A French Adventuress in Cheshire

On August 22, 2026

Dear Readers,

What an interesting harvest season the residents of Cheshire are having. This report comes from a resident of a small village which shall be left unnamed.

My Dear Mr. Clemens,

It has been some time since my last letter, but so it has been with the goings on in Belgium that one has no chance but to read whatever report one can find and otherwise worry.

Now we have come through that, and our people of R have both mourned the loss of some brave young men and celebrated the return of many as well as this year’s good harvest.

And what goings-on there have been before, during, and after our harvest fete!

In particular, we have seen the return to the village of a young Frenchwoman (one might call her an adventuress!) and the lady who employed her as a companion. They were both offered shelter by a friend of the younger woman, one of our most genteel widowed ladies. Such a fuss, with the Frenchwoman here in R openly seeking a wealthy husband, her employer bedazzling one of our elderly local worthies, and the widowed lady praying that her posthumous child (yes, she was in the family way at the time of her husband’s death) is a boy—else she and her daughters will be homeless!

There is more. A handsome young officer has returned from the army with a Frenchman in tow meant to marry the fortune-hunting young Frenchwoman, she who wants nothing to do with anything French. It is whispered that she is the heiress of a French vintner!

What is the truth? I will write again when I know more.

Under the Champagne Moon

Orphaned by the French Revolution and rescued by a British family, Fleur Hardouin didn’t—or wouldn’t—speak, until the jolly young Gareth Ardleigh crossed her path one summer and saved her from bullies. Fifteen years later, Fleur and the beloved lady she serves return to Cheshire. Determined to rescue them both through an advantageous marriage, Fleur tries to brush off the attention she receives from Gareth, who’s home from the wars and as handsome as ever. Her heart longs for him, but her head knows he can’t provide the security she needs.

Gareth’s excuse for visiting Cheshire is to deliver the personal effects of his best friend who perished at Quatre Bras. But his real purpose is finding the little French girl he met years ago, for marriage—not to him, but to the Frenchman who helped save his life. Astonished to find that Fleur has grown into a beautiful—and still intriguing—young woman, it soon becomes clear, he must choose between honoring a promise or trying to win the hand of the woman he loves.

Originally published in Under the Harvest Moon, a Bluestocking Belles with Friends Collection

Buy Links: https://books2read.com/underthechampagnemoon

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., but after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California. Now widowed, and with the kids grown, she recently transplanted from Orange County to a desert community. The nest is empty except for a sweet, feisty chihuahua and grandkids who frequently need looking after and visit often

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A Stolen Heart in London?

By Aileen Fish

On August 15, 2026

In Teatime Tattler

Dearest Readers,
It would appear we’ve stumbled upon an interesting tidbit regarding a friend of a young lady mentioned once in our paper not too long ago. She’s the daughter of the Earl of G and an alumna of Lady Helford’s School for Recalcitrant Girls in Greymoor Wharf, as was her friend, Lady B.

The rumors we’ve heard are connected indirectly to the reasons for Lady M being sent to such a place of discipline. We’ll not comment on the accusations being made ~ honestly, what young lady raised in a noble family would ever have the need to resort to thievery?

Additional rumors have connected Lady M with a certain viscount, Lord H. Have you ever imagined a more eccentric pair than these two? Perhaps those eccentricities will be the glue that binds their hearts into a marriage to last a lifetime.

Stranger things have happened.

Excerpt from Stealing the Viscount’s Heart:

Lady Martha drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself tightly. Of all the men she had ever met, Lord Haworth was perhaps the only one she could imagine growing to love in the slow, measured way she imagined love was meant to happen. Not the gasping, reckless infatuations the girls at school had rhapsodized about, but the sort of affection that began with admiration and grew, season by season, into something like loyalty. She had always suspected she was built more for loyalty than for passion.

Which, if she were honest, wasn’t what books had led her to expect from romance. Her mother had hinted at it once, a memory so small Martha had nearly missed it at the time. Love, real love, was not a thunderclap. It was a tide, relentless and quiet, that changes everything in time.

She had nodded then, trying to look wise, and thought, but I should like at least one thunderclap.

If this was a thunderclap, it was a curiously gentle one. The world hadn’t split open, only turned a new angle toward the light. Even her own name felt newly minted.

