Without a Summer (35 page)
“No, no. I do not believe for an instant that I make so silly a sound.” He kissed her cheek. “You shall have to prove it.”
“By making you say something you do not wish to say?” Jane let her hand drift lower. “That sounds unpleasant.”
“But you have made me curious.” He barely silenced a grunt by turning it into a moan. “Since your first claim is clearly true, I want to hear this whine.”
Jane stopped moving and rested her hand on his chest again. There was one question that had disturbed her, but she had not been able to bring herself to ask. “When you first came to Long Parkmead … did Melody remind you of Miss de Clare?”
Vincent held his breath and a little whine of protest escaped him. Jane nudged him in the ribs. “There. Do you hear it?”
He gave a half-laugh. “I do.” Pulling her closer still, Vincent rolled onto his side and buried his face in her neck. “I—yes, she did.”
Jane held him, running her hands over his back, tracing the lines drawn there and knowing that other scars went deeper still. A bead of moisture dropped onto her neck and rolled down her skin. Jane kissed Vincent’s forehead. His breath hitched and caught as he struggled with his sensibilities in her embrace.
Voice hoarse and hot against her skin, he whispered, “But you do not. You are unique and wonderful and—and a thousand other hackneyed things. You are my Muse.”
Jane could hardly breathe for the force of her emotions. “And you are mine.”
The result of that moment of distress was that the Vincents spent that night, and others, proving the strength of their love to each other. They repeated it in their actions, and in the art that they wove as they worked glamour side by side.
No glamural could have had more love displayed in it than the one that they wove for the wedding of Miss Ellsworth and Mr. O’Brien. The chapel had been done over in a picturesque motif with a few laurel trees masking the pillars that supported the high ceiling. The ceiling itself was where the chief of their effort went. They made it vanish behind layers of glamour so that, in spite of the continuing rain outside, Melody and Alastar would be married under an unclouded blue sky.
At the back of the chapel, Melody stood next to Jane, shifting her weight from foot to foot. In a dress of fine white muslin, with a small lace-trimmed cap to match, she was radiant, with such a glow to her complexion that Jane almost felt they had not needed any glamour at all. Almost.
Jane whispered to her sister, “Do not forget to breathe.”
With no sign of having heard, Melody turned to her. “Should I take my spectacles off?”
“Will you be able to see him clearly if you do?” Jane stood in front of her to show where the bridegroom would stand. “He will be about this far.”
Melody pulled the spectacles down her nose and shook her head.
“Then you should wear them.” Jane straightened her sister’s primrose silk shawl to show off the embossed white satin flowers. “You will want to remember this, and the day will be enough of a haze as it is.”
“La! Jane … I am so nervous.” She peered toward the front of the chapel. “Is he there? He is. Oh—oh, he is so handsome. Are you certain I should wear the spectacles? Perhaps I should take them off.”
“He wears them as well. Do you love him any less because of that?”
Melody coloured and her cheeks curved into a deep smile. She shook her head. “He is all that I could wish for.”
Jane’s eyes pricked with tears, which made her grateful for the handkerchief she had tucked in her sleeve.
The Catholic service was strange to Jane, but she found that, aside from an abundance of Latin, the wedding was very much like other weddings. She felt a greater desire to weep than at others, but that could be attributed to seeing her sister marry a man that she truly esteemed. The small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony were equally confident that their wishes and hopes would be fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.
Jane and Vincent had been married in a small private ceremony. This one had all the pomp that Jane’s mother had regretted theirs as wanting. Mrs. Ellsworth would have had even more parade and spectacle were she allowed, but the taste of the artists conquered that tendency.
From time to time, Jane looked across to Vincent, whom Mr. O’Brien had invited to stand up with him. She met Vincent’s eye as the ceremony came to a close and they both pulled a slipknot, releasing a flight of peacocks and white doves overhead.
