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A most dreadful account of misbehaviour and scandal

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On February 2, 2022

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

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

On the Books at Whites: Gentleman Rides Side-Saddle?

By

On July 28, 2021

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Whom Colonel Thoroton will marry has been as prolific a topic in the receiving room of every marriageable miss’s mother as it has in the betting books. After all, it’s not everyday that a man comes into possession of an estate as grand as Flintham Hall at only four-and-twenty.

But no purported wager could possibly be more ludicrous than the one rumored to have begun at White’s: Mr. Paling will learn to ride side-saddle before the Colonel becomes engaged.

Whatever shall they think of next?

Mr. Paling would do better if he turned his attention to pursuing females rather than learning to ride like them. Why, it has been years since he has been spotted dancing, in spite of his frequent attendance at Almack’s. A disgrace, if you ask me, his immaculately-tied cravat notwithstanding. And this is the gentleman sent to Nottinghamshire to force Colonel Thoroton out of mourning and into the marriage-mart where he belongs? Let us hope, for all our sakes, that Mr. Paling loses his bet and they both end up engaged before the year’s end.

Anonymous Annie,
Teatime Tattler Guest Correspondent

An Engagement of Sorts

Much to her mother’s dismay, spirited Anne Fletcher is more comfortable in breeches than ball gowns. But when she finds herself facing marriage to a man she does not love, Anne grasps at her last vestige of independence, setting in motion a desperate plan. Now all she needs is a man willing to masquerade as her fiancé.

Buylink: https://www.amazon.com/Engagement-Sorts-Alene-Wecker-ebook/dp/B093S2LBMM 

Excerpt:

My freedom was short-lived, for though I had been able to stretch my knees and ankles in the carriage, my hips had remained at the same angle for far too long; they were less enthusiastic to be put to sudden use. They buckled, causing me to fall face-first into what had once been a gentleman’s carefully tied black cravat.

A rather ungentlemanly voice released an oath. “Sakes alive, hussy, watch what you are about.” The uncouth man had reacted to my assault by bringing both hands to my shoulders and pushing me back until my chest rested over my own torso rather than on his. “If I had a pound for every woman who threw herself at me, I could make my own fortune.” He unhanded me like I might have lice. I looked upward into the gentleman’s—no, Colonel Thoroton’s—scowl.

His frosty look could have frozen the sun, but it flamed my pride. And unlike last time, the threat of Mother’s censure could not protect him from my wrath. “Firstly, I would never throw myself at a gentleman—obviously in name only—who is incapable of coming to my aid and instead treats me like a flea-bitten cur.” I ticked one gloved finger out at him. “Secondly, if I had thrown myself at you, I would have broken your nose rather than crumpling your oriental, which would have served you right as your nose seems bent out of shape for naught. Thirdly—”

Raucous laughter cut off my diatribe. Mr. Paling stood near, cloaked in his usual persona of gaiety and nonchalance.

In strict contrast, the colonel’s tone grew menacing as he spit out each word. “It was a mathematical, not an oriental.”

“Yes, well.” I tried to re-enact his rude turn of voice; I didn’t care if he was the emperor of China. No one spoke to me like this. “I am a lady, not a hussy. Yours was the greater blunder.”

Meet Alene Wecker

Debut novelist Alene Wecker stumbled into the profession quite by accident; she had only meant to entertain herself during a banal bout of bedrest. But the characters in her head wouldn’t leave her alone until she gave them space on the page. She hopes you will be as entertained by her characters’ antics as she was.

As a mother, voice teacher, and opera singer, she must have a penchant for fun but poorly-paid professions. She likes to pretend that her experience and master’s degree in vocal performance come in handy as she describes debutantes who, like herself, speak several languages and are frequently forced to display their mediocre skills at the pianoforte.

website: https://www.alenewecker.com/

facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAlene

A Shocking Turn of Events at the Siltsbury Ball

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On July 21, 2021

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Dear Reader,

I must report to you a shocking set of events that has the polite world reeling and convey to you my deepest regrets that, if all is proven true, a stalwart fixture of society will no longer be received.

Lady Witherspoon, who rarely misses an event of importance, was a guest at Miss Jocelyn Stafford’s birthday ball. While the guest of honor seemed to comport herself with the refinement one has come to expect from a gently-bred maiden, Lady Witherspoon sensed something was amiss and made a point of seating herself at the young lady’s table when the buffet was set out.

