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.  

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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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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

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

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

~ Read the earlier parts listed in the index 

~

Chapter Eleven

 

Elizabeth 

Elizabeth laid her hairbrush on top of the dresses she and Abigail had packed.

“Are you ready, Elizabeth?”

Lord Percy’s voice surprised her. Elizabeth looked up to see him rest his shoulder against the frame of her bedroom doorway. The intimacy of his position in her private room, and the nonchalant way in which he stood, immediately made her feel uncomfortable. He’d been in an odd mood when he arrived, cocky – far too sure of himself, and it was as though he was angry. Yet he was here. And this was her choice. She had given him the right to intimacy, she could not deny him now he’d accepted. She had invited his attentions and she must accept his closeness and what must follow; she had no choice.

She did not have a choice!

She had repeated those words to herself at least twenty times in the last hour, ever since the note had arrived to say that he was coming.

Of course, he had said how desperately sorry he was to hear the news of her father’s misfortune. Then he had offered her his protection for as long as she needed it. His protection, his money, his food, his home, she needed those things, not for herself but for her child.

And in return…

She would not think of the things that she must give him. Not yet. Though how different was this in comparison to most marriages of the aristocracy? Men and women did not marry for love; they wed for children, for notability, titles and money. She had accepted this arrangement for money too. There was simply no ring to bind it.

“I am almost ready, Lord Percy, just these.” She picked up the latest books that she’d borrowed from the lending library and placed them in the top of her trunk.

“You must call me Christian now, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, indeed, Christian.” His name felt odd to her lips. Her lips still only wished to say Marcus.

His stare seemed possessive as it hovered on her while she reached for her blue bonnet, which lay on the bed.

Abigail held up Elizabeth’s cloak. “Thank you, Abigail,” Elizabeth acknowledged as Abigail lay it over her shoulders. Elizabeth slotted the buttons into their holes to secure it, as her hands shook a little. She glanced down as she did so. Her expanding waist was not too obvious. Abigail had spent the final hours of last night adjusting the seams and clasps of Elizabeth’s clothing. Elizabeth hoped that she would have at least another month before her pregnancy would show so much that Lord Percy would be able to see it.

“I am ready.” She smiled uncertainly as she turned to face him.  He looked her up and down without restraint or deference as though she was a prize heifer that he was eyeing up for purchase.

“Good. Then we will go,” he said, but instead of stepping aside to let her pass, he came forward, his hand lifting, and then the tip of one finger trailed over the curve of her breast.

It was as though he deliberately sought to unsettle her.

She shivered, and then every muscle stiffened in denial. She turned away to look at Abigail. Abigail gave her a lost look in return, before bobbing into a shallow curtsy. When she rose from it she glanced at Lord Percy, her eyes expressing her mistrust.

“Abigail.” Elizabeth touched her arm.

The maid’s gaze spun to her. “Don’t do this, miss,” she whispered.

“Elizabeth…” Lord Percy encouraged, behind her.

Elizabeth shook her head at her maid, asking her silently not to make a scene.

When Elizabeth turned, Lord Percy lifted his forearm for her. She lay her fingers on it and then allowed him to lead her from the room. His servants moved into the room as they left it, to collect her luggage.

On the landing Elizabeth looked through the open door of her mother’s room. Her mother’s clothing was strewn about the floor in disarray. She had taken all her jewellery and her ball gowns, and even some of the china pieces from her dresser; she had already gone to pawn them all. She had thought only of herself to the last.

At the bottom of the stairs Elizabeth turned back to Abigail who’d followed her down and hugged her young maid firmly, whispering to her ear. “Take anything you wish for, there will be nothing for your arrears in wages.”

“Miss…” The maid said uncertainly. Elizabeth heard the silent plea which begged again, don’t go.

But Elizabeth had no other choice. “I have to go,” she whispered, before stepping away. Abigail bobbed another curtsy.

When they were outside Lord Percy handed Elizabeth up into his carriage. Even that innocent, simple, contact felt lascivious as he let her fingers slid slowly from his.

She took the corner seat looking back at their rented home of the last few months. Lord Percy occupied the seat immediately beside her, so his leg pressed against hers, and he took hold of one of her hands, gripping it firmly as though he claimed ownership.

The door slammed shut, and Elizabeth suddenly had the sense of being locked away, like the door of the carriage was the door of a prison cell.

As the coach shifted into motion, Elizabeth leant her temple against the small window of the carriage and watched the house as the carriage progressed along the street. It was the end of life as she had always known it.

 

Marcus

Sensing a presence at his shoulder, Marcus looked up from his hand of cards.

Elizabeth’s mother.

He was playing in the gambling club where he’d once met Elizabeth and if that was a deliberate choice to seek memories of her he’d not let himself admit it. He had avoided home today, he’d spent the afternoon looking at horses at Tattersall’s, dined at White’s and then come here for a deep game. He’d never felt more bloody lonely and isolated. He hated being at odds with Jason. His brother had always been his best friend too.

Now he viewed his rakehell life from this current ridge he saw exactly what it was, a shallow existence. If he died tomorrow, who would care? No one. Not his staff, nor his friends, who he would call no more than acquaintances or associates. They were all only close to him because of his title or his money.

