The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce (23 page)
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Authors: Hallie Rubenhold
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BOOK: The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce
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It did not take long for the newly wedded Lady Grosvenor to realise that she had made a terrible error in tying herself ‘to such a mate … for the sake of rank and title …’ Disconsolate and feeling ‘ill used’, she eventually began an affair with Henry, Duke of Cumberland, the brother of the King. Unfortunately, the couple’s elaborate schemes of letter exchange and illicit meetings were uncovered by the cuckolded baron. His pride trampled by a member of the royal family, Grosvenor asserted himself by bringing a charge of crim. con. against the Duke, which, after the publication of the adulterous
pair’s explicit correspondence, won him damages of £10,000. Much like the Worsleys’ matrimonial dispute, Lady Grosvenor’s battle with her husband did not conclude amicably. Determined to reveal Lord Grosvenor’s hypocrisy, she sabotaged his plans for divorce by ‘going into bawdy houses and other places to search and procure witnesses’ who would testify to her husband’s infidelities. The Grosvenors were officially separated in 1771. She was granted an annual allowance of £1,200, an insubstantial sum for a lady of the leisured class who allowed money to dribble through her fingers. Unskilled in the management of their finances, dispossessed women of her rank lived in a constant state of need which they could ease by accepting the sexual advances of wealthy men. Through the years Lady Grosvenor had become adept at padding out her living, while permitting onlookers to believe she was perfectly content with her carefree lifestyle. Frequently, the
Morning Herald
hinted at another reality; as it quipped in 1783, ‘Lady Grosvenor has these several nights past been spotted in the green boxes with no fewer than three different beaux which our correspondent judges to speak as much of misery as it does of variety’.
pair’s explicit correspondence, won him damages of £10,000. Much like the Worsleys’ matrimonial dispute, Lady Grosvenor’s battle with her husband did not conclude amicably. Determined to reveal Lord Grosvenor’s hypocrisy, she sabotaged his plans for divorce by ‘going into bawdy houses and other places to search and procure witnesses’ who would testify to her husband’s infidelities. The Grosvenors were officially separated in 1771. She was granted an annual allowance of £1,200, an insubstantial sum for a lady of the leisured class who allowed money to dribble through her fingers. Unskilled in the management of their finances, dispossessed women of her rank lived in a constant state of need which they could ease by accepting the sexual advances of wealthy men. Through the years Lady Grosvenor had become adept at padding out her living, while permitting onlookers to believe she was perfectly content with her carefree lifestyle. Frequently, the
Morning Herald
hinted at another reality; as it quipped in 1783, ‘Lady Grosvenor has these several nights past been spotted in the green boxes with no fewer than three different beaux which our correspondent judges to speak as much of misery as it does of variety’.
The shared experience of public defamation through a criminal conversation trial drew the two women together. Ladies Grosvenor and Worsley were seen often ‘in amorous league together’, strolling arm in arm at the Pantheon or perched high above the throng at the theatre. Gossip sheets suggest that Seymour had a similar friendship with Lady Penelope Ligonier, another disgraced divorcee of Lady Grosvenor’s acquaintance whom the
Morning Herald
spotted at Westminster Hall watching
Worsley
v.
Bisset
. Like Seymour, she too had been swept up in a passionate affair which ruined her marriage and her good name. Before the Worsleys’ matrimonial dispute dominated the press, the affairs of Lady Ligonier and her ill-fated marriage to Edward, 2nd Earl of Ligonier had occupied that position. It was in Paris that the intellectually and musically gifted daughter of Lord Pitt Rivers met Captain Ligonier, the heir to a Surrey estate and a military man with a promising career. They were married in 1766 and returned to England shortly thereafter. While abroad, the Ligoniers made many distinguished foreign friends whom they later entertained at their home, Cobham Park. Among them was the Italian dramatist and poet, Count Vittorio Alfieri. In his memoirs Alfieri does not reveal the details of his relationship with Penelope Ligonier, only the adventure involved in the consummation of it. The Count’s story is not lacking in romantic embellishment; he writes of furious rides from
London to Cobham Park, of broken limbs, scaled garden gates, a jealous servant’s betrayal and finally of a duel with an outraged Lord Ligonier. Alfieri escaped the fracas with a minor wound, but his mistress was not as fortunate. Ligonier proposed to divorce her, which he promptly did, but Alfieri refused to marry her and resuscitate her reputation because of rumours that she had taken her coachman to bed. With her reputation in tatters, she departed for France in 1771 and Alfieri ‘most gallantly and politely accompanied her’, along with her mother and, curiously, her loyal sister-in-law, Frances Balfour. Twelve weeks later, Lady Ligonier returned to England without the Count. On her father’s request, she quietly took up residence in a cottage, a ‘lonesome and dreary retreat’ on the perimeter of the family estate. With an allowance from her husband of £600 per year, Penelope Ligonier settled for a quieter existence than her friend Lady Grosvenor. However, much to the satisfaction of the newspapers she also made regular appearances in London with a new lover, a Yorkshire landowner by the name of Locke. By 1784, two years after befriending Lady Worsley, she was again married, this time to a Captain Smith, ‘a trooper in the Blues’.
