to decide which earl had the higher rank, you looked to see when the family received their title. An earl whose family got their title in 1415 was considered to be of higher rank than an earl who got his title in 1815.
Family members of peers often received what were called "courtesy titles". For example, all the sons of a duke or marquess were automatically called "Lord Firstname", but that title didn't carry any meaning. Only the peer himself was a peer--his family were, legally speaking, all commoners. That is why a young man called "Lord So-and-so" could still be elected to the House of Commons--he wasn't a "real" lord.
Peers often had more than one title. A Duke might also be a marquess and a baron, but he used only the highest ranking title. He might let his eldest son use his next highest title and his eldest grandson the title after that, but just like above, those were considered "courtesy titles".

There's a lot more I could discuss here--a whole lot more--but these are some of the basics. If you have any questions, let me know! And please come back on Friday when Regina discusses how the peerage system work among the ladies.

Heroine or Author?

2008-06-05T15:29:00.000-04:00

You all know Regina Scott as one half of Nineteenteen and as author of the scrumptious YA novel La Petite Four…but did you know that Regina previously wrote seventeen other novels set in the Regency period of England? Yes, seventeen—you read that correctly.

So as a fun way to get to know Regina better, we’ve put together a quiz I’m calling HEROINE OR AUTHOR? Answers will be posted in the comment section, so get out your pencils and join in. And don’t forget, all of you who leave comments on the blog this week through Monday night, June 9, will be entered in a drawing to win an autographed copy of La Petite Four!

Here we go...

1. True or false: Like Hannah Alexander, heroine of A Dangerous Dalliance (a May 2000 release from Kensington and the prequel to La Petite Four ), Regina is a professional art teacher when she’s not writing.

2. Like Celia Rider in Perfection (Kensington, October 2003 ), Regina’s been known to go undercover…but not as a governess. What is Regina’s disguise?
a. Jane Austen
b. a Regency dandy
c. Queen Charlotte

3. True or false: Like Cynthia Jacobs in “Sweeter than Candy” from the Regency Reads anthology Be My Bride, Regina is the mother of sons.

4. Like Joanna Lindby in "The June Bride Conspiracy" of the Regency Reads anthology Be My Bride, Regina's had a long-time crush on a certain dashing spy. Who is it? Bonus question: what actor played him on screen?
a. James Bond.
b. George Smiley
c. The Scarlet Pimpernell

5. True or False: Like Sarah Compton of The Incomparable Miss Compton (Regency Reads, April 2008), Regina is a late bloomer.

6. Eugennia Welch of The Bluestocking on His Knee (Regency Reads, March 2008) and Regina both love to collect something, though Eugennia has far more of them. What is it?
a. parking tickets
b. Meissen figurines
c. antique books

7. True or False: Like Angelica Pruitt in The Pleasure Garden (Kensington 2005, writing as Regan Allen), Regina is the daughter of a minister.

8. Lady Emily Southwell of La Petite Four (Penguin Razorbill, out now!) and Regina share a certain physical characteristic. What is it?
a. a graceful figure
b. Size four feet
c. Dark, curly hair that's frizzier in the rain

Have fun! And if you need more Regina Scott after you've finished La Petite Four, head on over to Regency Reads where several of the books mentioned above are available in e-book form.

Introducing Lady Emily Southwell of La Petite Four!

2008-06-03T10:37:00.000-04:00

Well, here we are…Marissa and Regina are off being serious and writerly as usual and have left me, Penelope Leland, in charge of their blog today. But that doesn't mean I can't have fun and get to know a new friend whom I know you’re all dying to meet as well…so may I introduce Lady Emily Southwell?

Lady Emily, how do you do? For some fortuitous reason we seem to be able to chat even though we live in different times. Can you tell me a little about when you are? England has just been through some interesting times, I believe.

A pleasure to meet you, Miss Leland! I graduated from the Barnsley School for Young Ladies this April 1815, and yes, it is an interesting time. My father, His Grace the Duke of Emerson, has just returned from the Congress of Vienna in rather a hurry. Here England thought they had the madman of the century safely locked away, and what does Napoleon do but escape and rally France into a furor once more! But you don’t have to worry about that in your time. You can focus on the Season. I believe you and your sister Persephone are on your first Season too.

