Costumes are period accurate for the Regency era, and her gown is based on the fashion plate below. She Had Four Minutes to Make a Good Impression. And She Couldn't Say Anything Interesting. If you've ever read a Regency romance and wondered why the heroine spends so much energy on not saying things, you're asking exactly the right question. Regency ballroom conversation had rules. Unwritten ones, which somehow made them worse—because everyone was expected to simply know them. The short version: say as little as possible, make it pleasant, and never reveal anything that might embarrass your family. The weather was safe. The quality of the supper was safe. Admiring someone's gown was safe. Anything beyond that required careful navigation. Fashion plate of a Regency ball gown from Ackerman’s Repository, February 1809. What you absolutely could not discuss: Politics, religion, and money were off the table entirely. War—even as soldiers were dying on the Contine...

With all haste, Maner made his way to the section of London known as Orario, to a portion of Rachey Street lined with warm, comfortable, elegant townhouses. He passed them all until he reached a particular house, which did not appear much larger than the others, but which he knew extended far to the rear. His hands shook as he rapped with the door knocker. The owner of the building had no reason to harm him, and yet he was nervous. Even the most vicious of rats would hesitate to approach a poisonous snake, no matter that the snake was not hungry for his flesh. The large butler who answered the door possessed a body heavy with muscle and could have squeezed Maner’s neck in one meaty fist. He had been working for his mistress for as long as Maner could remember. “I would like to request an audience with the Senhora,” Maner said in a contrite voice. “Please tell her it is an extremely urgent matter. It is about an illegal slave auction that will take place in two days.” —from Lady Wy...

In the far corner of the Senhora’s room, the heavy burgundy curtains twitched, then a man stepped out from behind them. While his feet would have been visible underneath the edge of the curtain, they were hidden from view of anyone sitting near the fireplace by the placement of the Senhora’s desk. “The last time I hid in a woman’s chamber was more than twenty years ago,” Sir Derrick Bayberry complained. “It was quite suffocating behind the curtain.” Ignoring his grumbling, the Senhora gestured to one of the seats in front of the fire. Sir Derrick was about to sit on the same sofa as Maner, but he frowned at the cushion. “Mr. Hanson left a stain.” The Senhora gave a huff of exasperation. “I am not so terrible, am I, that I would frighten a grown man? Englishmen are entirely too fragile.” Sir Derrick refrained from pointing out that the Senhora had certainly not made an effort to appear more ingratiating, but she knew he was thinking it. —from Lady Wynwood and the Forbidden Auction...

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...

Mr. Coulton-Jones’s smile faded and his expression grew serious as he turned and bowed to Mr. Drydale and Lady Wynwood, but when his gaze fell upon Phoebe, there was a strange intensity at the back of his eyes, hidden by his words and his serenity. Despite his beautiful hostess, despite Lady Wynwood’s elegance and Mr. Drydale’s authority, Phoebe alone moved him. Phoebe had not told Keriah of anything that had occurred between them lately. But his reaction now was novel, as if Mr. Coulton-Jones had been a cold, dark grate, and now there were bright embers banked beneath the ashes. —from Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 9: Shelter Curious how it all begins? Click below to read the beginning of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer for free and step into a world of Regency intrigue, danger, and slow-burn romance. 👉 Read the excerpt now 💌 Prefer to ease into the series? You can join my newsletter and get a free ebook copy of Lissa and the Spy , a romantic Regency mystery introdu...

Mr. Verling attacked the man closest to Keriah, but instead of aiming at him with his fists, he dropped low and swept his leg in a wide arc. It took the man by surprise, causing him to fall hard upon the ground. —from Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 9: Shelter Curious how it all begins? Click below to read the beginning of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer for free and step into a world of Regency intrigue, danger, and slow-burn romance. 👉 Read the excerpt now 💌 Prefer to ease into the series? You can join my newsletter and get a free ebook copy of Lissa and the Spy , a romantic Regency mystery introducing another pair of spies in my world. Reference Footer This post relates to Camille Elliot’s Lady Wynwood’s Spies , a Christian Regency romantic suspense series set in 1811 London and featuring intrigue, espionage, botanical alchemy, slow-burn romance, and themes of faith and redemption. • Lady Wynwood’s Spies Series Reference Page • Reading Order: Lady Wynwood’s S...

A carved wardrobe. A childhood memory. A symbol that shouldn't exist in two places at once. Meet Phoebe Sauber—and the mystery that's been waiting for her all along. Phoebe had fallen near her uncle’s ornately carved wardrobe, which stood against the wall between two large windows, and she’d just missed having her head smashed against the wooden edge. God had perhaps saved her from a more nasty injury. As a child, when she’d come to her aunt’s house to play, she’d spent hours fascinated by the ridiculously elaborate and intricate carvings on the door. It was like a treasure map that would lead to something wonderful if she could decipher it. Staring at the wardrobe door again, the memories came flooding back to her. Now, she rolled over onto her stomach and reached out her hand to trace the familiar carvings. Those had been the days right after her brother had been born and her mother had died. Right when her father had changed from a parent doting on his only child to a di...