Starbucks, Coffee Houses & Compromising Willa
A coffee house figures prominently in “Compromising Willa.”
You might think meeting up with a friend at Starbucks for a cup of coffee is a fairly modern idea, but it’s really a 300-year-old tradition. . In England, the first coffee house was established in Oxford back in 1651 and the atmosphere at these gathering places hasn’t changed all that much in the centuries that followed.
In his Dictionary of the English Language published in 1755, Samuel Johnson described a coffee house as “a house of entertainment where coffee is sold, and the guests are supplied with newspapers.” Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
These coffee houses soon became centers of artistic and intellectual life in London. However, the drink didn’t go down smoothly in the beginning.
When the hot beverage first appeared in England at around 1650, it was viewed with some mistrust, which led coffee sellers to tout the new drink’s supposed healthful qualities:
It does the orifices of the stomach good, it fortifies the heart within, helpeth digestion, quickens the spirits…is good against eyesores, coughs and colds, rhumes, consumption, head aches, dropsy, gout, scurvy, King’s evil and many others.
The steamy brew quickly came to be viewed as social beverage because the stimulant encouraged conversation.
The quality, company and cleanliness of coffee houses varied, according to César de Saussure’s Letters from London (1725-1729):
In London there are innumerable badly appointed coffee-houses, their furniture spoiled on account of the number of people who frequent them for most of the time, and above all because of the smokers, who quickly ruin the furniture, for you must understand that the English smoke a great deal. In these establishments, you can have chocolate, tea, coffee, all sorts of hot drinks, and, in some, even wine, punch and ale. But it is useless to ask for fresh drinks like orgeat, lemonade, capillaire and the like. They are hardly known in this country.
César de Saussure’s Letters also noted that not all coffee houses were for sipping java and catching up on the news, if you get my meaning…
There are coffee-houses which are the meeting places of scholars and wits; others which are frequented by beaux; others which are only frequented by Politicians and News-Mongers; and several which are Temples of Venus. It is easy to recognise these latter because they often have on their sign the arm or the hand of a woman holding a coffee pot. There are many of these houses in the region of Covent Garden, which pass for being chocolate houses, where the customers are served by beautiful, clean and well dressed nymphs, who seem very agreeable, but who are in fact very dangerous.
These establishments were the first to introduce and serve tea when it came to England from the Far East, which is why a coffee house plays a pivotal role in my latest book, Compromising Willa. The heroine, Willa, is an expert tea blender who secretly donates her special brews to a coffee house that provides employment for poor women and children.
Hartwell, the hero in Compromising Willa, contemplates buying the coffee house building to turn it into the headquarters for his own sugar import business. He is among the first to realize Willa is courting scandal by secretly engaging in commerce. I can imagine modern readers happily settled in a chair at their local coffee house enjoying a cup of joe while reading about the romantic adventures of Willa and her duke. Here’s a little primer:
Lady Wilhelmina Stanhope is ruined and everyone knows it.
Back in Town for the first season since her downfall, Willa plans to remain firmly on the shelf, assuming only fortune hunters will want her now. Instead she focuses on her unique tea blends, secretly supporting a coffee house which employs poor women and children. If her clandestine involvement in trade is discovered, she’ll be ruined. Again.
No one is more shocked by Willa’s lack of quality suitors than the newly minted Duke of Hartwell. Having just returned from India, the dark duke is instantly attracted to the mysterious wallflower. His pursuit is hampered by the ruthless Earl of Bellingham, who once jilted Willa and is now determined to reclaim her.
Caught between the clash of two powerful men, a furious Willa refuses to concede her independence to save her reputation. But will she compromise her heart?
Excerpt
Hartwell frowned. “I scarcely see how Lady Wilhelmina can belong to Bellingham if there is no betrothal.”
“There is certain talk no gentleman would ever repeat.” Heenan reached for his mother-of-pearl snuffbox. “Some say it is why the lady has kept herself away from Town for so long.”
“And this is commonly discussed in society?”
“It is not the kind of thing one hears in Mayfair’s drawing rooms,” Selwyn answered in halting tones.
“But most gentlemen about Town eventually hear the talk,” Garrick added with a lascivious smirk.
Heenan leaned over and inhaled snuff into his nose. “Not that anyone dares to cut her in public.” Leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, he used a handkerchief to wipe remnants of the powdery substance from his upper lip. “Impeccable family lines and all. The family carries on as though nothing has happened. She is under the protection of her cousin, the Marquess of Camryn, who is quite influential in the Lords. No one dares risk his wrath.”
“I don’t follow.”
Garrick leaned forward. “They say the chit is compromised. Utterly and completely, if you get my meaning.” He winked at Hart. “But she still acts the frigid princess, all high and mighty. Otherwise, who wouldn’t want to toss up those skirts and give her a good hard—”
Something in his head snapped loose, blinding him to anything but the desire to crush the drunken whoreson beneath his boot heel. He bolted to his feet and shoved the table back with a loud clatter. Towering over Garrick, he grabbed the man’s cravat with one hand and drew back his fist with the other. Garrick shrank back in his chair, wide-eyed, his face pinched with fear. Action at the other gaming tables screeched to a halt. Silence descended; all eyes were riveted on Hartwell.
Selwyn jumped up and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Now Hartwell,” he said, partially positioning himself between the two men. “This is just a friendly misunderstanding among gentlemen.”
His neck burned. It was a lie. It had to be. “It is hardly the act of a gentleman to insult a lady’s honor in the most grievous way possible.”
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