Were the Rumors Incorrect?

On March 14, 2026

In Aileen Fish, gossip, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Dear Reader,

The most fascinating on dits has reached our ears regarding the youngest sister of the Duchess of N. Lady L-A. is reportedly in London, having returned from her visit with the duke and duchess in Virginia. I have it on good authority she will be announcing an engagement with a certain constable who rescued her sister, Lady P. last year.

But wait! Reader, I’m shocked to inform you she is not anticipating a proposal after all! The stories I’ve heard regarding a certain Mr. P. of Virginia are most intriguing where they mention Lady L-A. I do believe the on dits have been far from accurate and I will tell you more as soon as I’m certain.

Falling for the American (The Bridgethorpe Brides Book 11)

The best thing about Lady Lucy-Anne Lumley’s visit to her sister’s American farm is the next-door neighbor, Kit Pennington. Too bad he’s as stubborn as her brothers when it comes to believing women can train good racehorses. How can she convince him he’s not complete without the love of the woman he thinks is the bane of his existence?

Thanks to the mother who abandoned him and his siblings, Kit knows enough about the gently bred women of English aristocracy, and he’s sworn to steer clear of them. Besides, he’s too busy for love, with the management of the family farm, establishing himself as a successful racehorse owner, and caring for his younger siblings. Yet everywhere he turns, Lady Lucy-Anne is underfoot, determined to tell him how to properly train his racehorses. And she appears to be weakening the defenses around his heart.

Can Kit remain strong enough against Lucy-Anne’s wiles until she tires of the rough farm life and returns to her life of ballrooms and titled bachelors in England, or will he suffer the same fate as his father and have to choose between his lifestyle and hers?

The final book in the popular Bridgethorpe Brides Series is now available!

Excerpt

Falling for the American

Chapter One

August 1819

Williamsburg, Virginia

Drawing in a deep breath of the brisk morning air, Lucy-Anne leaned her chin on her hands where they rested on the paddock fence rail on her brother-in-law’s farm near Williamsburg, Virginia. Perry, the Duke of Noblegreen, affectionately known as Nobby by his wife and duchess Madeleine, who was Lucy-Anne’s older sister, had inherited the property and its racing horses. He imported racing stock from his English stables and exported colonial stock back to England. Noblegreen Farm was already well-known locally for its quality runners, much as the Lumley name was lauded in England for their winning horses.

Inside the paddock was the colt that had traveled with Lucy-Anne on the ship from England. Watching him dart about stirred a longing that awoke from time to time. As the youngest of eight children of the late Earl of Bridgethorpe, Lucy-Anne felt she’d learned everything one could possibly know about the proper training of racehorses—how to inspect a potential broodmare before purchasing, the three most important traits to look for in a colt as it grew, and to watch for traces of their father’s foundation stud, Zephyr. Her brothers, Adam, the current earl, and David, were most guilty for spouting sermons on these matters as she grew up. Nobby had only recently married Madeleine, thus hadn’t had the time to send Lucy-Anne skulking into another room when his own opinions on horseflesh came up for discussion. Or perhaps he didn’t feel the need to ensure Lucy-Anne could spot a winning stud as easily as she could recognize the most desirable unmarried nobleman on the dance floor at Almack’s Assembly Rooms on any given springtime evening.

Her sisters and sisters-in-law had seen to that area of her education. By the time Lucy-Anne was sixteen years old, Mama had preferred to remain on their country estate, Bridgethorpe Manor, to nurse Lucy-Anne’s father, who eventually died last year when Lucy-Anne was eighteen. Hannah, the eldest of the Lumley girls and eight years Lucy-Anne’s senior, happily took Lucy-Anne under her wing when she’d made her curtsy to the Queen two years ago. Now married to Viscount Oakhurst, Hannah had introduced her to nearly every eligible gentleman in London that Season, avoiding only those rakehell friends of Oakhurst’s, plus those frowned on by their brothers. Surprisingly enough, there had been enough handsome men remaining after the fraternal culling that Lucy-Anne’s dance card had always been full.

Her dance cards were full, her days filled with activities, and the silver salver in the entry hall had overflowed with invitations to balls and musicales, but at the end of her first Season, and the next, Lucy-Anne’s heart was as safe as it had been before her first visit to a London modiste. But then she’d met Mr. Harrison.

