by Jo Beverley
AN EXCERPT FROM TOO DANGEROUS FOR A LADY
A Regency historical in which a lady becomes involved with revolutionaries, bombs, and a man on the run. Here's an excerpt.
* * *
Lady Hermione Merryhew is the daughter of a marquess, but he was the Poor Marquess. To make matters worse, both his sons died so that the title and estates, such as they are, have gone to a distant relative. The last straw is that the heir, Porteous Merryhew, has offered to marry Hermione and she can't stand him. Can she refuse, however, when he offers to her older sister and her family, who need the money.
Now a long lost maternal relative has been in touch to say that he's dying and wishes to see his only relatives. Great-uncle Peake was a black sheep who went to the Orient and family stories say he made a fortune there. So the whole family has set off to attend his death bed, hoping for an inheritance. At an inn they have two adjoining bedrooms and Hermione is looking after her two young nephews. To help settle them, she's extinguished the candles and is making do with firelight and dwelling on her fate if they don't inherit a fortune.
* * *
She shivered, wishing she could indulge in more coal on the fire. There wasn’t much left in the scuttle, however, and it would be extravagant to order more. In any case, part of the shiver had been at the thought of marrying Porteous.
He wasn’t revolting—which was unfortunate. If he were, no one would expect her to marry him. As it was, he was a man in his forties of acceptable appearance, high rank, and growing fortune. Many would expect her to weep with gratitude, but she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with such self-righteous pomposity. She especially could not imagine sharing the intimacies of a marriage bed with him.
He was a thin, abstemious man, who looked at rich food as if it were poisonous. If she became his wife, she’d never see a cake or a sauce again. His mother was just as thin as he and ruled the roost. She’d make any wife’s life intolerable. Above all, Hermione didn’t like Porteous. She wouldn’t harm her family by insisting on love in a beneficial marriage, but surely she shouldn’t have to marry someone she didn’t like.
She’d responded to his proposal with a request for time to think, claiming discomfort with him replacing her dead brothers. He’d not pressed his suit, but she imagined him now like a cat watching a mousehole, confident that she’d have to emerge into his claws in the end.
Please let Great-uncle Peake be as rich as we think, and please let our interpretation of his invitation be correct—that he’s dying and intends to leave his all to us, his only close living relatives. Please!
She was urging her wish upward to whatever powers attended to a selfish maiden’s prayers when the door to the corridor opened. She turned quickly to whisper to the servant to be quiet. But the man coming in was no servant. He closed the door, flipped the rotating bar into place, and then leaned his ear against the wood, listening.
Even from where she sat, Hermione heard rapid footsteps in the corridor and urgent voices. She stayed fixed in place, hoping the intruder would leave before noticing that she was there. Thinking better of that, she eased to one side, toward the poker.
He turned sharply, and across the room his eyes caught and reflected the flame in the firelight. Heart thumping, she grasped the poker and stood on guard. But rather than attacking or fleeing, he raised a finger to his lips in a clear “shush” gesture. Stunned, she couldn’t think what to do. She should shriek for help, but that would wake the boys. Even worse, anyone who ran to her aid might leap to scandalous conclusions.
And he wasn’t attacking her yet.
The room was lit only by firelight, which hardly reached his shadowy corner, but she could make out a tall man wearing an ordinary outfit of jacket, breeches, and boots, though he lacked a hat and his hair hung down to his collar. Who was he? What was he?
Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor,
Rich man, poor man, beggar man . . .
Thief.
As if he’d heard the thought, he turned toward her again.
She made herself meet his eyes, trying not to show the fear that had dried her mouth. She could hear no disturbance in the corridor now, so she jabbed a finger outward, mouthing, “Leave! Or I scream.”
His response was to lean back against the door, arms folded.
She glanced at the door into Polly and William’s room, but it was in the wall closest to the invader. He could block her way in a couple of strides. She was going to have to scream.
Then two-year-old Roger stirred and whined, “Minnie . . .”
The man looked sharply at the big bed. Hermione dashed to put herself between him and the boys, poker in hand.
“He’s not really awake,” she whispered, “but you must go, now.”
He relaxed again. “I’m afraid that’s not quite convenient.” At least he, too, spoke softly, and with a surprisingly well-bred accent. That didn’t mean he was safe or honest. Times were hard for everyone.
“It’s not at all convenient for you to be here,” she said. “I will scream if you don’t leave.”
“You’d wake the children.”
“And the whole inn, including whoever is after you. Begone.” If he’d made a move toward her, she would have screamed, but it seemed an odd thing to do when he remained leaning against the door. “If you fear people inside the inn, leave by the window.”
He pushed off the door and walked with easy grace past to look outside. “You think I have wings?”
She could escape through the door now, but she couldn’t abandon the boys. “I thought thieves were adept at such things.”
“That’s doubtless why I’m not a very good thief.” He turned to her and a touch of moonlight illuminated one side of a sculpted, handsome face, tweaking her memory.
Did she know the rascal? How could that be?