Vincent winked at Jane. His fingers moved at his side, and a single word sounded in her ear alone, carried by glamour. “Muse.”
In spite of her earlier fears, Jane was deeply satisfied to see her sister happily married and with a muse of her own.
I should first acknowledge my husband, Rob, upon whom certain aspects of Vincent are very heavily modelled. He is quite literally my Muse for this character. He is also endlessly patient as this is the second book in this series that I finished in the midst of a cross-country move, this time from Portland to Chicago. I am working on the fourth book,
Valour and Vanity,
at the moment and am happy to report that we are not currently moving.
As with any book, there are people who helped this story be what it is. Mark Pallis, the BBC historical consultant for
Garrow’s Law,
vetted my legal scenes. British law and American law are vastly different, and even more so when you hark back to 1816. He was amazing and there are copies of his notes on my website, along with the original scene, if you are interested in that sort of geekery.
Paul Cornell helped me translate William from the Dick Van Dyke dialect into something appropriate for a Londoner.
Laura Plett, an English Country dance caller, helped me sort out the dance movements for the Almack’s scene. She also answered my questions about the waltz, which was different in the Regency than in our modern era.
Mark Beswick, archive information officer at the Met Office National Meteorological Archive in the United Kingdom, got me a scan of meteorological records for 1816 in London. To the best of my knowledge, the days that I have it snowing are days when it actually snowed.
John Scalzi helped me sort out how to handle the fact that my readers all thought the bad weather was caused by magic instead of a volcano.
Mary Anne Mohanraj offered excellent advice on my handling of Miss Godwin.
The Multnomah County Library reference librarians continue to be an invaluable resource for all the myriad things that I cannot find on my own. Librarians rule the world.
Jodi Eichelberger helped me with adapting the hymn “Twas in the Winter Cold” to “Twas in the Summer Warm.” The original hymn was written in 1873, so I could not use it, but desperately wanted to.
As always, thanks to the ladies of the Oregon Regency Society, who continue to provide inspiration and support as I work on these books. Part of the trial scene was written at an ORS retreat in costume and with an actual quill. While the way my writing rhythms changed were fascinating, I was very happy to return to my computer. In particular, I need to thank Stephanie Johansen, Charlotte Cunningham, Nora Azvedo, Agnes Gawne, Lauren Marks, and Angel Bruce.
Of course, without my editor, Liz Gorinsky, this book would be messier and not as interesting. She does a wonderful job of helping me craft story. Likewise, my agent, Jennifer Jackson, does more than just sell books and manage contracts, she also helps me sort out where I want the story to go while I’m still in the planning stages. Michael Curry, for whom Major Curry is named, is one of my first readers and provides invaluable advice.
I also have a host of alpha readers, who get the raw draft of the story and tell me how it is playing. Thanks to: Karin Abel, Hanna Brady, Sharat Buddhavarapu, Laura Christensen, John Devenny (Yes, that’s where the name comes from), Peter Ellis, Grant Gardner, Randall Haverinen, Brent Longstaff, Maggie, Donna McLaughlin, Ian Miller, Nina Niskanen, Kurt Pankau, Putergeekguy, Julia Rios, Dallan Simper, Leonard Suskin, and Natalie Wolanski. I also had a number of people who listened to me read the whole darn thing out loud. In particular I want to thank Annalee Flower Horne, Fric Hayoz, John DeLong, and Peter Ellis, who not only listened, but provided useful feedback.
And I should close with thanks to Miss Austen, from whom I stole three sentences and the essential character arc of
Emma
.
1816 was known, historically, as “The Year Without a Summer.” In 1815, the volcano Tambora blew up in the East Indies. This was the largest volcanic explosion in recorded history. That said, very little about this explosion was known in London in 1816. I cheat a little in the book, because its connection to the weather was not understood until 1819. The blanket of ash that it kicked out was so large that 1816 was cooler than usual, to the point that Washington, D.C., had snow in July. There was widespread famine because of crop failure, combined with the return of all the soldiers from the Napoleonic wars, which increased unemployment.