Indeed we are. You and my sister Persy share an quality unusual in most young ladies--dedication to something other than tracking down the perfect (a) hat (b) dance partner or (c) flavor of bon-bon at Gunter’s. In Persy’s case it’s magic…what’s your obsession?

Painting. Truly, I don’t know whether it was the heady tang of turpentine or the feathery touch of a brush that first seduced me, but some of my happiest times have been behind an easel.

Well, all young ladies with any aspirations to culture dabble in water-colors, don’t they? What’s different about your view of art?

My dear Miss Leland, we’ve only just met so I shall forgive the grave insult you just gave me. I do not dabble, and I outgrew water-colors when I was eight. I use oils, bold strokes, dark colors; I bring to life important subjects like the tragic deaths of heroes and glorious, blood-drenched battles. My scenes are so real I fancy I can feel the beat of the drummer calling the march, hear the roar of canons in the distance. When I paint, I quite forget that any other world exists.

Oh, please forgive me--I had no idea! But as a serious artist you must surely aspire to join the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts. That group and its guardian dragon, Lady St. Gregory, sound a bit intimidating. Do you think you’ll be permitted to join?

Well, I quite agree with you that it is intimidating. Artists of the Royal Society are patronized by the Queen and the Royal Princesses, the works admired far and wide. I would be the most fortunate of mortals if I were allowed to join them. I shall have to create the perfect painting, a feast for the eyes, the epitome of beauty and grace, and all before Lady St. Gregory comes to view it at the Ball!

You and your best friends from the Barnsley School for Young Ladies have been given a rather amusing nick-name--won’t you tell us about it and how you earned it? What are your friends like--are they artists as well?

Miss Pritchard, our literature teacher, actually gave it to us. She said we were always together like the little iced cakes the Prince Regent’s French chef Careme created—petit fours. So, Priscilla, Daphne, Ariadne, and I are La Petite Four. And no, sadly, none of my dear friends progressed beyond those insipid water-colors. They have other traits to recommend them. There is nothing Priscilla does not know about Society, including how to deal with young gentlemen. She has only to bat her lashes, toss her golden curls, and they fall at her feet in abject devotion. Ariadne reads everything, from The Times to the handbill on the slave rings of the far east, handed out outside Hatchard’s lending library. She will always have an answer to any question. And Daphne, well, I will only say that I wish I had her seat on a horse and her skill with a fireplace poker.

And what’s this I hear about your social plans for the season? A ball to put all others in the shade--that sounds like quite the event! Tell us about it, please!

It is a wondrous creation, the stuff of dreams. Only Priscilla could have succeeded in such an event. The theme is an enchanted garden, and we’ve rented the Elysium Assembly Rooms and grounds near Kensington Palace. There will be dancing of course, tantalizing treats, and excellent conversation. Priscilla’s already ordered a thousand crimson roses. She was considering having live goldfish in streams meandering down the buffet tables, like the Prince had at the dinner for the Allies last season, but you see his died. I told her that rotting fish, belly up, would do little to set the sophisticated tone we all sought. But she merely said she doubted our fish would be so vulgar as to die before the second set.

Now if you’ll permit me, I should dearly like to ask you about your non-artistic pursuits…more specifically, pursuits of the two-legged variety with elegantly tied cravats and dashing manners. Or maybe “pursuit” is the wrong word…

In my case, pursuit is exactly the right word, as my friends and I have been forced into following Lord Robert Townsend all over London to try to learn his secrets. You see, I was determined to spend the Season securing my place among my fellow artists, and of course I would not forego the ball! But Lord Robert simply could not let matters alone. We’ve had an understanding since we were children, but we haven’t seen each other for ten years. So now he has the audacity to claim undying devotion and demand that we marry at once and rusticate in Devonshire? He must be up to something. He can be charming above all, but I can see through those stunning smiles. I will grant you he is kind on the eyes. He quite puts me in mind of James Cropper, with russet hair the color of the sky at sunset and eyes like the stormy clouds above. Odd how we keep bumping into him. It’s almost as if he were following Lord Robert too.

Or you? Is that a blush I see?

Did you have other questions for me, Miss Leland?

Only one: how can we learn more about your friends, your adventures, the mysterious Mr. Cropper, and the Ball to end all balls?

