Reckless in Innocence ~ A Free Historical Romance story ~ Part Thirty-three

Reckless in Innocence

for my Historical Romance readers © Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark, this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane LarkReckless in Innocence

Reckless in Innocence

(an early Jane Lark story that is not at all associated with the Marlow Intrigues)

~ Read the earlier parts listed in the index 

~

Chapter Twelve

 

Elizabeth

Elizabeth was sitting on the cushioned windowsill, looking out at the rain which fell in sheets across London. Lord Percy’s rooms were small. He had a bedchamber and dressing room for himself, where Elizabeth had spent her nights since she’d arrived, sleeping in his bed, alone. Then there was a living area which served as a sitting and dining room, where she had spent her days like this, staring at the street, the people who passed by, and the weather.

She closed her eyes.

She had never really been religious, her parents had never encouraged regular visits to church but in the last three days she’d longed for belief in some all-powerful deity, some power of good to have faith in, someone who could save her from her fate, if she pleaded with them.

She’d realised on the first day that this was not Lord Percy’s home. It was a place in which a man would keep his mistress and if it were not for the small amount of his clothing in the dressing room she would have thought he’d taken the rooms for her benefit alone.

She rested her fingers against the cold, misty glass. Lord Percy had probably kept a dozen mistresses here through the years.

What would happen if she did not please him? She’d never thought about that before. When they had arrived here he’d barely shown her the room before he left and he had not called upon her in the three days since. What if he decided he did not want her? Where would she go?

She would not think about it. She could not. She must take each hour and each day as it came.

She turned to look about the room. The books she’d borrowed were in a stack on a chest, she’d read them all. She could not hide in here forever. She ought to take them back. If she took them back she could learn where Lord Percy’s rooms were and learn her way from here to the places she knew. If she did that then she would have more opportunity to go out. These rooms had felt like a prison cell. She needed fresh air, and she needed to take a hold of her life again. What good was there in sitting here, sulking and longing for a different outcome?

She rose from the window seat to collect her cloak. It felt entirely odd to put it on herself, without Abigail’s aid. She picked up her bonnet, put it on and tied the ribbons, refusing the sense of overwhelming loneliness which swept about her. Then she put on her gloves and picked up the books.

It felt the strangest of all things to walk out of the door alone and cross the landing of the common area which provided the access to Lord Percy’s rooms. She lifted her chin, held her shoulders back and charged herself with bravery. It was ridiculous that she must need to feel brave simply to walk out onto the street and yet her heart raced as she progressed down the stairs to the front door. A man in livery stood there.

“Is it not a bit wet to be taking the air, miss? I’d go back up.” The doorman bowed slightly as she descended the last few steps of the staircase.

Elizabeth clutched her books against her chest and shook her head. Her life had always been lonely but now she felt it keenly, it was a pain in her breast. She had no one who cared for her, no defender, no companion – anything could happen now.

When she walked closer the doorman moved, but not to step aside, he stood right in front of her.

“I’d go back up, miss,” he said again as he formed a physical wall of muscle before her.

There was nothing obviously unusual or threatening in his stance, yet something about it made Elizabeth wary. He was too close, too informal and too large a man. She took a step back, so that she did not face his chest and could look up at him without feeling snared. “I am not bothered by the rain. If you would excuse me?”

He did not move. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I must insist. It is not the weather for strolling.” His posture stiffened, making him taller still. He no longer looked as though his position in front of her was natural, it was a barricade. He did not intend to let her go.

Am I a captive here then? “Excuse me,” Elizabeth repeated sharply, testing her ground, as she stared at the man.

“I’m sorry, miss, but the gentleman instructed me, you’re not to leave unless you’re in his company. You cannot go out alone. Tis for your safety.”

Elizabeth gripped the books tighter, as though they were a cliff to cling to. “Am I a prisoner here?” Lord Percy has not visited in three days. “Am I to be secured here as though I am in a jail?” Her words were spoken in confusion. She’d deemed it that, in the last few days, but she’d thought her words imagination.

“You must speak to the gent, miss, not to me. I dunot make the rules. I obey them.”

“Please move aside!” Elizabeth ordered in frustration. “I cannot speak to Lord Percy when he is not here?” When the man still did not move, Elizabeth’s anger soared. “Move aside!” Although it was not truly anger, it was panic.