Morning Herald
spotted at Westminster Hall watching
Worsley
v.
Bisset
. Like Seymour, she too had been swept up in a passionate affair which ruined her marriage and her good name. Before the Worsleys’ matrimonial dispute dominated the press, the affairs of Lady Ligonier and her ill-fated marriage to Edward, 2nd Earl of Ligonier had occupied that position. It was in Paris that the intellectually and musically gifted daughter of Lord Pitt Rivers met Captain Ligonier, the heir to a Surrey estate and a military man with a promising career. They were married in 1766 and returned to England shortly thereafter. While abroad, the Ligoniers made many distinguished foreign friends whom they later entertained at their home, Cobham Park. Among them was the Italian dramatist and poet, Count Vittorio Alfieri. In his memoirs Alfieri does not reveal the details of his relationship with Penelope Ligonier, only the adventure involved in the consummation of it. The Count’s story is not lacking in romantic embellishment; he writes of furious rides from
London to Cobham Park, of broken limbs, scaled garden gates, a jealous servant’s betrayal and finally of a duel with an outraged Lord Ligonier. Alfieri escaped the fracas with a minor wound, but his mistress was not as fortunate. Ligonier proposed to divorce her, which he promptly did, but Alfieri refused to marry her and resuscitate her reputation because of rumours that she had taken her coachman to bed. With her reputation in tatters, she departed for France in 1771 and Alfieri ‘most gallantly and politely accompanied her’, along with her mother and, curiously, her loyal sister-in-law, Frances Balfour. Twelve weeks later, Lady Ligonier returned to England without the Count. On her father’s request, she quietly took up residence in a cottage, a ‘lonesome and dreary retreat’ on the perimeter of the family estate. With an allowance from her husband of £600 per year, Penelope Ligonier settled for a quieter existence than her friend Lady Grosvenor. However, much to the satisfaction of the newspapers she also made regular appearances in London with a new lover, a Yorkshire landowner by the name of Locke. By 1784, two years after befriending Lady Worsley, she was again married, this time to a Captain Smith, ‘a trooper in the Blues’.
What linked Lady Ligonier with her once respectably married sisters was a complete absence of remorse for her conduct. Twenty years after the conclusion of her affair with Alfieri she described the shape her life had taken in a candid letter to him. She expressed her gratitude to the Count for delivering her from the constraints of ‘a world in which I was never formed to exist’ and that she ‘never regretted’ abandoning ‘for a single instant’. Throughout their affair she claimed to have been entirely sensible of her actions and to have foreseen the consequences of them: ‘I thank Providence for having placed me in a more fortunate situation,’ she wrote with hindsight. Freed from the restraints of convention she professed to ‘enjoy perfect health, increased by liberty and tranquillity’ and to seek ‘only the society of simple and honest people, who pretend neither too much genius nor to too much knowledge, who blunder sometimes, and in default of whom I rest satisfied with my books, my drawings, my music, etc.’ Although a life outside the boundaries of polite society held numerous disadvantages, the sentiments expressed by Lady Ligonier also attest to its merits. As Ladies Worsley and Grosvenor experienced, the loss of reputation closed many doors, while also opening others through which fulfilment might be found.
Due to a significant surge in criminal conversation suits and petitions for divorce, the disgraced but well-bred woman who roamed at large was becoming
a more common figure in the late eighteenth century. Convention branded all women who had broken the prescribed sexual norms as whores, but fallen ladies of the landed class managed to float above the other members of their untouchable caste. Accordingly, the anonymous author of
A Congratulatory Epistle from a Reformed Rake
, published in 1758, placed ‘Women of fashion who intrigue’ at the top of his hierarchy of harlots, reigning far above the streetwalkers, expensive prostitutes and filthy beggars, who were thought to share an equally corrupt nature. More importantly, the possession of a title as well as a small maintenance allowance or alimony sum prevented disgraced former wives from being called courtesans. When describing the
bal d’amour
, a salacious masquerade held at Mrs Prendergast’s brothel, the author of
Nocturnal Revels
, a chronicle of the sexual underworld in the late 1770s, is very specific about the differences between the two. Although the event was attended by a variety of celebrated ‘votaries of venus’, including Ladies Grosvenor and Ligonier, the author is quick to state that these ‘Ladies refused any pecuniary gratification, and by that means distinguished themselves from the
Grizettes
’. Practically, however, the position of Ladies Grosvenor, Ligonier, Worsley and others tainted by separation or divorce differed little from that of the women beneath them. True security could only come from a gentleman’s purse, and the pool of gentlemen willing to dispense their cash for sexual favours did not distinguish between a courtesan and a disowned baroness.
