I write to you today to share my
outrage at occurrences in Dudley Crescent. I simply cannot abide the recent
changes and must have your advice.
Two years ago, a murder occurred at
Number 10. The horrid matter was quickly resolved when the culprit was
identified and put away from fine society.
But the greater scandal was that the widowed lady of the house had
intimate relations with her butler! Then last year, a noted member of society
hired a young woman as ward to his child…and later, did marry the woman! She
was far below his station, though, I do understand, an heiress of considerable
worth. I must tell you the man is one of our finest gentlemen with a spotless
reputation and high military honors. Yet, I worry.
Another event occurring last week causes
me to question my presence here!
I understand that one noble gentleman
has paid attentions to one of his servants! This time, said woman is not a
governess. No, indeed, she is his maid-of-all-work! Can you imagine? I’ve been
inconsolable, riddled with a nervous stomach and headaches. My usual little
dose of laudanum is simply not enough to calm me.
This causes me to ask you if you think
I should move to a better part of town. Is there a curse on the Crescent? Must
I expect more servants who will climb above their station to enthrall their
masters or mistresses? Worse, will such an affliction affect my own house? I
must tell you, quite confidentially, that my only daughter, Lady Mary, seems
far too taken with one of our own servants. The new…dear me, I can barely write
this…stable boy. Yes! He is most definitely not
a boy. Not by any means. He is thirty years of age or more. Tall, taller than
my dear departed husband. And devilishly handsome with hair the color of coal
and eyes like lavender. He is quite ethereal.
I do rattle on!
Advise me, please!
Most sincerely,
Catherine, the Viscountess of Trelawny
Dudley Crescent is a verdant parcel of land in London, granted by King Charles II to the Earl of Dudley who was one of his staunchest supporters. With gold he’d stolen as a highwayman during Charles’s exile on the Continent, Dudley put his ill-gotten gains to good use and built the finest town homes in the capital. Renting the land in perpetuity to certain Royalist friends quadrupled his fortune.
Today, those who have townhomes surrounding the verdant park are a few of the wealthiest and most influential lords and ladies in the kingdom. But scandals abound on Dudley Crescent. You can find them here:
The Bluestocking Belles are getting ready to party, and they promise a surprise!
“I did well for the Teatime Tattler when I employed Mademoiselle F.,” Sam Clemens, editor of that organ of gossip and scandal, said to himself as he read the latest missive from that lady.
Sam, who was the only person in London–perhaps the world–who knew the lady’s identity (and she was, in point of fact, a lady, the sister of an earl), counted her occasional letters as pure gold. The word from the horse’s mouth, they were, if ‘the horse’ was a reference to those at the pinnacle of London Society. Only through ‘Madamoiselle’ could he hope to hear exactly what they did and said, not from a distance, but through the eyes of one of their own.
Take today’s report. The Bluestocking Belles, a coterie of lady authors, were putting on a party. Something of a literary salon, from what he could tell, but between them, they represented some of the most scandalous gentlemen and ladies every to grace the pages of the Teatime Tattler. Decent types as well, but one couldn’t have everything.
Perhaps the Marquess of Dansbury would attend. His charm would make things interesting. Or Captain Fred Wheatly, a scoundrel of the most charming sort. Daniel Ridgeway was another possibility. Rumor said he was a spy. Would the party welcome such a one as the Duchess of Stonegreave? Mlle F. insisted that all were invited. If the assembly included Lady Miranda de Courtenay, sparks were certain to fly.
A Facebook party. What on earth was a Facebook party? Sam shrugged. He’d let readers work that out for themselves. Of more importance was the prize. He did not know what a kindle was, but it seemed that the Bluestocking Belles were gifting one lucky attendee with a library! Now that was a princely — or princessly– prize.
Join the Bluestocking Belles and a dozen of other great authors of historical romance for a celebration of summer reading.
Enjoy fun, games, new releases, and an announcement or two from wherever you happen to be. The party access is through your own electronic device and Facebook. Go check out the event now, and be there on Saturday, 13 July 2019 (US time) to be able to enter for the Grand Prize. The party is from 13:40-21:00 EDT.
The party is available around the world, so check a time conversion chart for your local time.
Did we say prize? We’re giving away a Kindle Fire loaded with first in series books by every one of the Belles. We will post the opportunity to enter in the form of a poll throughout the event on July 13. Attend and respond to enter.
What’s the poll about, did you say? Now that’s the surprise!
“My dear, the most delicious scandal from Cape Town,” said Lady Laura Hardwick, picking up the missive from her brother.
