Regency Romance Novels – blog

The epilogue to Dancing the Maypole is unfolding (just a very little way to go). Yesterday I went into Stamford to help a friend pack up her flat. You know you’re out of shape when after attempting to squash five overcoats into one of those air lock bags lifting the bundle makes your arms ache (to be fair this was after hours of packing bags, taping up boxes and generally getting in the way and rudely asking every five minutes ‘is that rubbish?’). The Goblin dropped me off on his way to work so I had an hour before she was expecting me so I headed for the meadow by the river to take photos. It was a lovely day, but exhausting. Today I woke up late feeling like I could cheerfully sleep the rest of the day so I crawled back in bed with the book I’ve been reading (Harriette Wilson’s Memoir’s) and stayed there for hours without any intention of getting up. You’ll be hearing more about Harriette! I’ve known about her for ages, but as she was a pricey prostitute (courtesan) I presumed it would be boring. I’m the bore for passing judgement before I’d read the first few pages.

She has the most fantastic voice, but even better than that she couldn’t be bothered with boring people (particularly boring men no matter who they were). This is the woman who published a list of the people she was going to write about and advertised the fact that anyone who paid a mere 200 pounds would be erased from her memoirs. We know who didn’t pay for her silence! This isn’t just a list of famous people she knew. These are vignettes of her life and her sisters (three of whom were also courtesans though one married her Lordly lover and retired). Some of the stories are hilarious. It’s like having your ear to a magic keyhole into Regency England. You can’t see what’s going on, but you can hear them talking. I highly recommend it and I’m only half way through. Harriette wasn’t a great beauty, but I can understand why she captivated so many men. She always said what she thought. She was a truth-fairy! In the age of cant (as Byron called it) she must have been a breath of pure oxygen. So that was my day. I was so tired I couldn’t feel anything beyond my sore aching muscles and drooping eyelids so writing was beyond me, but it was a healing day. Tomorrow I’ll crack open the story and see what happens next.

Here are some of my favorite shots from Monday morning…