a more common figure in the late eighteenth century. Convention branded all women who had broken the prescribed sexual norms as whores, but fallen ladies of the landed class managed to float above the other members of their untouchable caste. Accordingly, the anonymous author of
A Congratulatory Epistle from a Reformed Rake
, published in 1758, placed ‘Women of fashion who intrigue’ at the top of his hierarchy of harlots, reigning far above the streetwalkers, expensive prostitutes and filthy beggars, who were thought to share an equally corrupt nature. More importantly, the possession of a title as well as a small maintenance allowance or alimony sum prevented disgraced former wives from being called courtesans. When describing the
bal d’amour
, a salacious masquerade held at Mrs Prendergast’s brothel, the author of
Nocturnal Revels
, a chronicle of the sexual underworld in the late 1770s, is very specific about the differences between the two. Although the event was attended by a variety of celebrated ‘votaries of venus’, including Ladies Grosvenor and Ligonier, the author is quick to state that these ‘Ladies refused any pecuniary gratification, and by that means distinguished themselves from the
Grizettes
’. Practically, however, the position of Ladies Grosvenor, Ligonier, Worsley and others tainted by separation or divorce differed little from that of the women beneath them. True security could only come from a gentleman’s purse, and the pool of gentlemen willing to dispense their cash for sexual favours did not distinguish between a courtesan and a disowned baroness.
In the early 1780s, disgraced married women dominated the pricier end of the mistress market. Apart from the titled group of divorcees, three of the era’s four most celebrated courtesans–Grace Dalrymple Elliott, Mary ‘Perdita’ Robinson, Gertrude ‘The Bird of Paradise’ Mahon, and Elizabeth Armistead –had entered into their profession as a result of ruined marriages. Grace Elliott, who later became a firm friend of Lady Worsley’s, had been the young wife of an established physician before her romance with Lord Valentia sent her husband to Parliament petitioning for a divorce. Mary Robinson was the spouse of a debt-ridden lawyer who had taken to the stage and then to her pen in order to survive. The much sung Bird of Paradise, who had been born Gertrude Tilson, was the pretty niece of Lord Kerry who had shamed herself in a dubious marriage to the Irish gambler, Gilbreath Mahon. When too many rolls of the dice had worn through his money, Mahon abandoned her and fled abroad. Of the four, only Elizabeth Armistead had followed the conventional route; she rose to prominence through the exclusive ‘nunnery’ brothels of King’s Place. With more obscure origins, these women and a
constantly changing list of other names formed the corpus of the
demi-monde
. As a select division of the ‘Cyprian corps’, they were the true ‘courtesans’.
constantly changing list of other names formed the corpus of the
demi-monde
. As a select division of the ‘Cyprian corps’, they were the true ‘courtesans’.
While the membership of the New Female Coterie appears to have been restricted to previously married ladies of title, it welcomed the participation of these other ‘sincere worshippers of … the loose rob’d Goddess of Delight and Tender Dalliance’, especially Mary Robinson, who was currently in demand as a theatrical luminary. Such a congregation of controversial women was bound to excite the imagination of Grub Street and to pique the fear of respectable society. Catchpenny publishers slavered for tales of their deeds and records of their conversations. The author of a work entitled
The Court of Scandal
assumed that the
demi-mondaines
simply sat about exchanging lurid stories of their conquests. Others knew differently. Thomas Robertson, a friend of Lady Ligonier’s and a hack who wrote for the salacious
Rambler’s Magazine
, provided several months of copy on the Coterie’s exchanges. Claiming to have been present at one of the ‘assemblies’, he described the gathering as a type of philosophical society, not unlike those which flourished among the learned middle classes.
The Court of Scandal
assumed that the
demi-mondaines
simply sat about exchanging lurid stories of their conquests. Others knew differently. Thomas Robertson, a friend of Lady Ligonier’s and a hack who wrote for the salacious
Rambler’s Magazine
, provided several months of copy on the Coterie’s exchanges. Claiming to have been present at one of the ‘assemblies’, he described the gathering as a type of philosophical society, not unlike those which flourished among the learned middle classes.