Her dearest friend, Miss Delilah Sutton, laughed. “How can that be, Laura? One doesn’t know anybody in such a forsaken place.”
Laura raised both brows. “Lieutenant Lord Cecil Hardwick, the third son of the Marquess of Trentwater, is not precisely a nobody,” she scolded.
Delilah made a quick save. “I hardly think your brother is writing scandal about himself, and you have told me yourself that no-one else of consequence is posted there. That is a scandal, if you like, that a man like your brother is not given his own ship, and a more suitable posting.”
Laura’s eyebrows returned to their normal position and she picked up the letter. “Quite so. But listen to this.” She looked up again to meet her friend’s eyes. “The man in question is the fourth son of the fourth son of an earl, so nobody of consequence, but Delilah, we know the lady!”
Delilah leaned forward with all the enthusiasm Laura could desire, as Laura skimmed through the letter, turning from one sheet to another.
“Hope you are well. Off to sea tomorrow. Not much to amuse. Ah. Here we are.” She grinned at Delilah, drawing out the moment. “Are you listening?”
Laura nodded.
“I’ve told you the youngest Redepenning is a great favourite here. One presumes it is through his parents’ influence he has already made captain. His mother’s father was an admiral, you know, though not one of our kind of people. His own father is a crony of Prinny’s, of course. Every one knows he made Brigadier-General, yes, and picked up his barony, by lifting elbows with Wales.“
Laura skipped a few more lines. “The next bit is about how Father doesn’t help him. Ah. Here’s what I was looking for.”
“Redepenning lives with a Batavian native woman whom he bought off his old Captain years ago when they were both in the East. Word is she’s dying, so when another woman moved in a few weeks ago, we all thought he was making a start on training up his replacement mistress.”
“No,” Delilah said, the ‘o’ on a long drawn descending note.
Laura grinned again, and went on reading. “It was much more scandalous than that. The woman is actually his wife, a lady by the name of Euronyme Redepenning. Do you know her?“
“We do!” Delilah exclaimed. “We’ve both met her, Laura.”
“Yes, I know. Now shush. He has more to say, and you won’t believe it.” Laura turned back to the letter.
“Apparently, and I heard this from Mrs Redepenning myself, so you need have no doubt it is true, Redepenning’s wife has come all the way to Cape Town to nurse his dying mistress, and adopt his little yellow bastards. What do you think of that?“
“I cannot believe it,” Delilah gasped. “She will be shunned. The little children will be outcasts.”
Laura shrugged. “I daresay the Redepennings think they can make Society dance to their tune.” Her eyes gleamed and she bared her teeth. “What a pity if poor Mrs Redepenning returns to London to find that everyone already knows what she has done, and their minds are already made up.”
Delilah was alarmed. “Oh, Laura, do be careful. She is a favourite of the Duchess of Haverford.”
Laura glared at her friend. “Are you going to help me? Or not?”
Unkept Promises
Book 4 in The Golden Redepennings series
She wants to negotiate a comfortable marriage; he wants
her in his bed
“… oaths and
anchors equally will drag: naught else abides on fickle earth but unkept promises of
joy.”
Herman Melville
Naval captain Jules
Redepenning has spent his adult life away from England, and at war. He rarely
thinks of the bride he married for her own protection, and if he does, he
remembers the child he left after their wedding seven years ago. He doesn’t
expect to find her in his Cape Town home, a woman grown and a lovely one, too.
Mia Redepenning sails to
Cape Town to nurse her husband’s dying mistress and adopt his children. She
hopes to negotiate a comfortable married life with the man while she’s there. Falling
in love is not on her to-do list.
Before they can do more
than glimpse a possible future together, their duties force them apart. At home
in England, Mia must fight for the safety of Jules’s children. Imprisoned in
France, Jules must battle for his self-respect and his life.
Only by vanquishing
their foes can they start to make their dreams come true.
His little wife had grown.
Not ‘up’ exactly. She was still a tiny creature, her head no higher than his
chest, but no-one would take her for a schoolgirl now! Was it the modern
fashions that gave her curves he’d not seen seven years ago—not a lush
endowment but decidedly female?
Annoyed with her though he
was, he could not deny that his body responded to hers, as if something
primitive within him rejoiced in the link formed by their long-ago wedding and
yearned to set seal to his claim. A physical lust. That was all. It could be
ignored.
But the change in her was
not only physical. She had been an endearing mix of child and adult. Her
isolated life as the only child of a reclusive scholar had given her a wisdom
and maturity beyond her years and the innocence of a much younger girl. Now she
was a woman. Confident and in charge.
