Most books are fairly general, but any good research book has a bibliography or notes, and that’s where we strike gold. First, these enable us to check the source of information, because we can’t always believe what’s in print. Especially when something seems unlikely, it must be checked. (It is, of course, by our foundation research above that we develop a nose for inaccuracy.)

If a writer claims that eighteenth century ladies frequently defecated in the streets, I’d want to see the source. If it turned out to be a satirical cartoon representing Britannia shaming herself somewhere, I’d know it probably wasn’t literal. I’d also know the writer of that research book was after sensation rather than truth and so the whole book would become dubious.

However, the chief value of notes and bibliographies is that they point us to other resources. There we’ll find more diaries and bound letters, and also reference books. These might be general, such as Dorothy Hartley’s Food in England, or narrower, as with Norah Waugh’s Corsets and Crinolines, or extremely fine, as with Candle Lighting, by David Eveleigh (Shire Books.)

Why do we care? Because details, the right details, add clarity, texture, and depth to a historical novel. They enhance the time-travel experience. They should be achieved without dumps of information, however.

Consider this from my book, A Lady’s Secret. (Out in April.)

Petra and Robin have stopped at a French inn for a meal and after a number of adventures, they’ve both taken baths. Petra is passing as his sister, Maria.

There was a knock on the door and Robin spoke through it. “Are you ready, Maria? Our meal is here.”

“Coming!” Petra called… She went to the door, only realizing as she opened it that she was barefoot.

He stared, but not at her feet. “My apologies. I haven’t seen you dressed in anything like that…. for so long,” he added, clearly remembering their relationship as brother and sister.  Then he saw her feet and smiled in a way that probably made her toes blush. She hurried into the parlor where their table was set, curling her toes as if that might conceal them.

“Ah,” he said. “At last I can satisfy some of your desires….”

Warm, crusty bread tantalized her nose. Butter, wine, and a basket of ripe fruit made her mouth water. An inn servant stood ready to ladle soup into bowls, and this soup smelled wonderful. Petra sat and ate.

“Oh, this is very good,” she sighed and smiled at Robin before she remembered what he’d said.

His dimples showed.

“You’re in fine feather,” she said to break the moment. “I assume the chaise has arrived.”

He poured golden wine into her glass. “Only a quarter hour behind us.”

(They talk as they eat.)

Petra concentrated on the dishes being laid out between them,  all smelling delicious. Robin told the servant that they’d serve themselves and summon him again later. Suddenly, they were alone and his hair was drying, springing free and catching sunlight. The pure white neckcloth somehow heightened his radiant good looks.

He put food on her plate. “Sole, I think, with mushrooms. I don’t see any reason for this inn to poison us.”

“So you thought of that, too,”

Thus the reader has a sketch of an inn meal without hardly noticing it. Two books I have on Georgian food are Eliza Smith, The Compleat Housewife (Studio Editions) and the six volumes of The British Housewife, by Martha Bradley, 1756 (Prospect Books.) The first is fairly easy to fine, the second not, but The Compleat Housewife probably has enough for most purposes. Having read such books, it’s tempting to include a treatise on period food in the novel. Resist.

Because my characters are aristocratic, clothes are often important, but when I choose to detail them, it’s because it conveys more than costume. As with today, we can tell a great deal about people from their clothes, both quality and choices.

Also, being a romance novel, the removal of them can become important. In more recent centuries, women wore corsets. They weren’t easily extracted from them, and they took time to put back on. This dictates certain practicalities. In fact, for surreptitious sex, they often didn’t bother, and the fact that until the Regency most women didn’t wear drawers made that part easier.

Comments? Questions?