ALL ABOUT THE CLOTHES
by Janet Mullany
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| 1790-1800 Men's Clothes Victoria and Albert Museum Collection Given by Messrs Harrods Ltd. |
Ask any writer of historical fiction what drew them to their
chosen genre, and sooner or later they’ll reveal the ugly truth: it’s the
clothes. I can talk for hours about Georgian servants or the English abolition
movement, but eventually I slow down and blurt out “And the tight pants.”
Yes, the tight pants, the shirts with the mancleavage reveal, the boots, and so on. All that starched white linen and other wonderful fabrics, wool, silks, satins, velvets, netting, knits. Women’s clothing of the Georgian-Regency period was comfortable, sparse—gown, petticoat, corset, shift—and the corsetry supported but did not restrict. It’s enough to make fetishists of us all. The stockings, however, are a bit of a disappointment—imagine a long tube sock that would slide down unless tied in place. The concept of sexy underwear did not exist. It was strictly practical, made to be washed over and over—no silks or satins, and no lace since for a long time war prevented the (legal) import of French lace. But women did not wear pantaloons or drawers until well into the nineteenth century and the garments remained crotchless until the twentieth. You didn’t need sexy underwear with the outer clothes revealing the lines of the body, male and
female, so blatantly.
Yes, the tight pants, the shirts with the mancleavage reveal, the boots, and so on. All that starched white linen and other wonderful fabrics, wool, silks, satins, velvets, netting, knits. Women’s clothing of the Georgian-Regency period was comfortable, sparse—gown, petticoat, corset, shift—and the corsetry supported but did not restrict. It’s enough to make fetishists of us all. The stockings, however, are a bit of a disappointment—imagine a long tube sock that would slide down unless tied in place. The concept of sexy underwear did not exist. It was strictly practical, made to be washed over and over—no silks or satins, and no lace since for a long time war prevented the (legal) import of French lace. But women did not wear pantaloons or drawers until well into the nineteenth century and the garments remained crotchless until the twentieth. You didn’t need sexy underwear with the outer clothes revealing the lines of the body, male and
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| 1775-1800 Drawers Victoria and Albert Museum Collection |
Clothing sent other messages too, about your status in life,
your income, and even, for a woman, your marital status. Unmarried and in your
late twenties?—sorry, you missed the marital boat. You’d henceforth be destined
to wear a spinster’s cap, as my heroine does at the beginning of A Certain Latitude.
What sort of historical clothing do you find sexy?
1800—Allan Pendale, lawyer and the youngest son of the Earl
of Frensham, is bound by ship for the West Indies, to impart the news to his
estranged father that his mother has died.
But he also has another mission—to find out the truth of his origins.
Miss Clarissa Onslowe is also on board, traveling to take up
the role of governess to the daughter of the wealthy planter Mr. Lemarchand.
There is nothing to keep her in England. An indiscretion five years before led
to her reputation being ruined; her abolitionist family has disowned her and no
gentleman would marry her now. But now she seeks redemption with her family by
revealing the truth about the miserable lives of the slaves who work on the
sugar plantations.
Clarissa’s previous encounter with love has left her aroused
and restless, and Allan is a man for whom lust is a daily pastime; thrown
together belowdecks during the long sea voyage, they embark on a sensual
odyssey where no desire is left untested. But if they thought their exploration
and ecstasy could not be bettered, then there are more pleasures to be taken
and boundaries to be broken at their island destination—where “March”
Lemarchand, sugar king and master of seduction, awaits them both…
A marvel of sex,
smarts, and wit—Pam Rosenthal/Molly Weatherfield
Unabashedly wicked …
titillating, witty, and very, very sexy—Colette Gale
A torrid, twisting
tale of a trio bound together by love, lust and tropical latitudes. Scorching!—Maggie
Robinson
EXCERPT:
Allen
had thought Miss Onslowe had gone below, but she was on deck, lurking around
the henhouse, doubtless tucking the wretched birds into bed for the night. She
wore, as usual, the unbecoming spinster’s cap and a long cloak. He drew his own
cloak around himself, seeking a dark corner, and wondered if she had some sort
of assignation with the First Mate Johnson, who had gazed foolishly at her all
through dinner.
She
looked around cautiously and raised one hand to her head.
He
burst from his hiding place, grabbed the cap from her head, and tossed it
overboard.
“Why did you do that?” she shrieked, much as
she’d done when he’d knocked her to the deck first within minutes of meeting
her.
“Because
it’s damned ugly and—”
The
ship gave a decided lurch. She bumped up against him, grasped his coat for
balance and shouted, “I wanted to do
that!”
He
burst into laughter. Together they watched the white cap bob on the waves—yes,
definitely waves, here—and then sink from sight.
“Damn
you, Pendale.” She bent forward to unlace her boots, kicked them off, and
reached under her skirts.
“What—”
he watched transfixed as her garters—pink ribbons—fell to the deck and those
same dingy gray woolen stockings slid down her ankles.
She
hopped on one foot and tugged one stocking off, then the other, with a swish of
skirts, and maybe—or did he imagine it?—a flash of white thigh.
Barefoot,
she tossed her stockings overboard, where they bobbed for a brief moment before
disappearing from sight.
“Well!”
She laid her hand on his sleeve for balance, grinning broadly.
He’d
never seen her—or any woman, come to that—smile with so much abandon, her whole
face lit up. She must be drunk—that was it. She’d had quite a few glasses of
punch.
“I
hated those stockings. I have been praying for them to wear out. I’m glad to
see them go. Now I shall be forced to wear my silk ones, like a lady.”
“Miss Onslowe, do you imply you are not a
lady?”
She
ran her fingers through her loosened hair. “I do not wish to shock you,
Pendale. You seem like a very respectable sort of gentleman.”
“Oh,
please, Miss Onslowe, do shock me.” He grinned back. The atmosphere was
becoming pleasantly erotic—a woman who, if not exactly pretty, was certainly
interesting and had shown no shyness in stripping off her stockings, stood before
him, her hips swaying with the motion of the ship.
Buy:
Janet
Mullany grew up in England and has worked as an archaeologist, performing arts
administrator, classical music radio announcer, bookseller, and editor, and
unexpectedly became a writer eleven years ago. Her first book, DEDICATION
(2005, rewritten for LooseId, 2011), was the only traditional Signet Regency
with two bondage scenes and she continued to break conventions with her comic
Regency chicklit book THE RULES OF GENTILITY (2007, HarperCollins and 2008,
Little Black Dress, UK). She’s written three more Regency chicklits, two
alternate historical-paranormals about Jane Austen as a vampire (JANE AND THE
DAMNED and JANE AUSTEN: BLOOD PERSUASION) and other Austenesque short fiction.
She also pursues another existence as a writer of erotic contemporaries for
Harlequin. She lives outside Washington, DC where she reads voraciously and
teaches a cat manners. Find out more at http://www.janetmullany.com
https://twitter.com/Janet_Mullany
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