“The window looks onto the innyard,” he said, “and there are people down there. Someone would be bound to notice me scrambling down the wall, and then . . .” He drew a finger across his throat.
She sent him a look of powerful disbelief.
He nodded.
It must be playacting, but she didn’t want to be responsible for a death. “The corridor seems quiet now. Leave that way.”
“They’ll be watching. I’ll have to spend the night here.”
“You most certainly will not!” She was hard put not to shriek it.
“Minnie . . . I’m thirsty.”
Perhaps she’d raised her voice. Five-year-old Billy was sitting up. What would this desperate man do if the child saw him and cried out?
“I’m coming, dear.” Hermione sidestepped to the bedside, keeping an eye on the intruder, though she had no faith in her ability to hold him off, poker or not. In any case she had to put it down to get the water, but she kept half an eye on the intruder as she poured some into a glass and gave it to the lad.
Billy hadn’t noticed the man and was still mostly asleep. He drank, murmured thanks, and settled again. But he mumbled, “Want to go home.”
“Soon, dear,” she said, smoothing blond curls from his brow.
Six days would not be soon to a five-year-old, but it was the best she could offer. She took the risk of drawing the bed-curtains in the hope the boys wouldn’t be disturbed again.
“So you’re Minnie,” the man said, speaking as quietly as before.
She saw no reason to reveal her real name, so she agreed. “And yours, sir?”
“Ned.”
It was more convincing than John or Henry, but it wouldn’t be real.
“Am I allowed to stay?” he asked.
“No.”
“I won’t harm any of you.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“For no reason at all.”
Even so, her instincts said he was safe, which was ridiculous, except . . . Dear Lord, could it
be . . . ?
“You could tie me up,” he said.
She started. “What?”
“If you tied me to that wooden chair, you’d all be safe and you could sleep.”
Still distracted, Hermione could hardly make sense of his words. “You imagine I travel with rope in my valise?”
“Stockings would do.”
“You’re deranged.”
“Not at all. Think about it.”
But instead she was thinking that he just might be, could possibly be, the dashing dance partner, the man who’d almost given her her first kiss, the soldier she’d never been able to forget. Thayne. Lieutenant Thayne. She’d never known his first name. It could be Ned, but if so, how had he sunk to such a state?
One thing was clear. If there was any possibility, she couldn’t eject him to possible death.
She forced her mind to clarity. “It won’t work. In the morning servants will come to build up the fire or bring hot water.”
“Servants won’t come until you summon them and no one can enter if the doors are barred.”
He flipped the latch on the adjoining door, then walked to the chair. He moved it to face the fire and then sat down, presenting his back to her. She could pick up the poker and hit him over the head with it, except she would never do such a thing and apparently he knew it.
Did he know why?
That would mean that he’d recognized her just as she’d recognized him.
* * *
Too Dangerous for a Lady will be published in April 2015 It can be pre-ordered now from your favourite bookseller.
Some Extras
The first extra. As this book is about valentines, here's some information about a few interesting marriages.
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Getting Wed in Unusual Ways
You might think getting married is complicated now, but in the past there were all kinds of traps for the unwary.
For example, before a reforming Marriage Act of 1754, if a woman used a man’s name as if she were married, it counted. Letters from a man addressing a woman as “my dear wife” were proof enough. Even a mere declaration of being man and wife, perhaps to cover an illicit meeting, made it so. Whoops!
Most people did use a traditional wedding service, but that didn’t avoid all problems, because the conditions necessary to make such a ceremony binding were loose. The bride and groom didn’t have to say, “I do,” only indicate agreement. Young men and women who objected to the marriage arranged for them could be taken to the ceremony bound and gagged and forced to nod. As long as no one objected, they were married.
Marriage licenses were necessary if banns weren’t read, but they were readily sold to anyone who wanted one. Also, peculiarities of history had left a few areas outside of the rules of the Church of England, and there unregulated clergymen would marry almost anyone, anytime, no questions asked. They didn’t keep good records, so it was difficult later to prove or disprove a marriage, but even in regular parishes, record keeping was haphazard and marriage registries could easily be tampered with. But people didn’t always get away with that.
* * *
A Grave Lack of Forethought
No one really knows why the 5th Earl of Berkeley didn’t think things through. After all, he was gone 40 when he failed to marry Mary Cole. Certainly as a tradesman’s daughter she wasn’t the sort of women he was supposed to marry, but he must have known that in order to inherit his title his eldest son needed to be legitimate. However, this didn’t occur to him until 1796 when his fifth son was on the way, at which point he married Mary.
As he was dying, he swore that they’d been married all along and that his eldest son, William, was legitimate. He also left him everything — the title and property. When the earl died, William attempted to take his seat in the House of Lords, which was a necessary way to prove his entitlement. However, any man trying to take a seat in the Lords was investigated. Usually it was a mere formality, but in this case he was refused. That led to a court case, during which his mother swore there had been a wedding ceremony in 1786, but that they’d kept it secret for fear of scandal.
