Stepping Away from the Ballroom: The Ladies’ Retiring Room in Regency Times

If you’ve ever read a Regency romance or historical novel set in the early 1800s, you’ve probably come across a scene where a heroine feels faint, overheated, or simply overwhelmed and needs to step out of the ballroom. In my Christian Regency romantic suspense, Lissa and the Spy, my heroine encounters a moment of distress and retreats to a retiring room to escape the gossip at the event.

But what was that private space actually like? The ladies’ retiring room was a very real—and very practical—part of every grand ball or assembly.

The Retiring Room

At a Regency ball, the main rooms were often packed with people, blazing with candlelight, and filled with the sounds of music, laughter, and conversation. Women in elaborate gowns, tight stays (the corsets of the day), and layers of petticoats could quickly become overheated or short of breath. The ladies’ retiring room was always available to offer a much-needed place to rest, refresh, and recover without drawing too much attention.

A retiring room is described in Domestic Duties; or, Instructions to young married ladies, on the management of their households and the regulation of their conduct in the various relations and duties of married life, by Mrs. William Parkes, published in 1825:

A retiring room should be in readiness for ladies who may wish to disburthen themselves of shawls and cloaks and here a female should be in attendance to receive them, and to perform any little office of neatness which a lady’s dress may accidentally require. Tea and coffee may also be presented in this room, if any be deemed necessary; but of late the custom of introducing these refreshments at balls has been nearly abolished.

These rooms were usually located near the ballroom and set aside specifically for female guests. They were staffed by attendants—often older women or servants trained for the role—who helped ladies with everything from re-pinning a loose curl to repairing a torn hem or flounce. Some rooms even had sofas or chaise longues where a woman could lie down for a few minutes. There were also chamber pots that were cleaned after each guest used them.

The attendants kept the room stocked with practical items like pins, needles, thread, spare gloves, and combs. More importantly, they were ready with remedies when a lady felt faint or distressed. They helped many a young woman compose herself and return to the dancing looking as fresh as when she arrived.

In Lady Palmerston and Her Times, a collection of letters by Lady Cowper who would later become Lady Palmerston, in 1820, the Countess Cowper wrote in a letter some gossip about the Queen:

Did I tell you that when she went to the House she staid the greater part of the time in her retiring room, laughing with Gell & others or playing at Backgammon & Chess? About the latter here is her bon mot. She said to somebody who came in, “I am sorry you are come just now for I was just going to give Check to the King."

So apparently, the retiring room was not merely for women to rest but could also be a side room with games and entertainments. However, I’m not sure how happy the other women in the room were with the Queen, if they’d retired to get some peace and quiet.

Two women “retiring” at a ball. From Ackerman’s Repository, 1810

Why Fainting Was So Common

Fainting wasn’t just a dramatic plot device in novels—it happened for very real reasons. The tight lacing of stays compressed the ribcage, making deep breaths difficult. Add the heat from hundreds of candles, the excitement of the evening, emotional moments, or simply standing for hours in heavy fabrics, and it’s easy to see why a lady might suddenly need a quiet corner.

In an era when propriety was everything, the retiring room gave women a graceful way to step aside without causing a scene. It was accepted and expected that a lady might need a short rest.

Smelling Salts and Lavender Water

Two items you’ll often find mentioned in historical accounts are smelling salts and lavender water.

Smelling salts (usually a form of ammonium carbonate) came in small bottles or elegant silver containers called vinaigrettes. When waved under the nose, the sharp scent helped revive someone who had fainted by stimulating breathing. Attendants kept them on hand for exactly these moments.

Lavender water, on the other hand, was used more for calming and refreshing. A few drops on a handkerchief or lightly sprinkled could help soothe nerves or cool a flushed face. Both were simple but effective tools in an age before modern medicine.

A Quiet Escape from the Crowds

The next time you read a Regency story and a heroine slips away from the ballroom, picture the retiring room as more than just a convenient plot stop. It was a small but important part of the evening’s rhythm—a place of quiet care, quick repairs, and sometimes a much-needed breath of calm amid the glittering whirl of the ball.