She let herself imagine what it would mean to marry him. She played it out, as she sometimes did in idle moments with less promising prospects, but this time with an attention to detail allowed by having a real suitor.

Where was his country house? She assumed he had one, though they would be in London while Parliament was in session. Martha imagined the chaos of all her books, and Bran and, eventually, children. She imagined herself at the breakfast table reading a book, with Nicholas in his shirtsleeves arguing about whether toast ought to be cut before or after the butter was applied. The children would, she decided, be brown-haired like her, obstinate, and deeply loyal to their own opinions. Although, one son should have black hair like his father.

She smiled at the ridiculous picture.

Of course, there would be difficulties. There always were. His mother would dislike her, perhaps for a year, perhaps forever. The ton would talk, and so would the servants, and her father would find some new way to embarrass her at every dinner party.

But she could see a life with him, and the thought didn’t frighten her.

That was, she realized, the difference.

Find Stealing the Viscount’s Heart at:

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About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren’t enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her “to-do” list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment, she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families.

She also writes steamy romance under the pen name Ari Thatcher.

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A Bachelor Besotted? Society Wonders

By Alina K. Field

On August 12, 2026

In Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers,

Something mysterious is afoot in the highest echelons of Society. The Honorable Crispin Thatchbury, that most eligible of bachelors beloved of hostesses everywhere, is decidedly not his dashing self of late.

Well‑informed readers may recall that Mr. Thatchbury recently traveled into the wilds of Cornwall on some secretive errand for His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. The Tattler has discovered that his destination was Nevermore Castle, home of the late Sir Davian Moreland.

What happened to the elegant arbiter of fashion in that odd place, one wonders. Several sources report that Mr. Thatchbury — always the life of the party — has grown serious, a transformation the Tattler and Society at large find nearly unimaginable.

But the conundrum of his altered behavior pales beside the change in his appearance, for since his return he has appeared on every occasion sporting a wig, face powder, and patches — fashions outmoded for decades, although no doubt every idle gentleman will follow his lead before long.

Such a fashion ought to appear ridiculous, but the Tattler has been assured by several of our lady readers that such is emphatically not the case. Rather, his appearance has inspired much sighing and fluttering of fans, and Mr. Thatchbury in a wig has been variously described as devastating, delectable, and even swoonworthy.

When such a man — a bachelor of many years’ standing — is observed reading poetry and gazing dreamily into the distance rather than flirting and admiring his own reflection, what is one to think?

Has the elusive Crispin received a coup de cœur at last? Has a mysterious Cornish lady captured his affections when the fairest flowers of London failed to do so? Your correspondents at the Tattler will not rest until we have discovered all.

Nevermore Castle

Regency inheritance tangle. Two heirs. One castle. A chorus of goats.

Miranda Moreland has spent her life drifting from one relative to another, never quite fitting anywhere. Inheriting a castle on the Cornish coast feels like a miracle — a chance at stability, independence, and perhaps even the belonging she’s never dared to hope for.

But Nevermore Castle is already occupied. Lance, a mysterious American with disarming charm, has taken possession, surrounded by his lively family, a raven with opinions, and a collection of whimsical animals and eccentric tenants who make the estate feel unexpectedly alive.

As Miranda becomes entangled in the inheritance dispute, she finds herself drawn not only to the castle’s residents but to the man who may stand between her and her future. For the first time, she begins to imagine a life built on more than solitude.

But a faulty will and an incompetent solicitor threaten everything. Can Miranda claim the home — and the love — she’s always longed for, or will Nevermore slip away before she can truly belong?

Nevermore Castle. Healing hearts with humor.

Purchase Nevermore Castle paperback or ebook format on Amazon or read in Kindle Unlimited: https://a.co/d/03xq8OqO

By the same author: The Roses of Longbourn series:

A Rose Out of Time – Book 1

A Rose in Winter – Book 2

Mrs. Christie and the Misplaced Rose (A Short Story)

A Golden-Hearted Rose (A Short Story)

A Rake Redeemed, or The Gretna Rose (A Novella)

Truths and Roses (A Short Story)

Coming Soon:

A Rose at Dawn – Book 3

A Rose After Rain – Book 4

About the Author

KELLY BOGGS writes seasoned not spiced atmospheric fiction that blends historical charm, a touch of mystery, and warm, character driven storytelling. Whether her books wander through Cornwall’s windswept cliffs or the quiet corners of the Regency, she builds worlds where emotion, place, and personality intertwine. Her stories offer immersive escapes threaded with wit, whimsy, and a distinctly human heart.

