The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

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Sweet, sexy, heartbreaking and erotic, confined by corsets (all that complicated lacing be damned!) or secreted away behind closed doors, love in Regency England was a murky business. It was hardly recognizable — laced into ballgowns, peering out coquettishly from behind ivory-handled fans, whispering inappropriately under the noses of chaperones and being seduced into compromising positions. It was an emotion dealt out cruelly by a voracious and debauched high society on the one hand, and a great hypocrisy of social graces and propriety on the other. With innocence forever in the middle, trampled, torn and abused — as usual.

There were some things love and lovers should not do. But rules were made to be broken and all it took was a little ingenuity. When denial and frustration come to a boiling point, sparks fly bright and hot. Matches are made in haste to settle the possibility of scandal, marriages are bargaining chips to elevate stations and cancel debts — where there’s a will, there’s a way. And mothers! Those infernal, social climbing, unrelenting mothers! The bane of every debutante during her seasons out.

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