1800s: The days when love really did conquer all

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Vivienne Smith delves into the history books to see how some of Derbyshire’s famous figures fared in matters of the heart.

Sarah Bown, wife of Sir Joseph Paxton

Regency dandy Lord Harrington, of Elvaston Castle

Benjamin Disraeli proposed to Lady Chesterfield, of Bretby Hall, although it was actually her married sister, Selina, the Countess Bradford whom he really loved

Selina, the Countess Bradford whose sister Lady Chesterfield lived at Bretby Park. Benjamin Disraeli loved Selina but his affections were thwarted because she was married

In the words of the song, love is a many-splendoured thing. Even the great and the good are not immune to the effects of Cupid’s arrow. In fact, there are some surprising romantics among the celebrities connected with Derbyshire over the years.

Lord Byron, for instance, was certainly no stranger to passion. His most notorious affair was with Lady Caroline Lamb, the wife of Lord Melbourne of Melbourne Hall.

Yet, there was another woman in South Derbyshire whose beauty roused the romantic poet in him.

Anne Wilmot was the daughter and heiress of Eusebius Horton, of Catton Hall.

She was married to Robert Wilmot, of Osmaston Hall, near Derby, who was actually Byron’s first cousin.

The poet spotted her in the summer of 1814 at a ball in London given by Lady Sarah Caroline Sitwell, of Renishaw Hall.

He was bowled over by the sight of the beautiful young woman in a black dress with spangles.

On returning to his bachelor pad in Piccadilly later that evening, Byron toasted Anne Wilmot’s health in brandy before retiring to bed.

After a restless night, he woke next day and penned a three-verse poem in her honour.

The result was one of his most memorable lyrics:

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that’s best of dark and bright,

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

Byron’s original draft, together with his alterations, ended up as a piece of Catton Hall memorabilia.

Another person for whom love provided literary inspiration was the politician and novelist Benjamin Disraeli.

When his beloved wife, Mary Anne, died in December 1872, the grieving 68-year-old was shown great kindness by two sisters he had first come to know in his youth.

Both women were considered beauties in their day. Anne, widow of the 6th Earl of Chesterfield, had now turned 70 while Selina, Countess of Bradford, was in her mid 50s.

Disraeli soon became a regular visitor to Bretby Hall, which was Lady Chesterfield’s home.

He also struck up a lively correspondence with both sisters, writing more than 1,500 letters in all.

In March 1874, he even wrote to tell them they were the two people he loved most in the world.

Yet, in truth, although extremely fond of Anne, it was Selina he adored.

Unfortunately, Lady Bradford was happily married. But such was Disraeli’s infatuation that, on a visit to Bretby, he is said to have proposed to Lady Chesterfield in the hope of keeping close to her sister.

Fully aware of where his true affections lay, she politely declined the offer although the two of them remained close friends. Eventually, the politician found a novel way to achieve his heart’s desire. In Endymion, his last work of fiction published the year before his death, he based the character of Lady Mountford on Selina.

The book’s eponymous hero marries her after the death of her husband, something Disraeli himself had been unable to do in real life.

The celebrated engineer Sir Joseph Whitworth was still a young man when he embarked on a whirlwind romance.

Although later making his home in Darley Dale, he was originally from Stockport and completed his apprenticeship in Manchester.

In December 1824, having just turned 21, Whitworth set off for London in search of work.

As money was tight, he could ill afford to travel by coach. So, instead, the young man made his way south by hitching rides aboard canal boats.

A chance encounter with 24-year-old Fanny Ankers, a bargeman’s daughter, saw him fall head over heels in love.

The couple decided to elope to Nottingham and, en route, they stopped at Ilkeston to tie the knot at the parish church.

The ceremony was conducted by licence on February 25, 1825, with church warden William Tunnicliffe as witness.

Being unable to read or write, young Fanny had to sign the register with an “X”.

At first, Whitworth and his bride had scarcely two pennies to rub together, yet their love carried them through.

