The end-of-season ball thrown by the Duchess of Fambrough will be the talk of Society long after the Season ends. Not for its appointments, or the excellence of the supper or the musicians, though these were fine, indeed. Not for the quality of the assembly, though the invitations had gone out to everyone of significance, and many who merely hoped they were. Not even for the long-expected announcement of the duke’s betrothal to a young lady as well born as he.
No, the defining moments of the Fambrough ball came shortly before the supper waltz, when Lord Charming, arriving late but as elegantly dressed as ever, strolled down the stairs into the ballroom, his arms full of roses, and marched straight across the floor, his eyes fixed on the Paragon herself.
Some say he had hailed the duke when that gentleman was riding in Hyde Park that morning, and that the two of them had spoken earnestly for close to half an hour, their horses pacing side by side.
Others report he visited during the time for calls, carrying even more roses and attended by two footmen similarly burdened. The ducal house was not receiving, being consumed with preparations for the ball, but he left the roses behind when he departed.
That made tonight Lord Charming’s third encounter with the ducal household, and the assembled onlookers held their collective breath in order not to miss a moment of the drama that played out before them.
The duke was between the viscount and his stepmother. His Grace moved to one side as she stood. The scandalous gentleman approached close enough to touch, and those close enough heard him say, “I promised you roses, Marie.” Those who murmured at his familiar address were shushed by those around them. His lordship ignored them all as he handed her his roses. “These are from the rose garden at Welling. The plums are ripening on the trees. I had hoped to bring you cherries, but my gardener says they will be next week.”
These were not the loverlike words we expect from Lord Charming, and his expression was unexpectedly open. Serious, too, as was the lady’s.
“What of the conservatory, Sam?” she asked. Another murmur at the intimacy of first names, again subdued by ferocious gestures.
“We are owed clement weather, are we not? But it stands ready, Your Grace, to protect us through storms.”
The duchess looked up from her roses and their eyes met. Lord Charming moved to take Her Grace in his arms. “Will you honour me with a waltz, Marie?”
Without taking her gaze off him, she passed the roses to her step-daughter, and stepped into the viscount’s embrace.
This is an excerpt from one of the stories in Chasing the Tale, Jude Knight’s latest publication. It’s one of eleven short stories, and intended for reading over a coffee or a meal, or at night before going to sleep.
I always enjoy picking up something from Ms. Knight because I know I will not be disappointed. This is a wonderful collection of unique stories ranging from medieval times to the 1800s. Nice, short stories you can read during a lunch break or a quick bedtime read. The stories were all entertaining and enjoyable with well thought out characters that were brought to life with the talented writing of Ms. Knight. The storylines had a nice smooth flow and the plots held my interest all the way through. Definitely a collection you want to have handy when you’re looking for a quick, captivating read. Highly recommend! [Advance Reader Copy reviewer]
As I embark upon a new Season, I cannot help but reflect upon last year, my observations, and the few people in which I’d taken a great interest. One being the Duke of Arscott and how he grew more irritable with each passing day.
The cause—his daughter, Lady Lucinda Claxton. She was soon to turn two and twenty and had yet to settle upon anyone, though many lords wished to settle on her. Her father claimed that she was being too fastidious. I believe she was being pragmatic. Deciding upon a husband is far more serious than choosing whom one might grant a waltz.
Her admirers were many, as you may recall. Not only was her father a duke, but she also possessed lovely chestnut locks and intelligent grey eyes. However, she did not suffer fools, which could explain why she remained unwed. I, too, have often wondered if intelligence exists during the Season, especially among the dandies.
I waited in anticipation for a lord to win her heart, but alas, as the Season came to an end there was no hope of a betrothal. It was then that I returned my attention to His Grace and wondered if he would be forced into drastic measures to see his daughter his wed. Which is exactly what occurred, and rumors may have already reached your ears regarding the Duke of Arscott’s house party held shortly after Christmas.
It was ten days of festivities, outings, games and a guest list to impress, if not small, all for the purpose of seeing that Lady Lucinda finally settle on a husband.
