Confession Time: What I’d Do if I Travelled Back in Time to Regency England
By Harmony Williams
Less than an hour away from where I live resides a tourist attraction called Upper Canada Village. In this little “town”, you can stroll the streets, ask the period-garb-clad employees questions, witness the way settlers of Upper Canada might have performed their daily chores, and view exhibits of the other aspects of their lives. I love it but, let’s face it, visiting a museum or exhibit is not the same as travelling into the past.
I live most of my life dreaming of what my life would be like if I’d only been born two hundred years earlier. I walk my characters through the streets of a city I’d love to have seen with my own eyes. Most of the time, you’ll find me curled up with a book, falling in love with a fictional character.
Sometimes that character isn’t so fictional, but is long dead. I’ve been carrying around a volume of Lord Byron’s poetry and sighing over his verses since high school. It’s the one book I always make sure I pack when I go on a trip, and the one poet whose poems I have memorized.
If I travelled back in time to Regency England, I would marry George Gordon, Lord Byron. I know he was a rake and an egotist, but aren’t all the best heroes in regency romances? I would find Lord Byron, and I would make him marry me and write poetry for me.
I’m a geek and an introvert. I’m socially awkward, and when it comes to romance I hardly ever feel sexy or alluring. But one thing I do know how to do is to make things happen when I put my mind to it. I spend most of my life setting my sights on a nearly-impossible goal and then doing everything in my power to make it happen. So I assure you, when it comes to this one, you can take my word on the fact that one way or another, I would marry the creator of the beautiful poetry that moves me.
I’m pretty sure that, with a goal like that, I would fit right in with the marriage-minded young debutantes of the era. I could even pretend to be demure and ladylike -- my shyness would work in my favor, for once! And it wouldn’t matter that I have two left feet, because Lord Byron had a club foot and would have trouble dancing, anyway.
The more I think about this, the more it sounds like a brilliant plan. The one crimp in this plot is the fact that I was born two hundred years too late… I guess my next project should involve building a time machine, shouldn’t it?
…or I could write another book. Come to think about it, writing another book sounds like the better deal. I have too many book ideas to ever finish them all, as it is!
But ladies, hands off. Lord Byron is still (hypothetically) mine.