A loose leaf from her parish church register was produced containing the record of the marriage, complete with the signatures of two witnesses. One couldn’t be found. The other was her brother.
The countess also claimed there had been banns, which was unwise. No one remembered them, and one of the judges pointed out that no one would have banns read if they wished to conceal the marriage.
The older sons were judged to be illegitimate, and the fourth son was officially the 6th earl, but he never used the title. William inherited most of the wealth and the Berkeley Affair caused family acrimony for a generation.
* * *
Here's an example of a traditional marriage service gone wild before the 1754 a Marriage Act
Married with a Curtain Ring!
In 1752 two penniless beauties arrived in London from Ireland — Maria and Elizabeth Gunning. They became actresses, and were so famous for their beauty that people gathered to watch them leave their house. Penniless actresses wouldn’t normally be considered suitable for a grand marriage, but they both married well.
Maria was respectably courted by Lord Coventry.
Elizabeth married well, too, but in a much more irregular way. The wild, rakish Duke of Hamilton had no patience with formalities. Getting her alone one night — by her mother’s contriving? — he sent for a parson to marry them. When the parson insisted there must at least be a ring, he tore off a curtain ring, and that was used.
Despite being irregular — or clandestine, as they called it — the marriage was legal and his infant son became the next duke when he died four years later.
Maria married normally and for love, but suffered a sad fate peculiar to the 18th century. It was the fashion then for men and women to wear “blanc” — a white face cream. Unfortunately it was made with lead. As well as being a slow poison, the lead ruined the complexion, leading them to use more to conceal the blemishes.
Maria was one who insisted on wearing blanc. Her devoted husband tried to insist that she not use it, and even chased after her, trying to scrape it off, but she insisted. She died of lead poisoning at age 28.
After Elizabeth’s first husband died she married another duke, and in the end that penniless beauty was the mother of four dukes.
* * *
The Marriage Act was designed to put an end to all this, but as is often the case, tight rules led to new problems. The bride and groom had to provide their full names and dates of birth. But later, some people who regretted their marriage were able to wriggle out of it by claiming the name or date in the records wasn’t quite right. This annulled the marriage, bastardizing any children.
At least there were no more loose leaf parish registers to be produced as evidence. The records had to be in bound books with pre-printed, numbered pages, and copies had to be regularly sent to the bishop for safe keeping.
The law also stipulated that weddings must take place in a church between 9am and noon unless an expensive Special License was obtained. This was to ensure that the wedding ceremony was open to public witness and scrutiny. No more midnight weddings with a curtain ring, or vows made at gun point, but the fact that church weddings had to be open to the public led to an increasing number of upper class weddings taking place in private homes. This was possible with a Special License.
The time rule for church weddings almost ruined a wedding day in Victoria, British Columbia.
* * *
A Winter Wedding Drama.
Dr. John Helmcken was one of the early European settlers in Victoria. He worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company, and was sent to be the doctor there. Most of the HBC workers were single men, many French Canadian, but there were a few families, and one was that of James Douglas the Chief Factor. John was attracted to the oldest Douglas girl, Cecilia, and wooed and won her. In fact, he married the boss’s daughter!
Their wedding was planned for spring, but moved forward at James Douglas’s request because he was leaving on a dangerous mission. The day chos
en was December 27, 1852, and that proved to be one of those rare years when it snowed in Victoria. A lot.
The bride was at the Douglas house on one side of swampy James Bay, and the groom was waiting at the fort in the town, for the only chapel sancified for weddings was there. It was necessary to travel around the bay, and Victoria was still a frontier town with poor roads, But in any case the snow was too deep for wheels. It looked as if the wedding couldn’t take place, but the driver was French Canadian. He was accustomed to snow and resourceful. He made runners out of willow saplings, and placed a shipping crate on top, and drove off to the Douglas house to collect the bride. All would be well. Or would it?
Remember, by the laws of church and state in 1852, a wedding had to take place between 9am and noon. Noon was too close for comfort! The horse drawn sled traveled as swiftly as possible, but it would be a close thing. And so, the story goes, back at the fort, the ingenious best man was attempting to turn the clock back little by little so the wedding could go forward. He was caught and the clock corrected, but the bride arrived just in time, and the wedding could go ahead.
* * *
An Arranged Marriage that Turned out Well
Charles Lennox, Earl of March, heir to the Duke of Richmond was only 17 in 1719 when his father summoned him from his education and ordered him to marry Lady Sarah Cadogan to settle a gaming debt. The bride, aged 14, was brought from her schoolroom. She was simply bewildered, but he protested at being married to such a dowdy creature. In the end they did as told.
The marriage wasn’t consummated, and Lord March left on the traditional Grand Tour. He returned to England three years later, and was in no hurry to meet his wife again. Instead, he attended the theatre, where he saw an enchanting lady in an opposite box. He asked someone who she was, and was told she was the reigning toast of London, Lady March. He hurried to her side.