Did I mention that it was small? Yes, I did. In fact, there were only ten lords invited and all for the single purpose of wooing Lady Lucinda.
The lady herself, was not pleased. Especially since her father refused to reveal the names of the guests for fear that she’d form her objections before they ever arrived.
However, the gathering turned out to be far more pleasant than Lady Lucinda ever dreamed, and you’ll never guess who she settled upon.
About the Book: Lady Lucinda’s Lords: Tenth Day of Christmas
Ten Leaping Lords, one imperious grandmother, and a Mister from Louisiana were her Christmas fate.
Much to Lady Lucinda Claxton’s dismay and irritation, her father’s house party only includes bachelors ready to wed. With her siblings off celebrating Christmas elsewhere, Lucinda is left to fend for herself. A new arrival, however, changes everything, and soon Lucinda decides the next ten days may not be so tedious after all.
Mr. Caleb Copeland agrees to accompany his great-aunts to the home of the Duke of Arscott on one condition: He’ll not participate in any of the entertainments. He is simply their escort, not an invited guest. However, as much as he tries to keep his vow, his path often crosses Lady Lucinda’s while she is hiding from her court. Before long, Caleb knows none of her leaping lords will ever be worthy of her. Unfortunately, neither is he.
Caleb nearly jumped at the female whisper and turned to find a young woman with dark ringlets and laughing grey eyes.
“I’m not really a guest.”
She frowned, her full, rosy lips puckering. “Then why are you here? Did you sneak in? Are you here to rob us? Should I be screaming?”
Affronted, Caleb took a step back, though he was beginning to suspect she teased him. “I simply accompanied my great-aunts.” He pointed to the three older women seated side by side.
She glanced down at the gathering below before a smile burst on the woman’s lips. “Ladies Priscilla, Joanna and Esther Tilson!” She quietly clapped her hands in delight. “I’d not been told they’d be coming. I do so adore them. They may be just what saves this house party from being tedious.”
“Tedious?”
“Yes.” She sighed and leaned on the balcony. “Those ten are the only guests, other than you and your great-aunts. To make matters worse, the rest of my family has found a reason to be absent, leaving me, my father and grandmother to attend to those lords.” She turned. “Forgive me, I’m Lady Lucinda Claxton.”
“Mister Caleb Copeland.” He bowed to the duke’s second daughter. “Why did he only invite ten gentlemen?”
She let out a deep sigh. “To see me married, of course.”
It was as he suspected, though it didn’t explain why his great-aunts needed him. They couldn’t expect him to be included in the group below, who would undoubtedly leap to do any deed to win Lady Lucinda’s favor.
He chuckled. “Ten lords a leaping,” he sang quietly.
Lady Lucinda scowled at him. “I don’t find you the least bit humorous.”
Caleb would have believed her if Lady Lucinda’s lips hadn’t twitched.
“Yes, you do.”
She brought a hand to her mouth to muffle her giggle. “Perhaps I do.”
Merriment danced in her grey eyes. “They do tend to jump, or in this case leap, to do one’s bidding when one is the daughter of a duke.”
“You should be flattered.”
At that she rolled her eyes. “It’s bothersome. I shan’t wed because they are of the right family and are titled, nor should that be the reason anyone wished to marry me.”
“It is the way of things, is it not?”
“For some, but not for me.” She lifted her chin. “Shall we join the others?”
“You go on,” Caleb insisted. He’d much rather have a view of the leaping from where he currently stood.
“Are you not a bachelor as well?” A dark eyebrow lifted with the question.
“I am, but while my uncle may be a duke, and my brother in training to become one, I am but a simple mister from New Orleans.” He then grinned. “And I do not leap.”
“Such a pity for I do believe I’d enjoy you doing so.” She laughed.
Lady Lucinda swished away from him and for the briefest moment, Caleb almost wished that he could claim the title of lord.
