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He jilted her! How can she receive him?

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(Overheard at Lady P’s Brighton Ball last night! Sent by one of our discreet correspondents!)

My dear Lady P., I heard the most ridiculous news a few hours ago. About one of those Irish girls that Lady W. chaperones here this Season. 

I know, I heard, Lady L! The second of the triplets married in haste yesterday. To that dashing Marquess, too. What brass! I do sigh in exasperation. What else can you tell me to make my daughter’s chances this Season wan so disastrously?

Well, come closer. Ahem! At the wedding?

Yes…

Who should appear but the very fellow, Lord G, who jilted the third Devereaux girl two years ago!

No! Outrageous. Why, I would never let such a creature darken my doorstep? Why would Lady W. allow him inside?

He helped the Marquess save his intended, the second sister!

The second sister had a…problem?

Indeed. I have it on good authority she was carried away and the Marquess and Lord G., along with that dashing Colonel of the Royal Buffs, rescued her.

Dear me! And so now Lord Grey…I mean Lord G. is admitted to the presence of his former intended.

Just so. And I understand that she gave him a very cool reception.

As she should. Smart girl. 

Clever Lord G., eh?

pastedGraphic.pngA nibble of my newest cherry? YES! LADY, NO MORE (Encounter of hero and heroine in a bookshop)

https://amzn.to/3x9SZlX

Excerpt, LADY, NO MORE, all rights reserved. Copyright 2022, Cerise DeLand.

She had penned a note to Hadley yesterday and asked him to meet her here today. He had promised to be her adviser on men she found interesting and she had found one. In truth, she sent over the request to him to meet her not so much because she needed his insight into Lord Parnham but because she’d spent the whole of yesterday pining for Hadley’s poetry. Or lack thereof.

Foolish. Certainly. But there it was.

A need to talk with him, if for no other ridiculous, ironic reason than to hear his opinion of another man.

Leaving Fifi to sit on the bench outside under shade of a tree, Laurel entered the shop and paused to inhale the refreshing scent of paper and ink, leather bindings and the dust of decades upon the numerous shelves. The shop was tidy, two windows open to the breezes off the coast gave it the sweet smell of stories awaiting the uplifting of hundreds of minds. She herself had signed up for the subscription service the owner also operated from his shop, but when she had a few spare pence, she wished to own many of the fantasies that others created.

Today however she was attempting to fashion a story of her own. One, perhaps with Lord Parnham. To that end, Hadley had agreed to offer his insights. If he knew the man. If he would give a good report of him, if Parnham deserved it. If she could trust what Hadley had to say of the earl.

“Good afternoon, Lady Laurel.” Hadley doffed his hat and bowed before her. He too had the elegant silhouette of a man of the town. In emerald green frock coat and yellow damask waistcoat, he had a stock that might have held up the Parthenon as well as his chin, had he needed that, of course, which he did not. His buff breeches showed off to her attentive gaze, the line of his muscular thighs and shapely calves. They did nothing for her decision to regard him coolly, or at the most, as an old friend.

The two of them stood between a row of bookcases toward the rear of the shop. In the dim light so far from the entrance, she noted that Hadley appeared tired. His eyes rimmed in dark circles, at first she wondered if he’d been drinking.

“Are you well?” she asked, alarmed.

“Quite. Why do you ask?”

Curt, was he? “You don’t look it.”

“Why would you care?”

She rolled a shoulder. “Because…I don’t like to see anyone ailing.”

“I see,” he said and fingered the brim of his half stove pipe hat in his hand. He lifted his ivory walking stick and thrust it down at the wooden floor. The punctuation made her jump. “You didn’t like my poetry.”

She would give him his due. “But I did.”

He recoiled, then he peered at her.

“I always did, Hadley. Thank you. I…have not laughed much lately.”

“So I saw.” He mellowed but the hurt in his gaze gutted her. “You wanted to meet?”

“I did.”

“You’ve found a man you like?”

My. He was a wasp with his stinger out this morning.

Was this a good thing? “I have,” she told him.

He huffed. “Parnham, I suppose?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Do be quiet. Yes, yes. Him.”

He leaned closer and in a stage whisper said, “I don’t like him.”

She inched near and lowered her voice. “Very well. Why not?”

“He’s too good looking.”

