With Apologies to Mr. Ackermann…a Little

I’ve been collecting early 19^th century fashion prints for a long time now. They are the perfect thing to collect: they don’t take up a whole lot of room; they don’t break the bank to acquire; they’re a tangible piece of history; and they’re soooooo pretty! I’ve enjoyed sharing them with you and using them as a way to explore the fashions of the era.

And now, I’ve found another use for them: silly memes!

 

Inspired in part by graphic artist Anne Taintor’s work and in part by my upcoming Regency series, The Ladies of Almack’s, coming out next month, these have been huge fun to create. Like, waaaayyy too much fun.

The combination and/or juxtaposition of old images and modern sensibilities has proven irresistible and…er…I’ve made rather a lot of them.

If you like them, keep a look out for them on my social media outlets: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest (and follow me, if you don’t want to miss any.)

I might even compile them into a downloadable screen-saver for my newsletter subscribers at some point...what do you think? Should I?

Anyway, I’ll be having a lot of fun with these…and I hope you will too. To paraphrase Jane Austen, “For what do Ackermann prints exist, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?” 😁

Spend a Moment in the Salon?

Once upon a time, those who loved stories set in the nineteenth century had to enjoy their books in relative solitude. Oh, they might extoll the virtues to friends and family, some of whom had their eyes glaze over, alas. And they might find a book club willing to read with them on occasion. But then came Facebook Groups, where they could talk, and talk, and talk with like-minded lovers of Regency romances. 😊 Allow me to introduce you to three of my favorite groups.

I am one of the founding authors for Regency Kisses: Lady Catherine’s Salon. The group is for those who love low-heat Regency romances. We occasionally throw in a Victorian. Each week, a different author hosts, offering insights into the time period and their writing life. They also offer fun activities. We’ve had lessons in trimming your own bonnet, setting up a dinner party, and taking a trip by carriage. I hosted a week on the history of the genre. We’ve even had games like a Where’s Waldo in the Regency and online puzzles of period paintings. Readers post reviews on the weekends along with other information about the books they love.

We also hold parties from time to time around a theme like a ball or a dinner. We’re celebrating Valentine’s Day all this week with first kiss scenes. You can join in the fun here. 

The second group I’d like to draw your attention to is Inspirational Regency Readers. Run by authors Erica Vetsch and Julie Klassen (link), this group has fun activities, wonderful pictures, and tantalizing tidbits about the period we all love and the books set in them. Readers are very active in this group. You can join them here. 

Finally, there’s Alissa’s Regency Companions, run by author Alissa Baxter. She finds the most amazing photographs of country houses (exteriors and interiors), ladies in Regency garb, and Regency items I’ve ever seen. She also posts about Regency books on sale or free. Again, lots of interactions among the other members. You can join here.

Hope to see you at a salon soon!

A Pelisse, Please!

Oh, La Belle Assemblée. You got me right between the eyes with this one!

May I present, for your viewing delectation, a Walking Dress for March 1812.

The description reads

No. 2.—Dress for the Fashionable Promenades.

A purple velvet pelisse, with a full standing-up collar, worn carelessly open over a round white dress of fine French cambric; the pelisse trimmed with a broad bordering of braided ribbon, the same colour as the velvet. A Minerva bonnet of amber coloured sarsnet, with a long white ostrich feather across the front; the feather made round, and very full; long black lace veil, a-la religieuse; a chain necklace, composed of pearls with a gold ornament depending in front, representing the Apollo Lyre, set round with a circle of pearls; a gold Lisbon chain with an eye glass hanging below the waist. Plain gold oval-ring pendants. Purple half-boots, and York tan gloves.

Lots to unpack here.

•  I’m struck by the “carelessly” style suggestion, which has appeared in other fashion prints. It’s fascinating how at times being absolutely neat and buttoned-up and pulled together is the desirable mode, while at others a dash of wind-blown untidiness is all the rage.

