Author: Bluestocking Belles Page 10 of 38

Who is the dowager Countess of Seahaven? It is a question that will be on the lips of many this Season in York.

You may remember that the Earl of Seahaven produced no legitimate sons, despite an effort that almost matched that of the famous Tudor king. Indeed, some wits dubbed him Henry the Fifth!

Not that the late earl lacked children. Five wives produced ten daughters between them, the last born posthumously to the dowager aforementioned a little more than four years ago..

But what became of the dowager, her daughter, and her nine stepdaughters?

Until today, the Polite World has not been able to answer this question.

However, dear readers, your Teatime Tattler correspondent has been indefatigable in search of the truth, which will be of more interest today than ever, given circumstances.

For Lady Seahaven and her charges are about to burst on the social scene here in York. Your correspondent has learned that the dowager is related to a respected, if eccentric, stalwart of York Society, Lady Rose St Aubyn.

Lady Rose is once again off on her travels, and has arranged for her niece to take over her townhouse.

So we in York are going to be privileged to see the debut of the countess and six of her stepdaughters. (The eldest had a London Season more than a decade ago, but did not take.)

Your correspondent went hunting for more information about the mysterious ladies.

The current Lord Seahaven was unhelpful. All he would tell us was that the ladies did not live in any of his properties, and that the fifth and surviving wife of his predecessor was no lady.

“Her parents were tradespeople, and I will leave it to you to figure out how a female like that enviegled her way into the earl’s bed,” he said.

Given that the lady is an acknowledged St Aubyn, I think we can ignore the earl’s remark. He was, before his unexpected assension to the oak leaves, a minor merchant himself.

However, while we know where the Seahaven ladies will be by the end of March (in Lady Rose’s townhouse), we have been unable to discover where they have lived in the four years since the old earl died.

Dear reader, we will watch this York Season with great interest, and will be sure to keep you informed.

Desperate Daughters

The next Bluestocking Belles Collection with Friends is out on May 8th, and tells the story of nine ladies, all related, who discover happiness awaiting them in York in the season.

Now on preorder at only 99c. Price reduction ends with publication. Click on the project page for more information and buy links.

Is the duchess having an affair?

By Bluestocking Belles

On February 26, 2022

In Bluestocking Belles, Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

“There’s a story here, Sam,” William Scattermole insisted. “Come on! Everyone will want to read it. The Duchess of Haverford is secretly meeting with the Duke of Winshire? The man she wanted to marry when she was a debutante?”

He waved the article he wanted Sam to print. “I saw them with my own eyes, going into the same private meeting room at your aunt’s bookshop. They were alone there for a full hour. What were they doing? I can’t tell you that. But I can guess, and so can our readers.”

“Not happening,” Sam told him. “We’re not printing that article, Will, and every newspaper printer in London will say the same.”

“But it’s news!” Will insisted.

Sam sighed. The boy was keen, he’d give him that. And a good writer, or he would be when he learned the use of a fullstop. One of the sentences in the article under discussion was one hundred and fifty three words long! But Will had not yet learned the realities of survival for Society commentators.

“Look, Will. Let me explain this to you point by point. First, what do you think the Duke of Haverford will do if I publish this story about his mother?”

“What can he do,” Will said, belligerently. “It’s the truth. Besides, we’d call her the Duchess of H. Like we usually do, to disguise her identity. People will know we mean her, but they won’t be able to do anything about it because we didn’t use her name.”

Perhaps the boy was an idiot. “That works for Mrs H., or even Lady H. But Will, how many Duchesses of H. and Dukes of W. are there? Disguising the name isn’t going to do us any good at all, and I don’t think you want two dukes out for your blood. I certainly don’t.”

“But it’s the truth,” Will insisted.

“Perhaps.” Sam held up his hand to stop Will’s objection. “I don’t doubt what you saw, Will, but my second point is that your article makes the direct inference that their graces are having an affair. You saw them enter a room, Will. You didn’t see what happened inside it. She’s a lady in her fifties with two adult sons. He must be sixty if he is a day. If they were having an affair, wouldn’t they be looking for more comfort than a room with upright chairs and a table?”

