A regency courtesan caught in a love triangle

Although Harriette Wilson had, as I said a couple of weeks ago, chosen to return to Mr. Meyler after teaching him an eye-for-an-eye lesson with Lord Ebrington, Lord Ebrington was not willing to simply withdraw, and because of Meyler’s insufferable temper, Harriette begins an emotional tug of war between the two of them.

But as always, before I tell this part of her story, here’s the background to this series of posts for anyone joining Harriette’s story today, and if you have already read this, then skip to the end of the italics, I have marked the start of the story in bold type again this week…

In 1825 Harriette Wilson, a courtesan, published a series of stories as her memoirs in a British broad sheet paper. The Regency gentleman’s clubs were a buzz, waiting to see the next names mentioned each week. While barriers had to be set up outside the shop of her publisher, Stockdale, to hold back the disapproving mob.

Harriette was born Harriette Debochet, she chose the name Harriette Wilson as her professional name, in the same way Emma Hart, who I’ve blogged about previously, had changed her name. Unlike Emma, it isn’t known why or when Harriette changed her name.

She was one of nine surviving children. Her father was a watchmaker and her mother a stocking repairer, and both were believed to be from illegitimate origin.

Three of Harriette’s sisters also became courtesans. Amy, Fanny and Sophia (who I have written about before). So the tales I am about to begin in my blogs will include some elements from their lives too.

For a start you’ll need to understand the world of the 19^th Century Courtesan. It was all about show and not just about sex. The idle rich of the upper class aspired to spending time in the company of courtesans, it was fashionable, the thing to do.

You were envied if you were linked to one of the most popular courtesans or you discovered a new unknown beauty to be admired by others.

Courtesans were also part of the competitive nature of the regency period too, gambling was a large element of the life of the idle rich and courtesans were won and lost and bartered and fought for.

So courtesans obviously aspired to be one of the most popular, and to achieve it they learnt how to play music, read widely, so they could debate, and tried to shine in personality too. They wanted to be a favoured ’original’.

The eccentric and outspoken was admired by gentlemen who liked to consort with boxers and jockeys, and coachmen, so courtesans did not aim for placid but were quite happy to insult and mock men who courted them, and demand money for any small favour.

Lord Ebrington was the first to make the next move in the newly forming love triangle. Harriette says he called on her, and accused her, ‘You have behaved very ill to me…’ Harriette claims it was not her fault, that she did not wish to treat him ill, and that she had truly agreed to end any commitment to Meyler.

‘But still you admit him just as usual.’

‘Because Meyler is so violent in his temper, and just now, so uneasy in his mind, which, added to his indifferent state of health, is more than I can resist…’ But it’s Harriette who leaves a metaphoric door open for Lord Ebrington, ‘Meyler will not remain long in France; but while he is here, my heart fails me when I attempt to turn him out of my house, and he must be permitted to visit me; neither will I shock nor disgust him, while he is in this constant and penitent humour, by allowing him to find you so often here’ … and the words between the statement… But if you wait for him to leave France… Then… Just like Harriette to always leave her options open.

Perhaps while writing of her own love triangle, Harriette’s conscience twanged, because at that moment, she takes the opportunity to hint at a similar love triangle for the sister she’d rivaled for men, for most of her life, Amy, who she claims arrived in Paris, with both Nugent and Luttrell. I think, knowing Harriette, it was a dig to draw ill judgement away from her own goings on, but she highlights, subtly, that Amy is staying in the same hotel as both men. I laugh. Oh Harriette you can be vicious.

Anyway back to her own, less ménage-à-trois like relationship.

‘As for Meyler, he continued to be all a woman could possibly wish him, as long as there was rivalry with Lord Ebrington; (which is probably another reason Harriette was deliberately keeping Ebrington close – to keep Meyler in line) but as soon as ever His Lordship had, or seemed to have, relinquished the pursuit, Meyler left off being amiable by slow degrees, till he became just what he had been before Ebrington had made an infraction in the complete harmony of our ménage. At that time Lord Hertford’s remark occurred to me: ‘Better live on a bone, than with a man of uneven or bad temper.’