Which was extremely irritating,
since she had placed herself in charge of his house! As he allowed his two
daughters to drag him back upstairs and show him and Dan around their domain,
he had to concede she was competent. No. More than competent.
He couldn’t complain about
the changes in the nursery—new paint, shelves instead of trunks for books and
toys, new furniture—sturdy painted furniture that would withstand much more
activity than the rejects from the rest of the house that had been there
before.
“Sit in Ibu Mia’s chair, Papa,”
Ada commanded.
Marsha scoffed. “Not Ibu
Mia’s. Papa is too big. Sit in Hannah’s chair, Papa.”
“Is Hannah looking after
you while she is visiting?” Jules was not above finding out his wife’s
intentions from his children, if he could.
“Hannah is not visiting.
Hannah is our new nurse,” Ada explained. She was dragging his duffel bag from
where Dan had dropped it by the door.
Marsha offered her morsel
of information. “Hannah used to be nurse to our cousin Daisy, but Daisy has a
governess now, so Hannah came to be our nurse.”
“And to look after Ibu
Mia,” Ada corrected. “Hannah said Lord Henry said Ibu Mia could not travel all
this way on her own. Is Lord Henry our grandfather, Papa? Hannah says he is.”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Jules
confirmed. “Lord Henry is my father, so your grandfather.” Father had approved
this trip, had he? He had never been happy about Jules’s irregular living
arrangements, Jules was sure of that, though his letters were devoid of any
criticism. Susan, Jules’s sister, was more direct in her letters, castigating
him for leaving his wife for so long. They probably sent Mia to bring Jules to
heel.
But he wouldn’t be leashed
by her or anyone else, either.
He pulled the first object
from his duffel: a mancala board in carved wood, with stones in bright colours
to play the game.
“How pretty!” Ada marvelled.
“Look, Marsha. Look at the carvings. What does it do, Papa? Who is it for?”
“This is to share,” Jules
warned, “and Dan will teach you how to play the game.”
Next, he pulled out a
skipping rope each. One of the men on the Advantage had made the brightly
painted wooden handles, sized for small hands, and the ropes fed through a hole
in the butt of the handle, so they could be lengthened or shortened to suit the
height of the user.
The girls fell on them and
wanted to try them out immediately, but settled quickly when he suggested that
Hannah would expect them to skip outside, and he had not yet emptied the
duffle.
Two of the maids carried
in trays with glasses of milk for the children, plates of scones, bowls of jam,
and a pot of coffee for Jules. He waved them to the table while he distributed
the strings of beads he’d purchased in the market at Toamasina.
“May I serve you a scone,
Papa?” Marsha asked.
“I shall pour Papa’s
coffee,” Dan insisted. “I know how he takes it.”
Ada’s face fell, and
Marsha must have noticed, because she gave the prepared plate to her sister. “You
shall take this to Papa, because you helped make them, too,” she said. Jules’s
smile must have said how proud he was, for his shy daughter blushed while the
bold one climbed on his knee and instructed him on the fine art of
scone-eating.
The girls set aside the
book each he gave them for reading later, but when the bundle of silk scarves
and the handful of pretty combs for their hair emptied the duffel, they forgot
about their milk and scones for the pleasures of dressing one another’s hair,
and parading the results in front of Dan and Jules.
Jules kept looking to the
door, but Mia stayed away. He was disappointed, and annoyed with himself for
the emotion. She had charmed his mistress, his daughters, and his servants; was
well on her way to charming his son. She would not find him such an easy
conquest. Though, to be fair, most of what he’d had against her had evaporated.
Now he’d had time to calm
down, he could not object to Mia moving Kirana from the room next to his own,
with only one small window, to the top floor at the far end of the wing, with
windows on all three sides, though he wouldn’t have called the room over hot.
It was, after all, still winter. Though the Cape Town winters were very mild by
English standards, Kirana was used to the heat of Ceylon and India.
Still, the difference in
temperature and the freshness of the air spoke for itself, and Kirana’s praise
for Mia was genuine.
The whole house had the
Mia touch. The surfaces gleamed. Every corner was scrubbed and clean. The
windows sparkled. Since Raquib and Jwala had returned to India, and Kirana’s
illness left her without the strength to supervise the servants, he’d had to
ignore cobwebs and dust in remote corners, because it upset Kirana when he
spent the first few days of every leave chasing the servants to do their work.
Even if Mia was
overstepping her mark by taking over the house he kept for his mistress—whoever
heard of a wife doing such a thing? —he couldn’t deny the results were
pleasing.
But she had still
dismissed a pregnant maid to fend for herself in a port town where men
outnumbered women four to one.
