The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

INTRODUCTION

Sweet, sexy, heartbreaking and erotic, confined by corsets (all that complicated lacing be damned!) or secreted away behind closed doors, love in Regency England was a murky business. It was hardly recognizable — laced into ballgowns, peering out coquettishly from behind ivory-handled fans, whispering inappropriately under the noses of chaperones and being seduced into compromising positions. It was an emotion dealt out cruelly by a voracious and debauched high society on the one hand, and a great hypocrisy of social graces and propriety on the other. With innocence forever in the middle, trampled, torn and abused — as usual.

There were some things love and lovers should not do. But rules were made to be broken and all it took was a little ingenuity. When denial and frustration come to a boiling point, sparks fly bright and hot. Matches are made in haste to settle the possibility of scandal, marriages are bargaining chips to elevate stations and cancel debts — where there’s a will, there’s a way. And mothers! Those infernal, social climbing, unrelenting mothers! The bane of every debutante during her seasons out.

Under these circumstances, sometimes love needs a little harmless dishonesty, a liberal use of ruses, dupes and tricks, to flourish. For all those secrets and lies needed to maintain the order of the day, sometimes it takes a little underhandedness to get to the heart of the matter. Under the threat of Regency villainy, sometimes that’s what it takes for young lovers to come together, or older lovers to find their hearts again.

The gentlemen seem to be missing their appointments with their barbers left, right and centre, and the slightly long and unfashionable look attracts the ladies in droves. It is the carelessness, perhaps, among the almost-feminine care lavished by some of the men of the age, that appeals, I imagine, and promises other lapses in convention — like clandestine kisses, a quick grope in the sitting room, or maybe even some hot sex?

Take a look at all the well-dressed skeletons in the Regency closet. Because for all the babies out of wedlock, the midnight elopements to Gretna Green, the young women suffering marriages to old men in penance for a moment of brief happiness on a chaise longue in an empty retiring room — this jaded society has seen and done it all. Any discretion is just one more thing to hide away, to deny, to refute or to forget. But some sensations can be harder to forget than others.