Her guardian, Lord Ralston, never left her side and  answered most of the questions put to the girl. When Lady Witherspoon peered into Miss Stafford’s face, she detected a tan. A tan! Miss Stafford never leaves home without her bonnet and was as pale as a ghost just last week. When she remarked on it, Ralston said Miss Stafford had taken up strolling in her mother’s garden without her head covering. Not only that, the girl’s spoken words seemed to have odd inflections.

Could this be an imposter?

Rumors, spread by servants who should know not to speak of their betters (and of course, we never listen to such gossip), have speculated that a guest spirited into Lady Siltsbury’s house two days ago late at night is not a widowed relation seeking total privacy, but another daughter who closely resembles Miss Jocelyn. Could Jocelyn have a sister? Surely not a twin.

I shudder to think of how this could be true as Lord Siltsbury departed these shores and hied off to the colonies years ago and has never returned. Of course he was a mere second son at the time. He generously allowed his wife, who is terrified of sea travel, to remain.

I will leave this with you, dear reader. If indeed Lady Siltsbury has tried to fool polite society by foisting an imposter on the ton, then shame on her. And if it is true (and I sincerely hope for the sake of all involved it is not) who is this mysterious look-alike and where is Jocelyn?

Ah, these mysteries are enough to still my faint heart. I must ring for my vinaigrette before penning my next report.

—An Anonymous Correspondent

Scandal’s Deception

Jane Stafford, raised in America, is shocked to learn she is a wealthy heiress, her late father was an earl, and her English mother is alive. Anxious to meet the woman she long-thought dead, she travels to London, only to be whisked away by her sinfully handsome guardian to a remote estate to be “schooled” in the ways of the ton.

Gilbert Carmichael, Lord Ralston, chafes at having to make a rebellious young heiress acceptable to society, especially one who is impetuous and blatantly democratic. Because the instruction she needs is more than deportment and dancing. It’s also about how to spot a rake who might woo her for her fortune.

When Ralston learns his ward is to be used as a pawn in an elaborate scheme involving a secret impersonation, he will move heaven and earth to keep her safe. Because proximity has brought the uncomfortable knowledge that his interest may be more than duty—it just might be love.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B098BBLPR4/

 

Excerpt

Jane lowered her head as she entered Papa’s room, loathe to gaze on her father in his pale, weakened state. The darkened room smelled of camphor and some other sickly-sweet substance she couldn’t place. She dragged a wooden chair to the side of the bed and sat, her hands clasped firmly in her lap.

Papa turned his head to face her. “My dear.”

She leaned closer to hear what he had to say, her throat tightening once again.

“I’m here.” She swallowed and forced herself to look into the feverish eyes.

“You will be amply provided for. Hornsby has the details.”

“I know, Papa. I’m not worried about my future.”

He smiled and her breath caught. “After…after my funeral, he has instructions to purchase passage for you on a ship bound for England.”

Jane leaned further forward, not sure she heard correctly. “England? I shall stay here in Maryland. I do not know anyone in England.”

He turned his face away, his breaths coming faster. The doctor rose from his chair by the fire and peered into his patient’s face. “You need to rest, Mathew. Speaking is taking your energy.”

“No. I have to tell her.”

Jane picked up his cold hand, a chill skipping along her spine despite the heat in the room. “Tell me what?”

He turned back to her. “You have relatives in England who will care for you.”

She hunched her shoulders and bent closer, astonished by her father’s words. “Who?”

He closed his eyes, as if gaining strength, then opened them.

“Your mother.”

Jane squeezed his hand and shook her head. Poor Papa. How cruel for such a brilliant man to be delusional at the end. Her mother was dead. Died in childbed. She’d been told as soon as she was old enough to ask.

“I’ve written to her,” he whispered. “She’s expecting you.”

He lapsed into a coughing fit, the doctor by his side. Janie rose and moved away, her brain unable to process what she’d been told. His mind was tricking him. It must be the pain.

Maddie, standing by the door, hurried in and led Jane out of the room, seating her in a chair in the hall. She handed her the glass she still carried and told Jane to sip slowly. “You need this, child.”

Trying to process Papa’s words, Jane took the glass and held it in both hands, mesmerized by the candlelight playing on the facets of the crystal.

England. Your mother. I’ve written to her.

How odd for him to say such a thing.

She sipped from the glass and handed it back. “Maddie? Wasn’t I born in this house? You were here, weren’t you?”

“You were nearly a year old when your Papa offered me the position of both housekeeper and nanny. It was difficult for me to care for a house and a child, but he paid well so I accepted. I’ve never regretted it.”

You have relatives in England.

“Did you ever ask about my mother?”

