I’ve been fascinated by English nobility for as long as I can remember. And like most writers who pen stories set in the era of Regency England, I’ve made a study of the peerage with its ranks and titles, hierarchies and presidencies.
That explains why—whenever I read the opening paragraphs of Jane Austen’s Persuasion—I feel a strong connection with Sir Walter Elliot and his preoccupation with his own book about the baronetage:
Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:
ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.
“Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth, daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county of Gloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, born June 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5, 1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791.”
There are plenty of instances in Persuasion where Austen gives readers reasons to dislike Sir Walter Elliot for his arrogance, or holds him up to ridicule for his vanity; but I have to agree with Sir Walter on one thing: I love a good book about the peerage.
Several years ago, I found my own copy of a book like Sir Walter’s Baronetage, and it’s one of my prized possessions.
In a used book store in southern California I found a battered 1806 edition of Debrett’s Peerage of England, Scotland and Ireland. Here’s the title page:
It’s a thick book, weighing in at over 400 pages of very tiny type; but it contains everything you’d ever want to know about the hereditary peers of Great Britain and Ireland in the early Nineteenth Century.
The book names each peer by rank, his wife (if married), his children (detailing whether they’re alive or deceased), and the name of the peer’s heir.
It even includes illustrations of the major peers’ coats of arms, and their mottoes. For example, the Marquis of Downshire’s motto is:
“Either attempt not, or accomplish.”
That sounds a lot like Yoda’s “Do or do not; there is no try,” doesn’t it? Here’s a page showing some of the coats of arms for English Marquisses:
And like Sir Walter Elliot, I enjoy browsing through the pages of the book whenever I have an idle moment.
In my novel Mary and the Captain, my copy of Debrett’s played a pivotal role in the story. Mary Bennet used the entries in Debrett’s to figure out the identity of a boy apprentice she and Captain Robert Bingley (Caroline and Charles’ brother) rescue from a cruel taskmaster.
But I don’t want to give you the impression that there’s nothing to Debrett’s but a long list of peers, their ancestors, and heirs.
My 1806 edition includes a handy explanation of heraldic terms. I’ve spent many enjoyable hours poring over these pages with a magnifying glass trying to reason out for myself what each symbol meant on a given coat of arms.
Every little detail on a coat of arms means something. For someone like me who enjoys solving puzzles, interpreting the arms shown in the book has been a fun challenge using the illustrations of terms.
Like Sir Walter, my Debrett’s has given me “occupation for an idle hour” and I’m still discovering fascinating new bits of information in its pages; like this entry for Elizabeth Rawdon, Baroness Hungerford:
What?!? I was pretty startled to see a woman listed among the barons, since all my research showed noble titles were passed from male to male in each generation. But with Lady Hungerford’s entry, I charged off on a new flurry of research to figure out how it was possible that a woman inherited a barony.
I’m still working my way through the book, and with each reading I seem to discover new revelations that fascinate me. That’s why I can whole-heartedly agree with Sir Walter: poring over the pages of a book about the peerage never fails to hold my interest.
When does Mary and the Captain come out in paperback?
Thanks for asking, Vesper. Mary and the Captain will be out in paperback Friday, June 16 on Amazon. It’s currently scheduled to hit all other print book retailers by Friday, June 23. I’ll be making both announcements here on my blog, so please stay tuned. —Nancy
I just love a person who knows how to use correctly the word “pore” !! (sigh…..)
Hi, I’m sure you’ve already figured this out 🙂 but certain titles are indeed inheritable by daughters in lieu of sons. These include many earldoms and lower-ranked titles in the peerage of Scotland (such as the earldom of Sutherland and the lordship of Saltoun), English peerages issued by writ instead of letters patent (fairly common in medieval times; a well-known one is the barony of Willoughby de Eresby), and titles where an exception was made in the letters patent, often because the grantee had no son.
Also, a baron or baroness holds a barony; a baronetcy is held by a baronet.
You’re so right, Charlene! There are plenty of instances where women inherited titles or fortunes. Many years ago when I first began reading Regency romances, I thought inheritances were always settled on males because those were typical plot devices in the novels I read. It wasn’t until I began doing my own research (including this book) that I learned differently.
Also, thanks for catching my error in the post. The page image listing Elizabeth Rawdon, Baroness Hungerford specifically states she succeeded her brother in the barony. Not sure how my fingers typed baronetcy instead, but I’ve corrected it now. Thank you for catching it and sharing your comments!