From the look on his face, Will was as uncomfortable with thinking about a dignified matron like the duchess in intimacy on said table or against the wall. He faltered, and then rallied. “We could soften that a little, perhaps.”

“Is there a story without it?” Sam asked. “They are both known for their charitable works, and the duchess has used my aunt’s rooms for philanthropic meetings before. Duke of W. and Duchess of H. meet to talk about scholarships for deserving students. Not much of a story there.”

It took a bit more persuasion, but eventually Will accepted Sam’s dictate. He cheered up when Sam gave him the job of looking into the rumour that the Earl of Ruthford had publicly accused his wife of infidelity, and the pair of them only married a matter of weeks.

“That’s safe enough,” he told Will. “There are any number of Lords and Ladies R.”

Once Will was gone, he counted off the other three points in favour of squashing the story.

“Three, one of our secret investors happens to be the Duke of Haverford, and while I’ve never hesitated to write about him, I’m not going to risk writing about his wife or mother. Not after what he said to me last year, when I published the rumours about Lady C, as she was then.”

He shuddered at the memory.

“Four, I know, better than most, how much good Her Grace does, using her status and her reputation as a most upright and moral lady. I’m a hardened newspaper man, but I’m not going to interfere with her work by painting her as a hypocrite.”

But the last reason trumped all the rest, and was the one he was least likely to disclose to anyone else. If there was one person in the world he feared, it was the formidable lady who ran the Book Emporium and Tea Shoppe. Miss Clemens prided herself on keeping the secrets of her guests (as she preferred to be known). He winced at the mere thought of her reaction to Will’s article.

He opened the folded paper that Will had left behind and read it again. Yes. William showed promise. But this article must never see the light of day.

Paradise Triptych

By Jude Knight

Long ago, when they were young, James and Eleanor were deeply in love. But their families tore them apart and they went on to marry other people. Paradise Triptych tells their story in three parts.

Paradise Regained

James Winderfield yearns to end a long journey in the arms of his loving family. But his father’s agents offer the exiled prodigal forgiveness and a place in Society — if he abandons his foreign-born wife and children to return to England.

With her husband away, Mahzad faces revolt, invasion and betrayal in the mountain kingdom they built together. A queen without her king, she will not allow their dream and their family to be destroyed.

But the greatest threats to their marriage and their lives together is the widening distance between them. To win Paradise, they must face the truths in their hearts.

Paradise Lost

In 1812, the suitor Eleanor’s father rejected in favour of the Duke of Haverford has returned to England. He has been away for thirty-two years, and has returned a widower, and the father of ten children.

As the year passes, various events prompt Eleanor to turn to her box of keepsakes, which recall the momentous events of her life.

Paradise Lost is a series of vignettes grounded in 1812, in which Eleanor relives those memories.

Paradise At Last

Now Haverford is deceased nothing stands between the Duchess of Haverford and the Duke of Winshire. Except that James has not forgiven Eleanor for putting the dynasty of the Haverfords ahead of his niece’s happiness.

Can two star-crossed lovers find their happiness at last? Or will their own pride or the villain who wants to destroy the Haverfords stand in their way?

Paradise Triptych contains two novella and a set of memoirs: Paradise Regained (already published), Paradise Lost (distributed to my newsletter subscribers) and Paradise At Last (new for this collection).

Order your copy now: https://books2read.com/Triptych

If the Presses Can’t Roll, Heads Must!

By Bluestocking Belles

On January 19, 2022

In Bluestocking Belles, Teatime Tattler

Sam Clemens, Editor and Proprietor of The Teatime Tattler, favourite newsheet of the ton, regards his brand new expensive Koenig’s steam printing press in disgust.

“What is wrong with this printing press, ladies and gentlemen?” he asks the assembled staff of that celebrated journal of the scandals and idiosyncracies of those in high places.

