Bonbons, Bribery, and the Regency Sweet Tooth

By Camille Elliot/Camy Tang

The best part about writing Regency novels is researching the food.

AI-generated image of an actual 1810 bonbonnière and the cover of the March 1809 issue of The Repository of Arts ladies’ magazine

I had just written the passage below in my Christian Regency suspense novel, Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 7: Spinster:

My hero, Barron, returns home after a garden party. He’d been sitting beside and conversing attentively with other eligible young women when Lena—the woman he actually wants—arrived looking unexpectedly beautiful and was immediately surrounded by male admirers.

Worse, instead of responding to Lena the way he wished he had, he froze, barely complimented her, and then allowed himself to be drawn into another lady’s conversation.

Barron found his sister in the drawing room before dinner. He flung himself in a chair and pronounced, “I do believe I felt like a man caught cheating on his wife.”

Tabitha looked up in surprise from the ladies’ journal she was reading—a publication only just come from London. “I feel very sorry for your wife. Perhaps she might forgive you if you come to her with remorse and bonbons?”

“Are you requesting bonbons in an unsubtle manner?”

“I am never unsubtle. I am the picture of subtlety.” She sighed. “Bonbons would go marvelously with this ladies’ journal.”

“I suppose I could send to town for some,” he grumbled.

Tabitha smiled with all the satisfaction of a fat tabby cat who had successfully stolen a fish. “Now, what is this about your imaginary wife?”

I did some research to double-check that there were indeed bonbons in Regency England, and I discovered that they were not chocolate truffles.

The word is from the French—literally “good-good”—but in the late 1700s, most knew them as sweet, expensive confections. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, author Fanny Burney first used the term in print in 1796.

In The Complete Confectioner by Hannah Glasse and Maria Wilson in 1800, they were called “bomboons”:

Bonbon (or Bomboon) recipe from The Complete Confectioner by Hannah Glasse and Maria Wilson, 1800

To Make Nut Bomboons.

Take a pound of Spanish nuts, and boil them in an iron pan ; when they are well boiled, rub off their skin with a napkin; if some stick too hard, pare it off with a knife; take a tin grater and grate your nuts very tine on a sheet of paper; then take a pound of powdered sugar to a pound of nuts, put it in a pan over a slow fire; when your sugar is all melted in stirring it perpetually with a wooden spoon, put your nuts in and work them well till all is well mixed, and pour it upon a tin plate; take a wooden rolling-pin to spread it, which you must be very quick in doing, for it cools very fast; and when it is cold cut it into what form you please; you must take care the sugar should not be too much melted, for it is very apt to soften when the nuts arejoined to it.

The “Spanish nuts” are hazelnuts/filberts, which sounds delicious to me. It would turn into a firm hazelnut praline or nut brittle, but with finely grated nuts rather than left whole. It wouldn’t be like our modern hard candy, however, but a bit more crumbly because of the 1:1 nut to sugar ratio.

In the same cookbook, the bamboons could also be flavored with lemon or orange zest, coffee, or orange water.

March 1809 issue of The Repository of Arts ladies’ magazine

I also found this delightful paragraph about bonbons in the ladies’ magazine, The Repository of arts, literature, commerce, manufactures, fashions and politics for March, 1809 by R. Ackermann, pages 145-146:

Bonbons were in ancient times in France an allowed medium of bribing judges and people of rank, of whom a favour was solicited. This practice was carried so far, that Louis IX. by a decree, forbade judges to take more than ten sous worth of bonbons in a week ; and Philip the Fair limited the quantity to as much as they could use in their housekeeping in a day. Soon afterwards these sweetmeats were converted into money, and a M. de Tournon, instead of ten boxes of bonbons, paid ten gold francs.

Like my character Tabitha above, I would most certainly be willing to be bribed with bonbons.

In a diary entry in September 1816, Lady Shelley also mentioned the physician bribing Princess Esterhazy with bonbons:

The family physician, Capellini, tells the Princess what she is to eat ; and presents her daily with a dose of quinine, which, after many grimaces, and with plenty of bonbons, she contrives to swallow.

Here is the first printed mention of bonbons in the novel Camilla, by Fanny Burney, published in 1796:

Miss Margland, perceiving what she regarded as a fair vacancy, made up to the spot, and saying, ‘Sir, by your leave,’ was preparing to take possession of the place, when the gentleman, as if without seeing her, dropt suddenly into it himself, and, pouring a profusion of eau suave upon his handkerchief, exclaimed: ‘What a vastly bad room this is for dancing!’

