What caused this fairly fundamental shift seems buried in the mists of time. But the romantic poets certainly heard the bugle call, and lent their strong and at the time highly influential voices to the push for change.

The waning of French influence on British society was one factor which not only contributed to, but was essential for, the emergence of the acceptance of love within marriage. When it came to love in marriage, the French were even stricter and more disapproving than the English (that was where the attitude had originally evolved from). While very strong during the Georgian era prior to the French revolution, and in the years immediately after, French influence on British society waned and then was eclipsed during the Napoleonic years. During this time, English fashions mirrored the change in English society, as it evolved beyond centuries of French influence, into something distinctly English.

So change came, but it came slowly—even in the 1820s and later, it is likely the majority of marriages within the upper classes were still arranged on the basis of other, unemotional criteria. But love had become acceptable—and having been let into the equation, as it were, love within marriage was always destined to become the ideal. Very much along the lines of monkey see, monkey like, monkey do.

It could be said that the Regency is the first time we see love within marriage as we now know it, and the very fact that this circumstance was unusual—not the norm—makes it easier to highlight, easier to showcase its desirable qualities.

One aspect useful to the romance author which directly derives from this "newness" of love within marriage, is that the characters know this is not the "required" state—they could just as well marry without it. So there is also an element of "choice"—at some point our Regency hero and heroine must actively choose to accept and pursue love, rather than do without it. This is a natural consequence of the fact that in the Regency, love was not an automatic given in marriage.

During the Regency, time was also on love's side. For a young lady of good family, of course, there was no other desirable career—anything less than marriage was considered a failure. So young women were encouraged to spend all their waking hours considering matrimony, and their entrance to that state. As for the gentlemen, both within the ton, and in the wealthy families in the shires, there were men aplenty who did not have to work for a living, but could spend serious time pursuing the objects of their desire—or their heart. Partly as a reflection of this, the Regency was a time when gallantry and elegance still held sway, and where such characteristics remained the yardstick of gentlemanly behavior.

Furthermore, society considered it wise to spend time choosing and negotiating the best matrimonial alliances—hence, there was plenty of time to be legitimately devoted to courting rituals, and a plethora of suitable social events at which eligible parties could meet and explore their mutual situations. In the upper classes during the Regency, marriage was a serious business, pursued with due consideration.

By the dawn of the Regency, society itself had become distinctly English in a highly recognizable way—rules abounded. It was an extremely strictly-mannered society. At no other time in history, before or after, were there so many things that were "simply not done!"

Etiquette ruled. Period.

A lady's reputation could be destroyed through some simple and harmless, quite inadvertent action. There were rules for this, rules for that—even rules for the exact degree of depth of curtsies, which varied according to who one was curtsying to. If you got it wrong, either too deep or too shallow, you might very well never see the inside of Almack's.

But, like all things English, for instance, the English language, all the rules of the Regency had their exceptions.

So while there were countless rules about just about everything, there were always exceptions – this creates a very dynamic situation, where virtually every case has to be considered on its merits. If a lady walks down a street alone, is this reprehensible, or perfectly acceptable? It depends on the street, on the lady, her age and station in life, her clothing, who was potentially watching, on the time of day—and on a host of other variables.

While such a rigid but exceedingly variable social structure imposes and requires a great deal of care to be exercised by the author, it simultaneously presents untold opportunities for all sorts of situations guaranteed to a) bring our hero and heroine together, b) put them in circumstances where they have to act, or are impelled to act demonstrating their characters and c) to create satisfyingly exciting scenarios through which they move as their love develops and evolves into a grand passion.

Where, you ask, do the exciting scenarios come from?

Ah—that's the other side of the Regency that makes it so beloved of romance authors. For beneath the glitter and glamor of the ton's balls, behind the elegance and wealth of the upper classes and their indolent and hedonistic lifestyles, England was changing dramatically. It would never be the same again. The Regency was one of those rare times in history when an old order was being put aside, superseded, by a new order—but it all happened peaceably.

The Regency was a time of social revolution, culminating in the Great Reform Bill of 1832. This extended voting rights to the majority of adult males and restructured representation in Parliament in the most sweeping social reform of the century. It changed Britain forever.

And its seeds were sown and nurtured during the Regency.

It is beyond the scope of this short essay to go into the depth and breadth of the social changes, but the interested reader will find no better source than J.B. Priestley'sThe Prince of Pleasure.

Suffice to say there was an awful lot happening during the Regency. And it happened against a backdrop of war, victory, an extravagant Prince Regent, a fabulously wealthy and powerful elite, an emerging middle class and an upper echelon of society who could waltz while the cannons rolled past. Indeed, as Priestley intimates, throughout the Regency there was a sense of waltzing while London burned—of living on the edge of great upheaval—of living through times that were rapidly and fundamentally changing, when the very ground of society shifted— of living life to the limits, as if there was no tomorrow.

All of this resonates with the here and now—and is, I believe, deep down, one of the reasons the Regency continues to fascinate—because, from nearly two hundred years' distance, it holds up a mirror to our lives today.

—Stephanie Laurens

The Hero As Pursuer

F there is any unifying concept in the romances I have written, this is it. My critique partner noticed years ago that every one of my heroes want their heroine the instant they set eyes on her. Want her sexually, that is. This fact is simply a reflection of my experience of how the male of the species reacts on seeing a desirable female. It's not logic that rears its head.

I didn't intend to specifically create books on this theme—it simply happened—but looking back over all the romances I've had published, plus the works in various stages of production, I have to admit that "the hero as pursuer" is a feature of every last one. And very likely will be in all the ones to come.

Why? Because I write Regency-era historicals, and all my heroes are a certain type of man. They are powerful men in all senses of the word—physically and mentally, socially and sexually. They see—they want—they take. Which means all my heroines must be a certain sort of woman, meaning the sort of woman strong enough to stand up to, and wring concessions from, that type of man.

To my mind, a strong, more-than-alpha hero necessitates an equally strong heroine—if she's not sufficiently confident in herself, she'll never be a convincing match for the hero. If she wasn't willful and headstrong and far too independent, the hero would probably lose interest within a few weeks. It's the very fact that she doesn't simply fall in with his masterful plans, but digs in her pretty heels and refuses to tamely play by his rules—because she argues, sticks her nose in the air, haughtily dismisses him, and (worst of all) dares to walk away from him—that forces the hero to focus his attention on her sufficiently to let Cupid slip under his guard and mount a sneak attack.

Unwittingly, the heroine becomes the first and only woman who has, in his adult life, forced the hero to really look at her. Consider her. Think about what she is thinking, what she feels, how she reacts in various situations. Because he's looking, albeit with a view to conquest, he sees her character, and all the admirable, and sometimes vulnerable, aspects of her—which fascinates him even more. Her hoity behavior powerfully prods his possessive instincts, while her vulnerabilities call forth his innate protectiveness. He is, after all, a warrior whose civilized mask is but wafer-thin. For him, possessiveness and protectiveness are the outward expressions of love. But without the need to focus on the heroine, which need is brought about by the heroine's character, there is little opportunity for this type of hero to fall victim to love.

He's far too canny, guards his heart far too well, to be an easy conquest—it needs a very strong woman to distract him enough for love to weave its spell.

I should perhaps emphasize that my heroes never fall in love with my heroines at first sight. They fall inlust at first sight, something quite different. The distinction is important—especially in the heroes' minds—because lust is something they can immediately and openly admit to, while falling in love is something they will move heaven and earth toavoid admitting, even when they finally wake up to the fact that this is what has occurred.