Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors

by English Historical Fiction Authors

  Besides the satisfaction that comes with mastering an activity of skill, co-ed archery societies could also help facilitate useful social interaction as they provided excellent opportunities for aristocratic men and women to mix.

  To be clear though, it’s important to note that the Bowmen’s interest in adding women was likely considerably less influenced by such social considerations. They had a reputation as one of the most serious archery clubs of the period and often frowned upon the partying and drinking that interfered with the practice of the sport. For them, archery was a sport, not an excuse to party.

  Elizabeth Linley Sheridan: Lady of Fantasy and Tragedy

  by Wanda Luce

  As a passionate author and reader of Regency-era fiction, I have often wondered if any real persons actually experienced the kind of romance that I and other Regency authors portray in our books. Those who share my partiality for the Georgian/Regency genre most probably love it because they find themselves transported into a world of idyllic romance and glorious endings.

  Unlike real life, Georgian and Regency-era novels carry the reader blissfully along through a multitude of ups and downs to a satisfying ending in which the hero and heroine at last form a deep alliance between soul mates. The reader expects and even anticipates that this love match, so beautifully brought to its desired zenith, will in like form continue so long as both partners shall live.

  As I searched for a real life story like the fictional ones I create, I discovered a lady whose life seemed stamped from the ideal, until I read about what transpired in her life beyond what in my novels is the final scene. Her life prior to marriage was a pattern card for a Jane Austen spin-off, but afterward? Well, I hope you will take a moment to honor her by reading my short summary of her life.

  Elizabeth Ann Linley Sheridan was one of the great beauties of the late 18th century. She was born the second of twelve children to composer Thomas Linley and his wife Mary Johnson on September 7, 1754. Thomas Linley taught his children musical skills, but of the seven who at length had musical careers, Elizabeth, or Betsy as she was called by her friends and family, possessed the greatest talent.

  As a child, Elizabeth stood outside the Pump Room in Bath and sold tickets to her father’s concerts, but by the age of fourteen, she was a stunning Soprano who drew her own crowds. From an early age, her dark hair, slim, tall figure, and porcelain skin drew the attention of men. Artist Thomas Gainsborough painted many portraits of her out of a desire to depict her exceptional beauty.

  Elizabeth began her vocal training at an early age and gave her first performance at Covent Garden when only twelve. Over the next few years, she transformed from a lovely girl with an extraordinary voice into a beautiful young woman whom a great many men desired to court. Her singing enchanted the public wherever she went, and her ability and beauty became famous.

  In spite of the many marriage proposals Elizabeth received, her father pressured her into an engagement with Walter Long who was about four times Elizabeth’s age. Although she found the idea of marrying him repugnant, her father desired the wealth Mr. Long would bring to the family. Mr. Linley also hoped Elizabeth’s marriage to a man of wealth would prevent her from pursuing a career on the stage. Long, however, broke off the engagement, sending wild rumors flying that she had cried off. On 26 June 1771, a comedy about her life, called The Maid of Bath, opened at the Haymarket Theatre.

  Shortly after the drama of Elizabeth’s broken engagement, Richard Brindsley Sheridan, the playwright, one of Elizabeth’s most ardent admirers, swept her off her feet, and on 18 March 1772, the two eloped to France. Unfortunately, the marriage was invalid while both of them were underage. Although neither father approved of a union between Elizabeth and Sheridan, Elizabeth’s father eventually capitulated and granted his consent in an effort to save his daughter’s reputation. On 13 April 1772, Elizabeth at last married Sheridan in Marylebone, London.

  Over the course of their marriage, Elizabeth was plagued with poor health and suffered many miscarriages, but in 1775 at the age of twenty-one, she finally delivered a son, Tom.

  In spite of Sheridan’s initial passion for Elizabeth, he soon sought his pleasure in other women’s beds, particularly those of the Devonshire set including the Duchess of Devonshire’s sister, Harriet, and consigned Elizabeth to years of despair and loneliness over his unfaithfulness. Though they began to live quite separate lives, the two occasionally appeared in public together.