The horrible manner in which their meeting came about had somehow not diminished her attraction, and he returned her feelings, she was certain of it. Just before she boarded the ship to sail with her maid, Tilly, the still-unnamed colt of Nobby’s, and the horse’s groom, Tim, Mr. Harrison had promised to call on her when she returned. She’d dreamed of him every night as she sailed west. When she’d seen the buildings on the coast of Norfolk, and a horizon of trees further up and down the coast, her thoughts of Mr. Harrison faded, and her excitement to see Madeleine overflowed.

Here on Noblegreen Farm, with the exception of all the live oak and filbert trees, she could feel like she was at home in Bridgethorpe Manor. And without Mr. Harrison in front of her to remind her of the life she’d likely live as a constable’s wife in London, she could pretend she had a horse of her own to raise, to train, and to race, as she’d wanted to do for most of her nineteen years.

Nobby walked out of the stables and stood beside her, also watching the colt. He was a tall man, not towering, but even with his arms braced on the fence he had the air of a duke about him. “What’s your opinion of Cain?”

She snorted. “That’s what you’re calling him? That’s a horrid name for such a sweet young horse.”

He chuckled. “Madeleine said you didn’t inherit the family passion for horses.”

“I’ve tried to keep my passion to myself. I have never understood the need for evil names like Agitator or Outlaw. I prefer kinder names like Zephyr and Pride.”

He eyed her askance, obviously biting back a grin. “If you start calling my horse by some silly name, I’ll have your bags packed and put you on a ship back to England.”

Now she grinned wickedly. “Fluffy? No, he’s not fluffy. Beau? Swain? Truelove?”

“Methinks you require a husband, not a horse, Lucy-Anne.” His brown eyes twinkled.

“Between all my brothers and you, I have perhaps a hundred horses at my service, so I always have one available. And husbands, well, my sisters all have very good ones. When I find one as excellent as you lot, I might consider marrying. But I’m not pining.” She’d mentioned Mr. Harrison to Mad but wasn’t going to discuss him with Nobby.

“I wasn’t ‘pining’ either when Madeleine captured my heart. You take care. Some man will become necessary to you when you least expect it.”

Lucy-Anne couldn’t imagine any man being necessary to her happiness, but she had to admit her sisters all spoke as if it were so for them. Did she feel that strongly about Mr. Harrison? Maybe she was too logical for such extreme emotions. She’d be perfectly happy to become Mrs. Harrison, but her happiness was of her own making, not dependent on his love. “We shall see, but don’t bother making a wager on it. Put your money to better use.”

***

That afternoon while Mad napped, Lucy-Anne decided to take a walk. She stayed on the road, knowing better than to wander when she didn’t know the area. The ruts were well-defined, telling her there must be a few farms in the area, but she hadn’t seen any houses from the carriage when she first arrived the day before. Mad had said the neighbors were all pleasant, and that one young lady of similar age lived on the farm next door. Lucy-Anne would wait to meet anyone until Mad was up to making calls, which could be several weeks, from what she’d seen with their sisters’ pregnancies.

Such exciting news, the prospect of another niece or nephew. Could it be twins, since Madeleine was one? Lucy-Anne had planned to return to England before winter, but that would leave Mad to have her baby with no one from the family there. Mama would have received the letter bearing the announcement by now, and perhaps she would come. All their sisters were married, and all but Patience had young children, so it wasn’t likely any of them would want to make the trip. There was plenty of time to worry about that later, though.

Lucy-Anne had been walking about fifteen minutes when she heard the bawling of a calf. Following the sound of the cries, she forged a path through the brush and trees until she saw a very young calf standing alone. “Well, hello. Where’s your mama?”

Lucy-Anne approached cautiously, not wanting to frighten the animal. When she was a few steps away, she held out her hand and continued closer. “Hello, sweet thing. I wish I were strong and could carry you home. Or had a rope to lead you.”

Having no idea where “home” was didn’t help the matter. Nobby’s cows were kept on the other side of his property, and it wasn’t likely this little one had wandered that far. He probably belonged to the neighbors.

The calf shied away at first but then sniffed her hand as if looking for milk. “Sorry, I come empty-handed. Can we still be friends?” Now she was able to scratch the top of its head.