“It wasn’t my place. I assumed she must be dead, although I found it odd he never spoke of her.”

“I assumed the same. Whenever I asked about her, he said it was too painful to discuss. So I stopped.” She stared at her tightly clasped hands. “You heard what he said?”

“I did and I have to tell you I’m bewildered.”

The door opened and the doctor came out. A long-time friend of Papa’s, Dr. Hadley shook his head. “He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

Maddie shrieked, her hand covering her mouth. Jane sat silently in the chair, cold to the core, chilled by an ugly premonition.

Her life was about to undergo a momentous change.

And not for the better.

Meet Pamela Gibson

Author of eight books on California history and seventeen romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in the Nevada desert. Having spent the last three years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of Ralph, the Rescue Cat. If you want to learn more about her activities go to https://www.pamelagibsonwrites.com and sign up for her quarterly newsletter and occasional blog. Or follow her in these places:

Bookbub: www.bookbub.com/profile/pamela-gibson

Facebook: www.facebook.com/pamgibsonwrites/

Twitter: www.twitter.com/pamgibsonwrites

Website: www.pamelagibsonwrites.com

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/pamgibsonwrites

Amazon: www.amazon.com/Pamela-Gibson/e/B00MKVB4XE

 

Regarding the Dangerous Population of Rakes in Our Midst

By

On July 14, 2021

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers,

No one will deny that there is a veritable plague of rakehells, rogues, and young blades in the fair city of London. However, it has recently come to the attention of this publication that there has been an incursion of young men of this nature in our very own neighbourhood.

Furthermore, it is disturbingly evident that many residents—young women in particular, believe the countryside to be lacking in men of such vices and are therefore sadly lacking the essential knowledge of how they must be avoided.

We feel it is our duty to expunge this misconception and to caution our young ladies and their Mamas and Papas that nothing could be further from the truth.

In the interest of the public good, we have thereby taken it upon ourselves to put to paper a list, Dear Reader, of five mistakes not to make when in the very dangerous, very deadly (when one considers the potential for spiritual and moral decay) presence of such ones so lacking in tender feelings.

  1. Avoid immodest dress

To begin, we urge young women to be always perfectly neat and clean, both in your person and clothes. Be not swayed by ill-suited finery, excessive ornamentation, or worst of all, styles which reflect an indelicate mind and may lead to loss of innocence. We speak, Dear Reader, of that depraved London fashion of wetting one’s dress.

  1. Avoid improper diversions

Time is invaluable and its loss irretrievable. Look on every day as a blank sheet to be filled with worthwhile pursuits. Diversions, properly regulated, are not only allowable for young women but necessary to youth. But when taken to excess, when they lead to indiscretion or an excess of passions, they grow distasteful. Therefore, guard most carefully against that pastime which may be a danger to your modesty and even womanly chastity itself. We refer, of course, to that insidious fashion—the waltz.

  1. Avoid foolish adventures

Neither knowledge nor pleasure can accrue from indiscreet attempts by youth to seek out adventurous undertakings. We refer, of course, to the pastime of excessive walks and the seeking out of unusual locales for picnics and the like, for during such foolhardy and even dangerous excursions young women may find themselves alone and in perilous situations which the libertine or rake may use to their favor.

  1. Modesty and silence are a woman’s best weapons against the rakes and libertines who hide among us

We wish to warn young women of taking indiscreet freedoms, particularly in conversation with men. Many are of opinion that a very young woman can hardly be too silent and reserved in male company, but we recommend even more strongly that young women avoid the majority of such company altogether for fear their ears be insulted by the words of the unprincipled and their minds contaminated beyond repair.

  1. Pay no heed to erroneous advice

“A reformed rake makes the best husband” is a common opinion oft resulting in unhappy victims of the female persuasion. A man who has long been in the company of the worst sort of women is very apt to contract a contempt for females in general. Incapable of esteeming any woman, the fairer sex is a continual source of ill humour. What prospect of happiness can there be with such a companion?

Further guidance shall appear in subsequent issues of this publication.

The Editors

The Bedford Chronicle

June 3, 1818

MISTAKES NOT TO MAKE WHEN AVOIDING A RAKE

“The enemies-to-lovers trope is Elizabeth-Darcy on steroids. […]If you love small cottages, villages, and dangerous English rain, you will love this novel’s vibe!” – Katherine Grant, Author of The Countess Chronicles

“I was absolutely bitten by the Bridgerton bug. […]  I’m so happy I went with this debut novel by Fenna Edgewood. It was a perfect ‘break into Regency’ read. […] Claire and Thomas immediately had serious Regency style chemistry and once they gave into it, they were moths drawn to a flame.” – Made Me Blush Books

A cynical rake…

The arrival of Thomas Campbell and his elder brother has the village of Bedford abuzz with excitement. Not only is Thomas tall, dark, and handsome, he is also rumored to be a most notorious rake.