She pressed her lips together, her smile hard to contain. “And?”

“He dances well.”

Indeed. “Good rhythm.”

Hadley narrowed his beautiful green eyes to beady slits. “Graceful.”

Hmmm. “And?”

“There has to be more?”

Oh, she rather liked this contretemps. With the roll of a shoulder, she threw him a wide-eyed look. “Naturally. What of his temperament?”

“Sweet.”

“His reputation as a manager of his estates?”

“Dear god.” With a whack, he drove his walking stick into the floorboards. “I have no idea.”

“Ask around, will you?” Oh, she liked that idea!

“No!”

She stomped one impatient foot. “What do you know?”

“He likes you.”

Smart man. “How?”

“What do you mean ‘how’?”

“As a friend? A prospective—?”

“Yes. As a prospective.”

Delightful. “And you know this because you…?”

“Heard it from his lips. Is that good enough for you?”

“The best. Thank you.” She mellowed toward him. Despite his peevish temper—and a hint of jealousy, too, yes?—Hadley had told her the truth. “I’m very grateful to you.”

“Fine.” He jammed his hat on his head.

“Leaving?”

“Of course. Unless you wish to interrogate me about some other man.”

She licked her lips. That brought her to the point, didn’t it? The one that niggled her until wee hours in her bed each night. “I do.”

“There is someone else? Wonderful! Who?”

Oh, he was furious. Could this really be…jealousy? Oh, delights! “You.”

She could have pushed over the bookcase on him and it would not have fazed him as much.

It took him a bit, but he managed to form a word. “What?”

“You. I wish to ask a question about you.”

“Why?” He squinted.

Distrusting soul, wasn’t he?

“I am not one of your swains.”

“Used to be.”

His expression collapsed. To sorrow. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you not marry the woman to whom your father betrothed you?”

“That is a very long story.” He glanced away, then around at the hundreds of books surrounding him. “Too complicated to tell here.”

“Why not tell me the short version?”

His cheeks went red with anger. “Because she loved another man.”

Had one of the bookcases fallen on her? “That…that’s…”

“Not what the ton says? No, it isn’t.”

Author Cerise DeLand

Sassy ladies and smart men make irresistible romance! That, plus a good dose of historical accuracy, are my hallmarks. Hope you will read all my Regency and Victorian romances!

www.cerisedeland.com

https://amzn.to/3x9SZlX

 

A most dreadful account of misbehaviour and scandal

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Dear Sir,
As an avid reader of your illuminating reports, it behoves me to inform you of some rather scandalous behaviour recently observed concerning a certain gentleman of my acquaintance, FD. This man, well known in the first circles of society, is of the finest pedigree, if not, perhaps, always so gentlemanly in his actions toward others. He is, at present, rusticating in parts not far from London, where he is consorting with a lady so far below him as to make one wonder at his intentions.

Whilst in Hertfordshire, at the home of his friend, this gentleman has found himself in a most alarming situation, for there are now residing in the house not one but three unmarried ladies, only one of whom is related to either gentleman.

One of these is the above-mentioned lady, EB, who has been heard hurling the most venomous insults towards FD, and FD—so unlike anything a gentleman ought to do—has responded in like manner. Scarcely a word can pass between them that is not barbed like an arrow, which brings one to imagine whether this is all a show for the benefit of their companions to divert all notions that there might be some other, even less respectable, association between them. The town is quite put out by this outrageous behaviour, and now the two are forced to be living in the same house!

Furthermore, there have been a number of scandalous activities taking place in this very house, such as eavesdropping, deliberate trickery on the part of others, and play acting. I, myself, have been party to some of these as an invited guest and have seen such goings-on as to cause me to blush.

EB’s character must be brought under suspicion for her role in this whole affair, and likewise that of her sister J must likewise be concerning. FD is certainly consorting with people so far below him.

This is, I might add, the same FD who only last summer removed his dear sister from a most fortuitous engagement, thereby depriving her of the love of her life, and casting her into a sort of prison, guarded over and unable to receive any communications from those who have her interests at heart. I put it to you, sirs: should this gentleman—in name only—be permitted to retain his elevated position in society when he engages in such dreadful behaviour?

Yours, etc,
GW

Buy Link: http://www.books2read.com/muchadoinmeryton

A marquess, an heiress, and a marriage most secretive!