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Jane Charles is a prolific writer of over fifty historical and contemporary romance novels. Her love of research lends authenticity to her Regency romances, and her experience directing theatre productions helps her craft beautiful, touching stories that tug at the heartstrings. Jane is an upbeat and positive author dedicated to giving her characters happy-ever-afters and leaving the readers satisfied at the end of an emotional journey. Lifelong Cubs fan, world traveler and mother of three amazing children, Jane lives in Central Illinois with her husband, two dogs and a cat. She is currently writing her next book and planning her dream trip to England. Be sure to join Jane on Facebook @JaneCharlesAuthor for Wine Pairings Wednesdays.
I write as a concerned member of the public. This recent rash of BRIDES who refuse to do their duty to their FAMILY must be stopped.
Sir, I protest the latest offering from the Bluestocking Belles, this CABAL of females who publish FICTIONAL ACCOUNTS that encourage women to think for themselves.
As if any female has the BRAIN, sir, to know better than her FAMILY about how to choose a husband to protect and care for her.
In their latest book, the Bluestocking Belles offer stories of brides who RUN from excellent matches. The first has a maiden who is upset to find that a young man is marrying her for her dowry and her pedigree. This, young woman, if the WAY of the WORLD. It is not an excuse to flee your responsibilities.
In the second, likewise, the young woman rejects the excellent match her FATHER made for her on the specious grounds that the chosen man has firm ideas about controlling her behaviour. Clearly a case of spare the ROD and spoil the CHILD.
The third story has a commoner who refuses to marry at the behest of her AUNT, even though the COUSIN the aunt choses is a man with a TITLE, and therefore better than such a female might hope to expect.
In the fourth, a girl whose birth is questionable runs from an earl offering, or so she thinks, a liaison that is NOT respectable. What else does such a female expect?
Two more short stories complete the set, on the same scandalous theme.
I wish, sir, to express the most serious of objections to this collection.
The Teatime Tattler office has bombarded with reports of brides developing cold feet and late nerves, calling off, slipping off, and even running off.
We understand that naval Lieutenant Redepenning—yes one of those Redepennings—has chased after the admiral’s daughter pulling her out of scrapes since she was a nipper. Still, one didn’t expect a young man of his standing to pursue the young lady across half of England only to end up at her aunt’s in Oxford. We understand there was gingerbread involved somehow but the details are sketchy.
As to Lady Julia Tate, the world can guess that Oliver Stanton pursues the woman for her money. Still, we heard she’d accepted him, and that the marriage would take place. But now she’s gone, and no one knows where. Fantastically, we heard she fled to the Americans, or to the antipodes, or even—we laugh to contemplate it—the future. Wherever she is, it appears Stanton has gone after her. Should we wish a fortune hunter well or no?
The Earl of Chadbourn spent this season rusticating near Wheatton in Wiltshire. Rumors from there are that a local squire’s daughter caught his eye, but she played coy. One hears there are family secrets in his sister’s household. Can they have driven the chit away?
Even vicars’ daughters are not immune, as Mr. Templeton, he that has the holding in Edington, discovered to his distress. His Margaret seemed likely to marry Captain Morledge, an perfectly respectable union, until Viscount Beacham appeared on the scene. Could a man of his standing be serious? Whatever the case, she went missing. One can only shake one’s head.
About the Book
Holidays, relatives, pressure to marry—sometimes it is all too much. Is it any wonder a woman may need to escape? The heroines in this collection of stories aren’t afraid to take matters into their own hands when they’ve had enough.
The Ultimate Escape, by Susana Ellis
On the eve of her wedding, Julia needs to take a moment to consider what she is doing, and where better than 100 years in the past? Unfortunately, Oliver finds a way to chase her through time.
Under the Mistletoe, by Sherry Ewing
Margaret Templeton will settle for Captain Morledge’s hand in marriage, until she sees the man she once loved at her second-best bridegroom’s Christmas party.