Claire Gardner is young, innocent, and completely infuriating. Yet given an opportunity, Thomas can’t help teaching the headstrong beauty a lesson in desire.

A quiet life for a lady…

Content with a simple rural life, Claire Gardner has no wish for a season in London nor is she eager to wed. But after a catastrophic mistake compromises her honor, Claire finds herself ensnared in scandal.

Claire is quite certain reformed rakes do not make the best husbands. She would rather face shame than lose her freedom to a man she is convinced does not love her. But as rumors swirl regarding her ruined reputation, the condemnation of her neighbors becomes more than she can bear.

Tormented by a bitter betrayal, Thomas has steeled himself against ever loving again—but he harbors a secret which leaves him in need of a wife. Will the truth about the other woman in Thomas’s life destroy their marriage before it has even begun?

Meet the Gardner Girls:

Four devoted sisters must face pride, peril, and adventure before each finds a love that conquers all.

The Gardner Girls series is composed of standalone stories which may be read in any order. Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake is the first book in the series, but the second chronologically.

Book Details

No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a happily ever after.

Heat Level: Sweet-with-Heat, Slow Burn

Available at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0927W7QF9?ref_=pe_3052080_276849420

What Happens at The Soho Club?

By

On July 9, 2021

In Teatime Tattler

Rumours abound regarding The Soho Club, an establishment so discreet that many members of the ton are unaware its doorways adjoin their own. All we know, dear reader, is that The Soho Club’s membership is expensive, exclusive — and scandalous.

In what manner scandalous, I hear you ask? To begin, both men and women attend the premises. To go on, it’s said this club offers a place where one’s most daring appetites are expected, and certainly encouraged.

The proprietress is rumoured to be a Mrs Skarsgard, about whom no one knows a thing except that she is wealthy, lovely, and of indeterminate age and status. She’s surely a natural-born cousin of a countess, or the like.

There’s only rule at her Soho Club – discretion above all things. What happens in the Soho Club, stays in the Soho Club. It’s only in this atmosphere of secrecy that our Regency lovers are free to indulge themselves in the pursuit of pleasure, desire, and of course, romance. For those who yearn to love outside imposed boundaries, love is always possible.

About the Collection:  Ten tempting Regency romance novellas to tickle your tastebuds, ranging from sweet to spicy

Theresa Fuller, A Headhunter in London:
A curious journalist is on to the story of a lifetime. But is this scoop worth putting her life – and her heart – on the line?

Heidi Wessman Kneale, Just Glimpse
A shy artist needs real experience when it comes to the human form. But how is she to find a willing model without causing scandal?

Beverley Oakley, Hazard’s Daughter
Louisa Stapleton’s life of drudgery is penance for past ‘sins’. A marriage proposal from the unctuous Mr Rivers could seal her fate. The object of her true affections is Felix Evesham, but Felix is distracted by the mysterious (and masked) ‘Miss Valentine’ at The Soho Club.

Renée Dahlia, Love Wasn’t Built in a Day
Businessman Humphrey Dexington’s love for engineer David Mattson will be forever unrequited. Humphrey invites David and his lover to the Soho Club for an evening together, but when David’s lover doesn’t show, it might just give Humphrey the chance he’s always wanted.

Pamela Hart, A Generous Heart
Accessing her own substantial inheritance from conservative trustees is proving impossible for Adeline Edmonds. Her heart is set on creating a charitable school for the poor of London. Viscount Marryam has his heart set on Adeline Edmonds, but the company she keeps could derail his ambitions.

Joanne Austen Brown, Redemption
Two damaged souls find healing and love thanks to Mrs Skarsgard and The Soho Club.

Clyve Rose, The Case of the Black Diamond
Nicknamed ‘the lonely lord’, Alexander Lindsey has spent a decade spying for the King and believes himself immune to surprises – until he meets Miss Ryan. Claire Ryan doesn’t swoon, and doesn’t blush – but when the Regent’s jewel is stolen, Lord Lindsey turns up at The Soho Club, asking questions. Soon, Claire and Alexander are investigating each other.