  Elizabeth’s beauty soon caught the eye of the handsome Lord Edward Fitzgerald in whose arms she eventually sought the affection now absent in her marriage. Unfortunately, the affair produced a daughter and exposed Elizabeth’s infidelity, but the most terrible consequence was the serious effect the pregnancy had on her health. Overcome with guilt for his affairs and neglect, her husband helped her through the difficult pregnancy.

  After the delivery, Elizabeth developed tuberculosis. In an effort to improve her health, Sheridan took her to Bristol to soak in the hot wells, but to no avail. One night, he discovered Elizabeth at her piano, crying, the tears dripping down her thin arms. Her suffering and his guilt nearly drove him to madness.

  On 28 June 1792 Elizabeth passed away. So great were the crowds in the street that the carriage could barely edge its way to Wells Cathedral. Her husband adored the daughter Elizabeth had conceived by Lord Fitzgerald and took her in as his own, but only months after her mother’s death, the infant daughter also passed away.

  Imagine for a moment if Richard had remained faithful, adoring, and attentive how different Elizabeth’s life might have been. Just a thought.

  Grace Dalrymple Elliott: A Very High Flyer Indeed!

  by Lauren Gilbert

  Grace Dalrymple Elliott was a courtesan, and a very famous (or should I say, notorious?) one. Intelligent, educated, and witty as well as beautiful, Grace was known for making her own choices and living her life on her own terms, or at least as much her own as a woman of her time was able.

  Documentation about her is spotty: her marriage record, divorce records, daughter’s christening record, an obituary, a death certificate and a will all exist. However, they tell us little of the woman herself. She is mentioned in a few letters, gossip columns in The Rambler, Town and Country Magazine, Matrimonial Magazine, and similar “tabloid” type journals, but (again) the real woman eludes us. Even her own memoirs, Journal of My Life During the French Revolution, were altered.

  No letters to or from Grace herself, no account books, no diary have yet surfaced. However, what we do know about Grace is fascinating.

  Grace Dalrymple was born about 1754 to Hew (Hugh) Dalrymple and his wife Grizel (Scottish variation of Grace) in Scotland. Her father was of respectable family, possibly connected to Scottish aristocracy. Her parents were separated before she was born. She was sent to a convent boarding school in either France or Flanders at approximately age eleven, when her mother died. She remained there for about five years before joining her father in London.

  His profession and finances at that point are not clear; however, he was working on establishing himself. Grace was tall for her time (possibly as tall as 5’7”), slender with excellent posture, a heart-shaped face, and brown hair (worn powdered, per her time).

  Two portraits by Gainsborough, and a miniature, possibly by Cosway, show a very attractive woman. She attracted Dr. John Eliot, a Scottish-born physician, who was short, unattractive, and about fourteen years older than she. He was successful, having come under the patronage of Sir William Duncan, who attended King George III.

  Dr. Eliot attended many members of the ton, including the Prince of Wales, and was constantly working on improving his practice and earning more money. He spent time and made friends with people in high society. He would have been considered an excellent match. They were married in October of 1772 by “special license”.

  The doctor was very busy, workin
g in his practice, becoming known for his bed-side manner (especially with his women patients), leaving Grace to socialize on her own. Apparently, they were quite different persons: she was very young and enjoyed society, while he was much older and preferred to stay home when not occupied with his work or his own pursuits. Grace socialized with Dr. Eliot’s friends, who in turn introduced her to other people. A young wife was generally not chaperoned, so here was a very young woman on her own in a very fast crowd. Gossip columns of the day suggest Grace had multiple lovers, but her affair with the married rake, Arthur Annesley, eighth Viscount Valentia, made her notorious. It is unclear when the affair began, but Grace and Valentia made the gossip columns in 1774 and 1775.