Links:

Website: kellyboggsauthor.com

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/kellyboggs

Goodreads: Kelly Boggs (Author of A Rose Out of Time) | Goodreads

Facebook: (1) Facebook

Excerpt from Nevermore Castle

“Lance, my dear boy,” cried Crispin. “I have been staying at inns and having the most dreadful adventures. But is this the lovely lady, Miss Moreland?”

He swept forward and kissed Miranda on both cheeks, in the French fashion—much to her embarrassment. Fleur looked positively envious.

“You have the look of Sir Davian, indeed, my dear,” he said as he stepped back.

Miranda studied him. He must be fifty, she supposed, if he was a friend of Sir Davian’s youth.

He did not look fifty. Crispin Thatchbury carried himself with a trim, effortless poise. If there was any silver threaded among his perfect golden curls, Miranda could not see it. His eyes were bright and lively, taking in everything with amused intelligence. The bottle‑green coat, the immaculate cravat, the gleaming boots—none of it suggested a man worn down by travel. He looked, Miranda thought, like someone who had simply refused to grow older in the usual way.

Oh dear, she thought, imagining the effect his good looks and theatrical manner might have on a susceptible Fleur.

Mr. Thatchbury was still speaking, she realized.

“My dears, I have come at the request of His Royal Highness. I am to conduct interviews, examine papers, learn about the estate, and return with my findings. The Prince himself will make a determination in the matter of the entail and the inheritance, once he has heard my report.”

***

As the study door closed behind them, Lance glanced at Crispin. They’d exchanged letters for years but had met only rarely, London being as far away as it was. He had always struggled to reconcile Crispin’s theatrical persona with the sharp, incisive man revealed in his correspondence.

Which would he see now, he wondered.

He was not left in suspense for long. Once Crispin had been seated and handed a drink, he settled back in easy comfort, his performance apparently having been reserved for the ladies.

“My dear Lance, what a tangle you’ve found yourself in. You were wise to write.”

“Thank you. I hadn’t thought—didn’t imagine—”

“That I’d involve the Prince? Quite. But it was the sensible course. He remembers Davian with real affection, and he has the power to act.”

“It was good of you to speak with him. And to travel all this way yourself.”

“Naturally I would travel to the ends of the earth for poor Davian’s sake,” Crispin proclaimed, allowing his drawing room dramatics to resurface for a moment. “And one cannot ignore a royal decree—no matter the cost to one’s wardrobe.”

He flicked an imaginary speck of lint from one sleeve with a flourish that suggested he had practiced the gesture before a mirror.

Lance smiled. Crispin clearly did not wish to be thanked.

“But what am I to do, Crispin? This report you are to compile…”

“It’s not so much a report as an impression, my dear boy.” Crispin settled more comfortably into the chair, one ankle crossing elegantly over the other. “Having interested himself in the matter, the Prince is now fully invested, as is his way. He wants, not facts and figures, but a full description of the estate, the persons involved, and all that can be determined of Davian’s wishes. I am not to return until I can paint him a picture that will make him feel as though he himself had visited.”

“Oh, dear,” Lance said faintly, imagining Crispin tramping about the estate in glossy Hessians, encountering who‑knew‑what.

Crispin’s brows lifted. “My dear Lance, you look as though I’ve announced a siege.”

“It’s only—” Lance hesitated. “Nevermore is…not quite like other estates.”

Fairy Nonsense in the Village at the End of the World

By Bluestocking Belles

On August 9, 2026

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

To the Editor of the Teatime Tattler

Dear Sir

Your paper has recently given coverage to a ridiculous story that is pretends to be a local legend, but that is, in truth, a blatant stunt by an ambitious innkeeper that hopes to make money from tourists seeking true love.

I speak, of course, of the village of F on S, a remote and tumbledown fishing village on the Sussex coast, from which rumors have been spreading about a fairy well, and the “true love blessing” to be gained by drinking its waters.

Having spent several weeks in said village, I can assure your readers that the water does no such thing. I will acknowledge that the villagers are welcoming, the cottages are charming, and the air is salubrious. But fairies? Magic water? I, myself, took the opportunity to drink the water with several quite delightful ladies who had come to see the rumored well for themselves, and here I am, still quite unattached and fancy free.

