Bride Disappears into a Snowstorm!

On August 26, 2026

Dear Readers:

Whispers from Cumberland inform the Tattler that the long-delayed Christmas wedding between the Duke of Kendal and industrialist’s daughter Miss Penelope Montgomery has been delayed once more by the bride’s disappearance into a snowstorm. Captain Lord Hugo Dalston, the bridegroom’s brother, went in hot pursuit of the runaway, but neither has returned to Gaitskill Castle. Have they perished, or is a more scandalous possibility in the offing?

Snowed In with the Runaway Bride

by Alexa Santi

Betrothed to the Duke of Kendal since they were children and still recovering from a near-fatal illness, Miss Penelope Montgomery is resigned to the marriage … until she discovers her twin sister Pippa has been in love with Kendal for years. The only way to prevent disaster is for Penny to flee her Christmas wedding ahead of an incoming snowstorm that strands her at a tiny inn with her jilted groom’s irritatingly attractive brother Hugo.

Royal Navy Captain Lord Hugo Dalston wanted to escape the spectacle of the woman he loves marrying his older brother, but Penny’s impulsive actions force them to share the smallest room he’s ever seen in an isolated village where everyone believes them to be husband and wife. Even worse, the masquerade is dangerously seductive, showing Hugo what his life with Penny can be if he has the courage to risk his family, his livelihood, and even Penny’s health should her illness return.

Part of the Regency Runaway Brides Series

Buy Link:

https://Books2Read.com/SnowedInRunawayBride

Excerpt:

The closer her family’s traveling coach came to her wedding, the more Penelope Montgomery wished she could turn tail and run.

Her mother’s continuous burbles about the romance of Christmas weddings, as though this had not all been arranged when Penny was a mere child, made her want to scream.

A scream would echo oddly in the coach, likely muffled by the thick curtains that covered the windows and warm blankets that covered Penny, her mother, and Penny’s identical twin sister, Pippa.

Penny looked over at her sister, who had finally awakened after sleeping like the dead all the way from their last change of horses. Pippa lifted the curtain to look out the carriage window with a frown. Mother followed Penny’s gaze.

“Stop that, Pippa. You’re letting in a draft. Your sister will freeze.”

“Sorry, Mother,” Pippa said, without dropping the curtain. “I do believe it will snow.”

“It would be lovely to have snow for Christmas!” Mother gushed. Then she frowned. “But not until all of the guests have arrived. It would be dreadful to have everyone trapped on the road. Your father is still on his way from whatever that business was that sent him to Manchester.”

“If Papa is late, we could postpone the wedding,” Penny said, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

Mother glared at her. “Bridal jitters are all very well, my dear, but it’s a bit late now. You shall be married in three days’ time.” She sighed. “A Christmas Eve wedding. So romantic.”

The rumble of the carriage wheels and clatter of the horses’ hooves picked up the rhythm of Mother’s words.

Three days’ time… three days’ time…

Penny had only three more days to escape her fate.

As the coach rounded the drive, she lifted the curtain on her own side of the carriage despite Mother’s fussing about the cold. That same cold seeped into Penny’s already aching bones as she regarded the gray stone walls that rose starkly against the winter-brown countryside.

In three days’ time, this would be her home. Away from her family. Away from her sister. Alone with a man who still felt like a virtual stranger even though they had known each other since they were children.

Barring one half-hearted attempt the previous year, he had never even so much as kissed her.

Not that she particularly wanted him to.

The carriage drew to a halt and the Duke of Kendal emerged from the front door, closely followed by a bevy of footmen. Carefully, Penny unfolded her limbs from the carriage seat. The painful swelling of her joints that had plagued her all through her recovery from the fever that had nearly killed her was becoming less frequent, but the cold, damp weather had made it flare up again. Combined with the rigors of travel, her aching joints wanted nothing more than a warm bed and perhaps some bitter but soothing willow bark tea.

But that could not be allowed, of course. She was the future Duchess of Kendal. The rituals must be adhered to. She must greet the servants, and then attend the reception with the whole family, and then dress for dinner, and then, and then, and then…

Penny shook out her skirts and pasted a smile on her face as the carriage door opened and a footman lowered the steps. Her gloved hand crept into the pocket of her pelisse to make certain the tiny wooden swallow was still there. Her good luck charm.

Before Penny could get to her feet, Mother all but leaped for the open door, startling the waiting footman, and made a precipitous descent, chattering all the way down. Taking a deep breath, Penny put weight on her sore joints and stood, her head stooped to avoid catching her traveling bonnet on the roof of the coach.

As she descended from the carriage, Penny looked beyond Kendal to see a familiar figure standing just inside the door, and her heart made a little leap even as her step faltered.

Hugo had come after all.

It had been uncertain whether Kendal’s younger brother would be able to get away from London, or so Kendal had written her. With Napoleon safely stashed away on St. Helena, Hugo had won his first official command as a post-captain after competing with most of the other captains of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. The Navy’s reduction in forces following the Allied victory at Waterloo had left many captains scrambling to find berths, which made Hugo’s accomplishment even more impressive.

Once he had left to be a midshipman, Penny had only seen Hugo once a year, or every few years, depending on his assignment, always with a new tale of derring-do at sea for his younger cousins… and for Penny to eavesdrop on, if she happened to be nearby.

She had always tried to be nearby.

But now the war was over, and he was here.

Penny busied herself with straightening her skirts once her feet were firmly on the ground, her heart pounding. The thought of marrying Kendal was already dreadful, but to have to do it with Hugo watching would be unbearable. He was always… judging her and her frivolous ways. Lurking in corners, frowning at her. Her skin prickled with heat every time she caught him looking at her with those disapproving brown eyes. He had only ever made one gesture that made her wonder if she was wrong about him.

Her hand strayed to where the tiny hand-carved swallow rested in her pocket before she tossed her head and straightened her bonnet. She didn’t care what Captain Lord Hugo Dalston thought of her. Not in the slightest.

Instead, she smiled at Kendal.

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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A French Adventuress in Cheshire

By Alina K. Field

On August 22, 2026

In Teatime Tattler

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.