And she was still here
when she ought to be in England.
Letter posted from Cheltenham, England, to Morristown, New Jersey, 1832 leaked to The Teatime Tattler
My darling Earnestine,
We arrived in Bristol Wednesday, two days behind schedule,
much the worse for weather, and happy to be back on solid ground. My darling Howard’s
brother sent a carriage to convey us from the harbor, and we couldn’t leave
swiftly enough for my nerves I tell you. If England has a less salubrious port
than this one, I don’t want to encounter it. Nefarious appearing individuals
lurked along the docks and at every corner where seedy and disreputable
establishments abounded. One has heard frightening stories of civil unrest
about the place as well, but we saw nothing of that sort. Once quit of the
place, England’s green hills unfolded in front of us and I was able to put my
fears aside.
(c) Bristol Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
The voyage proved as tedious as I anticipated. Howard
devoted himself to cards in the common room leaving my Ellie and I to our own
devices. Not far into the journey a new acquaintance alleviated our boredom—thank
goodness.
Mrs. Gordon Melrose, the sister-in-law of an actual baronet,
regaled us with tales of society and the sites of London, whetting our appetite
for the capital I can tell you. She also enlightened us about one of our more
mysterious fellow passengers.
Ellie pointed the man out almost as soon as we embarked from
New York. The girl does have an eye for a fine specimen of manhood! Tall and
lean with thick auburn hair, he had the air of one of those frontier types
young girls find so romantic, yet he dressed like a gentleman. Oddly, he
carried a three-legged cat. We rarely saw him without the beast. When Howard
complained to the captain about the presence of a feline, he was told that
having a predator to keep vermin from the hold was in fact good luck. Ellie
pronounced it adorable, though I could not see how a deformed cat could hunt.
In any case our mystery man proved to have more to his
credit than good looks. Mr. Melrose informed us that Randolph Wheatly—the man’s
name so she said—possesses important connections. His sister, the Countess of
Chadbourn holds sway in the highest reaches of society, and is a friend of two
Duchesses no less. Think of it Earnestine, a countess! (That is the wife of an
earl in case you aren’t as fully
informed as we are).
I thought it prudent to encourage Ellie’s interest in the man, but the girl was profoundly disappointed by his curt refusal of any social overtures. Quite reclusive, he moped in solitude and scowled at all who approached, as if his troubles weighed him down. Ellie of course found his brooding good looks irresistibly attractive, poor girl. When we docked he moved rapidly off the ship and disappeared into the unsavory streets of Bristol, as though the horrid place had been his final destination, something I cannot believe.
Oh well. Perhaps we will encounter him in London. Perhaps
he’ll introduce us to his sister, the countess. Think of it Earnestine!
Your loving sister,
Eunice
About the Book
Rand has good reason to brood on the voyage and to hurray away. He has a people to rescue, and family conflict to face.
Two hearts betrayed by love…
Desperate and afraid, Meggy Blair will do whatever it takes to protect her children. She’d hoped to find sanctuary from her abusive husband with her Ojibwa grandmother, but can’t locate her. When her children fall ill, she finds shelter in an isolated cabin in Upper Canada. But when the owner unexpectedly returns, he’s furious to find squatters disrupting his self-imposed solitude.
Reclusive businessman Rand Wheatly had good reason to put an ocean between himself and the family that deceived him. He just wants the intrusive woman gone, yet it isn’t long before Meggy and the children start breaking down the defensive walls he’s built. His heart isn’t as hard as he thought. But their fragile interlude is shattered when Meggy’s husband appears to claim his children, threatening to have Rand jailed.
The only way for Meggy to protect Rand is to leave him. When her husband takes her and the children to England, Meggy discovers he’s far more than an abuser; what he’s involved in endangers all their lives. To rescue the woman who has stolen his heart, Rand must follow her and do what he swore he’d never do: reconcile with his aristocratic family and finally uncover the truth behind all the lies. But time is running out for them all.
Award winning author of historical romance usually set in the Regency and Victorian eras, Caroline Warfield reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the world. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.
Here
at the Tattler, we pride ourselves on fair and truthful reporting. Our main
competition, THE MIDNIGHT CRYER, is simply vile and reprehensible in their
daily scandalous, not to mention, corrupt articles featuring Lord William, the
second son of the Duke of Langham (whom we affectionally call, the Rogue Most
Wanted), and his beautiful bride, Lady Theodora Worth, the Countess of Eanruig,
a Scottish peeress in her own right.
To
find out the absolute truth, we went to the person who has the most intimate familiarity
of the subject, Lady Stella Payne, Lord William’s great-aunt. She has
first-hand knowledge of the trials and tribulations these two lovebirds had to
scale in order to find true love.