In keeping with the traditions of Mrs Prendergast’s house, these ‘Cytherian Discussions’, alternately chaired by the association’s madam-president, Lady Harrington or by her protégée, Lady Worsley, were concerned predominantly with the subject of sex. From the mouths of Mrs Newton and Mrs Elizabeth Williams, a fellow adulteress and one of the guests of the society, came well measured philosophy with feminist undertones. During several meetings which Robertson attended, the members debated a number of rhetorical points, discussing the merits and demerits of marriage and posing questions which cut directly to the heart of the inequities of the male–female relationship. The group argued a case for situations in which adultery might be excused, such as in the procreation of children when ‘our husbands are not competent to the purpose for which marriages were instituted’. The question of whether ‘taking one lover constitutes a lesser crime than committing that faux pas with many’ was also raised. However, most gatherings were likely to have been more frivolous, revolving around gossip and friendly chat and it was this light-hearted aspect that interested the newspapers most. The scandal sheet readers were more captivated by the public escapades of these doyennes of dissipation and their badly behaved admirers than they were by wider-ranging philosophical issues.
One of the many hypocrisies that underpinned the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century double standard was the custom which permitted gentlemen to mix freely with tarnished women while ensuring that their unblemished sisters never did. Lady Worsley’s elopement shut off relations with respectable female companions but the names of her fashionable male acquaintance would hardly have altered at all. If anything, Seymour’s fall drew her more tightly into the circle of the Prince of Wales. Along with titled
demi-mondaines
and courtesans, gambling blacklegs, scheming Whig politicians, actors, ageing roués and the dissolute sons of the landed classes flocked to the future George IV. Lady Grosvenor’s former lover, the Duke of Cumberland, who was held responsible for corrupting the Prince, was a constant fixture in his nephew’s life. He was joined by the alcoholic brothel-trawling Duke of Queensberry and men such as Banastre Tarleton and George Hanger, two of the worst-behaved ‘bucks and bloods’. Not surprisingly, the names of the Marquess of Graham, the Earl of Peterborough, Viscount Deerhurst and Charles Wyndham were also listed among the Prince’s friends at events where ‘not a woman of rank was to be seen’.
demi-mondaines
and courtesans, gambling blacklegs, scheming Whig politicians, actors, ageing roués and the dissolute sons of the landed classes flocked to the future George IV. Lady Grosvenor’s former lover, the Duke of Cumberland, who was held responsible for corrupting the Prince, was a constant fixture in his nephew’s life. He was joined by the alcoholic brothel-trawling Duke of Queensberry and men such as Banastre Tarleton and George Hanger, two of the worst-behaved ‘bucks and bloods’. Not surprisingly, the names of the Marquess of Graham, the Earl of Peterborough, Viscount Deerhurst and Charles Wyndham were also listed among the Prince’s friends at events where ‘not a woman of rank was to be seen’.
The Prince of Wales and his wayward troop drank, danced, fornicated and gambled with feverish compulsion. By the end of 1781 the heir to the throne had tasted and tired of Mary Robinson, Elizabeth Armistead and Grace Elliott. He had exchanged his court duties for hunting excursions with his ‘insolent and arrogant’ friend, Anthony St Leger and consumed ‘pailfuls’ of wine with the actor, John Philip Kemble. He and his coterie scattered their inheritances between the card tables of Brooks’s Club and the racecourses at Newmarket and York. A passion for gambling levelled the fortunes of many of the Prince’s ‘fast set’, who, like Lord Stavordale, might lose ‘£11,000 at a game of Hazard’ or win it back ‘in one hand’. The rich and reckless, whether sober or soaked in alcohol, threw money at any outrageous stunt: whether in a race ‘a turkey would out strip a goose’ or if Banastre Tarleton could run ‘fifty yards with Lord Mountford on his back in less time than the Duke of Queensbury trots a hundred and ten on any horse’. ‘I do not know what to make of such fools …’ wrote Madame du Deffand to Horace Walpole, ‘ … I should never have believed it, if I had not seen for myself that there could be such madness’. One of the Prince’s closest confidants, Charles James Fox, she believed ‘to live in a sort of intoxication’. The unshaven, unkempt Fox kept a typical schedule, in one twenty-four-hour period going ‘to dinner at past eleven at night; thence to White’s, where he
drank until seven the next morning; thence to Almack’s where he won £6,000; and between three and four in the afternoon … he set out for the races at Newmarket’. In the view of many, the future monarch was surrounded by corrupt characters: a tribe of untrustworthy, extravagant libertines and whores. Appropriately, it was among their ranks that Lady Worsley and George Bisset found a natural home.
drank until seven the next morning; thence to Almack’s where he won £6,000; and between three and four in the afternoon … he set out for the races at Newmarket’. In the view of many, the future monarch was surrounded by corrupt characters: a tribe of untrustworthy, extravagant libertines and whores. Appropriately, it was among their ranks that Lady Worsley and George Bisset found a natural home.
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