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

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 Unwritten Rules of Regency Ballroom Conversation

By Camille Elliot/Camy Tang

Yes, it's AI-generated — but we did our homework. Costumes are period accurate for the Regency era, and her gown is based on the fashion plate below.

What Were You Actually Allowed to Talk About at a Regency Ball?

Picture this: you're in a candlelit ballroom, wearing stays that make breathing a creative exercise, and a young man you've never met is leading you onto the dance floor. You have approximately four minutes to make a good impression. And most of the interesting things in your head are completely off-limits.

Welcome to the Regency London Season.

The Approved List

The rules around ballroom conversation were unwritten but universally understood: keep it light, keep it impersonal, and for heaven's sake, keep it safe.

Approved topics included the weather, the quality of the supper, the latest fashions from Paris, and music. Think of them as the small talk of 1811, designed to fill silence without revealing anything that might embarrass you or your family.

Jane Austen, who attended plenty of these events herself, had a lot of fun skewering this convention. In Northanger Abbey, the charming Henry Tilney meets Catherine Morland at a ball and immediately parodies the expected script, archly predicting exactly what they're supposed to say to each other—remarks about the rooms, the number of couples, and whether Catherine has been in Bath long. He's teasing, but he's also entirely accurate. That was the script.

But in Pride and Prejudice, while dancing with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth Bennet does something rather radical—she asks questions, pushes back, even teases. Darcy is so unused to it that he doesn't quite know what to do with her. Their conversation crackles precisely because she refuses to be ornamental.

The Forbidden List

The forbidden list of conversational topics was just as clear, if never officially posted anywhere. Politics, religion, money, and anything that hinted at scandal were absolutely out. Even the war with Napoleon—which was very much ongoing and affecting nearly every family in England—was considered too grim, too masculine, and too real for polite mixed company. A young woman who voiced a strong opinion on the House of Lords risked being quietly labeled as odd, or worse, unfeminine.

Austen illustrates this perfectly with the Steele sisters in Sense and Sensibility. Anne can't stop chattering about "beaux”, speculating about which men might be interested in her, and going on and on about a doctor she's (supposedly) caught the eye of. It is a topic considered embarrassingly forward for a young woman of any refinement.

The Steeles share personal information too freely—for them there is no such thing as TMI. In a world where what you didn't say mattered as much as what you did, the Steeles said far too much.

Fashion plate of a Regency ball gown from Ackerman’s Repository, February 1809.

What Lissa Does Instead

Lissa Gardinier, the heroine of my novella Lissa and the Spy, is navigating exactly this needle-threading. Her mother has essentially given her a restricted vocabulary for the Season, and Lissa is ready to poke her eye out with a fork. It’s not that she doesn't understand the rules, but she understands them too well and finds them stifling:

She was not so obedient to her mother that she would subject herself to the torture of conversation topics such as the weather and the food at the ball, which she’d already discussed at length with her other dancing partners. So she asked a more unusual question. “Mr. Collingworth, shall you miss activities at your country estate while you are in town?”

His slack-jawed face abruptly became animated. “Yes indeed, Miss Gardinier. I breed hunting dogs, you see, and I’ve had particular luck this year with several pups …”

It's a small act of rebellion—asking about his life instead of praising the folds of his cravat—and it works beautifully.

Until it doesn't:

Last year during that first dance with Mr. Collingworth, upon seeing him excitedly discuss his dog breeding, she had been encouraged to also speak without restraint.

So she had voiced her exact thoughts rather than hiding behind a vapid facade. “Why in the world would you name a dog Lickspittle Furrybottom?”

At Mr. Collingworth’s startled look, Lissa realized that she’d said that out loud now, in this dance with him.

“… Not that it’s not a lovely name,” she added lamely.

Mr. Collingworth didn’t believe her, and his conversation faltered. She regretted that, for she hadn’t intended to be rude to him.