Dear reader,

Is scandal brewing in the dark?

This author has it on good authority that an heiress has married a certain marquess in secret. Is something afoot? This author thinks so! Why? News has reached my wandering ear that not one, not two, but three special licenses were issued to the same lord (this author shall not name him to protect his wavering dignity). But you, dear Marquess, know who you are!

I shall leave it up to you, dear reader, to guess the pair.

Your faithful correspondent. 

~~~

About By No Means A Gentleman

If he intends to fight dirty, so will she . . .

Lady Harriet Hillstow never imagined even in her wildest dreams that she’d discover her father had arranged a marriage for her with the wicked and wily Marquess of Leeds on the very day he shows up with a special license! Never mind the man’s unnerving handsomeness, Harriet made a vow to her mother that she would never marry a man who would not fight for her. Can she allow such injustice to occur all because the men are worried about of a few silly wagers circling about town? Certainly not! Leeds is about to discover she is not so timid as the gossip rags claim.

William Fitzgerald Hamilton, the Marquess of Leeds, has never been an opportunist. Until the moment a chance to marry the woman of his dreams falls into his lap. There’s only one problem. For some reason, Harriet loathes him. William has no choice but to go all in to discover why and win her over, lest the spirited beauty slip through his fingers forever.

Will this proposed arrangement become the source of their greatest misery or the surest passion that might just set their marriage aflame?

Purchase link: https://www.amazon.com/Means-Gentleman-Ladies-Dare-Book-ebook/dp/B0CTSPKGTH

Other links:

Website: https://www.authortanyawilde.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tanyawilde/

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@authortanyawilde

Wallflowers and Wenches Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/843373666456177

About Tanya Wilde

Award-Winning and International Bestselling author Tanya Wilde developed a passion for reading when she had nothing better to do than lurk in the library during her lunch breaks. Her love affair with pen and paper soon followed after she devoured all of their historical romance books! In 2020, she won the Romance Writers Organization of South Africa (ROSA) Imbali Award for Excellence in Romance Writing for Not Quite a Rogue.

When she’s not meddling in the lives of her characters or pondering names for her imaginary big, white greyhound, she’s off on adventures with her partner in crime.

 

Wilde lives in a town at the foot of the Outeniqua Mountains, South Africa.

Wallflower Sister of London’s Famed Golden Sisters Ends Fourth Season Following Incident with Duke’s Daughter

7 May 1817

Almack’s Assembly Rooms

King Street

London

Rebecca MacPherson took a step back to avoid the couple waltzing perilously close to her refuge near the potted palm outside the refreshment room. If her mother hadn’t insisted on attending the assembly rooms tonight, she could be at home re-reading her favorite of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels, A Sicilian Romance. Instead, she had been duly dressed in her least-favorite gown, the pink silk with the pintuck bodice that made her bosom seem even larger than it was, and the white embroidered overdress with three rows of pink flounces sprinkled with rosettes that made her feel like an overgrown ten-year-old at a birthday party.

“You must make the most of your assets,” her mother had fussed, not for the first time. “You don’t have your sisters’ height or elegant figures, but some men prefer ladies of more generous proportions.”

Did they? Rebecca doubted it. After four Seasons, she was the only one of her presentation group who hadn’t married. Or even come close. Well, there had been Tommy Huddleston, who had paid her some attention two Seasons ago, but dropped her like a hot potato when he fell in love with a lovely singer at Covent Garden. Rebecca, who couldn’t sing a note, and learned more Italian from her music teacher than how to play the pianoforte, had only her connections and fortune to recommend her. The fair Bianca, the daughter of a butcher whose career was pushed forward by her late protector, an Italian conde, had neither, but Tommy wed her in spite of it.

Rebecca fanned her face to hide the flush she felt creeping up over her cheeks. Everyone knew Rebecca’s connections, being the daughter of a wealthy Scottish father and a mother distantly related to the Duke of Devonshire. They also knew that she had two older twin sisters, Arabella and Alice, both considered diamonds in their presentation year, who had each snapped up an earl before the end of the Season. “Poor Rebecca” was a phrase she should be accustomed to hearing, after failing to “take” four Seasons in a row. 