She turned a half-step toward the road. “Will you come with me? Come on.” She rubbed her fingers together in front of its face as if that would encourage it. She hadn’t played with calves since she was six, that she could recall, so she hadn’t a clue how to do so.

Surprisingly, the calf came closer. Lucy-Anne took another half-step to the side. “I have no idea who you belong to, but we can’t leave you here alone. Come on.”

When she reached the road with the calf at her side, she had to make a decision. Clearly, the calf hadn’t walked a mile or more from its mama, but it wasn’t wise to try to retrace its steps through the woods. The best option seemed to be to take it to Noblegreen and ask one of the farmhands to find its home in a wagon.

That plan seemed excellent until five minutes later when a horse approached from around the bend behind her. A deep voice called out, “Where are you going with my calf?” He sounded accusatory as if she was calf-napping.

She turned to face the rider. “Is it yours? I’m glad you found us, then. I wasn’t certain where he’d come from.”

He dismounted his horse, a giant of a man, and loomed over her. Her brother-in-law, Lord Oakhurst, was also quite tall and muscular, and he was such a sweetheart, so she didn’t shy away from this man.

“You must be Her Grace’s sister. From England.” He nearly spat out England. How charming he was, she thought sarcastically. His accent was odd to her ears.

“I am Lady Lucy-Anne Lumley, yes.”

“Well, you knew it wasn’t their calf, so why were you taking it to Noblegreen?” His manner hadn’t grown any kinder upon learning her identity. His features were somewhat fierce, narrowed eyes, a long nose, and down-turned lips with deep furrows beside them. His hat threw shadows across his face.

“I don’t know where any other farm is,” she answered, stretching up to her tallest self, which brought her eyes roughly to the top button of his waistcoat. “I thought it ill-advised to wander through the woods and have both of us become lost.”

He said nothing to that. Instead, he marched over to the calf, lifted it with ease, slung it across the horse’s back, and mounted again.

She was in awe of his strength and grace. And perturbed that he hadn’t thanked her for not leaving his calf to the wolves. “Well then, I shall be on my way,” she said, and continued to walk toward her sister’s home.

Lucy-Anne fully expected him to turn and ride off in the other direction, but he rode his horse beside her. She felt like a thief being marched to Newgate prison. Why couldn’t this man leave her alone? It dawned on her he hadn’t introduced himself, which wasn’t surprising given his obvious desire not to be polite or conversational in any way. “Is your farm beyond Noblegreen?”

“If it was, why would I accuse you of stealing my calf? You could have been bringing it to me.”

“Stealing?” Her voice almost squeaked in outrage. “Do many ladies in Williamsburg steal cattle?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “You’d have to ask my sister. I don’t read the gossip rags.”

She gave up trying to make conversation, although the choice of silence was just as awkward to her. She couldn’t recall being in someone’s company and not talking—if not speaking herself, she was listening to the others.

Eventually, he said, “I can’t let you walk home alone. Noblegreen would never forgive me if something happened to you.” His tone was softer, deep, rich, and pleasant.

She threw a glance up at him to attempt to read his expression. Oh, she shouldn’t have done so. When he wasn’t scowling, he was possibly the most handsome man she’d met. His coloring was the complete opposite of Mr. Harrison’s. His straight black hair was cut a bit longer than was the fashion in London, the ends flaring out a bit under the brim of his hat. His eyes were dark, cheekbones high, and his jaw had strong lines. Yes, the most handsome man she could recall. If only he weren’t so surly, he might be nice to know better. “My brothers would either thank you or laugh at you for assuming I’m fragile. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Perhaps, but your sister would never forgive me. Where’s your maid? Or a groom? You shouldn’t walk alone on the road.”

She turned her head away so she could roll her eyes unnoticed. If all the local men were like this, Mr. Harrison’s worries of her losing her heart to one were safe. Lucy-Anne could never fall in love with such a man.

Buy the book https://aileenfish.com/books/falling-for-the-american/

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 Scandalous Return

By Rue Allyn

On March 7, 2026

In Teatime Tattler

Dearest Readers,

You may recall that we recently remarked on the return of His Grace, Duke of Margris’ return to Britain. The duke brought with him his brother Sir Lucien Flynn.

