I was writing the below dinner scene in Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 4: Betrayer , and since I wanted to be authentic, I went looking in some antique cookbooks that had been published around that time period. In the cookbook, The Experienced English Housekeeper by Elizabeth Raffald , I found an interesting recipe, Hare Soup. (If you click the link, you can download a pdf copy of the scanned antique book.) The book was reprinted many times over the Georgian and Regency eras (the edition I was looking at was published in 1808, which is 3 years before the events in Lady Wynwood’s Spies ), so this soup would have been served at Laura’s dining table. Laura’s heart ached for Phoebe, and she had prayed over her niece. But Phoebe hadn’t appeared calmed by the prayer. She declined dinner and retreated to her room down the hallway, and so now Laura was sitting to a solitary meal. After Aya had set a bowl of hare soup in front of her, she asked the question Laura had been expecting. “What wi...

Mr. Norton is a gentleman spy for the Crown, but he broke every rule in his agency to save one woman's life. Now his superior officer has come to collect. Norton was about to settle down to a delicious dinner prepared by his club’s cook and a bottle or two of wine when a man seemed to appear out of thin air. “Norton,” the harsh voice said. The tall, spare man addressed him familiarly, but there was no warmth or cordiality in his grating tones. Norton liked to play the reckless fool, for it caused men to underestimate him. In actuality, while his actions were usually very daring, most of the time he had already looked at the situation and conjured up a dozen different ways that everything could go wrong, and considered what he might do in response if any of those occurred. So he had accustomed himself to a certain level of preparedness no matter where he found himself, and he did not like being surprised. But this man, being here and approaching Norton, was not only a surprise,...

It was only a torn piece of paper—until Phoebe turned it over. A piece of watercolor paper wasn’t something Phoebe would have expected Mr. Coulton-Jones to carry with him when meeting someone about a horse. But after what happened today, she began to suspect that there was much about him that was unexpected. Perhaps the smooth facade he showed to the rest of the world was far more fake than she had realized. She flipped the piece over. A circular symbol had been drawn on the paper, but the majority of it was missing because of the torn edge. The symbol had two long narrow leaves radiating from the center, and the stalks of two flowers in between the leaves. She gasped and nearly dropped the paper. She recognized this symbol. Or rather, it triggered a hazy memory from her childhood. She had seen the symbol carved into wood somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where or when. She remembered the smell of dust and maybe a bit of dirt and mold. She also knew that the symbol was circu...

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 sis...

Mr. Coulton-Jones didn’t see Phoebe because she was sitting behind the enormous flower arrangement, but he had just approached a man who stood against the wall near the fireplace. Mr. Coulton-Jones’s fine, coffee-brown hair had been forced into a fashionable style, and his cravat was elegantly tied, his shirt-points high but not overly so. His jacket was perhaps a couple of years old but not out of style, and it suited his muscular physique admirably. “Aunt.” Phoebe nodded toward the two men. “He only just arrived a moment ago.” She wasn’t certain how she ought to feel upon seeing him again. Now that she knew the connection between the symbol she had found on the Heath, her late Uncle Wynwood and Uncle Sol, Mr. Coulton-Jones’s meeting with that strange man took on a more sinister cast. Was he involved in something to oppose the government or the war? Because if Uncle Sol were investigating something for the Home Office, it possibly involved one of those two. Yet remembering her co...

Phoebe remained aware of their surroundings as they walked the narrow streets, and at one point, she thought that they were being followed. She turned to boldly confront the man following behind them, and when his heartbeat pulsed and he pulled a knife from his sleeve, she made a fist and punched him solidly in the nose. His cry of pain as he dropped to the cobblestones echoed off the buildings on either side. Even better, it accomplished what she had intended—two other men who had been lying in wait several yards ahead of them on either side of the road abruptly withdrew. The three women were not accosted by anyone else on the way back to the tannery. —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 ...

Laura opened the note immediately, not bothering to move back into the drawing room. She frowned as she read the hastily scrawled lines: I require your presence immediately. The boy will have brought a hackney cab and ordered it to wait for you. Placing a hand to her throat, she felt the pulse racing there. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and then she told Aya, “I must go to Saffron House immediately.” Her maid frowned. “The gall of her, to order you about as if you are a servant.” “No,” Laura said thoughtfully. “She is not normally so forceful. I fear something is wrong.” —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 ...

Phoebe realized the sound was coming from the partially opened door at the end of the drawing room that led to the library. “M’lady, please come out from under the desk!” Aya sounded mortified. “I was simply checking in case a re—in case something might have fallen behind the drawer.” Aunt Laura’s voice was muffled. But as Phoebe approached, the strange tone of Aya’s voice made her slow her pace and pause out of sight of the half-open door. “A receipt? A jeweler’s receipt?” Aya spoke quietly, unlike the half-scolding, half-joking tone she usually took with her eccentric employer. When her aunt didn’t reply, Aya continued, “I saw the crest on the watch. It’s the same one that was on that pendant.” “Of course not,” Aunt Laura replied briskly, but Aya interrupted. “I was there with you that night. I saw it. That watch is somehow connected to her , isn’t it?” Phoebe’s limbs had become solid blocks of ice. She had the feeling that whoever that woman was, she was important to her au...

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...