Her mother insisted that she should “put herself out more” for the older gentlemen, widowers in need of mothers for their children. Rebecca was fond of children—she was an indulgent aunt to her own niece and nephews—but she wanted more than that from marriage. Perhaps love was too much to expect for someone like her, but surely there should be some affection between a husband and wife. Trust as well, since marriage was for a lifetime, and one didn’t wish to be married to a monster, after all. The fiasco of the Prince Regent’s marriage should serve as a lesson to all, she thought.

The music stopped and a mob of overheated dancers made a beeline to the refreshment room. Rebecca found herself pressed backward by them until she collided with someone behind her. 

“Look what you’ve done! My gown is ruined!”

Rebecca whirled around, only to see the haughty Lady Alicia Howland with a sizable stain on the bodice of her ivory taffeta gown, an empty glass in hand. Her escort glared at Rebecca as he pulled out a handkerchief and made a move to use it to mop up the liquid before the impropriety of doing such a thing occurred to him.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there… I was pushed, you see, and… Here, allow me to help you, my lady,” Rebecca stammered, seizing the handkerchief and making a move toward the angry duke’s daughter.

Lady Alicia drew back. “Don’t touch me! Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

A maid appeared to escort her to the ladies’ withdrawing room, but her next words could be clearly heard by all in the vicinity.

“Such a nuisance, that girl. Not at all like her charming sisters. Someone should tell her to hold back on the bonbons, for the safety of us all!”

If she could have dropped through the floor, Rebecca certainly would have done so. A tingling swept across her face and the back of her neck. For a long moment the room was quiet, and she looked around to see a sea of faces directed at her, some showing sympathy, some disapproval, and some—including her own sister Alice—with pursed lips, apparently trying not to laugh.

And that was the end of her fourth Season.

The Third MacPherson Sister is a wallflower story that first appeared in Sweet Summer Kisses, a 2014 anthology. The story of Lady Alicia Howland, the duke’s daughter whose scathing remarks effectively ended Rebecca’s fourth London Season, can be found in the Bluestocking Belles’ most recent Christmas anthology, Christmastide Kisses.

The Third MacPherson Sister

Christmastide Kisses

About Susana Ellis

Susana Ellis is a retired teacher, part-time caregiver, sewist, cook, and fashion print collector. Lifelong reading and a fascination with history led her to writing historical romances. She is one of the original Bluestocking Belles and a member of Regency Fiction Writers and the Maumee Valley Romance Authors Inc.

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You can contact Susana Ellis at these social media links:

What’s a poor girl to do?

By a special correspondent

The Four-to-One Fancy by Elizabeth Ellen CarterThe Ladies London Observer has sent your reporter up north to the fair city of York to report on events happening outside of London, renowned for the Season. Yes, Season with a capital ‘S’.

For many of us, there is one Season, but for those young women who are not fortunate enough to make their debut and be selected to have their coming out attended by royalty, some of the regional cities of the Kingdom may yield eligible young men – especially if they happen to be short of a dowry.

This is what leads me today to sit in Lady Clune’s salon to observe the young ladies of quality who have come to her notice.

“I take my role as hostess for the season very seriously, indeed,” said Lady Clune. “Before they receive vouchers for various events under my auspices, the young ladies are required to attend an at-home so I can see their comportment.

“I wish to ensure that as many successful matches will be made as possible. What we lack in numbers, we make up for in enthusiasm!”

I look around and see a dozen young ladies at today’s event, there are precious few young men.

Lady Clune sees the direction of my gaze and is keen to reassure me that there will be plenty of young men of quality from the towns outside York – ah yes, the landed gentry. I ask our hostess who she has the most hopes for

She discreetly points to a couple of local beauties who, I have to admit, wouldn’t be out of place in London. My eye is caught by two young ladies in conversation in a small party. They draw my attention because of how very alike they are and not just in physical appearance – willowy and graceful with auburn hair.