Gingerbread Bride, by Jude Knight
Travelling with her father’s fleet has not prepared Mary Pritchard for London. When she strikes out on her own, she finds adventure, trouble, and her girlhood hero, riding once more to her rescue.
A Dangerous Nativity, by Caroline Warfield
With Christmas coming, can the Earl of Chadbourn repair his widowed sister’s damaged estate, and far more damaged family? Dare he hope for love in the bargain?
These stories are republished here at 20% of the cost of collecting them all from each individual author
Your correspondent is pleased to reveal Lady Lydia Howick has returned to Town after a series of trips to Portsmouth to help her oldest friend, Mrs. Arnaud Bellingham, neé Sophia Brancelli, settle into the couple’s temporary honeymoon cottage.
Captain B will return to his West African Preventative Squadron within the month aboard his prize ship, HMS Black Condor, once repairs are complete. Sadly, we regret to report, without his longtime surgeon, Dr. Cullen MacCloud.
Lady Lydia confided, in her delightful, non-stop chatter, that the charming doctor, a long-confirmed bachelor, succumbed unexpectedly to the wedded state in a whirlwind courtship followed by late-night nuptials in Portsmouth.
He exchanged vows with Miss Willa Morton, daughter of the late Dr. Andrew Morton, former surgeon aboard the Arethusa whom Dr. MacCloud recently replaced. His new wife will accompany him on the ship’s mission to patrol off Napoleon’s prison island of St. Helena for the next two years.
Lady Lydia was agog at the idea that Mrs. MacCloud will be working side by side with her husband to care for the three-hundred men of the forty-gun frigate’s crew. And she is intrigued to note the surgeon’s wife has managed to accumulate as much medical knowledge as her brother, even though being left back in Edinburgh while her father and sibling sailed the world with the Royal Navy.
Your faithful scribe suspects some sort of havey-cavey circumstances in that the aforementioned MacCloud-Morton nuptials occurred directly after the unexplained disappearance of Miss Morton’s brother, William, from his physician’s assistant duties aboard the Arethusa.
This correspondent also would be remiss not to question all the time Lady Lydia has lately spent in Portsmouth assisting the Bellinghams. One can only suspect what naval attractions might hold her interest for so long away from Howick House on St. James Square. There have been reports of sightings during the Season of said lady in the company of a gentleman wearing the bright red jacket of a Royal Marine officer.
One might worry at what Lady Lydia’s father, Lord Howick, thinks of her long sojourns in Portsmouth. However, we have it on good authority he has been preoccupied with the sad business in the House of Lords over the summer. And then there are the whispers about his preoccupation with the willowy, tall Titania acclaimed in the recent production of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at Covent Garden.
About the Book
Willa Morton has lived the last ten years of her life as “Wills,” physician’s assistant to her Royal Navy surgeon father. Their subterfuge works well until he collapses and dies of a heart attack. Dr. Cullen MacCloud resents his latest posting, away from his friends on the African Squadron. Wills, the deceased surgeon’s son, is a sullen sprout, but Cullen’s stuck with him. Since the posting is temporary, what could go wrong? What if these two have more in common than they think? Will a thin blanket hung across the middle of a tiny cabin be enough to protect against the desire smoldering between them?
In “Pride of Duty,” live today, follow the further adventures of the dashing Men of the African Squadron and the daring women who love them. Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/37wptLS
And today is the last day to still get the first entry in the series, “Pride of Honor,” for FREE on Amazon, here: https://amzn.to/31vU1cI
Excerpt from Pride of Duty
50º47’56.36”N, 1º5’28.5”W
Portsmouth, England, August 1820
Dr. Cullen MacCloud tipped back the too-dainty chair in the small Portsmouth tea shop and threw a stern look at the sullen young man across from him. He hated having to make do with furniture not built to accommodate his broad shoulders and bulk.
He pushed his feet flat onto the floor and leaned forward to better intimidate William Morton, the most impertinent excuse for a physician’s assistant he’d ever encountered. He could not for the life of him fathom why his predecessor, the recently deceased ship’s surgeon, had importuned the captain to make sure (in writing) the young man would be able to continue to work alongside him in the ship’s surgery.
