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Chapters (39)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. CHAPTER 1
  6. CHAPTER 2
  7. CHAPTER 3
  8. CHAPTER 4
  9. CHAPTER 5
  10. CHAPTER 6
  11. CHAPTER 7
  12. CHAPTER 8
  13. CHAPTER 9
  14. CHAPTER 10
  15. CHAPTER 11
  16. CHAPTER 12
  17. CHAPTER 13
  18. CHAPTER 14
  19. CHAPTER 15
  20. CHAPTER 16
  21. CHAPTER 17
  22. CHAPTER 18
  23. CHAPTER 19
  24. CHAPTER 20
  25. CHAPTER 21
  26. CHAPTER 22
  27. CHAPTER 23
  28. CHAPTER 24
  29. CHAPTER 25
  30. CHAPTER 26
  31. CHAPTER 27
  32. CHAPTER 28
  33. CHAPTER 29
  34. CHAPTER 30
  35. CHAPTER 31
  36. CHAPTER 32
  37. CHAPTER 33
  38. Author’s Note
  39. Teaser chapter

Divorce in this time period was indeed as rare and draconian as depicted in Once Dishonored. Only a handful were granted a year and because of the cost, only the very rich could even attempt it. I didn’t go into too much detail about divorce in the book because it’s complicated, and boring if too detailed.

The few divorces granted were almost invariably on the grounds of adultery by the wife and there were two phases, the civil and religious. The civil issue was a “CrimCon” trial, that is, the crime of adultery, usually meaning a lengthy, flagrant affair. It was considered a matter of property; that is, the wife was the property of her husband and having an affair diminished her property value. (Pause to insert an eye roll here.)

The wife was not allowed to attend the trial nor to testify because under Anglo-Saxon common law, the husband and wife are one, and the one is the husband. If the CrimCon suit was successful, the lover generally had to pay a large fine to the husband for alienation of affection.

Then the husband sued the wife for adultery and the trial was held in an ecclesiastical court. If successful, the result would be divortium a mensa et thoro, that is, a separation of bed and board, and neither party could remarry. For remarriage, a Parliamentary Private Bill of Divorcement had to be filed and a third trial was held. A successful result would be a divorce a vinculo matrimonii.

As I said—complicated! So divorces were very rare, very expensive, and very scandalous. I don’t know of any divorce cases like the one I created for Kendra, but I think it could have happened—English law has its share of gray areas. The bottom line is that Regency divorce was particularly hard on women.

It may seem strange these days to read of men who were disdained and despised for taking the opportunity to escape imprisonment, but the code of honor was vitally important to Regency gentlemen. To give one’s word was a sacred promise; to break that promise was proof of dishonesty and bad character. No wonder oath breakers were despised and considered beneath contempt!

For a prisoner to give his parole was a pledge of his sacred honor that he wouldn’t escape if released from his cell and given the freedom of the local town. In return, his captors would try to exchange him for a prisoner of the same rank. A British captain could be exchanged for a French captain and so forth.