Printers, typesetters, journalists, and office clerks stare at the gleaming machine, but none is prepared to venture an opinion. It is clear that Mr Clemens is building up a head of steam, and his staff know better than to attract his fire.

He does not, in any case, expect an answer. He will tell them what is wrong. “It is not printing! And why? Because we have no new booked until March!”

He rounds on the assembled personnel, who fall back a step or two in their haste to avoid his accusing eye. “Four weeks of holiday, ladies and gentlemen! Four weeks, I gave you, and have you thought of The Teatime Tattler in that time? I put it to you that you self-evidently have not! Get out there and find news! I have six weeks to fill this month and next, and if it is not filled by this Friday, heads will roll! The rest of the year, too! We have spaces through to December, and authors out there with books to sell and gossip to share. Go on. What are you waiting for! I need stories! I need ladies in despair, men in crisis, mothers in tears, fathers in flight, communities in outrage! Out! Out! Out!”

He herded them towards the door, from the most senior wordsmith to the most junior copy boy.

“And I’d better go myself,” he added, grabbing his hat, a notebook, and several sharpened pencils. “The presses must roll!”

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From the Editor’s Desk

By Bluestocking Belles

On December 15, 2021

In Teatime Tattler

From the desk of Sam’l Clemens, esq.

December 15

Dear readers, kind followers, critics, and vile attackers,

We at the Tattler thank you for your attention throughout this past year, whether you have applauded or showered us in brickbats (all attention is good and we’re pleased when you mention our name).

As the year draws to a close, our reporters grow weary. I have surrendered to pleas and declared that The Teatime Tattler shall be on hiatus. This respite began at close of business yesterday and will, I regret to say, continue until the middle of January when the rascals and rogues I call reporters shall have returned from the burrows into which they have disappeared. One hopes they will bring with them tantalizing tales, ribald rumors, and stories of disgraceful deeds: our stock and trade. One ambitious young fellow is off to visit his granny in Yorkshire, where, we hear, some salacious scandal is brewing.

I myself wish to spend these holidays in Bristol with a nephew who is soon to depart to the former colonies. I hope to convince him to send dispatches from that wild and uncivilized place.

We shall do our best to return to you reinvigorated and prepared to bring you the gossip you crave as often as may prove possible. Enjoy your winter revels, and do send us any tidbits you come across.

S. Clemens

Outrageous Rescue

By Bluestocking Belles

On December 8, 2021

In Teatime Tattler

Well now, isn’t this just a delicious tidbit for you all:

A rival newspaper, the Trumpeter no less, is reporting that one Miss Somerset Sinclair, a member of that wildly outrageous family who constantly flaunts society’s rules, has recklessly stepped in to save a man from certain injury, if not death.

The event took place as she was walking, alone I might add, to visit Lolly’s bookstore late one afternoon. Professor Cole Alexander Gusford Charlton was unaware of his impending doom when Miss Sinclair flew at him. Onlookers have reported her diving at the poor man, wrapping her arms around his waist and propelling him backward with some force. He came to rest with a thud against a sturdy wall. With Miss Sinclair still pressed to his body, a chimney pot then crashed to the ground a mere few inches away.

While her behavior was indeed scandalous, one cannot help but commend her for her fast thinking, even if her ankles were seen by everyone who witnessed the event. I’m also happy to report that both parties were unharmed.

As you know, four out of the seven Sinclair siblings are all wed, and not only that, each is married to someone sharing the Duke of Raven’s blood. I’m not one to gossip, but this strikes me as an odd anomaly, which is added to by the fact they all live on the same London street. I must, in good conscience, tell you that the Sinclair and Raven families are a very unusual group of people.

News has just reached us that in fact Professor Charlton is the Duke of Raven’s cousin. One wonders what is in store for him in the coming months.

About the Book: Courting Danger

If only he’d taken more care, she wouldn’t be facing her destiny.

Somerset Sinclair vows not to follow in her elder siblings’ footsteps. There will be no marriages or daring rescues of any man carrying Raven blood. Somer has a career, and nothing is about to thwart that.