• “Fine French cambric.” Hello, we’re smack in the middle of the Napoleonic wars at this time! I don’t know if its use here means it was actually imported from France (which I really can’t see, considering the embargo.) It might be worth doing some digging around to find out if “French cambric” meant a particular weave or finish…or if describing some article of fashion as “French” was just to give it a little extra desirability. 

• Lots of description of jewelry in this particular plate, which is unusual.

Now, that amazing pelisse! I’m reminded of coats from the high heyday of evening wear in the 1950s and 1960s, aren’t you? The high collar, the rumpled, gathered look of the fabric (which seems slightly at odds with the description of the trim)—it’s scrumptious. I'm trying to tell if it’s self-lined or not—it rather looks that way, but trying to put on and take off a velvet-lined pelisse...hmm.

The dress is pretty enough, but honestly, who’s looking at the dress? 😁 The hat confuses me, however; wouldn’t wearing the lace veil over it (as shown in the image) hide the ostrich feather?

On reflection, I don’t care. I’m too in love with the pelisse.

What do you think?

 

Can You See Anything? Not in the Women’s Gallery in the House of Commons

I suppose I take for granted the ability to watch our democracy in action. The internet and cable television bring our legislators up front and personal, and the news media provides summaries of actions taken in the House of Representatives and the Senate. Before the pandemic, I might have gone to sit in the gallery of my state legislature and watch proposed laws being debated. So, I was surprised to learn just how hard it was for a young lady to view activities in the House of Commons during the early part of the nineteenth century.

Until 1834, when the House of Commons was destroyed by fire, the building was a rambling, four-story structure along the Thames. The Members of the House met in a lofty chamber with galleries around three sides, but these spaces were for men only. Two galleries flanking each other were for Members who did not intend to take part in the debate. Overflow was necessary, because the main floor could only accommodate a little over half of the Members at a time. The third gallery was for “Strangers,” or visitors. Of the 120 seats, 40 were reserved for reporters.

If a lady wanted to observe the goings on, she must watch from the Women’s Gallery. It was located in the attic, directly above the debate chamber. There was room for only fourteen occupants, and their view consisted of a grating in the floor that gave onto the chamber below. As near as I can tell, you can see the grating in the ceiling at the upper left of the picture above. 

According to one attendee, all that could be seen were the feet of the Speaker of the House sitting in his chair, part of the table at which the clerks recorded the proceedings, and one or two of the dignitaries seated nearby. The Women’s Gallery was dark, with only a single candle in a tin lantern, and hot, with the chamber below ventilating into it. (I will restrain myself from making a joke about all that hot air rising from the pontificators.)

Such was the scene when Lady Calantha, heroine of February’s Never Court a Count, attempted to identify a Member of the House by the sound of his voice. She promised Fritz, Count Montalban and brother to the Crown Prince of Batavaria, that she can find the man she overheard threatening his family. But she never expected identifying him would be so difficult, or Fritz so hard to forget. Here’s a little about the story.

Lady Calantha, middle daughter of the Duke of Wey, has the unique ability to turn invisible in company. Well, not entirely invisible, or the eligible Frederick, Count Montalban, wouldn’t have noticed her at all. But Callie’s shy nature and plain features tend to make people overlook her. And they say the most outrageous things around her as a result, which is why she accidentally overhears strangers plotting to harm the count and his royal brother and father. What can a lady do but warn him?

Fritz, Count Montalban, is determined to keep his family safe. But he can’t drag Callie all over London to identify those plotting against them unless she has a reason to be alone with him. Pretending an engagement sounds like the perfect plan. After all, his dashing demeanor hides a wounded soul that demands he hold a true fiancée at a distance. But there’s something about Callie that pulls him closer.

As the danger grows along with their attraction, Fritz and Callie must work together to protect both their families, and Fritz finds his heart cracking open. Can he prove to the sweet Callie that she will never be invisible, to him? 

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