Their mannerisms mirrored each other completely – the raise of a hand to take a cup of tea, the slight tilt to the right as they considered their part in the conversation. It was the most remarkable display.

I discreetly took a step closer as I would listen in on the conversation. One would begin a story or an anecdote and the other would take up the story seamlessly, as thought it was being told by one person.

“Ah, I see you have spotted Lady Ivy and Lady Iris Bigglesworth,” said Lady Clune uncertainly. This  particularly piqued my interest.

The good lady inclined her head and silently indicated that I should follow her a discreet distance away.

“There is something you should know about the girls,” she began.

I told her that I had guessed that Lady Ivy and Lady Iris were twins.

“Yes that is true and of all nine sisters, they and their older sister Josefina have the best chances of making a successful match.”

Nine? All from the same family? All hoping to find husbands?

“Oh! No, I should clarify, three of those girls are still in the school room, cared for by late Earl of Seahaven’s fifth and youngest wife, Lady Patience Bigglesworth.”

Six young women – seven if you include the young widow from the same family all in York for the same purpose. The late Earl must have left a substantial dowry.

Lady Clune shook her head sadly. There is barely enough to make a decent dowry for one, she tells me.

“I don’t care to be quoted on this, but the new Earl of Seahaven has been most dreadful to the girls. They were living quite happily in the family holding and there was enough room for them to do so comfortably but he refused,” she said.

“He tossed the girls out and most of them have had to,” Lady Clune drops her voice to a whisper, “work for a living.

“Mind you, Seahaven’s affairs were in the most dreadful shambles. He so expected a son from each woman he married that he never got around to updating his will.”

Excerpt from the Four-to-One Fancy (previously published in Desperate Daughters). This novella will be released as a standalone on 1 May.

Iris watched her sister shift the heavily laden basket onto another arm.

“Here, let me take it for a while,” she said.

Ivy shot her a grateful look and relinquished the basket.

After a moment Iris spoke. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

“What about?”

“I feel the weight of expectation—on you, me, Josefina—to find a husband this season.”

Ivy nodded. “Patience has expended an enormous sum to give us this opportunity, that to go back to Starbrook without an offer…”

“It’s only because our sisters gave up their portion of the dowry that we have an acceptable sum to offer,” Iris added.

“We have our titles, but they mean little,” said Ivy.

“We may not be pretty enough to attract the eye of a suitable gentleman.”  Iris let out a long, dispirited sigh.

Silence fell between them for good long minutes before Ivy asked. “What kind of gentleman would you like to marry?”

Iris considered the question a moment before shrugging a shoulder.

“He must be kind. I’d like him to be handsome. Most of all, he must love family because I would want you to visit me often.”

“That worries me as much as not finding husbands,” Ivy confessed. “What if we do? We would marry and be apart for the first time in our lives.”

The notion caused Iris to stop. She turned to her sister.

“I… I can’t imagine not seeing you every day,” she said.

They remained there on the pavement, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Do you think there may be brothers in attendance?”

“There might,” said Iris, tilting her head. “We would need to see an invitation list to be sure. Why do you ask?”

Ivy raised her chin in firm resolve. “It is the only way forward. By marrying brothers, we would be sure to see each other more often than if we married anyone else. We have to marry brothers. It is the only way.”

Love is in the Air

Take a leap into love…

Dear Reader,

We’ve sent an intrepid reporter to a most interesting gathering in the town of Upper Upton in Sussex. It is not often one sees a Viscount, an Earl, and a Marquess and their ladies gather to attend the wedding of an innkeeper.

However, not only did these esteemed peers attend, but the bride, a young widow of seemingly no importance, was escorted down the aisle on the arm of the marquess.

The whole event had the air of a rowdy country fair. Why, even a houseful of children from a nearby charity home piled into the church and attended the breakfast that followed.

Why? we ask.

It seems that the groom is a military comrade of the valiant peers who fought so bravely in defense of England; further, the bride has a connection with none other than the marchioness, Lady W. who we have written about in this earlier dispatch: Secrets and Lies.

Have no fear, we will report more on this story as soon as we learn more.