I do believe Regina Scott has captured our adventures rather well in her book La Petite Four, which is available now from fine booksellers and lending libraries everywhere.

Thank you for chatting with me, Lady Emily. And may I remind readers that all commenters on blog posts this week will be entered in a drawing to win an autographed copy of La Petite Four?

Nineteenth Century Movies!

2008-05-30T14:10:00.000-04:00

Well, actually, there weren’t any! The moving picture industry got its start a bit later than that. However, Marissa and I thought you might enjoy seeing the book trailers for Bewitching Season and La Petite Four. They’re both created by the talented lady at M2 Productions, and we couldn’t be happier! Two very different trailers, two different books. Come back next week when we officially launch La Petite Four, with character interviews, a fun quiz, and a book giveaway. Enjoy!

Partying Hearty: The Ball

2008-05-28T08:41:00.000-04:00

The quintessential 19th century party, the one most celebrated in thousands of Regency and Victorian novels, is the ball. And what’s not to love? Dresses and jewelry to die for, handsome young men in evening clothes, and license to flirt (discreetly, of course) with several of them over the course of an evening…it just didn’t get better for a nineteenth century girl.

Early on in the century, balls could be public--held in a town’s Assembly Rooms (a sort of public gathering place) and attended by anyone who paid the subscription fee--or they could be private parties, by invitation only. Assembly balls fell out of fashion by the 1830s, and thereafter most balls were private parties thrown by an individual or by a private organization (for example, charity balls for fundraising purposes).

So what happened at a ball?

Well, dancing, of course. But it was also customary to provide a room for elderly or less spry guests to play cards for the evening while the younger and more active folks danced. There was also generally food--ices and cool drinks in a room near the ballroom for a quick pick-me-up between sets, and a supper buffet served sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

So say you’re the Honorable Miss Petunia High-Instep, dressed to the nines like the young ladies in the prints I’ve posted here (note that the dresses worn to balls are a little shorter, presumably to avoid anything so catastrophic as tripping on one’s hem). What happens when you go to a ball?

You’ll arrive with your parents or other relatives…certainly not alone and without a chaperone! You leave your cloak or other wrap in the ladies’ cloakroom (staffed by a maid who was available to repair wardrobe or hairdressing mishaps). You might be greeted by the host and hostess if it’s still early in the evening (sometimes you might attend two or even three balls in one evening!) and then your mother or aunt or married sister or whoever has accompanied you will set up camp on the chairs lining the ballroom, preferably near friends to chat with…and you seat yourself with your gown becomingly arranged and wait for an invitation to dance.

When a gentleman approaches, he'll ask you to dance…meanwhile, Mama has a few seconds to check him out and nod approval. If you (or she) don’t like his looks, you can refuse…but that means you're doomed to sit that dance out, as it was not done to refuse one man and accept another after that. More than likely you say yes, both because it's dreadfully boring to sit there and watch other people dance, and so that you won’t appear to be a wallflower whom nobody wants to dance with.

You make some amount of polite conversation during your dance, and then the gentleman escorts you back to Mama and either leaves you there or asks permission to take you to the refreshment room for a quick glass of lemonade (if he's cute and you want to prolong the encounter, you can encourage this by fanning yourself and dramatically proclaiming how parched you are as he walks you back to your chair). If you're lucky, someone you like asks you for the “supper dance”, the last dance before the musicians take a break and everyone troops down for the buffet supper.

As you go to more balls, you get to know the usual crowd and learn whom you like and whom you don’t, which men are definitely worth encouraging (wealthy, titled or heir to a title, well-behaved and interesting) and which aren’t (younger sons who wouldn’t inherit much, utter boors/bores, rakes who are only looking for a good time).

Balls could be great fun if the music was good, if there were more men than women (which would help cut down on the percentage of wallflowers), if the guests were amiable…or they could be dreadful if the reverse were true. But everyone went to them.

There’s a lot more to talk about--the types of dances, for one thing--but we’ll cover that in a future post.

What Do (May) Flowers Mean?

2008-05-23T13:04:00.000-04:00

“April showers bring May flowers.” You wouldn’t know it to look at my garden right now. We’ve had a few more May showers than usual in my part of the Pacific Northwest. I haven’t even had a chance to plant flowers yet, and the raspberries I put in a couple of weeks ago are struggling with our bouncing temperatures.