“Er … did I speak of Lickspittle Furrybottom?” he asked.

Lissa did a mental shriek at her mistake. “We spoke briefly about her last year. You were worried about her compatibility with Snout Droolalot.” To alleviate his embarrassment at not remembering her, she said, "I was relieved to hear that Lickspittle Furrybottom and Snout Droolalot had such a healthy litter. What are your plans for their puppies?” Talking about puppies was acceptable dance conversation, wasn’t it?

It pleased Mr. Collingworth to continue discussing puppies for the remainder of the dance.

Lissa’s desire to just say something real is the same one Austen's best heroines wrestle with. Alas, the ballroom rewarded performance and punished honesty.

And yet the characters we remember, the ones who feel truly alive on the page, are the ones who couldn't quite manage to perform perfectly.

Some things, it seems, never change.

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 Rules of Introduction in Regency Society—and Why They Mattered

By Camille Elliot/Camy Tang

In Regency England, a lady could not simply speak to a gentleman—every conversation required a formal introduction. Here’s how it worked, and why it mattered.

A Regency ball (illustrative image)

How Did Regency Ladies Meet Gentlemen?

Imagine you are at a ball in Regency-era London.

The chandeliers are blazing, the musicians are playing something lively, and your slippers are already pinching because you insisted on looking elegant instead of sensible.

Across the room, you notice a gentleman—respectable, pleasant, possibly even interesting. Naturally, you might think to walk over and introduce yourself.

… Except you can’t.

Not because you are shy (although you might be). Not because he is surrounded by others (although he might be). But because in Regency society, unless you have been properly introduced, you are not supposed to speak to him at all.

The Small Matter of Being Allowed to Speak

In Regency society, conversation between unmarried ladies and gentlemen was not freely entered into. It required an introduction by a mutual acquaintance, a hostess, or a Master of Ceremonies.

A gentleman was always presented to the lady (never the reverse), and she (or her chaperone) could decline. Accepting implied willingness to dance or converse. Without the introduction, a gentleman should not address a lady, and a lady most certainly should not encourage him.

It sounds terribly restrictive to us, but introductions served as a social safeguard. Reputation was everything, and introductions acted as a filter—ensuring that one was not speaking to someone entirely unsuitable.

(Or at least, not obviously unsuitable.)

Enter the Gatekeeper

A mutual acquaintance, hostess, or Master of Ceremonies often functioned as a social conductor—guiding interactions and deciding who could safely meet.

Introducing a gentleman to a young lady (illustrative image)

At public assemblies, the Master of Ceremonies often stepped in, as in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, where he introduces Catherine Morland to Henry Tilney so they can dance.

In a private ballroom, the hostess filled that role. Which leads us to this moment from Lissa and the Spy:

Mr. Collingworth came up to her, accompanied by Lady Cliffton, the hostess of the ball. As always, Lady Cliffton’s jewelry—while in good taste—was as flamboyant as the matron. “Miss Gardinier, allow me to introduce Mr. Collingworth.”

Lissa curtseyed, keeping a polite smile on her face, while Mr. Collingworth bowed. In truth, they had been introduced last year, in her first Season, but from the vacant look upon Mr. Collingworth’s face, he had likely forgotten about it.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Gardinier?” Mr. Collingworth asked, and Lissa assented.

Re-introductions were actually common and necessary. If a gentleman had forgotten, or the acquaintance wasn’t acknowledged, etiquette dictated they be treated as strangers again.

The Quiet Power of Chaperones

Unmarried ladies, especially those under thirty, were also expected to be accompanied by a chaperone—usually her mother, or a married sister, or an older female relative.

Chaperones did more than sit in chairs and observe—they controlled access. They ensured that conversations remained appropriate, discouraged unwanted attention, and maintained a lady’s sterling reputation ensuring she was never left alone with a gentleman.

What Happens If You Ignore the Rules?