  At the same time, her marriage to Dr. Eliot degenerated to the point that they couldn’t stand each other. Dr. Eliot had servants and paid informants spy on her. Grace was stubborn, reckless, and didn’t understand that her middle-class background required a level of discretion to which the higher born members of Society didn’t have to attain. Grace and her husband stopped sharing a room, and she was apparently sent off to the country for nine months to be sure she was not pregnant with a child of questionable paternity.

  Dr. Eliot filed divorce papers in 1774. After going through ecclesiastical court for the legal separation and civil court for the damages for criminal conversation, the final bill for divorce was presented to the House of Lords in Parliament in 1776, and King George III signed off on it. Dr. Eliot got the right to remarry and damages; Grace got an annuity of 200 pounds per year.

  Interestingly, years later, bequests in his will to his illegitimate children by multiple women indicate that Dr. Eliot was quite the womanizer himself! Dr. Eliot became Sir John Eliot in 1776, but (thanks to the divorce) Grace was never Lady Eliot.

  This is the first point at which Grace could have sunk without a trace. Disgraced and homeless (her father was dead, her sister basically disowned her), Grace was in a difficult situation. However, amongst all the gossip, there is no hint that Grace ever walked the street or was associated with a brothel. She acquired “protectors,” weighed her options, and generally traded up. Grace was linked with a number of men, and her relationships frequently seemed to overlap. We will consider three of her most advantageous.

  In January of 1776, her relationship with George, Marquess of Cholmondeley, an extremely wealthy and powerful man of the Prince of Wales’ set, became public. Lord Cholmondeley was tall and good looking. He was nicknamed “Lord Tallboy,” while Grace was known as “Dally the Tall.” They were apparently a handsome couple, well suited personally as well as physically.

  There is every indication that they sincerely loved each other and that Grace hoped to marry him. Rumors about a possible marriage between them surfaced in 1776 and in 1778, but nothing happened. Grace chose to go to France about May of 1779. She and Cholmondeley were reunited as lovers 1781-1784, but their relationship had changed. Ultimately, in 1795, Cholmondeley married Charlotte Bertie (an heiress from an old, powerful, distinguished family).

  From 1779-1781, Grace was in France, again in high society, and her name was associated with several court figures, including the Comte d’Artois and Philippe, Duc de Chartres (later Duc d’Orleans). However, in 1781, Cholmondeley made a visit to Paris with another woman. Grace returned to England, following Cholmondeley in early June, and they reunited briefly.

  During the summer of 1781, possible in June, Grace had a brief affair with the Prince of Wales. Over in a short time, possibly a matter of weeks, this affair was important because Grace became pregnant. Her daughter was born March 30, 1782, and Grace stated that the father was the Prince of Wales.

  The child was christened Georgiana Augusta Frederica Elliott for the prince, and the christening record (which still exists) shows the prince as her father. Although the Prince of Wales didn’t deny the child, he did not acknowledge her either. However, the christening record was left intact, and the prince paid Grace an annuity from at least 1800 until her death. (The annuity may have started earlier—the prince’s accounts are not complete.)

  Multiple candidates for the child’s paternity arose, however, and Lord Cholmondeley was a prime consideration. He was involved with Grace at the right time. Georgiana was placed with him and his family; he raised her and took responsibility for her. While this might have been a matter of tidying up the situation for the Prince of Wales (always a good move), it could have been achieved with much less personal involvement.

  Georgiana became known as Georgiana Seymour, made a most advantageous marriage, and continued as a member of Cholmondeley’s family. Grace and Cholmondeley maintained contact, and he helped her with money periodically. He also paid for her funeral. One way or another, they remained connected for almost fifty years, until her death.

  Grace left England for France in the late summer of 1784 with Philippe, Duc de Chartres. Philippe was charming, generous, very rich, and married; he provided Grace with her house in Paris and a cottage in the country. She was sincerely attached to him, as he was to her, but he was serially unfaithful. She remained in France during the prelude to the Revolution and during the Terror. This was the period of her life described in her memoirs, written in 1803. During this horrifying and exciting time, she supposedly carried messages on behalf of Marie Antoinette to various loyalist groups in France and to the Austrian government in Brussels in 1790. She saw the royal family returned to Paris after their attempted escape in 1791, saw various atrocities, and was questioned and imprisoned in various prisons under great hardship with other well-known figures, including Josephine de Beauharnais. She was finally released from prison, possibly in 1794.