But flowers had a whole other meaning in the nineteenth century. A seemingly innocent bouquet could spell the difference between a proposal of marriage and an offer to duel to the death. Why? Because of a little thing called The Language of Flowers.

Each flower and plant meant a specific sentiment, and the way you combined them told a story. Wild tansy was a declaration of war. A single rose meant love.

Ah, but it didn’t stop there. Even the kind of rose was meaningful. A white rose declared that the giver was worthy of the one to whom it had been given. A yellow rose stated that love was in decline. Rose buds meant different things than blooming roses, and a rose tree meant something else entirely!

Here’s a few bouquets a young lady might hope to receive from a young gent she fancied:

--Calla lily, a moss rose bud, and green locust: Your beauty is magnificent, and I will love you from now to beyond the grave.
--Dwarf sunflower and peach blossom: I adore you and am captivated by you
--Monkshood and forget me not: My true love, I will be your knight errant.

And here’s a few she’d prefer not to receive:

--China aster: You are but an afterthought
--Japan rose: Beauty is your only attraction
--Spiderwort: I like you, but I’ll never love you.

So, what’s that bouquet on your table really saying?

Happy Birthday, Vic!

2008-05-20T11:43:00.001-04:00

This coming Saturday (the 24th) will be Queen Victoria's 189th birthday. Pretty appropriate for Memorial Day weekend, isn't it? I'll be thinking of her as I plant my vegetable garden and herb pots.

Victoria took her birthdays very seriously and always discussed her personal goals for the coming year in her journals:

(on her 18th birsthday in 1837): "Today is my 18th birthday! How old! and yet how far I am from being what I should be. I shall from this day take the firm resolution to study with renewed assiduity, to keep my attention always well fixed on whatever I am about, and to strive to become every day less trifling and more fit for what, if Heaven wills it, I'm someday to be!..."

No mention of presents in this entry, but for her 16th Victoria certainly got a fair amount of loot:

"I awoke at 1/2 past 6. Mamma got up soon after and gave me a lovely brooch made of her own hair, a letter from herself, one from dearest Feodore [Vic's half sister] with a nosegay, and a drawing and a pair of slippers done by her...Dear Lehzen gave me a lovely little leather box with knives, pencils, &c. in it, two small dictionaries and a very pretty print of Mdlle. Taglioni [one of Victoria's favorite dancers]...At 9 we breakfasted. I then received my table. From my DEAR Mamma I received a lovely enamel bracelet with her hair, a pair of fine china vases, a lovely shawl and some English and Italian books. From dearest Feodore a lovely enamel bracelet with hers and the children's hair; from Charles [Victoria's half brother] some pretty prints; from Spath [one of her ladies] a very pretty case for hankerchiefs embroidered in silver; from Sir Robert and Lady Gardiner a very pretty sort of china vase; from Sir J. Conroy a writing case; from the whole Conroy family some prints; and from Mr. George Hayter a beautiful drawing done by him. I quite forgot to say that I received a beautiful pair of sapphire and diamond earrings from the King and a beautiful prayer-book and very kind letter from the Queen...."

Not a bad haul, I think, though the jewelry made from various people's hair is a tad eerie. On the other hand, the earrings sound pretty good.

Once Victoria became queen, she no longer had to submit her journals for her mother to read. So let's hear the report on Victoria's 19th birthday:

"...At 25 m. past 10 I went with the whole Royal Family into the other Ball-room through the Saloon [not what you're thinking--"saloon" was just another word for large receiving room] which was full of people....We then went into the other room, and danced a regular old English country dance of 72 couple, which lasted 1 hour, from 3 till 4!...It was the merriest, most delightful thing possible. I left the Ball room at 10 m. past 4, and was in bed at 5--broad daylight. It was a delightful Ball, and the pleasantest birthday I've spent for many years!..."

Not so different from a teen birthday today, really.

Happy Birthday, Vic!

Nineteenth Century Bad Boys, Part II: The Heroic Poet

2008-05-16T16:00:00.000-04:00

We see them today: celebrities who burst into the public eye, develop a massive group of followers who live for any crumb of information about their heroes, and eventually self-combust. One of these first meteors was the poet, Lord Byron.