~~~~~

A Leap Into Love

Can a gentleman be too charming? The ladies of Upper Upton think so.

And it’s almost Leap Day, when a man who refuses a lady’s proposal of marriage must offer a forfeit.

When the single ladies of the village conspire to teach their charmer a lesson that might bankrupt him, the town’s loveliest young widow steps up to warn him.

His secrets and hers make them a perfect match—and she’s the lady he wants. But she won’t accept his proposal, not even to rescue him.

As Leap Day approaches, the clock is ticking. Can he convince her in time to say yes to his offer and take a leap into love?

Excerpt

When the Ladies’ Society for the Improvement of Village Life gathered, discussions could drag on.

Mrs. Myra Smith stood at a distance, watching the exhalation of so much talk fog the air in the unheated assembly rooms of the Royal George Inn. From her station near the door, she kept an eye on the boy who’d marched off to the far end of the room, away from the ladies.

The Society’s grandiose title always made Myra smile. Stuffy-sounding though it might be, the Ladies’ Society did have a valuable purpose. Village life could be dull, and didn’t she know that well.

It could also be closed-minded, a trap Myra was always dodging. She was here today representing Longview, the nearby children’s home that had brought so many interesting characters to Upper Upton—the teachers, ladies of questionable background like herself, and the children, London’s outcasts, who’d found shelter, and training, and love.

Longview had been generously endowed by the Lords Cathmore, Hackwell, and Wallenford, much as their lordships had endowed this whole village, trying to make the residents of Longview more palatable to the good citizens of Upper Upton. Even this inn had been thoroughly modernized and expanded. Their lordships had even plucked the handsome innkeeper from among their former military comrades.

Thoughts of the man reminded her, she and Barty should be on their way. “The room is quite adequate to your needs,” Myra said. “The children and I shall certainly see to—”

The door to the assembly rooms whooshed open, silencing her.

A wide smile flashed her way, and she caught her breath. “Mr. Grant,” she said with a clipped curtsy, remembering what she was dealing with.

True to his nature, Alexander Grant turned that handsome gaze on the other three ladies and bowed all around. “Such loveliness brightens the dreary aspects of this day.”

His grin widened, and his dark hair sparkled in the light from a tall window. The cold February rain had dampened his coats and breeches and ruddied his cheeks under the dark stubble. Warmth rose in Myra. She shook herself, searching for words.

Buy Link: https://books2read.com/ALeapIntoLove

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling and Award-winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with her two rescued dogs, a spunky, blonde terrier and a super-friendly chihuahua.

Find her at:

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Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Alina-K.-Field/e/B00DZHWOKY

Duke’s Daughter Bickers with Stepmother

November 19, 1817

Residence of the Duke of Huntingdon

Mayfair, London

“Must you always be badgering me on this matter, Wife? Alicia is barely one-and-twenty. She and Stanton will settle down one of these days. I daresay they are on the brink of setting a date even as we speak.”

The duke’s young wife crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“So you’ve told me for the last two years. Not only have they not set a date, Lucas, but they rarely even see each other! Alicia has danced more with the Prince Regent than with her own betrothed this past Season!”

The Duke of Huntingdon closed his book and laid his spectacles on top of it. “Has that old lecher been philandering with my girl? I’ll see him in hell first!”

Cheeks flushed, the young duchess clenched her fists. “No, of course not! That’s not the point, and you know it well. What I’ve been trying to tell you is that Alicia and Milton Gardiner show no signs of partiality for each other’s company, and people are beginning to question whether the marriage will ever be accomplished at all!”

Her eyes narrowed. “The Prince danced as many times with me this Season, but you’ve never said a word against him. I believe you care for her more than your own wife!” 

She pulled out a handkerchief and swiped it over her eyes.

The duke rolled his eyes. “Good God, Elise, must you always make a fuss about everything? You know very well that as an unmarried young woman, Alicia’s reputation must be spotless, or no one, not even Stanton, will marry her. She and Stanton have always been the best of friends, Neither has ever spoken a word against their childhood betrothal, and you know Alicia well enough to know that she would certainly do so if she wished to.” He snorted.

“As far as Stanton, he can hardly be expected to dance with the gel when he’s spent most of the Season in Norfolk taking over his father’s duties on the estate. It may be unfashionable for a young man to take his responsibilities seriously, but I say it speaks well of his character.”

Lady Huntingdon glared at him. “And when Blackburn dies, the wedding will be postponed a year at least. Lucas, I must insist that you speak to your daughter immediately and impress upon her the urgency of securing this marriage as soon as may be!”

**********

At the sound of her stepmother’s footsteps moving toward the door, Alicia fled down the hall into the nearest room where she posed in front of the hearth and pretended to be studying a portrait of her late mother. Too late, she thought better of the idea. Elise hated that portrait of her predecessor almost as much as she hated Alicia herself. 

The staccato clicks of her stepmother’s heels on the wooden floor paused when they passed the drawing room where Alicia had taken refuge.