This was at a time of great social upheaval, as the industrial revolution was beginning. The Luddites were a real movement that began to protest the introduction of automated looms. Prior to this, cloth was woven by individuals at home, for a factory. The introduction of the looms reduced the demand for this labour. It also meant that workers were now employed outside the home, which suddenly caused a need for childcare. For this and other reasons, the looms were seen as a disruption of lifestyle and weavers began a series of riots. They were eventually stopped when seventeen of the protesters were put on trial in 1813 and the key members were hanged.
I based the coldmongers’ situation on the Luddites and also on the Cato Street Conspiracy. Some of the language of the trial came directly from the Cato Street trial, and you can read the full transcript in the Old Bailey archives. One of the things that I found interesting while reading these was that there were a number of men of colour involved in the conspiracy and that in 1820 the correct term was “men of colour.” I think of that as a modern construction. It is also easy to forget that London was a cosmopolitan city and had people of every colour in it. The media tends to depict the Regency as entirely populated by white people, and it was not.
At the time, however, the notion of “white” excluded not only people of Anglo-African or Anglo-Indian descent but also Irish. Ireland had only recently merged with England, in 1800, to create the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. The parliaments were merged but there was a provision designed to keep Catholics from taking their seats. The Test Acts had been around since the 1600s and required members of the House of Parliament to take an oath declaring against some of the central tenets of Catholic faith. The oath read, “I, N, do declare that I do believe that there is not any transubstantiation in the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, or in the elements of the bread and wine, at or after the consecration thereof by any person whatsoever.”
On a more pleasant note: Most of the dresses that I referred to are taken from fashion plates from the period and I link to them on my website. The dress with the grey and coffee French knots is one that I made for “research” purposes. Ahem. So much research was required for this book that I have two new dresses, and a bonnet with blue ostrich feathers.
That said, there are things that I got wrong. If you spot an error, please email me at [email protected].
GLAMOUR.
This basically means magic. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the original meaning was “Magic, enchantment, spell” or “A magical or fictitious beauty attaching to any person or object; a delusive or alluring charm.” It was strongly associated with fairies in early England. In this alternate history of the Regency, glamour is a magic that can be worked by either men or women. It allows them to create illusions of light, scent, and sound. Glamour requires physical energy in much the same way running up a hill does.
GLAMURAL.
A mural that is created using magic.
GLAMOURIST.
A person who works with glamour.
BOUCLÉ TORSADÉE
. This is a twisted loop of glamour that is designed to carry sound or vision depending on the frequency of the spirals. In principle it is loosely related to the Archimedes’ screw. In the 1740s it was employed to create speaking tubes in some wealthy homes and those tubes took on the name of the glamour used to create them.
CHASTAIN DAMASK.
A technique that allows a glamourist to create two different images in one location. The effect would be similar to our holographic cards which show first one image, then another depending on the angle at which it is viewed. Invented by M. Chastain in 1814, he originally called this technique a jacquard after the new looms invented by M. Jacquard in 1801. The technique was renamed by Mrs. Vincent as a Chastain Damask in honour of its creator.
ETHER.
Where the magic comes from. Early physicists believed that the world was broken into elements with ether being the highest element. Although this theory is discredited now, the original definition meant “A substance of great elasticity and subtlety, formerly believed to permeate the whole of planetary and stellar space, not only filling the interplanetary spaces, but also the interstices between the particles of air and other matter on the earth; the medium through which the waves of light are propagated. Formerly also thought to be the medium through which radio waves and electromagnetic radiations generally are propagated” (OED). Today you’ll more commonly see it as the root of “ethereal,” and its meaning is similar.
FOLDS.
The bits of magic pulled out of the ether. Because this is a woman’s art, the metaphors to describe it reflect other womanly arts, such as the textiles.
