He Would Risk Everything to Gain Revenge...But He Never Planned On Losing His Heart
Driven to uncover the truth about the mysterious death of his ladylove, the Duke of Hawkscliffe will go to any lengths to unmask a murderer. Even if it means jeopardizing his reputation by engaging in a scandalous affair with London's most provocative courtesan—the desirable but aloof Belinda Hamilton.
Bel has used her intelligence and wit to charm the city's titled gentlemen, while struggling to put the pieces of her life back together. She needs a protector, so she accepts Hawk's invitation to become his mistress in name only. He asks nothing of her body, but seeks her help in snaring the same man who shattered her virtue. Together they tempt the unforgiving wrath of society—until their risky charade turns into a dangerous attraction, and Bel must make a devastating decision that could ruin her last chance at love...
This is the Historical Note that appears at the end of The Duke, with background on some of the historical topics involved with the story, such as the real life, top courtesans of the Regency who sponsor our heroine, Bel, in the demi-monde and some of the top politicians with whom Robert has dealings through the course of the story. Don’t worry, no spoilers here to ruin the outcome of the story for you!
“I shall not say why and how I became, at the age of fifteen, the mistress of the Earl of Craven. Whether it was love, or the severity of my father, or the depravity of my own heart, or the winning arts of the noble Lord, which induced me to leave my paternal roof and place myself under his protection, does not now much signify: or if it does, I am not in the humour to gratify curiosity in this matter.”
So begins The Lady and the Game, the memoirs of Harriette Wilson. Her first-hand account of high life in the Regency demi-monde was a primary source for this novel. The Cyprians’ house in York Place actually belonged to Amy, the eldest of the famous courtesansisters—Harriette had her own house in the New Road in Marylebone and later, in Knightbridge, Trevor Square—but I condensed locations for the sake of unity. In real life, Amy and Harriette, fierce rivals, could not have lived civilly under the same roof. In 1815, the year following my story, Harriette, aged 35, moved to Paris as her famein London began to wane. Amy turned respectable; Fanny died young; Julia Johnstone bore a total of twelve children. The youngest Wilson sister, Sophia, landed a viscount.
Marguerite Gardiner, who is also mentioned in the story, started out in life as a poor Irish girl of great beauty and ended up the Countess of Blessington, as well as a famed writer and confidant to Lord Byron. It is hoped the reader will forgive the author for taking the liberty of placing Lord and Lady Blessington’s nuptials within the dates the story; in actuality, they did not marry until 1818.
Politically, the Tories’ only foray into reform was in removing the death penalty for minor offenses and working toward a more humane penal code. Greater change would have to wait until after 1831, but when it came, it was driven in part by the vision and ferocious energy of Henry Brougham (later Lord Chancellor and 1st Baron Brougham and Vaux).
“Wickedshifts,” as the diarist Creevy calls him, directed the attention of Parliament in 1816 to the whole question of charitable endowment and obtained a select committee to investigate the education of poor children; in 1820, Brougham became the defense lawyer in the trial of Queen Caroline. One wonders if his relationship with a free spirit like Harriette helped to shape his amazingly forward-thinking views on the rights of women.
But back to the Tories. The reactionary and repressive attitudes exemplified by Sidmouth and Eldon resulted in the government’s failure to take any positive steps to deal with the problems of postwar England and led to public protests, one of which ended in the “Peterloo Massacre” of 1819. A savage attack on the Tory magnates still exists in Shelley’s poem, “The Mask of Anarchy.” Wellington did not seem to suffer as badly in public opinion as the others did and later became prime minister.
As for Viscount Castlereagh and his ongoing battle with depression, after all his brilliant service especially as foreign secretary, he took his life in 1822, slitting his throat with a pen knife in his dressing room.
Finally, those familiar with the history of Lady Oxford and her “Harleian Miscellany” will no doubt recognize her as the model for my scandalous and beautiful Georgiana, Duchess of Hawkscliffe and her variously-sired brood. This grand dame of the ton was, of course, the inspiration for my new series about the Knight brothers, the first installment of which you have just read—and which I sincerely hope you will continue to enjoy.