“Those
two would have never been successful in their courtship if it hadn’t been for
my dearest friend in the whole world, Lady Edith Manton, and me.”
Here at the Teatime
Tattler, we believe her. Her modesty is legendary and so are here baubles. The
grand dame’s hands sparkled since practically every inch was covered in
priceless jewels. This lady is well-familiar with wedding rituals and
courtships. Being married three times certainly gives one a wealth of knowledge
about the subject… along with a jewelry box filled to the brim.
We asked Lady
Payne how she had advised the handsome couple how to circumvent the malicious
and constant rumors that seemed to swirl around them. She offered the following
with simple honesty:
“Darling,my advice is to deny everything.”
Dear readers, is
it any wonder that Lady Payne is one of the most successful matrons in London
society? With her card skills and social maneuverings, this elegant lady is a
genius on how to sidestep and crush the plotting and scheming of THE MIDNIGHT
CRYER, the worst gossip rag in all of England.
We’d be remiss
if we didn’t add that it stands to reason that Lord William and Lady Eanruig
couldn’t help but fall for one another. Not when the grand dame set her peacock
blues on making a match between these two.
Perhaps we should offer her an executive editorial position at our humble paper?
Wanted: an engagement
of convenience. Found: A noble suitor.
Raised on a remote
Scottish estate by her adoring grandfather, Lady Theodora Worth has inherited
an earldom as well as the land itself. But when an upstart duke challenges her
claim to the title and the Ladykyrk estate, Thea is suddenly in need of a
husband—in name, at least. An elderly neighbor with a thoroughly modern
sensibility and a dashing great-nephew just might be the answer to Thea’s
prayers. Except she has no intention of marrying the first man she meets. That
would be utterly ridiculous.
It just can’t be him.
. .
Lord William Cavensham
is entirely too devoted to his family’s estate—ever since he was jilted as a
lad–to wed, but he agrees to meet the woman his aunt has taken under her
wing—and introduce her to possible suitors. But after just one meeting with
beautiful, spirited Thea, Will is determined to help her reclaim her title. And
even moreso, he can’t stop thinking that perhaps marriage to this bold,
passionate woman may be the one thing he’s been missing all along?
Praise for the Cavensham Heiresses series
“Full-bodied
romance…with intelligence and heart.”—New York Times bestselling
author Cathy Maxwell
“Sparkling…MacGregor brings England’s Regency era to life.” —Publishers
Weekly
Janna MacGregor was born and raised in the bootheel
of Missouri. She credits her darling mom for introducing her to the
happily-ever-after world of romance novels. Janna writes the Cavensham
Heiresses series where compelling and powerful heroines meet and fall in love
with their equally matched heroes. She is the mother of triplets and lives in
Kansas City with her very own dashing rogue, and a smug, but not surprisingly,
perfect pug. She loves to hear from readers.
“Alright, then.”
Thea stood straight and stared into Will’s eyes. “Will you…be my friend?”
The songbirds’
warbles, the rustle of the breeze through the leaves, and every other sound
slipped to silence, and all sights faded the moment Thea asked him to be her
friend. He couldn’t move as the air grew heavy and locked him in place. All his
concentration centered on her. Finally, the spell she wove around him lessoned,
and Will tilted his head and stared at the folly’s ceiling.
Cupids and cherubs frolicked in glee as if
laughing at him. For the life of him, as Thea hesitated in asking her question,
he’d thought she would propose to him. In those mere moments, his emotions had
run the gamut from trepidation, relief, happiness, and finally, to
disappointment.
Why he
experienced disappointment was a complete and utter conundrum that he couldn’t
navigate. They’d both agreed that they didn’t want to marry the other. But
something deep within him had sparked to life, like a flint against a piece of
steel, igniting a hope she might want him. When Theodora had shared the tragic
circumstances of her family’s demise, he’d become lost—in her and the
extraordinary challenges she’d faced on her own in Northumberland. It was as if
they were physically joined in some manner, and he’d never felt that tied to
another woman.
The only
explanation could be that he’d never met anyone like her before.
Theodora
possessed a refreshing honesty and fierceness at times that belied her
underlying vulnerability—much like his own. But the more time he spent with
her, the more intrigued he found himself. When she’d approached Aunt Stella
with her reason to marry, she’d been brutally honest, and he respected her for
that.
Well, he was a
Cavensham, and a Cavensham never shirked from duty or tough questions or even
simple requests such as friendship. “Thea, I’d be honored to be your friend.”
He slowly smiled.
