- Regency Gowns: Who Would be a Seamstress?
- Regency evening gowns: delicious detail at bosom and ankle
- Regency gowns: clean, alter, mend the damage
- Historical Costume 1780s : Polonaise Gown
- Historical Costume 1780s : Caraco. But what IS a caraco?
- Historical Costume 1800-1820 : the simple Regency gown?
- Historical Costume 1800-1820: a spencer for a skimpy gown?
- Historical Costume 1800-1820: Keeping Warm in a Pelisse
- Historical Costume 1800-1820 : Parasols Up and Down
- Designer Stubble: the Bane of Regency Book Covers
- Historical Costume, 1790-1830 : Shoes, slippers
- Historical Costume 1800-1820: boots and bags
- An improper blog : embroidery and the pains of fashion
- Historical Costume : 1800-1831 Royal Jewellery to bling it up
- Historical Costume 1800-1850 : the Lady’s Riding Habit
- A Close Shave (or the gentle art of Pogonomotomy)
- Historical costume pics: gowns, petticoats, dolls, even men
Just before the start of the first lockdown — and doesn’t that seem a lifetime ago? — I spent an afternoon in the jewellery galleries at the Victoria & Albert Museum, in London. What struck me was how much of the fabulous bling on display was royal, or had royal connections. At the beginning of the 19th century, a lot of money went on bling. And the ladies of consequence were happy to flaunt it.
In 1806, Emperor Napoleon was intent on securing an alliance with the Prince-elector of Baden as part of the Confederation of the Rhine. To cement the alliance, Napoleon arranged a marriage between his adopted daughter, Stéphanie de Beauharnais, and the elector’s heir. Napoleon presented the bride with this beautiful set of emerald and diamond jewellery.
These pieces came from Paris, in 1806, made by Nitot et Fils. Originally, the emeralds at the back of the necklace were removable, for use as earrings. Later, two new emerald drops replaced the originals and the earrings became a permanent part of the set.
This painting of Stéphanie, by François Gérard, dates from 1808, a couple of years after her marriage. The colours aren’t too clear, but I suspect that is the Emperor’s necklace that she is wearing. Given how powerful Napoleon was in Europe at the time, it would have been an astute political move on her part, don’t you think?
The Empress Joséphine, a distant cousin (by marriage) of Stéphanie, liked her bling, too. This beautiful diamond and ruby laurel spray probably formed part of a larger suite of jewels made in 1809 by Nitot et Fils of Paris. It was later converted into a brooch, as seen here, and was inherited by the Empress’s son, Eugène.
Both these early pieces look quite modern to my eyes. They are simple enough to be worn today, provided the surrounding security is good 😉
The Prince Regent in England was very fond of display, and jewels formed a big part of that. When his daughter, Princess Charlotte of Wales, was to be married to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, he sent this peridot parure to Miss Cotes, one of the ladies he had set to keep a close eye on his daughter. Princess Charlotte resented the ladies. She described the Dowager Countess of Rosslyn and her nieces, the two Misses Cotes, as Famine and the Consequences. But the Regent was clearly grateful to them. The jewels were accompanied by a note from the Regent’s sister, Princess Elizabeth, which said; “I write in great haste by command of the P. Regent to beg you to accept the set of Chrysolites [peridots] which I send with this note. He hopes You will wear it at the wedding as proof of his regard.”
This set was produced by the jewellers Rundell, Bridge & Rundell (a name familiar to Georgette Heyer fans) and cost the Regent the sum of £240: 9s. Clearly, he hadn’t heard the old tale that green is unlucky for weddings. Poor Charlotte’s marriage was happy but short. She died in childbirth the following year and was much mourned by court and people alike. The memorial pendant (shown below) probably belonged to a close friend, since it contains some of Princess Charlotte’s hair:
Tsar Alexander, who ruled the Russian empire from 1801-1825, was enormously rich and often gave jewels to his mistresses. There were a lot of mistresses. Wikipedia lists nine illegitimate children by various of them. (I borrowed the mistress+jewels idea in His Reluctant Mistress, where Alexander gives my heroine, Sophie, some fabulous gems. If you want to know what she did to earn them, you’ll have to read her story. It may surprise you…)
Alexander was, apparently, enamoured of Lady Frances Anne Vane-Tempest, as soon as he saw the portrait (shown left) painted by Lawrence to celebrate her engagement. She was by far the richest heiress in England at the time. In 1819, aged 19, she married Lord Castlereagh’s half-brother, Charles, Baron Stewart, who had been the British ambassador in Vienna since 1814. Frances was required, under the terms of her father’s will, to keep her surname on marriage, so Charles had to change his family surname from Stewart to Vane. He probably thought it was a price worth paying to marry the Vane-Tempest fortune. And when Castlereagh (by then 2nd Marquess of Londonderry, but childless) committed suicide in 1822, Charles became the 3rd Marquess.
Londonderry Russian bling
Apparently infatuated, Alexander gave Frances some wonderful gems: a pink topaz of 140 carats, a yellow diamond of 17 carats, and a set of huge Siberian amethysts. She said that he knelt at her feet and covered her hands with kisses. She added that they “came out of the ordeal innocent of guilt”. Really? That would have been unusual for Alexander, but I suppose it could have happened.
We don’t have the original settings for the stones he gave her, but you can see two of them below, in their current settings, dating from the late 19th century.
The amethysts have been reset often. This image shows a tiara, dated 1916, created for the wife of the 7th Marquess. There is reputedly also a 1920s photo of her, wearing them as a chain running vertically down the front of her dress. Clearly eye-catching gems.
Oodles of Londonderry Bling
After her return from Vienna in 1823, Frances Anne Vane, Marchioness of Londonderry, was one of London society’s foremost hostesses and was rich enough to indulge herself. It seems she enjoyed displaying her vast wealth on her person. She is known to have worn gowns (and jewels) to represent Elizabeth I, and Cleopatra, at costume balls. The huge portrait shown at the end of the blog, by Dubois-Drahonet, can be seen in the V&A on the wall outside the jewel gallery. It shows Frances Anne in her court dress for the coronation of William IV in 1831.
Her jewels are all real. All of them!
If you enlarge the portrait [just click on the image], you should be able to pick out some of the amethysts down the centre of the gold panel beneath the diamond girdle. (The girdle’s diamonds were later reused in the Londonderry tiara, above left.) The lilac-blue stones on the panel are in fact a set of turquoises (above right) that Frances bought from Count Palffy in Vienna around 1820. The Tsar’s huge rose topaz is at the very bottom of the centre line of jewels on the gold panel; his yellow diamond is a little higher, on the right as we look at it.
And we accuse modern celebs of flaunting ostentatious wealth? Not a patch on Frances Anne!
PS My latest release, The Mystery Mistletoe Bride, is out soon, and is available for preorder here for £1.99/$2.99
A woman with no name, no past, no memory—rescued by an earl with his own bitter secrets
On his return from the Peninsular War, Jonathan, Earl of Portbury, appears remote and forbidding, hiding his pain behind a wall of icy formality. Widowed, and childless, Jon needs a new wife, and an heir, but he knows himself to be incapable of love.
The obvious solution is a marriage of convenience with a woman of sense.
If he can find one.
On one of Jon’s minor estates, the woman he rescued from death, months before, still has no memory and no past, though she has acquired a name—Beth. She is no empty-headed debutante, fresh out of the schoolroom, but a lady of admirable sense and refinement, who devotes her energies to good works. She seems to fulfil all Jon’s requirements in a wife.
But Beth is a woman without a past. Is she fit to become Jon’s countess?
And how could a marriage be made to work when both of them have so many buried secrets?