Blast from the Past: Hermits Weren’t the Only Ones in the Woods

I’ll be playing, er I mean learning and networking at the Romance Writers of America annual conference this week, but I promise to come back with lots of good insights to share. In the meantime, enjoy this post, updated slightly from when it was originally published in August 2011.

Contrived rustic landscapes were only one way nineteenth century young ladies and gentlemen discovered nature. The period saw a rise in the appreciation of natural beauty for beauty’s sake. Where once the pockets of wilderness around England had been seen by the fashionable as backward hamlets in their otherwise civilized isle, now they saw the lofty peaks, verdant valleys, and thundering freshets worthy to visit, to view, and to capture in word and drawing. And one of the most popular areas to appreciate nature, then and now, was the Lake District.

The Lake District boasts a collection of rocky mountains, deep clear lakes, and crystal streams found nowhere else in England. It had already achieved some popularity with the more outdoorsy types who enjoyed walking along the paths and shores. However, when the romantic poet William Wordsworth authored a Guide through the District of the Lakes (anonymously in 1810 and under his own name in 1820), even those usually content with indoor pursuits took notice.

Wordsworth had been born and went to school in the Lake District, and his time away from it only made him appreciate it further. He wrote some of his most famous poems while at Dove Cottage in Grasmere with his sister Dorothy and spent much of his married life in a house in Rydal. His love of the area glowed in his guide. Take this from early in the piece:

“When the sun is setting in summer far to the north-west, it is seen by the spectator on the shores or breast of Winandermere, resting among the summits of the loftiest mountains, some of which may be half or wholly hidden by clouds, or by the blaze of light which the orb diffuses around it; and the surface of the lake will reflect correspondent colors through every variety of beauty, and through all degrees of splendor.”

Kind of makes you want to go there, doesn’t it? His words certainly had that affect on the gentry and aristocracy of nineteenth century England, many of whom built summer homes along the lakes and streams.

Growing up as I did near the mountains and seas of the Pacific Northwest, and having returned to live there now, I feel a particular affinity for the Lake District. I have set several of my Regency romances there, including portions of The Marquis’s Kiss, An Honorable Gentleman, and the Everard Legacy series. 

Now you know another entry on my ever-growing bucket list of places to visit in England!

Introducing Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam of Blackcliff

Thank you all for your kind words! An Honorable Gentleman is actually my twentieth book, and the excitement of knowing it’s out in the wild, where anyone might pick it up and read it, is still heady. I appreciate those of you who hazarded a guess in the contest. The winner of the autographed copy is Rose De Guzman who correctly guessed (ahead of Beebs) that I had intended William IV, Duke of Clarence, to be the man who had fathered Sir Trevor. Rose, please send me your mailing info at reginascott@owt.com. Just think. If Trevor had been legitimate, he would have been King of England instead of Victoria! I wonder what the Trevorian era would have been like. :-)

So, in honor of the man who would never be king, today I’d like to ask my heroine, Gwendolyn Allbridge, to interview Sir Trevor for us. Gwen is the daughter of the estate steward at Blackcliff Hall, and she’s actually running the place.

Gwen: Sh! You aren’t supposed to tell my father or Sir Trevor. They think they’re in charge.

Nineteenteen: Ah, of course. Sorry. Ahem, Miss Allbridge, apprentice midwife and helpful young lady . . .

Gwen: Much better.

Nineteenteen: Is here today to introduce us to Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam of Blackcliff. Take it away, Gwen.

Gwen: Thank you. As you may know, Sir Trevor recently took on ownership of the Blackcliff estate when he was awarded his baronetcy for services to the Crown. Would you care to elaborate, Sir Trevor?

Trevor: It was an administrative matter. Nothing of consequence.

Gwen: Important enough to earn you a baronetcy and the finest estate in Cumberland.

Trevor: I’m afraid I must disagree, my dear, on several points. I solved a problem for a titled fellow, and he saw fit to recommend me to the king for elevation. And I’d hardly call Blackcliff the finest estate in Cumberland or any other part of England. The house and outbuildings are decaying, the mine that paid for them is closed up, and there’s not enough land to sustain any other sort of agriculture. In truth, it’s a sad disappointment.

Gwen: Well, it will be the finest, when you’re done improving it, I’m certain. And do not give me that eye, sir. I know you will be the salvation for this place. The villagers already look up to you.

Trevor: They look up to you, and I can see why. I’ve never met a woman with more energy and drive. You concoct potions that cure illnesses, you managed an army of volunteers to clean this cavernous house from the schoolroom to the scullery, and somehow you find time to cook for your father, sew your own clothes, and train your guard dog.

Gwen: Oh, yes, Dolly. Isn’t she a dear?

Trevor: She is the largest mastiff I’ve ever seen, and any man with an ounce of sense would run at first sight. I don’t know how you manage her or half the other things you do. Frankly, madam, you exhaust me.

Gwen, dimpling: Why, Sir Trevor, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

Trevor: You have obviously been associating with the wrong sort of fellow. You make me wish . . .

Gwen, breathlessly: What?

Trevor, quietly: That I was an honorable gentleman.

Nineteenteen: Ahem, well, I think we'll all just slip out now.

Who's Your Daddy?

Surprise! It’s Regina posting today. I’m being a blog hog this week because today marks the official release of An Honorable Gentleman. As we always do when Marissa or I have a new book out, we’re going to dedicate this week to celebrating. Today starts with a prize offering: a signed copy of An Honorable Gentleman. Read on, and I’ll tell you how you can be entered into the drawing.

You see, my hero in this book, Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, has had a rough upbringing. His father and mother weren’t married to each other. Being raised without a dad can be tough on any kid, but in the early nineteenth century in England it was particularly hard. Back then, the rules of primogeniture, as they were called, still held firm. That meant, in most cases, the oldest legitimate boy of the family inherited everything. No splitting down the middle, no shares for younger brothers, and nothing for girls.

Oh, there were certainly exceptions. Fathers and mothers could leave certain pieces of property or small bequests to their children in their wills. The only legitimate child who was a daughter might receive enough to be considered an heiress. But the bulk of all titles and lands went to that oldest son, of the first marriage. No father could play favorites (“I like your brother Parsimmon better, so he gets to be the earl.”) or disown a son he found less than respectable (“You don’t deserve to be earl, so I’m giving it to your cousin Englebert.”)

Sometimes fathers would at least acknowledge the son they’d had out of wedlock, giving the child money for schooling or helping him become a secretary to a rising politician or land steward, something gentlemanly even if he wasn’t exactly a gentleman. Fathers might also help daughters born out of wedlock make suitable marriages, offering a dowry or connections. Other times, fathers never let on they even knew the girl or boy, leaving the girls to fend for themselves and the lads wondering how they might become honorable gentlemen.

That’s the case with Sir Trevor. His father won’t publically admit that Trevor is his son. In fact, the father’s name is never mentioned in the book. But I’ve put in some clues as to who his father MIGHT be.

So, here’s the deal. The first person who correctly guesses the real-life historical figure who might be Trevor’s father, without giving away how she/he figured it out, will win an autographed copy. Just post the name in your comment. I’ll reveal all on Friday, when I’ll give you another chance to win. Here are your clues:

• Trevor’s last name is Fitzwilliam, which is not his father’s or mother’s last name.


• His father was a Navy captain at one time.


• His father is connected with the reigning family in 1815.


• His father had a tendency to fall in love with actresses, from an early age.

Let the guessing begin.