Linda Rae Sande, The Making of a Mistress
Miss Daisy Albright has volunteered to assist in exposing the man behind a smuggling ring operating in Yorkshire. Her assignment will require she become the mistress of the suspect. Now if only she can convince Alex Bradley to execute her plan. He’s positively appalled at learning what she wants him to do—at first.

Fiona M Marsden, Mine on Thursday
Angelina Delacourt has been engaged to Sebastion Smith-Davenport for five long years, with no sign of nearing the altar. Angelina cares not for gossip. She owes Bastion her life, and she’s prepared to endure a loveless engagement and marriage to protect his reputation. But Angie knows she’s missing out on something, and fellow Soho Club member Jasper DeMello is willing to provide that certain something.

Ebony Oaten, There’s Something About Miss Mary
Miss Mary Callingsbrooke knows there’s something terribly wrong with her. Her body reacts in such an unnatural way when she’s close to a handsome gentleman. Mary meets the mysterious Mister Smith at the Soho Club, who shows Mary that her ‘faults’ are in fact incredibly attractive features. He’s more than happy to marry Mary, but why the haste?

About the Book: Secrets of the Soho Club

Ten Regency novellas for less than $1.

NOW AVAILABLE FOR PREORDER:

 

Release Date: 15 July 2021

 

Multiple Authors:

Theresa Fuller

Heidi Wessman Kneale

Beverley Oakley

Renée Dahlia

Pamela Hart

Joanne Austen Brown

Clyve Rose

Linda Rae Sande

Fiona M Marsden

Ebony Oaten

 

Excerpt from The Case of the Black Diamond, by Clyve Rose:

Outside The Soho Club, dark clouds gathered in the afternoon sky. The air thickened, closely heavy in the prelude to a drenching. Claire shivered at the change in temperature, the tensing of mood. She sipped her coffee, watching Xander Lindsey, watching her. His gaze seemed focused rather closely on the rim of her cup, specifically where the fine china met her lips.

She sipped her brew again. “If you’re intent on seduction, you should know I am not my sister.”

His gaze lifted to her face, steady, focused, powerfully intent. “I have never seduced your sister. I am no rake, Claire.” His voice remained sure, strong, and deeply tempting.

“So it’s a ruse?” She guessed.

He inclined his head, his “mmmm,” resonating low in his throat, like a throb. “We can’t all mask our clandestine activities with scent.” His tone turned husky, intensity sharpening like a honed blade.

“I am not in the habit of short term liaisons,” Claire spoke carefully. “I am not in the habit of being seduced, either.”

“There’s a remedy for that,” he said quietly, suggestively. Did his voice deepen further? How deep does he—stop it.

As though he’d heard her, Xander set down his cup. He walked slowly towards her, the way one might approach a rare and dangerous object.

“Tell me, Claire Ryan, are you armed?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I should like to kiss you. If I halt here, you may blade my heart open instead,” he stopped halfway across the chequered floor, arms by his sides like a supplicant. A supplicant with warm brown eyes, and a devastating dimple.

Claire affected a study of the distance between them, lifted her head, locking her gaze to his.

“Three steps back gives you a sporting chance, Xander Lindsey.”

“Indeed?” The resonance from his baritone rippled through her. Nevertheless, he held his ground and Claire lifted a brow, gaze travelling brazenly over his planed face. He stared right back, smiling, offering that dimple where she lingered before studying the cleft in his chin, his corded neck muscles, those powerful shoulders of defined shape. Her gaze dropped lower, taking in his broad torso, narrow waist, and the shapely front of his trousers. She smiled then, wide and joyous, walking slowly towards him, slower than ever, as though she may never reach him, never touch him. Time stretched out, thinning, heating, bringing her closer to the heft of breath beneath flesh, her pulse beating faster with each step until her skin throbbed with the thought of his lips beneath hers, his surrender within her body.

“Something to savour,” she murmured, watching his answering smile. His tongue darted out, licking his lips and she let out a small laugh, not blinking at all. Not missing a moment of Xander Lindsey standing before her, arms at his sides, gaze locked on hers with an impulse she felt in every nerve and muscle. Claire touched his cheek, stroking him gently before leaning forward, lips positioned inches from his. Reaching up, she slipped her other hand beneath his jacket, sliding her palm over his shirt, feeling his breath shorten, his weight shift…until she located his hidden jacket seam. Keeping her gaze on his, she extracted his pistol as smoothly as possible, stroking the barrel along firm muscle as she withdrew. She kept his barrel there, smoothing it lightly back and forth against his shirt, teasing him with danger, with steel, with her unbroken gaze.

“Is it cocked, my lord?”

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