A minor baron with chestnut curls, a club foot, and a brooding attitude, George Gordon, Lord Byron, might never have been noticed in social, let alone literary, circles if it hadn’t been for the publication in 1812 of the first two cantos of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. This lyric poem detailed the Grand Tour, a trip around Spain, Portugal, Greece, and Turkey, of a rather cynical young man who bore a strong resemblance to Byron himself. The book became an overnight success, and Byron was welcomed everywhere.

The young ladies of the time buried him in letters, professing admiration, adoration. They followed him around at balls and parties, hanging on every word. Each girl was certain that her pure love would heal the wounded spirit so eloquently evident in his poetry. Lady Caroline Lamb, a young married hot-head, called him “mad, bad, and dangerous to know” and then threw herself at him, repeatedly. Byron-mania was so high that, in 1814, his work The Corsair sold 10,000 copies the first day it was published!

[Note: 10,000 copies in one day will likely earn you a respectable place on the New York Times bestsellers list.]

[Note: most young adult books today don’t even get 10,000 copies in the first printing, let alone sell them in one day.]

Sadly, less than 2 years later, Byron had 1) married badly, 2) behaved madly, and 3) been put in danger of Debtors Prison by his creditors. He escaped to the Continent and died in 1824 while trying to rescue the Greeks from Turkish oppression.

On a happier note, my publisher is sufficiently pleased with the response to La Petite Four that he moved up the publication date by 5 weeks! That means it goes on sale May 29!

This month! Where are my smelling salts?

Presenting...the Winner!

2008-05-13T12:20:00.001-04:00

Not that everyone who commented isn't a cherished reader...but the name I pulled out of my Red Sox World Champions cap is...

ANDY!

Andy, please stop by the contact form on my website (http://www.marissadoyle.com/) and send me your mailing address so I can send a copy of Bewitching Season to you as quickly as possible.

And thank you, all, for stopping by and commenting. Regina did a fabulous job with the interview questions and quiz, and I'm looking forward to returning the favor in the not too distant future.

In the meanwhile, speaking of "Presenting..."

May was the height of "the season", that London social whirl (and marriage market) that coincided with the sitting of Parliament just after Easter. An important part of a girl's first season was being "presented" to the king/queen/another royal filling in for the monarch, at either an afternoon "drawing room" (where young girls usually first made their debuts) or an evening "levee". Being presented meant that the monarch recognized you socially--which meant you were eligible to attend court events. Not everyone could be presented: for example, the wives and daughters of clergy, military and naval officers, barristers, and physicians could be presented...but those of merchants and businessmen, solicitors, and general practitioners could not. Girls were presented when they first came out in society, then again when they married...assuming their husbands were of acceptable rank or profession, of course!

The act of being presented to the monarch was quite an event...think of high school graduation, but way more formal and solemn. For example, there were rules about what you could wear, especially later on in Victoria's reign...these dictated everything from the neckline of your gown (you needed a note from a doctor if you wanted to wear a high-necked gown!) to the height and number of feathers you wore in your hair to what you carried (a bouquet was standard, or at least a beautiful fan) to the length of your train (and yes, you had to have one--a minimum and maximum length were given). The guys had rules about what they wore too, depending on who they were (military or civilian, for example), time of day, and so on.

Then you had to go through the acrobatic act of the presentation itself (I discussed this back in October) with walking backward while curtseying and having your train tossed to you...but then the real fun began: the parties!

Look for future posts about how the nineteenth century teen partied till she dropped.

P.S. There are some very cool books on this topic that you can probably find in your local library if you want to learn more. I recommend The Party That Lasted 100 Days by Hilary and Mary Evans, Splendour at Court by Nigel Arch and Joanna Marschner, Gilded Butterflies by Philippa Pullar, and To Marry an English Lord by Gail MacColl and Carol McD. Wallace

Quiz: What Do Marissa and a Nineteenth Century Miss Have in Common?

2008-05-09T14:07:00.001-04:00

Fun Facts about Marissa Doyle and the Honorable Persephone Leland

People always ask about how much an author puts herself into her books. There are some surprising similarities between Marissa Doyle and the heroine of Bewitching Season, Persephone Leland. See if you can tell which is which!