A lady could technically speak without an introduction, but she might be thought “fast” or “forward,” and her marriage prospects would dry up.

Two gossiping ladies (Ackermann's Repository of Arts, October 1810)

For men, the consequences were not quite so dire, but even in Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Collins’s self-introduction to Mr. Darcy is instantly recognized as a social blunder.

It wasn’t just about being unpopular—a failed Season was hundreds of pounds down the drain for her parents or guardian (about $100,000 – $140,000). So most young women—particularly those without title, money, or social standing—were careful.

When You Are Not Easily Noticed

This system favored the well-connected, confident, and wealthy. Many debutantes from lesser-connected families languished on the sidelines, lacking someone to engineer introductions.

My heroine, Lissa, is thoughtful, observant, and not inclined to push herself forward. She very properly relies on others to notice and to introduce her.

And if they don’t? Then she remains at the edge of the room, unremembered even by a gentleman she has already met.

She can’t let her discouragement show. She must smile and curtsey as though nothing is amiss, accept the dance, and pretend she has not been forgotten.

A young lady at her debut ball (Ackermann's Repository of Arts, May 1809)

A Small Opening in a Very Ordered World

Yet, for all its restrictions, the system created moments of real possibility.

A single introduction could change everything. A hostess might bring a quiet young lady forward, or a gentleman might ask for a dance (and remember her the next time).

In a world where one could not simply walk up and speak, every sanctioned interaction carried weight. That scarcity, perhaps, is part of the charm. When something as simple as a conversation is not easily obtained, it becomes all the more significant.

And for a heroine like Lissa, even a slightly awkward re-introduction might spark something unexpected.

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

What Happened If a Regency Debutante Didn’t Marry in Her First Season?

By Camille Elliot/Camy Tang

A Regency couple at a London ball during the Season (illustrative image)

For many young women in Regency England, coming to London for the Season was supposed to be the most exciting time of their lives.

But it could also be one of the most stressful.

During the Regency period (1811-1820), fashionable society gathered in London while Parliament was in session, usually from late winter through early summer. This stretch of months became known as “the Season,” when aristocratic families filled the city and attended a whirl of social events—balls, dinners, concerts, the opera, and private parties.

For unmarried young women of the upper classes, the Season had a very specific purpose—they were expected to find a husband.

Grand ballrooms hosted many of the social events that defined the London Season (Poetical Sketches of Scarborough in 1813, by J. Green and T. Row Landson)

A Young Lady’s Debut

A girl was usually presented to society around the ages of seventeen to nineteen. Her formal debut often included being presented to Queen Charlotte in her formal drawing room at St. James’s Palace and then attending her first Season of social events under the careful supervision of her mother or another chaperone.

Fashion plates like this one helped young women follow the latest styles for balls and evening events during the Regency period (Ackermann’s Repository of Arts, January 1809)

Balls were particularly important. Gentlemen could request dances, which allowed brief conversations and opportunities for introductions. Over the course of the Season, a young woman might meet dozens of potential suitors.

A successful Season could result in an engagement before the family returned to the countryside for the summer. But not every Season went smoothly.

The Awkward Second Season

If a young woman returned to London for a second Season still unmarried, it could feel like a quiet failure.

Society rarely said such things outright, but expectations were clear. A young lady who had not attracted serious attention during her first Season might worry that something was wrong with her—perhaps she was too shy, too plain, too outspoken, or simply overlooked in a crowded ballroom.

Meanwhile, each year brought a new crop of younger debutantes entering society. A woman returning for her second Season was now competing with bright-eyed girls attending their very first balls.

Almack’s Assembly Rooms was one of the most exclusive venues of the London Season (Illustrated London News, 1843)

Even if she was only twenty, she might begin to feel positively ancient compared to the seventeen-year-olds making their debut.

Mothers could also feel the pressure. A successful match improved a family’s connections and security, while an unmarried daughter meant another expensive Season in London.

When Expectations Didn’t Match Reality

Of course, real life was often more complicated than society’s expectations.