Camilla, concluding herself addressed, turned round to him; but, seeing he was sniffing up the eau suave, without looking at her, imagined he meant to speak to Miss Margland.

Miss Margland was of the same opinion, and, with some pique at his seizing thus her intended seat, rather sharply answered: ‘Yes, sir, and it’s a vast bad room for not dancing; for if every body would dance that ought, there would be accommodation sufficient for other people.’

‘Incomparably well observed!’ cried he, collecting some bonbons from a bonboniere, and swallowing one after another with great rapidity: ‘But won’t you sit down? You must be enormously tired. Let me supplicate you to sit down.’

Like the gentleman, I now feel the need to stuff my face with some bonbons, although mine will likely be the chocolate variety. Alas for the gluttonous fellow above, those will not be created until the 1840s.

About the Author

Camy Tang writes Christian historical and contemporary romance filled with intrigue, adventure, and faith. Under the pen name Camille Elliot, she writes the Christian Regency romantic suspense series Lady Wynwood’s Spies, set in 1811 London where secrets, espionage, and slow-burn romance unfold against the glittering backdrop of high society.

If you’d like to meet Barron and Lena and see how their story begins, you can read the opening chapters of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 7: Spinster for free on my blog. Although Spinster is part of an ongoing series, Volume 7 opens in a new setting with a largely new cast of characters, so you can sample the opening without knowing everything that came before.

New to the series and prefer to begin at the beginning? Lady Wynwood’s Spies starts with Archer. Read the first few chapters on my blog.

References:

The Complete Confectioner by Hannah Glasse and Maria Wilson, 1800

The Repository of arts, literature, commerce, manufactures, fashions and politics for March, 1809 by R. Ackermann

The Diary of Frances, Lady Shelley, 1787-1817, edited by her grandson, Richard Edgcumbe (published in 1912)

Camilla, by Fanny Burney, 1796

When is a Young Lady "Out"? Debut Ages and Regency Expectations

By Camille Elliot/Camy Tang

A Regency couple dancing at a ball—AI-generated image evoking the very moment a young woman’s debut came alive with possibility, anticipation, and careful observation.

Most of us have never been a debutante, but historical romance readers can imagine the flutter of a first Season—the nervous anticipation, the whispered judgments, the delicate balance of being noticed without being too noticed. For modern sensibilities, the Regency debut can feel both enchanting and impossibly rigid.

At its heart lies a simple but loaded question: at what age was a young woman considered ready to enter society?

In Jane Austen’s world, the answer was far more fluid than a single birthday. A girl was “out” when her family declared her available for courtship, and this could happen anywhere from fifteen to twenty or even later, depending on family circumstances, maturity, and social strategy.

Take Lydia Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. At just fifteen, she is already “out,” attending balls and flirting shamelessly. Austen uses her to show the dangers of launching a girl too early—Lydia’s impulsiveness and lack of guidance lead to near-ruin. By contrast, her older sister Jane, at twenty-two, is the model of graceful eligibility. The difference isn’t just age but readiness.

Fanny Price in Mansfield Park offers another view. At eighteen, Fanny has not yet been formally brought out into society—her quiet nature and position as a poor relation made an early debut feel inappropriate. But when her brother William visits and expresses a wish to see her dance, Sir Thomas thoughtfully arranges a ball at Mansfield. This event serves as Fanny’s gentle introduction into the neighborhood, showing that “coming out” was never merely about turning a certain age—it was a carefully timed social signal shaped by family judgment.

This same careful timing appears in Lissa and the Spy. The Gardinier family holds to a tradition of waiting until their daughters turn nineteen.

Mrs. Gardinier pulled Lissa with a grip like a vise on her elbow. “Come. Let us speak to Lady Wynwood. Perhaps she may find you an acceptable partner.”

“Isn’t she occupied with finding Phoebe an acceptable partner?” The Gardiniers’ family friend, Miss Phoebe Sauber, was debuting this year, sponsored by her aunt, Lady Wynwood.

Lissa’s younger sister had wanted her comeout at the same time, but the Gardiniers had a tradition of allowing their daughters to debut only once they turned nineteen. Lissa herself had turned twenty during last Season, which made her feel ancient next to the dewy seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds around her.

Lissa’s self-consciousness isn’t just about age—it reflects the pressure of perfection in a world that valued youth, poise, and strategic silence. Her mother’s constant corrections remind us that the debut wasn’t only about finding a husband—it was about proving the family’s refinement and protecting their reputation.

Lissa might have worn an evening dress like this one from the fashion magazine, La Belle Assemblee, published in 1807.