Six feet two in height, in comparison to Elizabeth’s five feet six inches, the man was a mass of solid, bound muscle – ox-like. Undaunted, Elizabeth tried to push past him. At her attempt to move him the man simply smiled and then knocked her aside, sending Elizabeth off-balance. The books slipped out of her hands as she tumbled backward. She ended up sprawled in an undignified manner at the doorman’s feet, with the books spread about her.

He offered his hand but the sarcastic smile on his face spurred her to refuse it. Instead the oaf caught hold of her arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. “My you are haughty for a whore.”

When he let her go, he smiled, wryly. “Forgive me, miss, but the gent was quite specific. I cannot let y’u leave. I dunot mean to hurt y’u, miss, but no matter, y’u cannot go. The gent would have my hide.”

A whore? Was that all she was now?

Elizabeth swiped at the skirt of her dress with her gloved hands, brushing away invisible dirt, as she thought, trying to work out what to do. When she straightened she glanced back, looking up the stairs. Was Lord Percy really holding her captive? Why? She looked back at the doorman.

For whatever reason, it was clear she should not stay here.

Marcus’s and his sister-in-law’s warnings rang through Elizabeth’s head. What did they know? What had Lord Percy done in the past? What would he do to her?

“Would one of the house maids be able to take these books, they should be returned to the lending library, in Portman Street?” It was an excuse to try to send a message through one of them. If she put a note into one of the books she could ask for them to be delivered to Marcus’s brother. He would help her.

“No, miss, I’m afraid not.” The doorman’s tone had become a stiff denial again.

“So I am a prisoner here then?” she whispered in shock, stepping back again.

“If I were you, miss, I would do what the gentleman wishes. In my understanding, y’u made y’ur choice. If you want the gent to keep y’u in your finery and pay y’ur rent, you must do just as he says. Now, look…” his eyes widened, “I’ll say nothing to him this time. I’ll not tell him you tried to go out. But if you try again, I shall have to say.”

Elizabeth looked from the doorman to the door. She’d made a mistake coming here. She heard Marcus’s voice. How many times had he warned her about Lord Percy? He had known the man was capable of cruelty, but she had not foreseen this.

Her gaze lifted to the doorman’s face. “Forgive me.”

“Aye, miss.” He nodded, relaxing back into his innocent pose.

She squatted down,collected her books from the floor, then rose and turned away, trying to walk steadily and not appear to flee, her heart thumping and her mind racing, searching for possibilities. There were none.

Instead of searching out new books from the lending library she spent the afternoon sitting in the window seat once more, fingers pressed to the pane of her prison cell, looking out.

When dusk fell she changed for dinner as she had done every night, in case Lord Percy came. He did not.

Elizabeth asked the maid who served if she would be able to take a letter. The girl refused. This truly was now her prison.

As the evening past after dinner she paced the floor of the living room, not knowing what to do, while her fingers ran across the goose-bumps on her arm, as she stroked from her upper arm to her elbow, comforting herself. This was all so strange.

Lord Percy had courted her daily before she’d gone to Larchfield, and now she was here, his, he did not come at all.

Was that it? Was this all something to do with her going to Larchfield? Was Lord Percy angry with her because she’d gone away with Marcus? Certainly he’d not agreed to this arrangement to help her. And she did not think it common for men to lock up their mistresses. A man did not keep a woman prisoner if his intent was good. How long would he keep her here? How long would it be before he came? She walked to the window, it was dark. Why would he not let her out? Why keep her prisoner?

She walked over to the table and sat down on the chair where she’d eaten, perching on the very edge as she looked at the cold cup of coffee which she’d left untouched. Her heel tapped a steady rhythm on the floorboards as her hands clasped in her lap. She rose again and walked to the hearth, then back to the table, turning to follow the same path that she’d walked most of the evening.

The clatter of horses’ hooves echoed from the street outside, permeating through the window. She went to look down at the moonlit street. A hired carriage had stopped before the building. It was him. She knew it. But why would he come in a hired carriage? “Why not his own?” She did not trust him. There was no trust in her anymore.

Elizabeth turned away from the window as her heart raced at a gallop and stood before the table where the three armed candelabrum burned. Her hands clasped at her waist  as she waited.

His knuckles rapped on the door and despite being prepared, she jumped. But there was nothing to do but welcome him. These were his rooms.