Flynn fled England several years ago under a cloud of suspicion. He stood accused of the murder of the seventh Lord Hoxbulk. Rumor said Flynn had been conducting a liaison the lord’s young and beautiful wife, although that was never proven.

Upon arrest, Flynn was stripped of his lands and title, and had he stood trial probably would have been hanged. However, he managed to escape and made his way to the Carribean where he took up a life of piracy. Even going so far as to receive a letter of marque as a privateer for the former colonies. He was eventually exonerated of the murder charges when another person confessed.

As tragic and unjust as such a tale may be, Flynn’s other crimes against the crown cannot be ignored. Nonetheless, the Duke of Margris has found the ne’er do well and brought him home. He has somehow also managed to have Flynn’s title and lands restored. All of which this author finds rather underhanded. Were the reputation of the current Duke of Margis not unimpeachable, one might suspect some sort of collusion, or, dare we say, bribery.

Leaping to that conclusion is entirely too easy. In the Duke’s defence, we must suggest that perhaps the generous forgiveness given Sir Lucien Flynn occurred as the thanks of a grateful crown for the duke’s years of honorable service to the crown.

Neither Margris nor Flynn have yet made a significant social appearance, so we can only speculate. Such an appearance may not happen for some time, as both men have recently bee wed and are rumored to be besotted with their brides.

The Tattler awaits events with breath baited. News bearing the details of these unusual event cannot arrive soon enough.

Blurb: He’s been cursed to remain a specter until he earns the love of a heartless woman. Is she the one?

Privateer or pirate? Lucien Flynn never makes promises to any woman. Then a scorned lover curses him to live the life of a specter. Decades pass, and Luc abandons love. When he meets a woman he cannot resist, a woman with too much heart, he knows he may never be set free. Can he avoid loving her, or will he give her his heart and be cursed forever?

Grace Thibodaux is a woman driven to escape her own demons. Hurt beyond hope of healing, she protects her tender heart, refusing to allow anyone, man or woman, close. However, she can’t escape the man who haunts her dreams and her life. Is he as cursed as he claims, or is she simply falling for another, heart-breaking rogue?

Launch Day March 16, 2026

E-book: Available for pre-order now for the sale price of $2.99 at Amazon–https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G54FPMRY

And Books2Read–https://books2read.com/u/bwpVMO

Price increases March 23, 2026

Print edition: Available Now

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GBBV71HB

About Rue Allyn: Award winning romance author, Rue Allyn has a life long passion for happy ever after. She lives south of the border with her husband of more than forty years and their cat, Tanto. She has two sons and is a proud veteran of the US Navy. She writes heart melting romance in all sub-genres, but her favorite is historical romance, especially medieval. Subscribe to Rue’s News where you may learn more about Rue and receive a FREE download. https://www.rueallyn.com/subscriber-entered-from-online-profile/

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Rue’s facebook group is called Rue Allyn’s Daring Damsels. We gather to party, chat, and spread the word far and wide about great books, mine and other authors. Active members can have a lot of fun, reap rewards and gain prizes, all for free (and a little bit of your FB time). Here’s the link to Rue Allyn’s Daring Damsels. She can’t wait to meet you.

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Reports of a Mesalliance

By Alina K. Field

On February 28, 2026

In Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers,

Ever committed to bringing you the most interesting tidbits of news, our correspondents have uncovered a tantalizing story of a possible mesalliance in one of the most formidable families of the kingdom.

In a past edition we wrote about a certain Lord S, his mistakenly reported death, and the discovery of an illegitimate son. The last twelvemonth has brought unexpected marriages for Lord S’s heir and youngest son, but the most shocking of all is the latest news!

Several days ago Lord S was reportedly absent from important meetings and preparations for His Majesty’s coronation. Our diligent correspondents at first speculated that illness had overtaken the usually hearty earl, London being hot and overcrowded at this festive season.

But we were wrong! It seems that Lord S departed London quite suddenly for parts unknown, and his return reveals a quite shocking possibility.

Lord S returned in the company of his only daughter, Lady P (a most substantial heiress who has reportedly eschewed the offers of some of the ton’s most eligible gentlemen), and a Mr. F, in past years a portrait artist favored by some of the best families, but absent from town for the last several years. Upon arrival, the young lady was bundled into the noble townhouse with her limping father, and a surgeon visited shortly thereafter. For what purpose, we were unable to determine.