Many women married during their second or even third Seasons. Others chose to remain single and devoted themselves to family responsibilities, charitable work, or managing estates.

And sometimes the quiet young lady who seemed to fade into the background at a crowded ball was observing far more than anyone realized.

Inspiration for My Story

This pressure surrounding a second Season inspired the opening of my Regency romantic suspense novella Lissa and the Spy.

When the story begins, Lissa Gardinier has already endured one disappointing Season in London. She returns for another year determined to behave perfectly and avoid attracting criticism.

Unfortunately, that proves easier said than done.

Between awkward conversations, matchmaking relatives, and suspicious activity among certain members of society, Lissa soon discovers that navigating a London ballroom may be far more complicated—and far more dangerous—than she expected.

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 Regency-era London, Miss Lissa Gardinier enters her second Season seeking a marriage in order to escape her mother's constant criticism. So she represses her cheeky remarks behind a quiet, innocent facade.

The enigmatic Lord Jeremy Stoude is dismayed when a chance encounter with Miss Gardinier entangles her in his world of secrets and subterfuge. He cannot afford to be distracted by Lissa’s charming smile and unflappable demeanor.

As danger stalks them and true feelings come to light, can Lissa and Jeremy navigate the labyrinth of society’s expectations and their own insecurities to find love?

Click here to get Lissa and the Spy

Regency Costume Revisited (Part Two) And Ebook Giveaway

by Linore Rose Burkard

Note: Don't forget to click through to enter the giveaway at the end of the post!

In Part One of this series, ("Undress, Half-Dress, Full Dress, Ball,") we discussed the categories of costume which were part and parcel of a fashionable regency belle's wardrobe. This month we focus on Ball Dress exclusively.

Resting between dances, perhaps?

While many sorts of entertainments took place during the whirl of a Regency London Season, attending balls was quite possibly the apex of excitement for many. Assemblies were balls open to the public, often for a nominal fee. Almacks, that most exclusive venue, also required ball dress, for what was it but a tightly controlled ball, replete with refreshments, dancing, and opportunities for conversation?

(I hope to examine Almack's in a future column, with all its rules and strictures. It was a dominion ruled by a handful of society queens called "patronesses," and admittance was highly coveted--despite it having the reputation of being notoriously dull. Special "vouchers"--granted solely by the patronesses--were required for admittance.)

Otherwise, most balls were private affairs, requiring mere, ahem,  invitations. Procuring these invitations was every chaperon's and debutante's challenge. 

"Invitations," exclaims Mrs. Bentley, in Before the Season Ends, "are everything. Without invitations, we are nothing!"

The following excerpt (also from Before the Season Ends) shows how Mrs. Bentley, chaperon to her niece, debutante Ariana Forsythe, prepares the girl for an exclusive ball. Due to an amazing circumstance, Ariana will appear on the arm of the Paragon, Mr. Mornay, the handsome, fabulously wealthy, most sought-after gentleman in London.

...Mrs. Bentley sought out her niece to direct her remaining hours in preparations for the ball that night. It seemed outlandish, but she insisted Ariana soak in a hot tub, and then quickly into and out of a cold one. She called this "polishing the skin." Harrietta (the lady's maid) then took over, trimming the nails on her feet and hands, and supplying her with an enormous array of vials and lotions, perfumes and powders and other solutions. Some were for her face and neck, others for her hands, elbows, and even her feet!

Miss Forsythe, from, Before the Season Ends

Ariana was allowed a small meal, followed by tea. Then, to her surprise, Mrs. Bentley announced it was time to "earnestly prepare for the evening." Ariana had to wonder what they had been doing all along, if not earnestly preparing for the evening!

They fussed over her chemise, her stockings, her gown, her hair. By the time the two women had finished pulling, pinching, poking and pressing, Ariana felt more than ready to face the Paragon. Her hair was coifed elegantly atop her head, with curled tendrils about her face. (Ariana wished she had jet black hair, but Mama always said her lighter tresses matched the light in her eyes, and indeed, this night her words rang true. Ariana was a picture of sparkling, beauteous youth.)