He sighed as he acknowledged Elizabeth’s mother, “Lady Derwent.” His voice was bland. He’d known she was here. She’d been sitting at a table across the room. It had left him wondering, despite himself, where her daughter was.

“Your Grace.” Lady Derwent focused narrowed, bloodshot eyes on him. “I would speak with you.” A bitter note of accusation and anger edged her voice.

“Forgive me, madam, if I cannot spare you any time.” Marcus looked back at his hand of cards, disregarding her challenge. He was in no mood to listen to the woman ranting. There was no point to it, his position was immovable, he was not about to be sucked in by them.

“You’re despicable!”

His acquaintances about him laughed. It was callous of them. But then Marcus would have mocked her in their position, the woman was a gambler and tonight she was drunk. She was also a scheming hussy. Any sympathy he’d had for Elizabeth’s family was long dead.

Lady Derwent thrust her reticule at his shoulder,and hit him with it. “You ill-treated my daughter, Tay. We had hopes in you. Hopes. My husband thought you an honourable man, but you are not. You are not!”

Again her outburst brought forth laughter from his group. Marcus did not respond.

“Because of you, Your Grace, I have had to pawn my jewellery, my husband cannot pay his debts and we are without a home. Remember, Your Grace, that you have a responsibility to my daughter. I never thought you capable of leaving your child penniless.”

Marcus looked up, his brow furrowing with annoyance and impatience. He was not the one in the wrong. There was no bloody child.

She read his expression as concern. “I should hope that you feel remorse. You have led us a merry dance, courting my daughter day in and day out, and then not fulfilling our expectations. My husband had invested in the child, you know, and now he has no return!”

That was enough. Marcus lay down his cards, face down, and stood up. His chair scraping back, as he turned to glare at the woman. “And what of your daughter, Lady Derwent? Where does she fit into this tale of woe for which I am to blame? Does she have no blame at all?”

“She is homeless, as I am homeless!”

She was angry on her own behalf, though, not speaking for Elizabeth. Schemer that she was. Marcus stared at her for a moment, his lips pursed. He did not want to care. He did not want to know anything about Elizabeth or her family. But despite himself he did care. “Where is she?”

“I have no idea. I left her at home.”

She was not homeless then. It was simply another lie. Elizabeth was safe and her mother was spouting nonsense. “Where you should be,” he stated, gripping her arm as she swayed.

She snatched her arm from his grip and nearly fell but caught at a chair, then tossed him visual daggers before turning away and stumbling into the table beside them.

“The woman is foxed,” Appleton laughed as Marcus sat back down. “I will be very surprised if she makes it home with her winnings.”

“Coarse country stock,” another of Marcus’s companions replied. “None of them knows how to behave in town.”

But Marcus felt suddenly out of sorts, regardless. He was no longer in a mood to play cards. Questions whispered in his head without answers. Once he’d finished the hand he dropped out of the game and left.

When he reached home Jenkins opened the front door with a frown. “Your Grace. We had a visitor.” The butler took Marcus’s outdoor coat as he carried on explaining. “A young maid. She wished to speak with you alone. She waited for a while this afternoon but left hours ago I’m afraid. I thought I would mention it, it seemed rather odd.”

A maid? It was odd. “Did she leave any message?”

“All she said was that she was from Lord Derwent’s household.”

Bloody hell, what was going on tonight?

*    *     *

Marcus tapped his whip against his leg impatiently. No one was answering the door, not even the maid. He had swallowed his pride, as far as a man could, to bring himself to her front door, he’d come early, he’d not even stopped for breakfast, and now she had the audacity to pretend to him that she was not at home. Of course it would be Elizabeth who excluded him. Her mother would most certainly not be out of her bed.

He knocked the door again, and then took off his hat, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he turned to face the street. He had not slept a wink for thinking of Elizabeth, wondering what was behind her mother’s words and the maid’s visit. He turned back to the door. Still no answer. Marcus walked over to the far side of the street and looked up at the windows of the upper floor. There was no movement.

Elizabeth would not see him. He took a deep breath to calm his growing frustration before it broke into anger. It was probably another ploy, another lie, one last attempt to see him shackled. No, there was nothing to do here.

He turned to walk back to the mews to collect his horse.

He would go to Larchfield. Why had he not thought of it before? The distance from her and the rumours about town would suit him well. He had not had chance to talk to Jenson about the management of the stables. He would visit Larchfield and find out about Jenson’s breeding programme. Perhaps think of purchasing some new stock. He’d never bred animals, although he was good at spotting a fast horse. It would be interesting to see if he could breed his own, and with Jenson’s knowledge he could quite possibly generate a race winner. That would give him something to consume his thoughts and look forward to.

To be continued…

If you cannot wait until next week for more of Jane Lark’s writing there’s plenty to read right now 😀 And if you have read them all already, then there’s another treat out now, you can begin devouring, The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

To read the Marlow Intrigues series, you can start anywhere, but the actual order is listed below ~ and click like to follow my Facebook Page not to miss anything…

 The Marlow Intrigues

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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

Jane’s books can be ordered from most booksellers in paperback and, yes, there are more to come  🙂 

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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