Further inquiries revealed that Lord S was seen visiting Doctors’ Commons in the company of none other than Mr. F! Lord S has reserved a morning a week hence at St. George’s Church, Hanover Square.

Dear Reader, is there a hasty wedding in Lady P’s future?

Far be it from this reporter to impugn the name of such a patrician family. Still, one must wonder…was the noble lady rescued or retrieved? And was Mr. F engaged for the wedding portrait—or is he the gentleman she is wedding?

Never fear, dear reader, we will report further on this.

The Counterfeit Lady

Freedom!

Vowing she’ll never submit to an arranged marriage, an earl’s daughter bolts for the remote seaside cottage that should be hers upon marriage.

But instead of a quiet respite from her controlling family, she finds her refuge occupied by the last man she ever wants to see again—an American artist, who’s also a thief.

And quite possibly one of her father’s spies.

This story includes a rebellious heroine, a determined spy, a meddling father, a vicious villain, a cast of free-thinking free-traders and possibly a ghost or two!

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

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 historical 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 and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with two rescues, a spunky blonde terrier, and a people-loving chihuahua.

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How Not to Avoid a Curse

By Barbara Monajem

On February 21, 2026

In Barbara Monajem, Bluestocking Belles, gossip, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers!

You, we are certain, are guided by reason and common sense.

Sadly, this is untrue of one of our noble peers. We refer, alas, to Lord N, who is labeled by the caricaturists as the Carpentry Earl.

Lord N‘s marquetry and inlay work is superb. No one denies that. But why did he enter into partnership with a man of low estate and indulge in (shudder) trade? This was deplorable enough when he was a mere second son, but after succeeding unexpectedly to the title, Lord N continues to eschew the ton in favor of laboring in his London shop.

We at the Tattler wonder if perhaps his diligence has something to do with avoiding marriage—or, to put it more plainly, the inevitability of an unfaithful wife. Why, you ask, would his wife be unfaithful? Lord N is a good-looking man, and physical labor renders him quite delightfully brawny.

But brawniness is no proof against the supposed Infidelity Curse laid upon his noble line by the Lady N of two centuries ago. Ever since, every Lady N has been unfaithful to her lord. No wonder his lordship would rather avoid marriage.

But if so, why did he commit the folly of entangling himself with the excessively beautiful Lady T, who (it is whispered) betrayed her elderly husband and then poisoned him? Does she have her clutches firmly into Lord N? If so, which fate will assail him first: poison or the dreaded curse? https://books2read.com/infidelity-curse

Here’s an excerpt from The Infidelity Curse:

Setup: At the reading of Sir Matthew Tifton’s will, all is going well except for the unpleasant presence of Sir Matthew’s nephew, Mr. Welton, who has already disrupted the proceedings twice. And then…

“There remains the question of guardianship, which is somewhat unusual,” Mr. Briggs, the solicitor, said.

Oh, God. Lucretia hadn’t thought of that.

“Sir Matthew appointed the Earl of Netherbroke as guardian of his child.” He paused. “Also as trustee, jointly with myself.”

“What the devil? I am meant to be the guardian!” Mr. Welton sprang up. “And the sole trustee, damn you!”

“Mr. Welton, if you cannot restrain yourself,” Mr. Briggs said, “Lady Tifton will be obliged to ask her footman to remove you.”

“Pah! She wouldn’t dare,” Welton said, “not with what I know about her.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Lucretia.

She shrank away. What could he possibly know? She’d never done anything wrong, except . . .

“Who is the Earl of Netherbroke?” demanded Lucretia’s niece, Noelle.

“He is an elderly peer who lives in Gloucestershire,” Lucretia said. “Sir Matthew and the Earl of Netherbroke were enthusiastic medal collectors. They met once at an auction and corresponded for a short while well over a year ago. Sir Matthew’s passion for marquetry was due to the Earl’s influence. I suppose my husband decided, judging by a brief acquaintance and some expensive furniture from the shop the Earl recommended, that the Earl would make a suitable guardian.” Fury swelled within her, but she strove to keep it from her voice. Surely a doddering earl was better than horrid Mr. Welton.

Mr. Briggs nodded. “Most likely due to his position in society.”