Sinclair Investigative Services is flourishing.

Everything was going to plan until Professor Cole Alexander Gusford Charlton foolishly stood under a chimney pot. Now there’s an arrogant, handsome man making her heart beat a little faster. A man of Raven blood whose life she saved, and who irritates her into irrational behavior.

Somer is determined to break the pact that bound her family to his. Her heart would remain intact, no matter how hard it was becoming to keep her distance from the professor.

Gus had one passion, his studies. A highly sought-after scholar, he had no room in his life for a woman as infuriatingly opinionated as Somerset Sinclair. She calls him stuffy and refuses to show him the respect he deserves.

Yes, she’d saved his life, but he’d thanked her for that. Now he must forget her and her strange family, and his life will return to normal.

The problem is she has an unusual occupation that throws her headlong into trouble and no one appears worried about that, except him.

When Somer’s investigations turn deadly and the threat to her life real, Gus knows his dreams of an uneventful scholarly existence are in fact empty without her in them. He will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. But will Somer fight her destiny or realize that life would be empty without Gus at her side and in her heart.

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B099P9C8PQ

Excerpt~

She felt his thudding heart as it matched her own. Strong thighs pressed into her, and the muscled planes of his chest and belly.

“R-Release me.” Somer’s voice was wobbly. “Please.”

He looked behind him, then eased back and away, and Somer tried to breathe. Tried to still the racing of her heart. No man but family had held her like that.

“Are you all right?” His voice was a growl and reminded her of Max when gripped by strong emotions.

“Y-Yes, thank you.”

He was taller this close, and bigger. His shoulders were wide beneath the black of his overcoat. His eyes were gray, darker than James’s, but lighter than Emily’s. Nice eyes, she thought, and what he should use to look where he was going. They were set in an equally pleasing face. Wide cheekbones, a chin that she thought looked stubborn, dark brows and lashes. His skin was tanned, which suggested he did not frequent society, as it was not done to have such coloring. His hair was too long, past his collar, and deep sable brown. Handsome. The little jab of excitement in the pit of her stomach told Somer he was a man worthy of a second look. Not that she’d be looking. There was no time in her life for men.

She drew in another steady breath.

“If I may suggest, sir,” Somer said in a tone that would cut glass, “you need to be more aware when walking through streets filled with people and obstacles, because next time I may not be on hand to save you from a chimney pot knocking you senseless!”

“I have had no trouble until now,” he said, his eyes steady on her face.

“And yet had I not intervened you would be nursing a serious headache or a great deal worse.”

His eyes moved to the shattered pieces of chimney pot.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You are bleeding.” Somer pulled out her handkerchief and stepped toward him to place it on his cheek.

“’Tis nothing.” He brushed her hand aside and blotted it with the sleeve of his coat.

“Well then,” Somer snapped. She did not like feeling anything but in complete control, and yet right in that moment she was unsettled. He’d held her, and being close to him had made butterflies form in her belly.

Decidedly odd.

“Well then?” He raised a dark brow.

“Say thank you.”

His smile was small but did several disturbing things to his already handsome face. He was looking at her as if she was amusing. A woman and therefore not terribly intelligent, but worth a smile. She’d been the recipient of that look many times in her life and had to say she was still far from impressed by it.

He was dressed as a gentleman of means, Somer thought, eyeing his well-fitted deep-blue jacket and gray trousers beneath the overcoat. The only bright color was from the fine silver stripe in his waistcoat.

He suddenly swept off his hat, then bowed.

“You have my undying gratitude, madam.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Somer frowned. She’d cut her eye teeth on sarcasm, it was a communication tool in her family, but she did not expect it from a man whose life she’d just saved. “Because if it is, I think that’s exceedingly shabby, as I just rescued you from a hideous headache or death. Either deserves a great deal more gratitude.”

Rather than being angry, he looked intrigued.

From USA Today Bestseller Wendy Vella comes an exciting Regency series about legend, love and destiny, with a hint of magic …

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