As to whether I kissed said ladies or not, a gentleman does not speak of such things.

I was also present when a certain distant relative of a well-known duke and a not particularly distinguished but pleasant lady themselves sampled the water on the insistence of said innkeeper. Mr. T. M. and Miss A. W. were already betrothed without the intervention of any magic, though the innkeeper has taken all the credit to himself.

It cannot be argued that the couple are not in love. They are—most unfashionably so. Did the water have anything to do with it? I think not.

Your readers may indeed choose to visit Fenwick, and will no doubt enjoy the experience. Go for the holiday. Go for the sea air. Go for the pleasure of listening to the innkeeper’s tales. But do not fool yourself that the secret of true love lies in the water.

With most sincere best wishes from one who signs himself,

A friend to the truth.

Set in Stone

By Jude Knight

Arianna Westbrook has been dragged to Fenwick by her mother, who is anxious to test the truth of the Fenwick legend. She is triumphant when an eligible bachelor makes an offer for Arianna’s hand. Not so Arianna. She recognizes Edwin Mills as the worst kind of fortune hunter.

Thomas Medlock has a treasure to salvage from a ship that was sunk in April’s terrible storm. He and his partners have borrowed from their client to buy a diving bell, but success will see them free, clear, and with a reputation second to none. He doesn’t have time to rescue damsels in distress.

Except that Arianna is his every dream come true. Besides, with her mother against her, she needs someone who is on her side, with no expectations and no questions asked.

Meet Thom

My hero is one third partner in a marine salvage company, in Fenwick to retrieve a treasure that was aboard one of the ships that sunk in a storm off the Fenwick coast. On a day too windy for diving, he meets a young woman in the village’s Norman church, and discovers a treasure for a lifetime.

Meet Arianna

Arianna is a wealthy heiress who doesn’t want her mother to encourage any more fortune tellers. But how is Arianna to meet a decent and worthy man when her mother has such poor taste in suitors and her own motivations? Yet only one man makes her heart sing. Only one man looks at her, and sees past her wealth.

Diving in 1815

I had great fun finding out about diving bells and their history, and the diving suits that would have been in use in 1815. Here are a couple of excerpts based on that information.

***

Excerpt 1 from Set in Stone

The wreck had broken apart in the storm that had blown it onto the rocks. Thom had interviewed the captain and some of the other survivors, and knew that. His initial survey had confirmed that further storms had scattered debris quite some distance across the reef and the seabed.

Thom had drawn a grid based on that initial survey, with numbered sections for the divers to search. The divers would start with those most likely to contain the detritus of the captain’s cabin, and work out from there.

The first pair descended in their leather suits and copper helmets. The suits fastened tightly at the elbows and knees, leaving the hands and feet bare, and each helmet had a row of windows at eye level, so the wearer could see. A pair of long leather tubes connected to each helmet, one to deliver fresh air and one to allow stale air to escape. A pair of sailors from the crew took first turn on the pumps that sent air down the fresh air tube.

Air was pumped in close to the divers’ mouths, which not only allowed them to breathe underwater, but also helped to send the stale air up the second tube attached to the helmet, and kept the seams of the suits from leaking too rapidly so the divers could stay down for their full half hour. Or longer, but Jim’s rules for the divers erred on the side of safety.

The second pair of divers, the rest of the crew, and the three partners had little to do until the half hour passed. The first pair came up, the second went down, and another two sailors took over the task of pumping. Thom assisted the divers to remove their helmets, and they settled in the chairs ready for them, where pen and paper waited for them to record what they had seen.

Hanging over their shoulders while they worked would achieve nothing. Thom waited as patiently as he could for the next change over, so he could collect up the notes and examine them.

Excerpt 2 from Set in Stone

They had found the captain’s cabin—or, at least, part of it.

“We shall stop for our break,” Thom proclaimed. “And then, when the divers are rested, we’ll lower the diving bell.”

Two of the divers would seat themselves on ledges inside the huge wood and metal device, which would then be carefully lowered to the sea bottom. The divers wouldn’t need their helmets, and they wouldn’t have their view obscured by moving water. The bell would remain largely full of air, and the divers would be able to search, even digging over the section of sea bottom under the bell to check that nothing was hidden.