“Society be damned. My uncle feared for his life and the safety of his child.” Welton’s spittle flew. “He knew his precious wife had cuckolded him over and over, and then she tried to poison him with her noxious brews. What sort of mother would she be?”

Aghast, Lucretia clapped a hand to her breast. “No, no! I made him tisanes of healing herbs.” Her voice trembled. “He was ill. I tried to cure him!”

“Hah! You would claim that, wouldn’t you—but you don’t deny that you cuckolded him.”

Before Lucretia could gain control of her voice, he turned to Jellicoe, the valet. “You know all about this, don’t you? Sir Matthew valued you. He confided in you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, sir, he did,” Jellicoe said. “He believed Lady Tifton was trying to kill him. He feared the consequences to the child’s immortal soul if it was left to its mother’s care.”

Welton shook his fist at Lucretia. “You killed him because he was going to change his will. No. More likely he had already changed it, using the services of a more competent solicitor than this fellow. And then you burned it so no one would ever know.”

Lucretia quailed, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true.”

“You’re a whore and a murderess,” he shouted. “You may try to cozen the Earl of Whatshisname, but you won’t succeed. I’ll do whatever it takes to see that he takes the child away from you. You’ll be lucky if you don’t hang!”

A dark cloud swept over Lucretia. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came, and she fainted dead away.

The Infidelity Curse is only 99 cents at Amazon until the end of February! https://books2read.com/infidelity-curse

Dramatic Announcement in Burlington Arcade has London in a Tizzy

By Bluestocking Belles

On February 13, 2026

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

The whole of fashionable London is talking tonight about what happened at Burlington Arcade yesterday afternoon. Whispers that a particularly juicy piece of gossip would be revealed that afternoon had been circulating since the evening before, though no-one admitted to knowing what was to transpire.

Certainly, no one expected the drama to involve eight of the ten sons of the M. of T., who is well known for controlling every breath that his sons take, and every bite they eat. To see even one of the brothers out in public was surprise enough. But what happened next was almost beyond belief.

The arcade was full when the first act of the drama started, in the person of one of the brother, Lord C., whose wife was understood to be long dead. Some said suicide. Some said (but not where he could hear) murdered by her Papa-in-law. But there she was, on Lord C.’s arm, holding the hand of a little boy who looked so much like Lord C. that he had to be the man’s son.

Then three more of Lord C.’s brothers, all with ladies on their arms, arrived and Lord C. called “Well met, brothers and sisters.” And when the newcomers stopped to join Lord C.’s group, word quickly spread that what we saw was three newly-wed couples, and to brides that Lord T. had certainly never approved.

Then came Act two, with three more brothers, each escorting a lady. Two of them were known to be betrothed, and not to the ladies on their arms. The crowd held its collective breath as the ladies to whom they were betrothed stepped out of the glovers, only to be introduced by Lord B. and Lord E. to the ladies in question–their new wives.

Both brothers repudiated the betrothal as being forced, and Lord E. made a gracious apology to Miss F-S.

The third mother spied the Earl of K., the eldest brother, and demanded to know if he, too, was married, but replied that he was being forced into marriage by threats against his youngest brother, who was now on his way overseas. Since the threat was removed, he repudiated the betrothal.

The final act involved a speech from Lord K., who stood on a box to explain the situation to anyone who had not been close enough to hear.

The sons of the M. of T. have broken free of the parent’s tyrranous yoke, though it seems that seven of the ten have instead willing donned the yoke of matrimony in its stead.

What will Lord T. do? He is unlikely to acquiesce quietly to such a rebellion, but they are adult men, and this is a country under the rule of law. What can he do? This is, indeed, the question, gentle reader, and we shall watch with interest to find out!

The Night Dancers

Certain that the Marquess of Teign is behind her cousin’s disappearance, investigator Melody Blackmore enters his mansion disguised as a man. Tasked with discovering how Teign’s sons are leaving their tower prison or having food and other items brought in, she soon realizes that the sons are also the marquess’s victims. As her interest in the eldest of the brothers grows, she joins them all in a campaign to bring Teign down.

Allan Sheppard, the Earl of Kemble, is the eldest of Teign’s ten sons. He is weighed down by his frequent failures to protect his brothers from Teign’s beatings and abuse, but determined to keep them as safe as he can until his youngest brother is no longer under Teign’s guardianship.