In Harriette’s defense, Meyler could be mean and cutting though, from what Harriette’s said.

‘In one of Meyler’s fits of dogged humour, he asked me if I imagined he was vain enough or dupe enough to believe that I had given up such a man as Lord Ebrington for him. ‘You know as well as I do… that you are only making a merit of necessity. Ebrington got tired of you!’

I bit my lips with indignation, as ladies are wont to do on these occasions; but I remained silent, considering that most dignified. ‘…be it as you will, only pray, pray, a little peace if you please, and a little respite from these eternal quarrels, or part we must and part we will.’

When this angle of attack did not succeed in fully irritating Harriette into anger, Meyler, headed around to it by another route. ‘Perhaps,’ observed Meyler, in his zeal to tease and provoke, ‘ perhaps Ebrington likes you still and wishes to visit you, while you are so excessively cold-blooded as to leave the man you like to stay with me, because I am so much richer.’

Ha, ha, he may well have a point with that one! 😀 It certainly succeeded in making Harriette feel enough was enough.

‘Which of the two of us must leave the room?’ said I, taking up my bonnet and ringing my bell in a violent passion.’

Meyler having never seen me so violently disturbed, and half afraid he might have gone too far, he affected to turn the whole into a mere joke, when he took leave of me, as he said, to dress for dinner.

The very instant he turned his back I wrote a note to Lord Ebrington, declaring, whether he ever wished to see me again or not, Meyler and I were now separated’

Lord Ebrington responded to her summons immediately, and in person, ‘pride had not permitted him to show any symptoms of regret when he was dismissed, yet he very willingly expressed his delight and satisfaction at being reinstated.’

Lord Ebrington remained with Harriette from ‘five in the evening until past three the following day, when, after obtaining my promise to receive him again on the same evening, he made his departure in full dress, having called on me the day before, merely with intention to make me a flying visit on his way to a large dinner party.’

Then…

‘Ebrington’s pretty cabrolet, which he had sent for, was scarcely driven from the door when–enter little Mr Dick Meyler, M.P., and sugar-baker, as pale as a ghost! I was really shocked, having seldom seen him look so ill, and I took hold of his hand, which was as cold as death.’

Meyler explained to Harriette, that he had seen Lord Ebrington arrive, from his house across the street, and from there he’d watched from a window half the night, and seen the man send his carriage away, and not seen Lord Ebrington leave until just now. But this time, Harriette would not let herself be drawn back to him and his ill-temper by pity.

‘only do for heaven’s sake let me alone; for nothing you can now say or do shall induce me to be tormented with your society.’

Realizing that he had now truly pushed Harriette too far, Meyler conceded, but not without extracting a promise from her, that if she continued with Lord Ebrington, he would not have to endure watching the affair and thinking of Lord Ebrington with her. So Harriette did indeed continue with Lord Ebrington, but under the condition that he sneaked in and out of her house when Meyler was not at home, or watching.

But then Lord Ebrington decided to leave Paris and travel further into the newly reopened war-torn Europe, on an excursion with friends to Italy, and then again, Meyler was at Harriette’s door. This time he announced that he was also about to leave France.

‘I shall go to England in three days… May I see you constantly till I go.’

Hariette agreed, but her agreement was to be a disastrous move. That night, while she was in bed, asleep, while Meyler slept in a bed beside hers, Lord Ebrington returned, and she says he actual not only entered her house, but entered her bedchamber to surprise her, expecting her to be delighted that he had changed his mind and returned to Paris.

Harriette says she awoke in a panic.

‘Dear little Harry, have I frightened you?’ said Lord Ebrington, in speechless dismay.