Still, Mrs. Bentley insisted upon loaning her a matching set of jewels consisting of a necklace, earrings, brooch and bracelet. And, as a last dignifying element, a tiara: a delicate, lightly embellished headpiece, which was placed gingerly over her head and fastened into place with pins.

When at last she stood quietly resplendent in a pale pink gown of satin and net, with elegant white gloves that reached past her elbows and pale pink satin slippers upon her feet, even Mrs. Bentley had to smile.

"You do me credit, my gel," she said, almost affectionately. "Even Mornay will be smitten, I daresay, eh, Harrietta?"

Oh, yes, ma'am!" breathed Harrietta, fully as pleased with the way Ariana had turned out as her mistress.

"So tall and strikin' as miss is, just like a princess!"

And what were the results of such arduous preparations? Enjoy the following illustrations as examples of a Regency belle in ball attire. Note that gentlemen also had to wear Full Dress, which necessitated breeches (rather than pantaloons).

Waltz, 1817. From, La Belle Assemblee

Ballroom, 1820

A Victorian artist captures the Regency ball

A Russian Grand Ball

"The First Quadrille at Almack's" 

"Waltzers"

"The Five Positions of Dancing"

Gentleman in Full Dress

Did you enjoy this peek at Regency Ball Fashions? Jane Austen lovers often hold a Regency-style ball at the end of their annual galas. Look up JASNA.org for info. on this year's event.  

Linore Rose Burkard is best known for historical romance novels with Harvest House Publishers, and now writes YA/Suspense as L.R.Burkard. Linore teaches workshops for writers, is a mother of five, and still homeschools her youngest daughter—preferably with coffee in one hand,  and an iPad in the other.

GIVEAWAY GOING ON! Enter to win a giveaway of one of Linore's newest books, PULSE (YA/Apocalyptic Suspense) right now at Amazon.com. Entries accepted until July 23rd, but time is running out. Enter now!  Also--please tell a friend. SIX winners will be chosen! 

                              

A Day in the Life of Regency High Society

by Linore Rose Burkard

Fortunate for posterity that when the American Mr. Louis Simond made a trip to Regency London in 1809, he not only stayed in the fashionable West End of the city, but kept notes on what he saw. He recorded details about the general tide of life for the residents who lived, loved and
played there. His are not the only eye-witness notes we have of the period, but they are revealing.

London, Pall Mall 

Simond was amused to notice that, firstly, no one "stirred" earlier than 10am. At that time, shops came sleepily awake, and the Horse Guards were on the move in a noisy parade, their daily march from the barracks to Hyde Park. But what of the ton, the inner circle of fashionable society?
These lofty souls did not appear until nigh three or four o'clock, when, in a great racket, they would begin making their "morning" calls, or go shopping or promenading, or grace an assembly room with their presence. Why was the beginning of their day so late in the afternoon? Because it went on until early next morning, or even 'til dawn.

Procession--Not the Horse Guards, but a special event including the Prince Regent himself

Simond says there was gaslight on the streets, and this, in 1809 (earlier than most of us thought); but the lights were not effective, and after being lit at dusk, did little to illumine one's way ( but made "little brightish dots" in a line going down the street).*

There was a lull of activity around this time, and then, from six o'clock to about eight, after people had dressed for dinner and evening entertainments, the racket and street traffic started up again. Another lull would follow, and then near ten o'clock the crush of carriages was back with all its ensuing noises: The thunderous hoof-beats, whinnying, whips cracking, people laughing, wheels turning, churning, and lumbering along the cobbled roads. It was an awful din that rarely subsided before midnight.

Covent Garden Theater, London, 1858. This is well after the regency, but gives a good idea of the crowds that would have been there then just as here. 

