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  There were limited roles for the well-bred single woman over the age of twenty-two or -three when she was considered past her prime. If she were wealthy in her own right or possessed of a comfortable ‘independence’, she might set up house with a suitable female companion although, as Venetia Lanyon recognised in Venetia, this would probably see her stigmatised as an ‘eccentric’ and result in her being ostracised by elite circles. If independent living was not an available option—more often the case owing to the extremely limited means by which a woman could obtain an income during the Regency—then she would probably become a dependant in the household of a family member. Maiden aunts, distant cousins, nieces and unmarried older daughters often took on the role of companion, governess or nurse to a more prosperous family member in return for lodging, board and a socially accepted position. It could be an unenviable position, however, for spinsters were generally considered inferior beings and the maiden aunt, sister or daughter denied marriage often found herself an object of pity to be shunted between relatives and treated little better than a domestic servant.

  For those gently born women without family upon whom they could depend, one of the few paid occupations available to them was that of companion or governess. For women forced into this position there was usually little to look forward to beyond a lifetime of drudgery, submission and what Kitty Charing in Cotillion perceived as ‘the slights and snubs which were a governess’s portion’. A few women, such as Ancilla Trent in The Nonesuch, deliberately chose to support themselves through teaching rather than burden their families, but for those women of good birth such a decision generally placed them outside their accustomed social circle. Ancilla knew only too well that by becoming a governess a woman automatically reduced her social standing. Apart from teaching, the only other genteel occupations available to an upper-class female were that of dressmaker or milliner, neither of which would allow her to retain her place within society. Although there were a few exceptions, the many constraints placed upon women during this period and social expectations in general made it very difficult to aspire to any status other than that of wife and mother regardless of intellect or scholarly interests. For those women unable to marry the prospects could be bleak.

  5

  On the Town

  THE SEASON AND THE LITTLE SEASON

  Running from late January to early July, for the upper class the Season was the social high period of the year. Parliament began sitting in January—the signal for the move to town to commence—but many families delayed their return to the metropolis as the Season did not get into full swing until March or April. Centred in London, it took place during the (ideally) pleasant spring months and consisted of an endless round of balls, assemblies, theatre parties, military reviews, masquerades, dances, routs, alfresco breakfasts and any other gay or dashing entertainment that an ambitious host or hostess could conceive of within the bounds of propriety. For those upper-class families with a country seat and children to marry off, the Season was the time to return to London and take up residence in an owned or rented town house somewhere in Mayfair in order to play the ‘marriage market’. Arabella, growing up in the very restricted society of Heythram in Yorkshire, longed to visit London where she might enjoy the balls, assemblies, theatre parties and other pleasures of the Season. For those on the social fringe, the hangers-on, the genteel and the well-bred but impoverished, the Season was also an opportunity to catch a rich husband or wife.

  Parliament rose in June and families would retire to their country estate or to a seaside resort such as Brighton. London could be unbearable in the summer months and was thought by many to be fetid and unhealthy. In The Spanish Bride, Harry Smith’s young wife Juana watched the city grow thin of company in late June and endured many hot, dull days in the capital while waiting for news of her husband. A return to town in September was considered acceptable, however, and many among the upper class came back to London for the Little Season, which lasted until early November when the fox-hunting began and there was a general retreat to the country. The Little Season also provided an opportunity for some girls to be brought out in advance of the Season proper and to try their social wings a little before embarking on the intense round of engagements that made up the Season. If it hadn’t been for old Lady Bugle’s untimely death in Charity Girl which meant the family were in mourning, her granddaughter Oenone might have come out during the Little Season in the autumn rather than having to wait until the following year.

  ALMACK’S

  Of all the venues in Regency London, Almack’s was undoubtedly the most exclusive. Founded in 1763 by a Scotsman, William Macall, it derived its name from a simple reversal of the two syllables of Macall’s surname. Macall became known as William Almack and the original Almack’s was a gambling club in St James’s Street which eventually became the famous Brooks’s club. In 1764 Almack commissioned the building of a magnificent set of rooms on a site in King Street, behind St James’s Square, in the centre of fashionable London. Almack’s opened on 20 February 1765 with a subscription price of ten guineas which admitted the purchaser to the three rooms where a ball and a supper were held once a week for twelve weeks. In its early years, Almack’s also provided the venue for a ladies’ gambling club where those fashionable and aristocratic women who gained admission to the rooms could meet over cards and engage in deep play. In 1781 Almack’s niece inherited the rooms and her husband, the keen-eyed and knowing Mr Willis, oversaw the running of the club and became famous as its imperturbable and ever-courteous doorkeeper. Not every visitor to Almack’s was favoured with the attention of the great Mr Willis but Freddy Standen in Cotillion was an agreeable guest and a graceful dancer and was well-liked by the powerful doorkeeper.

  Determined from the outset to make the club sought-after and exclusive, Almack set up a management committee of high-born ladies responsible for administering the vouchers which were the only means of gaining the tickets required for entry to the rooms. Thus were the patronesses established, and their autocratic rule quickly gained a hold over upper-class society, to the extent that one aspirant likened the pursuit of tickets of admission to Almack’s to the Quest for the Holy Grail. Undoubtedly, part of the attraction was the difficulty in acquiring the necessary voucher. With the number on the list never exceeding two thousand, only those ladies and gentlemen who met with the approval of one or more of the lady patronesses would be so honoured. The challenge lay in determining what might win their approbation. As Eugenia Wraxton warned Miss Stanton-Lacy in The Grand Sophy, neither birth nor fortune could guarantee a voucher, although beauty, wit and careful dressing could open the doors, and a graceful dancer or person of taste might win approval and thereby gain admittance to the hallowed rooms.

  The allocation of vouchers was decided in a weekly meeting during which the committee determined who, in addition to those already in the visiting books, would receive the coveted honour. Self-elected to their roles as arbiters of taste and fashion, the patronesses were frequently despotic in their rule and arbitrary in the selection of attendees. Offending any one of them could mean permanent exclusion from the club. Even the most nobly born persons were subject to their whims and idiosyncratic rules and many among the aristocracy sought their approval in vain. Even with the most eligible connections Gussie Yarford, Lady Appleby, in Friday’s Child, could not get a voucher to Almack’s. For those fortunate enough to gain admittance a set of strict rules was laid down and even the most notable in society were required to abide by them. The Duke of Wellington was turned away from the doors on two occasions: once, for arriving after eleven o’clock, at which time the rooms were closed to all newcomers, and again for attending in pantaloons instead of the requisite formal evening wear of knee-breeches. Peregrine Taverner in Regency Buck was another who discovered to his chagrin just how inflexible were the rules and how despotic the patronesses.

  It was the very exclusiveness of Almack’s and the extraordinary powe