Cullen had hoped getting away from the ship to a different setting might soften the slight young man’s demeanor. Instead, the damned cod lifted his chin, still belligerent, as if he could challenge Cullen’s words.
Christ, but he’d had a hell of a week. First he’d had a hopeless argument with his father. The bastard had used his court influence to get Cullen assigned away from his former Captain Arnaud Bellingham to the current posting. Arnaud was still awaiting final overhaul and crewing of his prize ship, the Black Condor, to return to the West African Squadron, and had moved to Portsmouth with his new wife, Sophie.
Cullen had hoped until the very last moment he could somehow thwart his father’s ambitions, but he’d lost the battle. No one in the Royal Navy fought the Admiralty once a decision had been made. He’d been aboard the HMS Arethusafor a full week, and sharing quarters with the former surgeon’s peevish offspring.
He’d been pleasantly surprised at how well organized and kept the surgery had been on his arrival. Most of the time, he and William had inventoried medical supplies. Cullen had gone over Dr. Andrew Morton’s logs for the last two years to get an idea of the state of the health of the officers and crew.
Young Morton had been very thorough in his accounting of the surgery, and helpful in explaining the ship’s shifts and routines. Cullen had not been surprised at the daily line of crewmen seeking medical assistance. When a ship was in port for provisioning, or re-fit, the men tended toward boredom, which in turn produced a steady stream of “ailments.” Once they were back at sea, and in action, the medical complaints would slow to a trickle.
He leaned closer to the argumentative young man. “Why can ye not see the wisdom in leaving the ship to continue yer studies in Edinburgh? Surely yer late father would want ye to follow in his profession.”
“I’ve been trained thoroughly by my father. Why, I know more than most of the second-year students at Edinburgh Medical School.”
Cullen sat up, re-assessing the rude young twig. “Then why not get at least yer first year so ye can set up a proper practice? What’s keeping ye here?”
He couldn’t see the young man’s neck for the voluminous wrapped neckcloth he affected, but he imagined that part of his anatomy burned as brightly as his boyish face. However, something about the long, sooty lashes framing cool gray eyes nagged and buzzed like an obnoxious fly at the back of Cullen’s brain.
“How old are you? Ye’ve not even the beginnings of a beard. Who are you to tell me ye know so much? I’ve been to Edinburgh. I completed my studies there, and I’ve been serving the King’s Navy ever since.”
William snapped his face away from Cullen’s inspection and stood, staring a long time out a window near their table. He turned suddenly, his face still a shade of scarlet. “I can see you resent my presence in the surgery, Dr. MacCloud. I won’t impose upon you any longer. I’m sure one of my father’s associates would be glad to have my assistance.”
With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door only to be intercepted by the one of the Arethusa’s marines.
Cullen rose from the table at the look on the marine lieutenant’s face.
“Dr. MacCloud, Mr. Morton. We need you. There’s been an accident. Two men were fighting and fell from the tops.”
Cullen turned to hasten out the door in the wake of the marine and was a little surprised to see young William fall in behind without a sound. The boy’s usually dour face transformed into one of concern, and intent. It was only then he realized the insolent cub hadn’t revealed his age. What was he trying to hide?
About the Author
Andrea K. Stein, the daughter of a trucker and an artist, never knew it would take the hard-work ethic of her father to achieve the light-filled magic of her mother’s art. After helping raise a combined family equaling the Brady bunch without Alice, she retired early from a 30-year career as a newspaper and publishing professional and fled to the mountains. She interspersed a seven-year stint as a Colorado ski patroller with nautical adventures as first mate to a crusty, old British delivery captain, accumulating some 20,000 miles at sea. While delivering yachts up and down the Caribbean, she also earned a USCG offshore captain’s license. Now, she tells award-winning tales of the high seas from her writing room in Colorado. She has nine titles self-published on Amazon since 2014.
Andrea can be found at the following online haunts:
