Research Corner
Writing historical romance means diving deep into research—and sometimes, it’s even fun! This page is where I share some of the curious, delightful resources I’ve uncovered along the way.
General Period Research:
An etymological dictionary is a must for anyone writing in the past
The absolute best explanation I’ve found for title conventions
Paid resources for Regency Slang and Coaching Schedules and worth every penny
This map of important places in Regency era London is one of my most used resources
Clothing and hair:
These are by no means the only resources I’ve used for these things, but they’re a good jumping off point and general overview.
Regency:
Women’s:
A quick overview
Underthings, more underthings, and yet more…
Men’s:
A quick overview
An indepth study of Breeches
Hair—I’m going to be honest, I usually ignore this in favor of whatever I fancy at the moment.
Victorian:
Women’s:
A quick overview
Men’s:
A quick overview
Book SPEcific Research:
This is by no means an exhaustive list. The searches are too numerous to count and would take me nearly as long to compile as it does to write the book.
Most Imprudent Matches:
Courting Scandal:
Gaming-hells - I based Michael’s club on Crockford’s which came a few year’s later
Baker and the Bookmaker:
Winning My Wife:
Fencing in the era. I also pestered my friend from high school who fenced for some feedback on those scenes.
Devil of Mine:
Syphilis—wear a condom, folks.
Angel of Mine:
Umbrella defense—Celine is a little ahead of her time.
Crossbones Cemetery—A real place that has been transformed from something tragic into something beautiful.
A Properly Conducted Sham:
Understanding and Study of Astronomy in the era and also here.
Mirrors used in the telescopes of the time
My most used resource for this book: a map of the night sky by date, time, and location.
The Scottish Scheme:
A Lady’s Guide to Abduction:
The moment the coaching schedule spreadsheet became invaluable. I often cross referenced it with this map and history of The Great North Road
Hell’s Heiresses:
The Viscount’s Violet:
I’ve broken out the coaching schedule spreadsheet again.
Rules of Écarté
The Boxer’s Belle: TBD
The Guard’s Gamble: TBD
The Thief’s Treasure: TBD
The Musican’s Muse: TBD
The Rival’s Ruse: TBD
The Patron’s Proposal: TBD
Empirical Evidence for Imprudent Acts:
Sometimes, when writing a spicy scene, a little math is involved.
Take Gabriel, for instance. He’s an unrealistic (for the era) 6’1”—but accuracy must bow to aesthetics.
So, for science: how tall is Gabriel when he’s kneeling?
On average, the distance from foot to knee makes up about 30.5% of a person’s total height, meaning the body retains 69.5% of its height when kneeling. Converting Gabriel’s height to inches gives us 73”; multiply that by 0.695, and you get 50.74”.
A respectable 4’2¾”.
Now let’s consider Celine. At a perfectly reasonable 5’4” (that’s 64”), she’s standing in front of kneeling Gabriel.
How far can he reach—comfortably—with his mouth?
The distance from the top of the head to the mouth averages 10–12 inches; we’ll use 11” for simplicity. That puts Gabriel’s mouth at 39.74” from the ground. If we assume Celine’s mouth is about 10” below the top of her head (she’s petite, after all), hers sits at 54”.
So, if they wish to kiss, she’ll need to bend.
But what if he wishes to kiss… other things?
Science, alas, has yet to define the distance from head to bosom as an official unit of measure (a grave oversight). However, the average falls around 25–28% of total height. Using 25%, Celine’s bosom height would be roughly 48 inches.
Gabriel will need to stretch a little, and Celine may have to dip—but with sufficient motivation, this is hardly an insurmountable obstacle. Anything below the bosom is well within reach…
*The use of inches is historically accurate—they used imperial measures then. I’m definitely not relying on them because I’m a lazy American…
On the Relative Speeds of Carriages Conveying Heroines and Idiots:
Carriage A, containing our kidnapped heroine, departs the gaming-hell, bound eastward, at a variable speed of five to seven miles per hour. Twelve hours later, Carriage B, containing our determined hero, departs the same gaming-hell—also heading east—at a rather more impressive eight to ten miles per hour.
If the gaming-hell and their decrepit mansion destination are 245 miles apart, how long will it take Carriage B to overtake Carriage A?
Now, let us introduce a few narrative complications:
The travelers are on a turnpike, but the driver of carriage A has left the transponder in his other breeches.
Carriage A contains a gentleman who is carriage sick.
An ill-tempered tree has chosen this precise moment to fall across the road between them, forcing the occupants of Carriage B to decide whether to turn back or hack their way through with masculine determination.
Is our heroine rescued? Must she do everything herself?
Or has the author included a third full moon in the same month and the reader is far too annoyed by such inconsistencies to find out?
Much less fun than spicy math—but every bit as necessary—there’s a surprising amount of calculation involved in plotting travel times. Algebra, I think? I have an English minor…
In The Viscount’s Violet, letters and people were constantly darting across England at inconvenient moments. Unfortunately, I had already married myself emotionally to a moor setting for the final showdown, and thus condemned myself to endless calculations about how long it would take both messages and characters to arrive there. There were spreadsheets involved. I regret everything.
The distance between London and Bodmin—the city nearest Benedict’s home, Blackwood—is roughly 245 miles. At its fastest, on well-maintained roads, a carriage could travel 8–10 miles per hour. But that doesn’t account for the time required to change horses. The ostlers were efficient, but not exactly NASCAR-pit-crew efficient. Add in turnpike delays (someone literally had to turn the pike), and you’re looking at an average speed closer to 8 mph.
At that rate, the absolute minimum journey time—under ideal conditions—would be about 30 hours. That assumes the best carriage money can buy, fresh horses waiting at every inn, no stops for food, sleep, or human frailty, and not a single tree in the road. A more realistic “fastest possible” trip? 35 hours.
Spoilers Below: The Logistics of a Climax (Not that kind unfortunately)
If Eliza is abducted at midnight and bundled into a functional but rather shabby carriage bound for Blackwood, departing around 1 a.m., the math begins. With fog, boggy roads, and the general miseries of the countryside, her pace drops to about 7 mph. Add horse-change delays and one companion dying of infection (oh no, anyway…), and her travel time stretches to roughly 45 hours—arriving near 9 p.m. two days later.
Benedict and Michael discover her kidnapping almost immediately. They, of course, have the finest carriage money can buy and the full weight of wealth behind them—boys sent ahead to prepare horses, bribes for speed, the works. Unfortunately, even Michael Wayland can’t conjure a ransom from thin air. Emptying the strongroom, gathering the float, and calling in debts takes several hours. They can’t depart until nearly 12 hours later.
And then fate intervenes. The same cursed fog, the same treacherous roads, and finally—a downed tree. The must turn back or cut their way through. They choose the axe, losing precious hours. Their journey ends around 47 hours after Eliza’s abduction, at midnight—perfectly timed for the final confrontation on the moor.