~

To be continued…

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The Lost Love of Soldier ~ The Prequel #1 ~ A Christmas Elopement began it all 

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan #2 

Capturing The Love of an Earl ~ A Free Novella #2.5 

The Passionate Love of a Rake #3 

The Desperate Love of a Lord ~ A second Free Novella #3.5 

The Scandalous Love of a Lord #4

The Dangerous Love of a Rogue #5

The Secret Love of a Gentleman #6

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

Lady Caroline Lamb’s whole disgraceful truth… Part Twenty-two ~ Sudden fame and a new fan for Lord Byron

CarolinelambIn 1812 Britain’s aristocracy still feared a revolution. What had happened in France was a shadow living over Britain’s elite, and it was in this year that, having returned from his grand tour, Byron was finishing off his poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage which was based very loosely on his travels. He was a believer in fighting for the underdog. 1812 was also the year that Luddites were protesting against the installation of new looms for making cloth, which being much bigger required half the workers. These protesters instigated violent riots and smashed up the new frames. It was Lord Byron who spoke for the workers in the House of Lords. He was therefore not a man to mix much with the elite at the level Lady Caroline did at this time. So how did Lady Caroline become friendly with him? Well before I tell you let me run through the background to this series of posts for anyone new joining today, as always if you’ve read it before just skip to the end of the italics where I’ve marked the text in bold.

I was drawn to Lady Caroline Lamb, who lived in the Regency era, because Harriette Wilson the courtesan who wrote her memoirs in 1825, mentions the Ponsonby and the Lamb family frequently. Also the story of Caroline’s affair with Lord Byron captured my imagination. Caroline was also a writer, she wrote poems, and novels in her later life. I have read Glenarvon.

Her life story and her letters sucked me further into the reality of the Regency world which is rarely found in modern-day books. Jane Austen wrote fictional, ‘country’ life as she called it, and I want to write fictional ‘Regency’ life rather than simply romance. But what I love when I discover gems in my research like Caroline’s story is sharing the real story behind my fiction here too.

Lady Caroline Lamb was born Caroline Ponsonby, on the 13th November 1785. She was the daughter of Frederick Ponsonby, Viscount Duncannon, and Henrietta (known as Harriet), the sister of the infamous Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.

Caroline became an official lady when her grandfather died, and her father became Earl of Bessborough earning her the honorific title ‘Lady’ and she grew up in a world of luxury, even Marie Antoinette was a family friend. Caroline was always renowned as being lively, and now it is suspected she had a condition called bipolar. As a child she earned herself a title as a ‘brat’, by such things as telling her aunt Georgiana that Edward Gibbon’s (the author of The Decline and fall of the Roman Empire) face was ‘so ugly it had frightened her puppy’.

And when she grew up Byron once described Caroline as “the cleverest most agreeable, absurd, amiable, perplexing, dangerous fascinating little being that lives now or ought to have lived 2000 years ago.” 

ByronByron was nervous about publishing Childe Harold because was trying to create a place for himself in the House of Lords, yet the poem contained an attack on Lord Elgin for taking the marble statues from the Pantheon. When he expressed his fears to his publisher, John Murray, John employed Samuel Rogers, who was also a poet, and a member of the elite network of society in which Caroline associated to gauge the potential reaction to Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage in society. Byron did not want to alienate himself.

Both Samuel and Caroline were frequent visitors at Holland House. The ‘Holland House Circle’, as they were known, contained the artistic set and several woman and men who were very fashionable in elite society.  Samuel Rogers therefore took advance copies of Childe Harold into this circle to share, to obtain reactions to it. One of these advance copies ended up in the hands of Caroline, who would have read Byron’s earlier work, and both one of her brothers, and her cousin Hart, knew Lord Byron through connections at Harrow and Cambridge.

Caroline, who loved to create controversy as much as Byron loved to support the underdog, was moved by the emotion captured in the poem, from the sense of loneliness in a crowd, to the expression for a lost love, and so when Childe Harold spoke about the ‘heartless parasites‘ of society, and a desire to leave England’s pretension and hypocrisy behind, Caroline’s imagination was captured. But as with many of Byron’s fans, she was not only captured by a connection to the character but she transposed the character Childe Harold onto Byron, and felt an attachment to the author. She urged Samuel Rogers to arrange an introduction to Lord Byron, but Samuel was wary of introductions. He was frequently only invited to dinner parties so he might bring his friend with him.

