Pantaloons and Petticoats

By Ellie Thomas

Sequel to Town Bronze

Barney Marshall, the son of a wealthy manufacturer, is tolerated by London high society for his great wealth. In the autumn of 1812, Barney relishes all the high living and low indulgences of a young man about town in the fleshpots of Covent Garden.

In one of the many surrounding taverns, he encounters Rose. They spend a memorable night together despite Barney’s initial surprise that Rose is not all she seems.

Rose leads a double life as Ross, a respectable clerk at Coutts Bank. When Barney comes across Ross in his work setting and recognises him, complications abound.

Can these two find their way through the twist and turns on the path to true love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Nov 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685505493

Book preview

Chapter 1

London, Autumn 1812

Barney Marshall exited the front door of his Coventry Street lodgings, reminding himself that it was almost Piccadilly. He proved his point by reaching the main road within moments.

The prestigious thoroughfare was lined with apartment buildings, exclusive clubs, and coffee houses, possessing almost every luxury a gentleman of quality could aspire to within throwing distance. And a fellow didn’t need to be a dab hand with a cricket ball.

Like his fellow pedestrians, Barney was arrayed in evening wear. Only in his early twenties, he might be forgiven by those who brushed past him for sporting some excesses of fashion. His cream evening breeches, stockings, and buckled shoes were unexceptional and of the finest quality. A more seasoned gentleman might wince at the exaggeratedly narrow fit of Barney’s beige tailcoat over his sturdy shoulders.

His waistcoat, liberally sprinkled with silver thread, was questionable for those of more sober inclinations. His elaborate Mathematical cravat lengthened his neck to the extent that his shirt points framed his chin. Uncharitable passers-by might conclude that the excessive swaddling resembled an Egyptian Mummy.

Barney was oblivious and uncaring of the opinion of démodé dullards who valued comfort over style. He carefully turned his head to its limited extent to cross St. James’ Street without colliding with a passing vehicle or meriting abuse from the driver of a hackney carriage.

His appearance was precisely calculated to blend with the young men who followed Julian Buchanan, an aristocratic sprig of fashion and Barney’s friend since childhood. Julian’s followers might wax and wane, but those fortunate enough to be amongst the inner circle jealously guarded their position.

Barney stopped at a freshly painted front door of an apartment building with an indisputable Piccadilly address. Acknowledged by the doorman as a regular caller for Mr. Buchanan, Barney was granted immediate access upstairs to Julian’s rooms without further query.

In the spacious drawing room, the pink of the ton posed artlessly by the marble fireplace. At this vision, Barney suppressed a pang of chagrin. Julian was effortlessly tall, fair, and lean. His build was a credit to the sporting career he excelled at during his years at school and university, witnessed by Barney, his fellow student.

Although purists might judge his Oriental knotted cravat slightly over-elaborate, no one could argue that Julian carried off the tailoring from Shelford’s of Bond Street to perfection.

Despite sharing the same excellent tailor as Julian, enhanced by Barney’s distinctly flashy waistcoat, he felt drab compared to his noble friend. His hair was mouse-coloured rather than blond, and his eyes a muddy grey compared to Julian’s sparkling blue orbs. Befitting his more plebeian bloodline, he was half a head shorter and shared a familial inclination to stockiness. Barney’s tailor, the kindly Mr. Walters, frequently informed him there were far worse defects.

Firstly, Barney’s figure was of the correct proportions to display the currently modish form-fitting silhouette. And secondly, he didn’t have a battle with incipient stoutness that was the bugbear of many aspirants to fashion.

Despite that well-meant reassurance, a glance at Julian was a constant reminder that Barney could be taller, lankier, and altogether more elegant to display his expensive outfits more impressively.

Quashing his envy, Barney greeted his friend with casual familiarity, reckoning that it didn’t hurt to remind some of their newer members of his longstanding claim on Julian’s friendship.

Chapter 2

What-ho, Buchanan! he called across the buzz of chatter.

There you are, Barney, Julian replied languidly. We were just discussing our plan for tonight.

At this prompt, the fast-increasing crowd of young men eagerly put forward suggestions for Julian’s delectation.

You must have had an invitation card to Lady Wolsey’s ball at Grosvenor Square if you’re inclined to dance?

Or there’s the salon Mrs. Dalrymple is holding on Berkley Square. She always serves lashings of the best Champagne.

I’ve heard great things about the new production at Drury Lane Theatre. I relish a good farce.

Julian looked loftily amused at this host of offerings laid before him. Barney, also an aficionado of London’s nightlife during the spring and autumn Seasons, was accustomed to the pattern of their evenings and it didn’t matter much what they initially decided.

If they didn’t divert themselves at a theatre or concert, they would attend at least one party in Mayfair before dropping into a gaming hell narrowly disguised as a gentlemen’s club for a round of two of cards. Leaving behind some of their number inclined for a game of chance or on course for financial disaster at the tables, the remainder would head eastwards towards Covent Garden.

There were several establishments to provide a lavish supper and many more to supply copious refreshments. Those in for the long haul would stagger across the piazza for a final round of drinks and the opportunity for of a tumble at Madam Blanche’s superior abbey.

What’s your opinion, Barney? Julian asked with a quizzically raised eyebrow, granting Barney his rights as second in command.

Barney puffed out his barrel chest, in danger of popping the silver buttons adorning his waistcoat. He went through the motions of giving the question some serious consideration. Barney knew from experience that the programme became more fluid as the night progressed and their alcohol intake increased. What counted was being singled out by Julian to make the initial decision.

Well, Barney said. "Perhaps we should commence with a glass of decent Champagne at Mrs. Dalrymple’s to commence proceedings. That will oil us up for