“What are you doing here?” Elise demanded, her voice dripping with suspicion.

Alicia shrugged and smiled innocently. “Why, looking at my mother’s portrait, of course.”

The duchess’s brow furrowed. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with your father?”

Alicia’s mouth assumed a slack expression. “Were you having a conversation with my father? About me?”

Her stepmother’s nostrils flared. “You were listening! I knew it!” she snapped. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

“I-I, well…,” Alicia stammered.

“A thousand pardons, Your Grace, but you’re needed in the nursery. Master Gervase is poorly today, and Nurse wishes to call in a physician.”

One of the upstairs maids appeared in the doorway, looking worried. 

“Gervase, my darling child…ill? Oh my, I knew that Nurse should not have taken him out of doors yesterday! Oh, I must go to him immediately!”

She gave Alicia a menacing stare, lifted her skirts, and rushed toward the stairway.

The maid winked at Alicia. “More ’n likely he’s just teething.” Then she took off after her mistress.

Alicia sighed heavily and gazed up at her mother’s beautiful face. It was almost like looking in a mirror, as she had inherited Frances Howland’s dark wavy hair, tawny eyes, and high cheekbones. Her prominent nose and light brown skin that no amount of lemon juice scrubs would lighten had come from her father, who had some French ancestry in his blood.

“Oh Mama! Why did you have to go sailing that day, of all days?”

She pressed her face down against the cool marble surface of the mantel. Three years ago she’d received the devastating news that her mother and Lady Blackburn had drowned when the skiff they’d been sailing had run into a sudden storm and capsized in the Wash a mile off the Norfolk coast. Her life had never been the same since. Particularly not when, after a year of mourning, her father had married a young girl only a few years older than she, who’d had the nerve to bear him the son he’d always wanted fifteen months later.

Her new stepmother, the daughter of a baronet whose mother claimed to be a displaced French countess, had been scheming to get rid of Alicia from the first day she’d moved in. Alicia was a constant reminder of her mother, a notorious London beauty. Elise’s skin was the pale porcelain favored by society, but in combination with her gray eyes, small round head and pale blonde hair, she tended to fade into the woodwork. With dark hair in fashion these days, it galled her to appear in public with the stepdaughter who outshone her.

Nor did it help when all the servants showed a pronounced preference for Alicia.

“That’s not my fault,” she said lifting her head to her mother’s face as if to defend her behavior. “I never encouraged them to do that.”

But you never did anything to prevent it, did you, Daughter? You weren’t raised to prevaricate, you know. This type of behavior is beneath you.

A lump formed in Alicia’s throat. It was true. Her mother, at least, had worked very hard to keep her grounded in good Christian values and a healthy respect for others. Alicia knew her mother would have been sorely distressed to see the way she provoked her stepmother, sometimes without half-trying.

Your behavior causes your father much grief, you know. Does he not deserve a peaceful home?

Alicia paled as she recalled the conversation she’d just overheard in her father’s study. Unkind as it was to deliberately provoke her stepmother, it also had the effect of disturbing her father’s domestic life. Which she’d not hesitated to do at first when she’d been furious with her father’s decision to remarry, but now…it seemed rather childish and cruel.

He’s been a good father to you, Alicia. He was a good husband to me as well. Does he not deserve your loyalty?

“Alicia, my dear.”

Lucas Howland, the Duke of Huntingdon, strolled through the doorway toward her. At forty-nine, he was still a fine figure of a man, although his dark hair was now sprinkled with gray and his stomach was beginning to make itself known beneath his olive-green waistcoat.

He sighed as he cupped her shoulders and drew her against his chest as they both gazed up at the portrait of his first wife.

“Aye, she was a marvelous woman. I still miss her too, you know. Many times I wish I had forbidden her to take the boat out that day.”

Tears gathered in Alicia’s eyes. “But she would never have heeded you, Papa. It wasn’t your fault.”

He turned her around and hugged her to his chest. “No, she was a willful one, my Frances. So spirited and full of life…I’m sure it never occurred to her that it could all be lost so quickly and tragically.”

They stood there a moment and reflected on what the loss of the former duchess had brought to their lives. For the duke—a young second wife and the heir he’d always wanted. For Alicia—a new baby brother with whom she’d felt an instant connection, but who came with the inconvenience of an antagonistic stepmother.