Caroline later said that Samuel sought to put her off an introduction by saying that Byron was unattractive and a nail biter with a club foot. To which Caroline answered, “If he is as ugly as Aesop, I must see him.” She would not be put off.

Childe Harold was published on the 3rd of March. On the 9th of March Caroline wrote a letter to Lord Byron.

(I am laughing, I only recently wrote my first ever letter to someone famous, weird, I come to this point in the story now. I cough awkwardly, and smile as I blush slightly. Then I’ll carry on. But P.S. it was definitely not in the manner of Caro to Byron. So carrying on…)

Tellingly, like many other women, she addressed her letter to Childe Harold, Byron’s character in the poem.

‘I have read your book & cannot refrain from telling you that I think it & that all those whom I live with & whose opinions are far more worth having – think it beautiful. You deserve to be and you shall be happy. (again in saying that she placed the emotion of his character on Byron’s shoulders) Do not throw away such Talents as you possess in gloom & regrets for the past & above all live here in your own Country which will be proud of you – & which requires you exertions. Pray take no trouble to find out who writes to you – it is one very little worth your notice & with whom you are unacquainted but who from the first has admired your great & promising Genius & who is now so delighted with what you have written that it would be difficult for me to refrain from telling you what I think.

As this is the first letter I ever wrote without my name & could not well put it, will you promise to burn it immediately & never to mention it? If you take the trouble you may very easily find out who it is, but I shall think less well of Childe Harold if he tries – though the greatest wish I have is one day to see him & be acquainted with him.’

But despite her protestations in the first letter that she wished to remain anonymous and did not wish him to try to find her, within two days she wrote a second letter. (Phew, I sigh, as I brush the back of my hand across my forehead, I am definitely not going crazy, I didn’t send a second letter 😉 I just wanted them to know I admired their work – I gulp – that still sounds too like Caro – weird feeling – but maybe it will appear in a historical plot line – everything happens for a purpose – I think this was for inspiration) In this letter, again, like many of those from Byron’s fans, Caro chose to mimic his poetry.

 

‘Oh that like Childe Harold I had power

With Master hand to strike the thrilling Lyre

To sing of Courts and Camps & Ladies Bower

And chear (her spelling – remember exact spelling didn’t exist then) the sameness of the passing hour

With verse that breathes from heaven and should to heaven aspire

Then all confiding  in my powerful art

With friends attentions & expressions kind

Ev’n I might Hope some solace to impart

To soothe a Noble but a wounded heart

And pay homage due to a superior mind…

Strong love I feel for one I shall not name-

What I should feel for thee could never be the same-

But Admiration interest is free-

And that Childe Harold may receive from me.’

 

After Childe Harold was published, although Byron had already published other work, he was suddenly adopted as a true genius by British society. ‘I awoke one morning and found myself famous’ he said once. The Regency poets really were the popstars of their era. His friend Thomas Moore called the women who wrote to Byron and flocked about him ‘star-gazers’ of which Caroline was truly one, but she, like I said above, she liked controversy, she did not wish to be like those other women.

The publishing of Childe Harold, or rather the fame and adulation Byron was bestowed with after the poem was published, opened the doors of the highest society to him. Thomas Moore later wrote of this time ‘in place of the desert which London had been to him but a few weeks before, he now… saw the whole splendid interior of the High Life thrown open to receive him.’ It was not long then before he and Caroline attended the same ball. He knew by then that she had written both the poem and the letter.

When Caroline saw him surrounded by women she chose to avoid him rather than seek an introduction and left the ball. She did not wish to be one of a crowd.

He was fascinated. Caroline came from an elite level of society he had at times mocked but also held aspirations to reach and so her interest in him was a huge complement, and also must have had some appeal to his spirit of feeling like an underdog winning. He therefore introduced himself to her at Holland House, where he knew he would find her. He challenged her about avoiding him at the ball, but she gave no reason, and yet she accepted his request that he might call on her.

Byron then became the chaser. The first time he called at Caroline’s home in Melbourne House in London, he arrived with Samuel Rogers, whom Caro was expecting. She had not expected Byron, and she wrote in her diary, ‘I had just come in filthy and hot from riding when they told me that not only was faithful old Mr Rogers in the drawing room. but he had brought with him another and a very different poet. Should I go up to my room and tidy myself before confronting him as I was? No my curiosity was too great and I rushed in to be introduced to his portent.