  There are indications that, during this time in France, she also provided information to British officials, possibly spying for her country. There are many questions about the accuracy of her Journal, as there is little supporting documentation and there are noticeable discrepancies. However, there is no doubt that she was present and involved.

  Available information indicates that Grace went back and forth between France and England from this point until she finally returned to France in 1814. After this, there is no further record of her until the end of her life. The last two years of her life, she was a paying lodger in the home of M. Dupuis, the mayor of Ville d’Avray. There are indications that she suffered debilitating health problems, possibly stemming from her time in prison, that resulted in a slow death. She received last rites from a Catholic priest.

  Although she died alone, there is no indication she was poor—she had two annuities, and left a will. She was approximately 69 years old and living in retirement at the time of her death. However, Grace had lived an exciting life, in the thick of the highest society and stirring world events, determined by her own choices. She showed herself to be a strong and courageous person, who chose her path and stayed with it.

  Her granddaughter, Georgina Cavendish-Bentinck (Georgiana’s daughter), had Grace’s manuscript of Journal of My Life during the French Revolution published by Richard Bentley in 1859. She (or someone) provided him with anecdotal information (sources unknown), which he included. He wrote a prologue and epilogue, containing a number of his own opinions and inaccuracies, divided the work into chapters, and made other alterations, resulting in serious errors. Unfortunately, since the original manuscript has disappeared, there is no way to sort out his changes and errors from what Grace wrote herself. No one knows how Georgina came by the manuscript.

  Sources

  Drake, Sylvia. “Grace Dalrymple Elliott’s Journal de ma vie: Originally a pro-revolution memoir?” Jan. 29, 2010. Under the Sign of Sylvia. http://misssylviadrake.lifejournal.com/15492.html. (Article includes the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography article about Grace by Martin Levy in its entirety.)

  Great Scotswomen Blog. “Grace Dalrymple Elliott.” http://www.firstfoot.u-net.com/Great%20Scot/graceeliot.htm.

  Manni
ng, Jo. My Lady Scandalous. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005.

  Sir John Soane: At Home with an Eccentric Genius...or “Padre Giovanni Has Come to Visit.”

  by Grace Elliot

  I recently had the pleasure of visiting the Sir John Soane’s museum, however I went alone. Despite my best efforts, I totally failed to convince my teenage sons to come with me. The trouble was I approached things from the wrong angle. When my youngest asked, “Who was John Soane?” to encourage him along I tried the hard sell.

  “John Soane was the famous Georgian architect who designed the Bank of England.”

  My son remained blank faced so I tried again.

  “He was a famous collector and eccentric who filled his home with classical artefacts and fabulous paintings.”

  To his credit my son tried to look disappointed as he excused himself by saying he needed to bathe his bearded dragon (which in all fairness, he did then do)—so I went alone.

  But on my return it was a different story as I gushed with enthusiasm over what I had seen.

  “It was an amazing place; Soane built light-wells into the house and used stained glass in orange and yellows, so the rooms appear to glow.”

  My elder son, an art student, perked up and started to listen, as I explained in more detail.

  Numbers 12-14 Lincoln’s Inn Field were the home of influential Georgian architect, Sir John Soane (no, don’t switch off, I promise it will get more interesting), and what I hadn’t realised before my visit was just how excitingly eccentric the great man was. I went unprepared for the sheer scale of the collection crammed into his home. Artefacts press in from all sides, no wall space or flat surface unoccupied, and yet everything is in perfect harmony and order. The sheer weight of marble cornices, capitals, friezes, and plaques mounted on the walls set me wondering about the danger of collapse.