1. This person shares her home with a loving family that includes a Lop.
a. Marissa Doyle
b. Persy Leland
c. Both of them

2. This person casts love spells.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

3. This person has a twin in the family.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

4. This person solves mysterious disappearances.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

5. This person spends summers at the seashore.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

6. This person loves magic and faraway times and places.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

7. This person graduated from a prestigious women’s university
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

8. This person belongs to an arcane society dedicated to understanding the past.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

9. This person’s story is read by both young and old alike.
a. Marissa
b. Persy
c. Both

Interesting how life mimics art. Or is it the other way around? Either way, be sure to comment before Monday, May 12, to be entered in the drawing to win an autographed copy of Marissa's book, Bewitching Season.

PSST--Comment to Win!

2008-05-08T11:52:00.005-04:00

If you read to the end of the last post, you'll notice that we're giving away something special to anyone who comments this week. Prize to be awarded by drawing Tuesday, May 13. Read down. You know you want to.

And come back tomorrow for a fun quiz on Marissa Doyle's secret life and how it bears an uncanny resemblance in places to that of a nineteenth century young lady!

Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present . . . Persephone Leland

2008-05-06T11:29:00.007-04:00

Marissa and I are very pleased to welcome two guest bloggers today, kicking off our week of celebration for the release of Marissa’s Bewitching Season. Ladies?

Priscilla: Perhaps we should start by introducing ourselves to our many fascinated readers. I’m Miss Priscilla Tate, best friend to Lady Emily Southwell, the daughter of the Duke of Emerson, and related to all the finest families in England. Our adventures are chronicled in the book La Petite Four. And you are?

Persephone: My goodness, if you're related to the finest families in England we must be cousins, then. I’m the Honourable Persephone Augusta Caroline Leland. My papa’s Viscount Atherston, and my maternal grandfather is the Duke of Revesby--Mama is his eldest daughter. We live at Mage’s Tutterow, in Hampshire, and I do believe you can learn more about us in Bewitching Season.

Priscilla: And speaking of Seasons, here we are on our first. What did you wear to your debut?

Persephone: Our presentation dresses were white silk…oh, pardon me. When I say ‘our’ I mean my twin sister, Penelope, and me. Mama chose many of our dresses the same but with differing trims so that we wouldn’t be completely alike. They were our first silk dresses...don’t you love the way silk rustles over petticoats?

Priscilla: Absolutely! But a twin sister? What fun! Do tell us what it’s like to have a twin.

Persephone: Only if you can tell me what it’s like not to have one! It must be rather lonely for the rest of you, not to have your best friend near you all the time…and Pen is my best friend, even though we’re often very different. And yes, twins can be completely different…we might have the same hair and eyes and nose and everything, but we’re not the same underneath. Our little brother Chuckles--um, I mean Charles--can always tell us apart, even when we intentionally try to fool him.

Priscilla: What’s your favorite part of the Season?

Persephone: Oh dear…you won’t laugh if I say ‘the end’, will you? I would so much rather stay at home and read and study. Besides, I…well, I don’t much care for all the strangers because I just can’t seem to chat and be sociable, the way my sister can. And besides, they’re dull as ditch water after the tenth or eleventh ball. The one time I tried slipping a book in my reticule before we left for a reception then sneaking into the hostess’s boudoir for the rest of the evening so I could read earned me two scoldings--one from Lady T., whom I surprised in the middle of a rather intimate moment with a gentleman that I’m not entirely sure was Lord T. (he hid his face rather quickly), and one later on from Mama.

But I must admit that I did love the clothes…the dresses and the gloves and slippers and shawls and everything. How can any girl not?

Priscilla: What do you think is the most important thing a young lady should remember on her first Season?

Persephone: There are several things, actually:
a. She should learn how to yawn without opening her mouth.
b. She should practice smiling for months before the Season starts. Do you know how tiring it can be to smile non-stop for two months? My cheeks began to positively cramp after the first few parties.
c. She should be careful about drinking too much brandy punch at the Gilley’s house…or anywhere, for that matter.

Priscilla: Most of us are burdened with practicing the usual pastimes--embroidery, watercolors, singing. You chose something rather unusual--magic. Why?