Byron made a study of Caroline in his calls on her, he sought to please her and amuse her, and was even known to have her much loved four-year-old son sit on his lap. As she had been with her husband, Caroline was charmed by Byron’s intellectual conversation, they discussed books, as Byron carefully identified all the things which she liked and would interest and engage her. He was a true Regency rake who knew how to manipulate women, his seduction was very calculated, but I do not think Caroline fought particular hard against it.

Her mother saw what was happening, and tried to warn him away, telling him that Caroline saw nothing in him and her interest was not of that manner. Her denial only egged Byron on (if you read my books you will recognize the attitude in the following words in one of my characters) ‘Her folly half did this, at ye. commencement she piqued that vanity (which it would the be the vainest thing on earth to deny) by telling me she was certain that I was not beloved.’

He gave Caroline a rose, with a note, which included some verse about his dog, as she liked dogs, saying ‘Your ladyship, I am told, likes all that is new and rare, for a moment.‘ of course he was referring to himself not the rose.

Caro invited Byron to a waltzing party on the 25th March. Caro loved waltzing. Byron hated it. He could not dance, he had a weak leg and a club foot, but he went and merely watched her dancing. He was invited to return the following evening with Thomas Moore, whom Byron wrote to, to advise him of the invitation. ‘Know all men by these presents that you, Thomas Moore, standing indicted-no-invited, by special and particular solicitation, to Lady C L**’s to-morrow evening, at half-past nine o’clock, where you will meet with civil reception and decent entertainment.’

On the 27th March Caroline wrote another letter to Byron.

Good Friday

The Rose Lord Byron gave Caroline Lamb died in despight of every effort made to save it; probably from regret at its fallen Fortunes. Hume at least, who is no great believer in most things, says that many more die of broken hearts than is supposed – when Lady Caroline Lamb returns from Brocket Hall, she will dispatch the Cabinet maker to lord Biron (Caro’s spelling) with the Flower she wishes most of all others to resemble, as, however deficient its beauty & even use, it has a noble and aspiring mind, &, having once beheld in its full lustre the bright unclouded Sun that for one moment condescended to shine upon it, never while it exists could it think any lower object worthy of its worship and Admiration-yet the sunflower was punished for its temerity but its fate is more to be envied than that of many less proud flowers it is still permitted to gaze though at the humblest distance, on him who is superiour to every other & though in this cold foggy atmosphere it meets no doubt with many disappointments & though it never could never will have reason to boast of any peculiar mark of condescension or attention from  the bright star to whom it pays constant hommage yet to behold it sometimes to see it gazed at to hear it admired will repay all – she hopes therefore when brought by the Little Page it will be graciously recieved without any more Taunts & cuts about “love of what is New” – Lady Caroline Lamb does not plead guilty to this most unkind charge at least no further than is laudable for that which is rare & is distinguished & singular ought to be more prized & sought after than what is common place & disagreeable – how can the other accusation of being easily pleased agree with this? The very circumstance of seeking out that which is of high value shows at least a mind not readily satisfied – But to attempt excuses for faults would be impossible with Lady Caroline – they have so long been rooted in soil suited to their growth that a far less penetrating gaze than Lord Byrons might perceive them – even on their shortest acquaintance – there is not one, however, though sorry indulged, that shall not be instantly got rid of if L Byron thinks it worth while to name them… The lines upon the the only dog ever lov’d by L Byron are beautiful. What wrong then that having such proof of the faith and friendship of this animal, L Byron should censure the whole race by the following unjust remarks!’  she then quoted four lines from Childe Harold about him ill-treating his dog.

But from this moment, their affair was on. They had both expressed a particular liking.

To be continued…

If you would like to read my historical romance story that’s inspired by Caroline’s life it’s available now The Dangerous Love of a Rogue.  

Dangerous Love of a rogue from Zoe

The next story about sub-characters in The Dangerous Love of a Rogue is now also available preorder. The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel is Peter’s story. See below to order. 

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Peter’s Story can be found in the Magical Weddings, summer boxset, you can preorder on Amazon here, it is also available from other eBook suppliers. 

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Go to the index

For

  • the story of the real courtesan who inspired   The Illicit Love of a Courtesan,

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

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

Jane’s books can be ordered from amazon by clicking on the covers in the sidebar,  and are available from most booksellers.