In the book, Our Tempestous Day, Carolly Erickson says that, according to Simond, "At one o'clock it was still difficult to sleep for all the commotion. Gradually, though, the number of carriages diminshed until, as the sky began to grow light, only a single carriage was heard now and then
at a great distance. The fashionable world went to sleep, not to be roused until long after noon." *
The next day, it would start all over again, and the endless whirl of activity called the "season" would continue.

Regent Street, 1829. (Post-Regency, Pre-Victorian)

Simond also detailed what it was like attending a party (or, "rout") of the fashionable. After waiting in long carriage lines along the street to gain entrance, one would greet the host or hostess, and then stand (never sit) in rooms crowded with elegant people, jostling and moving about to find one's friends, with no entertainments offered and apparently no refreshments. He mentions the lack of cards, music, and even conversation. Supposedly, the aim was to get there, be seen, and to see whomever else had been invited and braved the crowded streets to attend.

When ready to leave (after fifteen minutes to half an hour), waiting for one's carriage was the next trial, after which it was on to another "at home" (what we would call an "open house" today). One can imagine the sheer exhaustion of attending just one or two of these in a week! And yet they were constantly being hosted, and the greater your popularity and consequence, the more invitations you would receive for them.

Much time could be spent attending such things, and, as the grid-lock and flux of carriages in the
street and their accompanying flambeaux gave away the location of these affairs, they were virtually public knowledge--and therefore heavily attended.

So much for the painstaking work of ordering and sending little gilded invitations to an elite list of recipients, weeks in advance. As Mrs. Bentley notes (in Before the Season Ends,) "a hostess always prefers a crush to its opposite. But important members of the ton must not be made to suffer!" Alas for Mrs. Bentley, it was seemingly unavoidable at times.

Willoughby and Eleanor at the fateful rout 

Interestingly, a regency era rout is seen in the BBC production of "Sense and Sensibility" with Emma Thompson.  The scene where Marianne (Kate Winslet) spots her mysteriously absent sometime suitor and cries out (quite unfashionably) "Willoughby!" Some people are shown with a glass in their hand, and there are, I believe, servants making the rounds with trays. A generous host, no doubt, but this was apparently not often the case.

I hope you've enjoyed this small peek into regency life. For a better idea, try reading an inspirational regency romance, such as Before the Season Ends, in which Miss Ariana Forsythe must navigate the treacherous waters of  London high society--at the height of the Regency--by her wealthy Aunt who tries to marry her off for money. I have readers who report having read this book TEN times--because of its fun factor and warm-hearted ending.  

This article by Linore Rose Burkard was originally posted on http://EzineArticles.com/267699

The Pulse Effex Book Two

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Linore Rose Burkard writes historical romance and, as L.R. Burkard,  YA/Apocalyptic Suspense. 




NEW! In this hot-off-the-press action-packed sequel to PULSE,   RESILIENCE takes readers on a heart-stopping  journey into a landscape where teens shoulder rifles instead of school books, and where survival might mean becoming your own worst enemy.

How to Write Like Austen? (Maybe)

by Linore Rose Burkard

          Looking through some old newsletters from JASNA (The Jane Austen Society of North America), I came across something fun: An interesting link shared by author Carrie Bebris, a fellow regency novelist. She says she keeps her writing style in the vein of Austen's by using http://www.writelikeausten.com. 

If you type in a word, it will tell you if it appears in any of Austen's works--and how many times, too. It will also give you synonyms that Jane used--and point out a few she did NOT. There's more on the site that any respectable Janeite will enjoy, so I encourage you to take a look. But can it really help you write like Austen?

 
Just for fun, I entered a few words I used in my first regency, BEFORE THE SEASON ENDS.

"Prinny"--a caricature, by Gillray

I discovered that Jane never referred to the Prince Regent as "Prinny." (Though Mr. Mornay, the hero of BTSE, as well as the prince's inner circle of fashionable friends, did. Probably not to his face.)  


Neither did Jane once refer to the elite fashionable district of London (that regency writers today are so fond of), "Mayfair," by name. 