For families like the Gardiniers, waiting until nineteen balanced protection with opportunity. Launching too early risked gossip and missteps (as with Lydia). Waiting too long risked being labeled a spinster (as Lissa fears at twenty). The “right” age was always a moving target shaped by family strategy, finances, and social standing.

Yet beneath the etiquette and anxiety lay something deeper. Whether at fifteen or twenty, every young woman stepping into society carried the same quiet hope that she would be seen, valued, and perhaps even loved for who she truly was.

In Lissa’s case, that longing leads her down unexpected paths—toward secrets, danger, and a love that sees beyond the performance. Because sometimes the most important debut isn’t the one society notices, but the one where a young woman finally finds her own voice.

About the Author

Camy Tang writes Christian historical and contemporary romance filled with intrigue, adventure, and faith. Under the pen name Camille Elliot, she writes the Christian Regency romantic suspense series Lady Wynwood’s Spies, set in 1811 London where secrets, espionage, and slow-burn romance unfold against the glittering backdrop of high society.

If you enjoy Regency romance with adventure and a dash of humor, you can receive her novella Lissa and the Spy free when you join her newsletter.

Lissa and the Spy

A Regency Romantic Suspense Novella

In her quest for a marriage of convenience, plain and unpopular Lissa finds herself entangled with the enigmatic Lord Jeremy Stoude, who has a secret mission for the Crown. As danger stalks them, they must navigate a labyrinth of society’s expectations and their own insecurities to find love.

Click here to get Lissa and the Spy

The Regency: A Man's World

                                

Above, March-- Morning Walking Dress

The Regency: A Man's World    by Linore Rose Burkard
It has been said that during the Regency a man's time was his own, while a woman was expected to engage in only a few genteel pastimes. For instance, only men were free to vote, hold office, box, fence, hunt, drive alone, shoot, attend a club, drink, play cricket, dine out freely with other men, game (gamble), race, and even womanize. Furthermore, only a son could usually inherit titles, and, most of the time, the accompanying lands and estate. And whatever pursuits he undertook--whether noble or not--would rarely jeopardize his standing with society. Whatever his private life, he could still dine with lords and mix with the highest sets, if his title, breeding, or status paved the way. A rare exception might be if he proved himself dishonorable by cheating at cards. (Imagine a world where dishonor was possible through cheating at cards, but not on your wife.)                                                                 There were some women who got away with having affairs; but they were already married. If a single woman, on the other hand,  attracted the merest scent of sexual immorality before marriage, she was "ruined," while with men it didn't really matter how they behaved.  The emphasis for them was to take care of the family estate by siring an heir. Whether or not they maintained sexual integrity, or honour, or moral fortitude was more of a personal choice; Fortunately, many men had well-developed moral codes,  and Jane Austen's books, for instance, often highlight the negative social consequences caused by the actions of those who lacked them.   Other avenues open to men but not women included entering the army or navy, or going into the church. Both (the military and the Church) were popular vocations for second or third sons throughout the regency.  Finally, if a man had independent means such as rich parents or a large fortune, he could also choose to simply be "a man about town." The best dressed and best looking men about town were usually the beaux and dandies. (Do not mistake dandies with fops--even the Prince Regent had years of dandified glory until he grew too large to cut a fine figure). The dandy is the style of male figure most regency romances rely upon to some extent for their heroes. None of Austen's heroes are mere idlers, even Mr. Darcy, and all are endowed with a deep sense of justice and honour. My own Mr. Mornay (from, Before the Season Ends) is independently wealthy due to his tenanted estate and other properties which he runs with meticulous care, and he has a great sense of fairness and morality that stands him in good stead as a proper hero.        Finally, only men were allowed to be University educated. Women often were schooled at home, or were self-taught, and there was always the occasional Young Lady's Academy, but nothing more. Some, (like Jane Austen) became novelists, but most of these women were quick to let their public know they were doing it to support their children. Others, like Mary Anne Evans later in the century, used a male nom de plume. (George Eliot), as it was thought inappropriate for women to write novels. Before the Season Ends, The Forsythe Series, Book One A Christian young woman makes her way through the treacherous waters of a Regency Season in London; while her worldly, wealthy aunt tries to marry her off for money. Linore Rose Burkard is best known for historical regency novels with Harvest House Publishers, including Before the Season Ends, the award-winning The House in Grosvenor Square, and, The Country House Courtship. As a writer noted for meticulous research as well as bringing people to life on the page, Linore's books delight fans of historical romance with "Heyeresque" humor and "Austen-like" manners.