But, over the years, the engineer’s success brought more wealth than Fanny could cope with. This, coupled with their different intellects, caused them to slowly drift apart.

Their romantic adventure ended as Whitworth transferred his affections from his wife to his beloved machines.

Another victim of love at first sight was Sir Joseph Paxton.

The creator of the Crystal Palace was just 22 when he was offered the job as head gardener at Chatsworth.

To take up the post, he travelled by coach from London to Chesterfield, from where he proceeded on foot to the Palace of the Peak, arriving at 4.30am on May 9, 1826.

As Paxton himself later recalled of his first day in his new job: “As no person was to be seen at that early hour, I got over the greenhouse gate by the covered way, explored the pleasure grounds and looked round the outside of the house.”

Eager to create a good impression, the young man established his authority by setting the men to work at 6am.

This done, he had breakfast in the kitchen with the housekeeper Mrs Hannah Gregory and her niece, Sarah Bown.

Three years his senior, Sarah was reserved by nature and rather homely. Nevertheless, Paxton was instantly smitten.

As he later wrote of his meeting with the housekeeper and her niece: “The latter fell in love with me and I with her, and thus I completed my first morning’s work at Chatsworth before 9 o’clock.” This was no passing fancy.

In a letter to Sarah written later that year, he called her “the adorable object of my heart”.

He went on: “To say I love and adore thee my dear is but trifling – you are the very idol of my soul...rest assured, while I draw breath, it will be my study to make myself more dear...I am and shall ever be yours till death.”

The couple were married within the year.

It is often said that the sound of wedding bells signals the end of romance but this was not so in the case of the 4th Earl of Harrington.

The owner of Elvaston Castle and his wife were an unlikely pair.

He was an eccentric aristocrat on the wrong side of 50 who had been a Regency dandy in his youth.

She was a beautiful actress young enough to be his daughter. Popular on the London stage, Maria Foote had at first become his mistress. But it was considered an even greater scandal when the Earl made an honest woman of her in April 1831.

Forsaking the theatre to marry into the aristocracy did not make Maria any more acceptable to polite society, and the couple were forced to retire from public life.

Quite unconcerned what people thought, Lord Harrington set about redesigning the grounds of Elvaston Castle in honour of his young wife.

The love-struck Earl spared no expense in carrying out his grand romantic gesture.

The estate’s 200 acres were transformed into a spectacular arrangement of laid-out topiary gardens, magnificent avenues and even an artificial lake.

Within the Moorish Temple in the grounds he even placed a statue of Maria, with another of himself kneeling at her feet, serenading her on a guitar. Having created the gardens exclusively for his spouse, Lord Harrington had strict instructions for his head gardener: “When the Queen comes, show her round, but admit no-one else.”

Some tales of romance have even passed into legend, such as that of Sir Nicholas Leake.

This valiant knight, who fought in the Crusades, was once lord of the manor at Sutton Scarsdale, near Chesterfield.

Before his departure for the Holy Land, he and his wife pledged their devotion to one another by breaking a ring between them.

During a battle with the Turks, Sir Nicholas was captured. For many years he was held prisoner in the hope of receiving a ransom.

Driven to despair by his long captivity, he prayed fervently to be restored to his wife and home back in Derbyshire. In return, he promised to provide for the poor of the parish.

Next morning, the knight awoke to find himself in the porch of his local church. However, the joy he felt at this miraculous occurrence was short-lived.

At his home, the servants turned him away as an imposter.

Not only did his haggard and bedraggled appearance make him unrecognisable but also, having been missing for so long, he was thought by everyone to be dead.

Then Sir Nicholas suddenly remembered the broken ring. He begged that it be taken to the mistress of the house.

The story is taken up by Heanor poet Richard Howitt, in a ballad penned in Victorian times:

“There her ring receiving; Lucy

Knew the sender of her gift,

And, it seemed, by feet unaided

To him she descended swift.

There upon the rugged stranger

Gazed, with momentary check,

Gazed, but for a passing moment,

And then fell upon his neck.”

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