Persephone: We didn’t choose magic--it chose us. Magic runs in our Papa’s family, but chiefly in the females…and my sister and I were the first Leland daughters in the direct line born since King Henry VIII’s time. We were astoundingly lucky that the governess Mama hired for us, Miss Allardyce, just happened to be a witch as well, though from what I’ve recently learned it may not have been such a coincidence.

And we didn’t just learn magic. Our dear Ally is a very accomplished woman--her father is a bookseller and scholar--so we were taught Latin as well as history and arithmetic and orthography and dancing and drawing. I just wish we could have learned Greek as well. I hope to study it someday. My sister says she wishes we could have been taught to fence, if only to help keep our brother in line.

Priscilla: And I hear you cast love spells. Have you had much success? How would I, er, our readers go about that?

Persephone: My dear Miss Tate, please don’t ask! I didn’t intend to cast that love spell--really I didn’t. But I’d just gotten back from our first party and had consumed rather more of the Gilley’s punch than I should have (Freddy just kept refilling my cup) and I felt so dreadful because I thought Lochinvar Seton was starting to like my sister Pen…not that I’d blame him, because she’s so lively and fun and not at all shy…but I know she wouldn’t care for him in that way, whereas I…well, you know what I mean. And then I found that spell in Ally’s room, and I thought, “Well, why not?” I didn’t understand the “why not” till later: do you want the man of your dreams to love you because he was enchanted into it, or because he really does love you more than anything else in the depths of his soul? Do you see the difference?

Priscilla: Oh, yes! How romantic! And I understand you’re a close personal friend of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. How did that come about?

Persephone: Gracious, I wouldn’t presume that far! But I hope Her Majesty knows how much Pen and I like her as well as revere her. Did you know we all have the same birthday? That’s part of why Pen and I were so fascinated by her, growing up, and were quite excited whenever there was mention of her in the illustrated magazines. And as for how we became friends…it’s not something that I can discuss in public…you see, we all swore mutual silence after the horrifying events and narrowly-averted disaster at Her Majesty’s coming-of-age ball…but Pen and I are thrilled and proud that we were able to be of service to her. I’m sorry to be such a tease, but really, I can’t break my oath.

Priscilla: Well, I for one want to know more! We’ll have to have a little chat another time. And if you all want to know what really happened at Victoria’s birthday ball, how Persy’s love spell ended up, and the other exciting event of the London Season of 1837, you’ll simply have to find a copy of Bewitching Season, available now in bookstores nationwide!

Thank you , my dears! And I quite agree with Priscilla! If you’d like an autographed copy of Bewitching Season, be sure to leave us a comment! Everyone who comments this week will be entered into a drawing for a free copy of Marissa’s delightful debut novel. And she didn’t even wear white silk to write it!

The Bad Boy of Carriages

2008-05-02T15:36:00.003-04:00

Oh, I love Marissa’s themes! I’ll have some information on bad boys in weeks to come, but I’ve been holding off on a post and it’s just itching to get out. Maybe it’s the sunshine or the fact that my wonderful critique partner Kristin has a sporty little car she drives with the top down. Either way, I keep envisioning myself tooling down the road in one of these.

As we’ve mentioned, carriages were the equivalent of cars in nineteenth century England. Then as now, some people drove sensible sedans, some hard-working trucks, and others piled into SUVs or minivans.

And some drove sports cars.

The high-perch phaeton was the sports car of the rich and famous. Showy and impractical, it was nonetheless the most dashing of carriages. When you drove a phaeton, you made a statement.

And you drove a phaeton. There were only two seats at most, so you couldn’t very well have a coachman driving for you. The minimal number of seats also came in handy if you were a gentleman who wanted a little alone time with a certain young lady. You weren’t required to have a chaperon like a maid along in open carriages, because everyone could see what was happening anyway, but stricter mamas couldn’t very well insist on one when there simply wasn’t room.

Phaetons were also one of the carriages of choice for those who liked to race. The idea was to set a record in time from point A to point B. One of the favorite roads was the stretch between London and Brighton.

And speaking of favorites, I spotted one of my favorite books this morning in a local bookstore. Now you can too! Come back next week when we’ll be giving away a chance to win an autographed copy of Marissa’s Bewitching Season!