The Gory Tale of Lord Uxbridge’s Leg By Kryssie Fortune #History #NapoleonicWars @KryssieFortune

The Gory Tale of Lord Uxbridge’s Leg

 By Kryssie Fortune

Lord Uxbridge portrayed by Henry Edridge in 1808 before he lost his leg ~ Wikipedia

Lord Uxbridge: “By God, Sir, I’ve lost my leg.”

Wellington: “By God, Sir, so you have.”

During the battle of Waterloo, Lord Uxbridge commanded the allied cavalry and 44 guns of the horse artillery. Eight horses were shot from under him in the conflict. In the dying moments of the battle, a cannon shot hit his right leg.

Did he panic?

Did he complain?

No, he turned to Wellington, all stiff upper lip and sangfroid. “By God, Sir, I’ve lost my leg.”

The remains of his leg needed amputating below the knee. Dr. John Hume operated in the house of M. Paris in the village of Waterloo.

There was no antiseptic or anaesthetic. Uxbridge’s only comment: -

“The knives seem somewhat blunt.”

Five days after the battle, the Prince Regent created Uxbridge Marquess of Anglesey and made him a Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath.

BUT

His leg took on a life of its own.

  

M. Paris buried the leg in his garden. Soon visitors arrived, making it a shrine. First, they’d view the blood covered chair where Uxbridge had sat, then they’d visit the leg’s grave.

The tombstone read:

 Here lies the Leg of the illustrious and valiant Earl Uxbridge, Lieutenant-General of His Britannic Majesty, Commander in Chief of the English, Belgian and Dutch cavalry, wounded on the 18 June 1815 at the memorable battle of Waterloo, who, by his heroism, assisted in the triumph of the cause of mankind, gloriously decided by the resounding victory of the said day.

However, someone added:

Here lies the Marquis of Anglesey's limb;

The Devil will have the remainder of him.

The King of Prussia and the Prince of Orange were among the visitors to the gory exhibit.

In 1878, Uxbridge’s son visited the site. He discovered the bone wasn’t buried but on public display. Horrified, he demanded the return of the bone to England. The Paris family refused to give them up and demanded he buy it from them.

The Belgium Ministry of Justice intervened and ordered the bones reburied. When the last M. Paris died, his widow found the bones in his study along with documents proving their origin.

Fearing a scandal, she burned everything.

After a successful military career and stint as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Uxbridge died in 1854. His leg outlasted him by 56 years.

* * * *

Why my interest in the blood and gore of Waterloo?

I’ve written a dark Regency Romance set in and around Brussels at the time of Waterloo. Part of the story involves a brief retelling of the battle by soldiers injured in it.

Wickedly Used

While he is no stranger to pleasurable company from ladies of the night, Major Richard Rothbury of the royal dragoons is not the kind of man who will stand idly by as a woman is taken against her will, and when he witnesses a disreputable cad attempting to force himself on a girl in a back alley, he does not hesitate to intervene.

But after the grateful young woman offers herself to Rothbury, he is shocked to discover that not only was she no harlot, she was a maiden and he has deflowered her. Furious at the girl’s scandalous behavior and her carelessness with her own safety, Rothbury chastises her soundly.

Though she is due to inherit one of the largest fortunes in England, the fact that she cannot touch the money until she marries or turns thirty has kept Elizabeth completely at the mercy of her cruel uncle, and for years she has been treated as if she were a servant. Her encounter with Lord Rothbury is by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her, but while he shows great concern for her safety, he refuses to believe that she is anything more than a serving girl.

Despite having made it clear that he doesn’t consider a match between them to be possible, when Elizabeth disobeys him Rothbury proves more than ready to strip her bare, punish her harshly, and then enjoy her beautiful body in the most shameful of ways. But can she dare to hope that he will one day make her his wife, or is she destined to spend her life being wickedly used?

Publisher’s Note: Wickedly Used: A Dark Regency Romance includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Excerpt

After six years of her cousins’ insults, she felt like the nonentity they called her. She hated that. Back before her parents died, she’d felt pretty. Her mother had told her that her hair shone like moonlight and her eyes gleamed like the palest topaz.

Washed out, her cousins called them.

For her dragoon, she wanted to be beautiful. She took a step closer to him. “I’m not here by choice, sir. I swear it.”

He spoke softly as if soothing a spooked mare. “Easy, girl. Allow me to escort you back to the Grand Walk.”

Dawlish yanked her wrist free of the dragoon’s grip and dragged her toward him. His touch felt like a million spiders scuttling over her skin. Does the wretched man ever bathe? Solid, square, and sweaty, he leered at her through piggy eyes. “Come on, Blondie, name your price.”

Just when she thought the dragoon’s gaze couldn’t be any colder, it turned into an arctic blast. Mouth set in a straight line, he pried Dawlish’s fingers from her wrist. “She’s not willing. Leave her be.”

The vein in Dawlish’s forehead bulged. His cheeks turned mottled scarlet. He shoved at the dragoon’s chest like a schoolboy spoiling for a fight. Her rescuer curled his lip and brushed him aside.

Once Dawlish realized he couldn’t move her dragoon, he shoved Elizabeth behind him. “Rothbury? Playing the hero? After the way you screwed your family? I don’t think so. Lavinia will laugh when I tell her you’ve taken to defending whores. Back off, and mind your own business. This little pigeon’s mine.”

The look the dragoon—Rothbury—gave Dawlish would have curdled milk. The atmosphere felt thick with menace. Elizabeth felt sure there were undercurrents at play here that she didn’t understand.

Rothbury’s jaw clenched with carefully suppressed anger. “The lady’s changed her mind.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. Dawlish made her feel dirty and cheap. She pulled her free of his grip and shoved at his back. When he stared at her over his shoulder, his gaze held a degrading mix of menace and desire. “She’ll be willing once we’ve agreed on the price. Besides, you can have her when I’ve finished.”

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Kryssie Fortune

Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.

Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life - or Kryssie - throws at them.

Kryssie's pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.

Kryssie loves to hear from readers, you can find her: Website  Blog  Twitter  Facebook  Pinterest  Goodreads  Amazon Author Page