I was happy to crack open another novel by Mary Charlton because, of all the novelists of this era that I’ve read so far, her style most resembles Jane Austen. That is, some Austenesque free indirect narration and a wry sense of humour is on display in her gothic satire, Rosella, which I’ve reviewed here.
     Because The Wife and the Mistress (1802) is not a satire, Charlton does not get to deploy her wit as well as she did in Rosella. There is some dark, slashing satire aimed at the decadent noblemen and women at the heart of the story.   The heroine of The Wife and the Mistress is neither the wife nor the mistress; Laura Delaunie is the daughter of the Mistress, who is discarded and paid off by Lord Bellingham when he is captivated by the young daughter of Lady Melville, a scheming society woman. I was surprised at how sympathetically the mistress was portrayed. She does not go off to die of misery and remorse. She withdraws to a quiet village, starts her life over, gets married, and is even accepted by her husband’s family because she gently curbs his financial irresponsibility. She brings up her daughter Laura in the path of virtue and gives her a good education as well. So the Mistress is treated gently by the author while mother-in-law Lady Melville is the villain of the piece. Laura's childhood takes up much of the first volume.

    In March of 1807, publisher Benjamin Crosby was incensed with a rival publisher, J.F. Hughes. Just as Crosby was bringing out A Winter in Bath, his own entry into the fashionable “Season” novel genre, Hughes advertised a book with the copy-cat title A Winter at Bath. In fact, Crosby accuses Hughes of using the same title, A Winter in Bath, but I don't know if Hughes ever advertised his version or sold it under any other title than A Winter AT Bath.
  At any rate, Crosby took out large advertisements, threatening to sue Hughes. Hughes just laughed in return. His novel was from the “chaste and classical pen of Mrs. Bayfield,” and he questioned why A Winter in Bath was advertised merely as being “by the author of two popular novels.” Why so coy, Crosby? Hughes’s advertisements said things like: “Mrs. Bayfield disclaims all connection with an Anonymous Publication, of nearly the same title; and the Publisher invites the Public to read both competitions, and judge,” or “Be careful to ask for Mrs. Bayfield’s as there is another without the Author’s name.”

    The following year, Hughes brought out another “season” novel, City Nobility, or, A Summer at Margate, and, just to wind Crosby up even more, he advertised it as being by the author of “two popular novels.” With sneer quotes, even. Oh Hughes, you scamp.
    Hughes often used copy-cat author’s names or titles to trick the public into thinking they were buying a novel by a best-selling authoress like Frances Burney or Ann Radcliffe, or a famous gothic novel like The Monk. His business didn’t prosper in any event, because he declared bankruptcy more than once and he seems to have made enemies in the publishing community.
    At any rate, I thought I would read City Nobility or a Summer at Margate, whether or not its author actually had already written two popular novels...​

       Yes, I've noticed that Writing Twitter and Writing Facebook are all about posts bemoaning the hardships that attend the life of a writer--oh, it' so hard to settle down and concentrate on writing, you spend hours in front of your keyboard with nothing to show for it, people are always saying insensitive or stupid things to you, then there is time you waste in research rabbit holes and nobody cares. When I read these complaints, I think to myself, well, nobody's holding a gun to your head, just don't be a writer.
     But none of these social media memes hold a candle to the epic monologue of a character in Substance and Shadow, which I previously reviewed. This is from the anonymous author of the string of novels attributed to the author of The Woman of Colour. I’m sharing this for the interest of professors and students looking into the lives of female authors in Regency times and the way they represented themselves in print.
    The fictional Miss Letsom is accused of putting real characters into her novels, something Jane Austen also faced....

    There are actually three Judiths in this story. As the Orlando Project for Women’s Writing in the British Isle explains: “The incredibly complex plot follows three generations of Judiths and takes place across England, Scotland, Wales, and Jamaica. The story opens with the exemplary clergyman James [Mordaunt] being freed to marry Judith, firstly by getting a small living and secondly by the death of her tyrannical [step-] father. The narrative backs up to tell the story of her mother, also Judith, who was an aristocrat who married for love and was disowned.”
    And there is much more crammed into two volumes, involving dastardly villainy, several backstories, and happy coincidences. One hero—the husband of the first Judith--is wrongly thought to be dead, not once, but twice. Rev. Mordaunt, husband of the second Judith, rescues a baby boy washed ashore from a shipwreck. The infant comes complete with initialed clothing and a miniature locket of a woman. Does the clergyman place a notice in the newspapers? No, of course not! He and Judith the second keep the child. Of course, as Judith foresees, this will inevitably give rise to a love affair between this boy and their own daughter Judith (the third), so they resolve to deceive the boy and let him think that he is actually their son, so he will think of Judith the third as his sister.