All they must to do is fool the most recent investigator sent to find out their secrets. But Mel Black is not like the others, and Allan finds that an alliance with her gives the brothers the chance to not only survive, but to thrive.

However, Teign will stop at nothing to punish his sons for escaping him. Only Allan’s and Melody’s growing commitment to one another keeps them steadfast as they uncover evidence of evil beyond imagining.

Buy on Amazon or read in KU.

An excerpt from The Night Dancers

The third mother had been looking around, and had caught sight of Kemble. “Lord Kemble,” she trumpeted, and surged toward him, drawing her daughter in her wake. “Lord Kemble, I suppose you are going to tell me that you, too, have married.”

She looked Mel up and down with eyes that spat contempt. Had she the power, Mel felt, she would have burnt Mel to ashes where she stood.

“Mrs. Blackmore has not yet done me the honor of accepting a proposal from me, Lady Spurfold. That, however, is not the reason I am refusing to wed your daughter. I was being forced into marriage by threats to my youngest brother. He is now on his way overseas, and will no longer be under our father’s malignant guardianship by the time he returns to England.”

He inclined in a shallow bow. “Be grateful. Coercion is grounds for annulment, which would have been far more embarrassing for your daughter than having me repudiate the agreement you made with Teign.”

“Come along, Felicia,” said Lady Farringford-Smyth. “We shall see about this. Lord Baldwin, we and our husbands shall be calling on Lord Teign.”

The six of them, mothers and daughters, hurried off along the arcade, brushing off questions and comments from the bystanders.

“A flock of silly geese,” said Kemble, with no sympathy at all. “They thought Teign would be their golden egg, but they should not have treated us as if we were of no account. Time for Act Three of our little drama.”

The rest of the brothers and their wives approached. A beadle hurried up with a wooden box that Kemble had organized earlier. He stepped out from the bookshop doorway, and climbed up on the box.

The brothers gathered around him, their wives on their arms. The audience stilled, waiting to find out what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kemble said loudly. “The Sheppard brothers are no longer subject to Teign’s tyranny, and he will no longer be deciding our social calendar, nor threatening our younger brothers to gain our compliance. Should you care to send invitations to any of us—my brothers, myself, our ladies—my sisters-in-law Lady Baldwin and Lady Donald have agreed to receive our mail. Thank you all for your attention.”

He stepped down, and offered his arm to Mel. “Finis,” he said.

It was not, in fact, quite the end. Continuing Kemble’s play analogy, Mel supposed she could compare the walk to a series of encores, as people claimed an acquaintance with one of the brothers, or one of their wives, and presumed on it to ask questions or offer an invitation to call.

They kept walking however, claiming another pressing engagement, which was true enough, for they all wanted to be somewhere else by the time Teign learned what had happened here this afternoon.

The people that Clara had hired—bodyguards from a firm called Moriarty Protection—closed around them as they left the arcade, and saw them to their carriages. The agency had assigned a team to each couple. One team followed Mel and Kemble when Winifred’s carriage dropped them at the mouth of the alley that contained the gate to the tunnel.

“We shall be safe from here,” Mel told them. “But I should like to reassign you, with Lord Kemble’s permission, to guard my daughter, sister, and nephew.”

“We could put another team on them, Mrs. Blackmore,” said the senior of the two bodyguards.

“I need a team on my daughter and brother-in-law,” said Kemble. “If Teign finds them, he will use them against me. But I agree that Mrs. Blackmore’s family are also at risk. Talk to your employer and arranged for both addresses to be covered. As for Mrs. Blackmore and me, we are heading for our beds. We won’t need guards until at least noon tomorrow, and can meet them here. I’ll cover any extra costs.”

The bodyguard peered at him with narrowed eyes and then nodded. “If I can have those addresses then, my lord, ma’am.”

Mel felt in her reticule for a notebook and pencil. “I shall write a note for my sister, and put the address on it,” she said.

“A good idea,” Kemble approved. “If you would be so good as to spare me a sheet of your paper, I shall do likewise.”

It took only a couple of minutes. Soon, the bodyguards had gone and Mel and Kemble were locked inside the gate and on their way down the tunnel and up the stairs.