I pointed my finger towards the small French bed, where poor Meyler was still calmly sleeping, and Lord Ebrington hastily bolted from the room…’

She never admitted the scene to Meyler, but once he’d left Paris, Lord Ebrington did return to Harriette’s bed, although only for a week. Harriette felt, that had she not taken Meyler back for those three days, Lord Ebrington may have invited her to travel to Italy with him, but having returned to find her back with Meyler, his pride was too cut, and she admits to talking constantly of Meyler in the week they did spend back together.

‘I fancy his vanity was irreparably wounded with what he saw on his arrival… Meyler spoiled my preferment with Ebrington by hurting His Lordship’s vanity and thus damping his ardour… Ebrington took his leave of me and Paris. Could I wonder at it?’

Harriette’s memoirs begin drawing to a close after this, but I will share them to the very end, and then share some of the things I’ve discovered which happened in her life, but she chose to not mention in her memoirs… Those things will make you feel sorry for her. If they don’t, then you must be a lot more hard-hearted than me…

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romances, and the author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Romance novel in America, ‘The Illicit Love of a Courtesan’.

Why not also read A Lord’s Desperate Love the story of two of the characters from The Passionate Love of a rake which Jane is telling for free here, there is a link to each part in the index of posts.

Click here to find out more about Jane’s books, and see Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

A Lord’s Desperate Love Part Five ~ A Historical Romance Story

A Lord’s Desperate Love

A Historical Romance Story

Part Five

None of the inns remembered a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman staying on her own or even passing through. How could anyone forget the vibrancy Violet carried with her?

Perhaps she had not stayed here.

Perhaps she had not come this far at all and left the post-chaise further back.

Geoff was sitting at the table in the private parlour he’d hired to dine. He rested one elbow on the table and his hand gripped his forehead. He needed to think. If she was not staying in an inn, perhaps she’d rented a property here. Perhaps she’d been planning this for ages and their affair had only ever been a finite thing. Maybe she had just forgotten to mention that fact to him.

Tomorrow he would check with rental agents.

Leaning back in his seat again, he lifted his ale and then sipped from it. Damn the woman.

“Your meal, my Lord.”

He’d not heard the maid enter. A sign of how distracted his thoughts were, no doubt. The inn’s staff probably thought him mad.

He ate the meal, but the food tasted like ashes. He felt as though his body was frozen in time. He was only waiting out the hours until his search could start again.

When he went to his room, he undressed to sleep, but sleep only came in fitful patches. His eyes were open at sunrise, and he got up and dressed, then walked the quiet, empty streets of Bath until it was a suitable hour to start calling on the property agents.

He crossed the Pulteney Bridge and walked back into the city at nine, heading for the Pump Room first. Yesterday he’d checked for Violet’s name in the register, today he was here to ask the master of ceremonies for a list of all the letting agents in the city.

He left the Pump Room with the list gripped in his fisted hand. Today was a new day. He was going to find her. If he could not believe that, then what the hell was he doing here?

It was just like yesterday, though, when he’d walked about the inns, every agent he went to denied knowledge of a lone blonde woman.

When the bells of the Abbey chimed at four past midday, he still had no lead. No one remembered a vibrant blonde, with blue eyes.

Geoff remembered her. Her company was all-consuming. How the hell could she have simply vanished? But what if she had come here to meet a man and she was not alone at all. Had she simply moved on from him?

Damn!

The pain of that thought bit at his heart.

He’d had a conversation with Robert in a coffee-house in London a couple of weeks ago, when Robert had been searching for the woman he was now married to. Robert’s agitation then had been palpable, and Geoff remembered watching his friend with no understanding… now… God… now he knew how Robert had felt then.

If Geoff had just opened his mouth a month ago and spoken the words he should have said, I love you, then he would not have had to bear this anguish. He should have offered for her. But she’d always made it clear to her men that her interest was only in a bed and nothing more. He hadn’t found the courage to try her, to see if that had changed. Fear had gripped his chest with a cold hard sense of steel each time he’d thought of speaking. If she’d wanted nothing more, then she’d have withdrawn from him and left him with nothing at all.

