Historical research behind the stealthy fashion of my lady spies
What would you do if you were a woman in 1811 and needed to carry a weapon, but had no pockets and couldn’t very well strap a dagger to your thigh? That was the challenge I faced while writing my Christian Regency Romantic Suspense series, Lady Wynwood’s Spies, where my heroines don’t just attend balls and sip tea—they also sneak around carriages, spy on dangerous men, and fight off attackers when necessary.
In Volume 7: Spinster and Volume 8: Traitor, two of my heroines—Lena and Phoebe—retrieve hidden knives from secret slits in their gowns. The sheaths are sewn directly onto their corsets. Naturally, you won’t find that kind of accessory in the pages of Ackermann’s Repository of Arts or La Belle Assemblée, the fashion magazines of the day. But I wanted my heroines to be both era-accurate and armed. So I dug into fashion history to find a creative (and plausible) solution.
The Idea Behind the Hidden Knife Sheath
In the fictional world of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Lena works for a covert organization known as the Ramparts. Back in 1803, she and the group’s costumer, Mrs. Price, devised a clever way to hide a knife—sewing a sheath into the corset itself and creating a discreet slit in the gown’s side seam to reach it.
This method was so effective that when Lena’s combat trainer, Mr. Armstrong, later trained other operatives (like Phoebe and Keriah), he taught them the same trick. That way, my lady spies are never unarmed, even when dressed in their finest.
Is This Historically Accurate?
Yes—and no. You won’t find corset-mounted knife sheaths in the history books, but the construction of Regency gowns makes the idea surprisingly feasible. I first learned about it in a hands-on workshop on Regency clothing construction, taught by a seamstress who had sewn her own period-accurate dresses.
She walked us through the structure of apron-front gowns, which were especially common during the Regency. These high-waisted empire dresses had full skirts that tied in back and opened on the front, which created slits on the sides.
The slits weren’t large enough to flash some skin, and a proper young lady wore a chemise, corset, and petticoat under her gown anyway.
The concept of slits in gowns is not new—during the Georgian era, before empire-waist gowns, women often had slits in their dresses to reach for pocket pouches on sashes tied around their waists under their clothing. But when Marie Antoinette made the Grecian long-waisted gowns popular, which made it difficult to hide pouches under the thin muslin skirts, reticule bags became popular instead of pocket pouches.
With this design in mind, it’s perfectly reasonable that a hidden slit—cleverly placed within the folds of the skirt—could allow access to a sheath sewn to the corset beneath.
Regency Fashion Plates for Reference
Here’s an 1804 fashion plate from Journal de Dames et de Modes, showing how full the skirts could be despite the slim silhouette:
The hat, made of white satin and adorned with a tuft of flowers, is of an entirely new shape. Many fashionable ladies wear it as part of a demi-parure ensemble.
The gown, made of white muslin, is slightly heart-shaped in the front. The half-wide sleeves are ruched in slashed pleats, somewhat resembling the folds of the hat. A silk ribbon encircles the waist.
The table, in both its shape and ornamentation, is of a new style. It is a breakfast table.
And here’s another from Ackermann’s Repository, June 1811:
A round robe of plain jaconet muslin, with a border of needle-work at the feet. A Roman coat of violet shot sarsnet, with pointed cape; binding and tassels of jonquil silk. A Parisian cap of sarsnet, same as the pelisse, ornamented with a broad braid of jonquil silk, and a fancy flower placed towards the left side. A veil of fine white lace, thrown negligently over the head-dress, shading the throat, and falling on the shoulders. Half-boots of violet silk or French kid. Gloves of jonquil kid.
A round high walking dress of fine oblique corded muslin, with high arched collar, trimmed with a narrow full edging of muslin or plain net lace, and finished at the feet with narrow tucks. A Roman helmet of sea-green sarsnet, terminated with a Tuscan band of cut white velvet. A short winged veil, or under-cap of transparent net, caught up in the center of the forehead. A Grecian drapery scarf of sea-green sarsnet; parasol to correspond. Shoes of similar coloured kid. Blossom-coloured ridicule, and primrose or pale tan gloves.
As skirts gradually narrowed through the 1810s, the option for hiding weapons became trickier—but still possible with enough folds, petticoats, and corset stability.
Could a Corset Really Hold a Knife?
Surprisingly, yes. The corset I saw at the seminar (a real one, made with a substitute for whalebone) was solid enough to support the weight of a knife sheath placed under the arm or at the waist, which would be easily accessible without being visible.
A typical Regency undergarment setup included:
• A chemise or shift as a base layer
• A corset, structured and fitted
• A petticoat underskirt tied around the waist with ribbon straps over the shoulders to keep it in place under high-waisted gowns
This combination offered just enough coverage, movement, and concealment to make my fictional setup surprisingly realistic.
If you’re a fan of spy novels, historical detail, and plucky heroines who defy expectations, check out my Lady Wynwood’s Spies series. It’s Pride and Prejudice meets Mission: Impossible, full of Regency gowns, knife fights, hidden messages, and a touch of romance.
🗡️ Explore the series here
📚 Read an excerpt of Volume 1 online
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