Interestingly, she used the word "Fortune" (ie., one's wealth) 222 times. (Hmmm.)
"Money-- 127
"Rich"--78
"Estate"--77 times.
"Marriage"--246
"Church"--53
"property"--55
"Jointure"--only 3 times (A jointure usually referred to a widow's income, sort of an annuity.)
"Wealth"--33 times.
 "Pounds"--95
"Wedding"--333

Going over that above list is like reviewing many of Austen's themes in brief, although her true themes cannot be reduced to single words. 

 For fun, I entered a few more words we all associate with Jane Austen, such as,

"Pride"--138 times
"Prejudice"--35
"Sense"--238--quite a lot 
"Sensibility"--69
"Gentlemanlike"--24 
"prodigiously"--5 (only! huh. And "prodigious"--only 9 times.)

Out of curiosity, I also tried the site's "Austen Writer," in which you can insert a paragraph of text and see how it compares to, in their words, "Austenicity." (Love that word! Austenicity.) 
So here's how the opening paragraph of my novel, above, made out.
I entered the following:

Something would have to be done about Ariana.

All winter Miss Ariana Forsythe, aged nineteen, had been going about the house sighing.  "Mr. Hathaway is my lot in life!"  She spoke as if the prospect of that life was a great burden to bear, but one to which she had properly reconciled herself. When her declarations met with exasperation or reproach from her family--for no one else was convinced that Mr. Hathaway, the rector, was her lot--she usually responded in a perplexed manner. Hadn't they understood that her calling was to wed a man of the cloth? Was there another man of God, other than their rector, available to her? No. It only stood to reason, therefore, that Mr. Hathaway was her lot in life.Their cold reception to the thought of the marriage was unfathomable.

How did it do? Except for the proper nouns, ONLY the following words from this excerpt were never used by Austen

exasperation, responded, hadn't, wed, available. 

I could take that to mean the writing has significant "Austenicity," right? But wait, maybe not. 

To compare, I took a paragraph from my contemporary novel, FALLING IN, and entered it into the site. 

Here's what I entered:

      ...Pat felt in his pocket, and that's when he pulled out a small felt-covered box, the kind that held rings. He was grinning.

        Oh, my gosh! He's going to propose! Sharona was shocked. Not happily shocked. It was an unwelcome idea, that of getting married. They'd only been dating for five months!  Sharona's heart constricted. Pat was cupping the box reverently in one hand, waiting for her to take it. She reached for it woodenly, her mind a jumble of thoughts.  It was true Pat had given warnings, saying things like, "Junior partners don't become senior partners in my firm without a wife; preferably a couple kids, too." Pat's superiors were mostly old-school, white-haired men, and they liked things traditional. But Pat had always followed such statements with a laugh, so Sharona never took his words as a hint of something coming. She hadn't dreamed he'd been serious.

In this case, the app again flagged personal pronouns, but also every single compound word and contraction; as well as "constricted," "cupping," "reverently," "woodenly," "preferably," and "dreamed." Jane Austen did not, apparently, use many adverbs or modifiers. (Perhaps we can learn something here!) Most words, however, were not flagged.  

This tells me two things:
1. You cannot use this little tool to write like Austen, although it will tell you if a word was never used by her.
2.  Jane used quite a few words in her writing that we still use today. And that's it! 

Still, it was a fun exercise. 
If I could find an app to do the same for writing like Dickens, now, wouldn't that be fun?

Do you read Jane Austen? Or regencies? What is a favorite word of yours from the period?




Linore Rose Burkard  is best known for her Inspirational Regency Romance Series, which whisks readers back in time to early 19th century England. Authenticity and heart-warming adventure are par for the course in her books. Fans of romance in the tradition of Austen and Heyer (such as Pride & Prejudice, Cotillion, and even My Fair Lady), enjoy meeting Linore's feisty heroines and dashing heros.
   
All excerpts above, copyright 2015 Linore Rose Burkard