Yet when he’d taken her to bed her gaze had held his, her eyes glowing with something far more than a physical connection. No other woman had looked at him like that. Surely her views had changed.

Her words on the very first night he’d slept with her almost two years ago came into his mind. “You understand, Sparks, this is just what it is, I shan’t expect commitment or any such nonsense, I do not want you falling at my feet one day.” He could hear her laugh as she’d said it, as she’d stripped off his shirt.

Her hooks had slipped into him that night, he’d felt the barbs even then. They’d kept pulling him back to her bed. He’d just been one of her hoard of casual lovers then. But he’d enjoyed her company, and admittedly her sex. Then this summer he had tired of that role, and he’d stopped playing the game her way. Instead he’d asked her to dance and invited her out. It had won him the sole occupancy of her bed. The pleasure of that knowledge warmed his blood even now. He’d liked having her lean on his shoulder, and grip his hand possessively. He’d liked her.

Then his likes had turned to more, his deeper feelings gathering as a storm. He should have spoken. That was his error.

He would now… When he found her… If I find her… He’d tell her what he felt. He’d offer her marriage and pray she’d accept.

But if he found her with another man, what then? Then he’d walk away with a crushed heart, that was what. Even now he could feel it waiting to break in his chest. Like it was porcelain, and any jolt would shatter it.

She’d rip it out of his bloody chest if she took another man now. He was in love with Violet Rimes, the bloody Merry Widow, of all the people to fall for.

The last agent on his list was in Queen Street. He walked beneath the arch from Trim St, into the narrow cobbled back street which ran parallel to Milsom Street.

The agent’s was the fifth door up. His name was engraved on the front door.

“Mr Harrison?” Geoff spoke as he entered.

A short, thin man rose from his position behind a desk. Another man sat at a smaller desk in the corner.

“May I help you…?”

“Lord Sparks… I am seeking –”

“Property, my Lord.” The man immediately turned to gather some papers.

“No, no, not property, I am looking for a lady who may have rented a place locally in the last couple of days. Lad…” He nearly said her name, but instinct suddenly warned him not to. If she was running from him, would she use her name? “A lady with striking blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky, and blonde hair like gold. I believe she was alone.” He hoped she was alone.

The man looked at Geoff with wide eyes which then turned sly and suggestive. The man had seen her. Thank God! “Did she rent from you?”

“And who is it who asks? I should not divulge –”

“I am her brother…” An utter lie, but he’d do anything to find her. “She is in need of protection and I am worried for her?”

“And she is running from you, so she cannot wish for yours, my Lord,” The man’s voice rang with condescension and disbelief, but as he spoke he held out a hand.

Geoff understood and reached for money, withdrawing a note from the roll clipped in his pocket.

The man took it, looking down with a grin. Then he looked back up at Geoff. “Mrs Mayer took a property in a village a little out of Bath, in Lacock.”

Mayer? Geoff’s heart pounded. Was it her? It was the only lead he’d had, he had to follow it.

“Which street, what number?”

The man just smiled. “It was organised by another agent. His office isn’t open for two days, he’s gone away.”

Tiredness washed over Geoff, he was sick of facing dead ends. This was like navigating a bloody maze. It was a game of chance.

When he left, he walked out into a white mist. Fog. The cooler air of night had fallen and it felt cold and bleak. Autumn had turned to winter. He couldn’t even go tonight now, not in this. He’d have to leave in the morning.

Today Jane’s contemporary story ‘I Found You’ is available to download in the UK for just 99p here

A Lord’s Desperate Love is the story of two of the characters from the 2nd book in the Marlow Intrigues Series ~ The Passionate Love of a Rake.

The true story of a courtesan, who inspired The Illicit Love of a Courtesan, which I’ve been telling every Sunday, will continue alongside this.

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romance stories.