It would be the same rules as before, adapted for the change from suits to the bell. Two pairs of divers, changing places each time the bell was moved to a fresh piece of sea bottom, and two sailors on the pump that kept the air in the bell from becoming stale.

If their luck held, they might finish their task today.

Exotic Otter and a Missing Orphan

By Alina K. Field

On August 5, 2026

In Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers,

When his majesty the Prince Regent entrusted certain animals from the Royal Menagerie to deserving recipients, the Tattler never imagined any would come up missing. However, that appears to be the case for three exotic otters granted to an obscure baronet in Sussex, which have vanished along with the orphaned daughter of the house, Miss Georgiana Morland.

The latest news is that the otters have re-appeared in the custody of the Reverend Lord Peter Avondale – youngest of the scandalous Avondale brothers – but Miss Morland is nowhere to be found, only a young gentleman who claims to be the owner and has been seen by scarcely anyone in the rural village of Kilbythorpe.

Truly, it is a mystery where Miss Georgiana could have disappeared to, and why she would not claim the otters herself.

Otters and Obstacles

by Alexa Santi

Three mischievous otters, a sleepy village, and a lady in disguise. What could go wrong?

When Georgiana Morland’s cruel cousin sends her beloved pet otters away to what seems certain death, she has no choice but to pursue them… even if that means disguising herself as a young man for the journey.

In the charming Yorkshire village of Kilbythorpe, the Reverend Lord Peter Avondale knows he only has one chance to salvage his damaged ecclesiastical career, or be forced to leave the work he loves behind forever. All he needs to do is be less impulsive. How hard can it be?

The arrival of three mischievous otters, followed by a mysterious young man who claims to be their keeper, upends Peter’s peaceful exile. The revelation that the “young man” Peter invited to stay with him is a respectable young woman leaves them with only one option: marriage.

As scandal looms and the Ladies’ Auxiliary meddles, Peter begins to fear he will lose the only thing he loves more than his career: Georgie.

Excerpt

A crash rang through the hallway outside his study, and loud voices caused him to rise from his desk and cross to the door to open it. His housekeeper, Mrs. Barwick, seemed to be trying to push a young man holding a large basket out the front door, and the young man pushed back, shoving his foot into the door to prevent her from closing it.

“What’s all the racket?” Peter asked, and Mrs. Barwick whirled on him. The young man took the opportunity to slip through the half-open door and stand in the hallway with the basket balanced on one hip, snatching his cap off as he did so.

“Oh! I’m that sorry to disturb you, Lord Peter, but this young ruffian is trying to deliver something that don’t belong here.”

As the racket died down, Peter realized the basket was… squeaking.

He looked from the basket to the impassive young man holding it, and back to the basket.

The squeaking intensified, and the basket began to vibrate.

“Ain’t you Mr. Sloane? I was told Mr. Sloane lived here,” the young man said.

“I’m afraid a mistake has been made,” Peter said. “The Reverend Mr. Sloane has retired to Brighton.”

Peter’s eldest brother, the Duke of Livesey, had provided Mr. Sloane with a handsome pension to clear the way for Peter to take over the living here as a glorified curate, with Mr. Sloane nominally keeping his title as rector of the parish. After a few necessary improvements had been completed, Peter had finished the process of unpacking and re-organizing the rectory only a few weeks ago, having removed what seemed like dozens of small animals posed under glass from every corner of the cottage to the attic so he could rest without reproachful eyes watching his every move.

And now he was receiving live animals in their stead.

The boy shrugged. “That ain’t my concern, vicar. I was told to deliver these here, and I ain’t got the funds to go haring across the country. They’re yours now.”

He set the basket on the floor and legged it out the front door, ducking under the housekeeper’s attempt at restraint and fleeing down the walkway as Peter and Mrs. Barwick went in fruitless pursuit.

For one moment, the young man paused and shouted over his shoulder, “They like a bit o’ fish!” before continuing down the lane towards the village and vanishing from sight.

Buy Link: https://Books2Read.com/OttersAndObstacles

About the Author:

Alexa Santi loves storytelling of all kinds, so it’s no wonder it took some time for her to settle on writing romance novels after several career detours, including an MFA in Screenwriting from Loyola Marymount University. She lives near Los Angeles with her handsome archivist husband and their pesky cats, who insist she take frequent breaks from her writing to pay attention to them. You can find her on Facebook, Instagram, or on her website at https://www.alexasanti.com

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