“She was my best friend,” Alicia whispered. “I could tell her anything and she would never laugh at me or remonstrate with me. She always told me to forget the past and live each day to the fullest.” 

She lifted her wounded face to her father’s. “But how can I forget her? She was my life and now she’s gone! I feel…lost without her, Papa.”

Her father sighed and kissed her forehead before drawing her head to his shoulder. “I know it well, my dear. I’ve seen you drift aimlessly through two Seasons, and I know well things would have been much different had it been your mother sponsoring you and not your aunt.”

“Aunt Tabitha has been very kind, Papa, but you are correct—it’s not the same.”

Her father’s sister had not got on well with her sister-in-law and it seemed Alicia had inherited too many of her mother’s characteristics to make for an amicable connection between aunt and niece.

The duke turned and, taking her arm, led her to a settee.

“Come and sit with me, Daughter. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken privately, and I think a chat is quite overdue. Shall I order tea?”

Tea? Alicia forced herself to relax her hands, which had tightened into fists at her father’s request. She knew where this conversation was going.

“No tea, Papa. It will be time for nuncheon soon. I suppose you want to know about how things stand between Milton and me.”

Her father patted her hand. “I don’t wish to push you out of the nest, Alicia, but people are beginning to wonder if you and Stanton mean to marry after all. You’ve had two Seasons and I’ve heard no reports of your forming any other attachments in that time.”

Because everyone knows I’ve been betrothed to Milton forever.

“I had beaux,” she said defensively. “I was never a wallflower, you know. I had any number of escorts to Vauxhall and drives through the park.”

The duke heaved a sigh. “Of course, you did. I never meant to imply otherwise. But of all of them, did none appeal to you as a better choice for husband than young Stanton?”

“No, nothing like that.” Well, there was Lord Hadley, the handsome young viscount who made all the young ladies’ hearts flutter, but he’d gone off on his Grand Tour last year and showed no sign of returning any time soon.

“As far as I know, Papa, Milton and I still plan to be married. I haven’t heard from him lately, since he’s been so busy at Blackburn, but I’m sure we’ll discuss it after our return to Huntingdon.”

Her father grimaced. “I don’t mean to pressure you, my dear, but with Blackburn’s illness, you might want to set an early date. I’m sure it would give him great pleasure to see his son wed before… well, there’s no way to avoid the fact that his days are numbered.”

“And once he’s gone, there will be a year of mourning. I do realize that, Papa. I’m sure Elise will be no end of piqued to have me on your hands for another year.”

Her father flinched. “It’s not that, Alicia. It’s just that… it’s obvious you’re not happy with us, and we think it’s time you settled down and started your own family. With Stanton, if he’s your choice. No one wishes to force you out, least of all your stepmother.”

Alicia snorted. Did her father really think she would believe that? She’d have known it to be an untruth even if she had not overheard their recent conversation.

“Of course not. I’m sure Elise is eager to become a grandmother.” 

Her father tried to hide his grin, and Alicia turned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll discuss it with Milton, Papa. He has a lot on his mind these days. When his father dies, he’ll be alone in the world. At least I still have a father left.”

Her father let out a huge breath. “Thank you, my dear.”

He stood and started to leave, then turned and looked at her with a twinkle in his eye.

“I can’t speak for Elise, of course, but I for one am looking forward to becoming a grandfather with great anticipation. And I’m sure Gervase will be in alt to have a little niece or nephew to play with.”

Alicia blushed. “Really, Papa!”

Baby Gervase an uncle? An amusing image, but it all seemed so premature. She’d been betrothed to Milton for so long, but the actual marriage had seemed far off. In all that time, she’d never actually thought much about being Milton’s wife and having his children. Now that the time seemed imminent, she felt a growing feeling of panic. Bridal nerves, of course. All brides had them. It would all turn out well in the end, she assured herself.

******

All I Want For Christmas is You is part of the Bluestocking Belles’ latest Christmas collection, Christmastide Kisses.

https://books2read.com/u/m26VG6

About Susana Ellis

Susana Ellis is a retired teacher, part-time caregiver, sewist, cook, and fashion print collector. Lifelong reading and a fascination with history led her to writing historical romances. She is one of the original Bluestocking Belles and a member of Regency Fiction Writers and the Maumee Valley Romance Authors Inc.

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