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Because history is fun and love is worth working for

Author: Amy Quinton (Page 1 of 2)

Musings of a Motley Meddler: Complicated Stuff. Wink. Wink.

5 January 1815
Bath, England

Dear Interested Parties,

Today’s Topic: Classical Mechanics or the Magic of Numbers. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure which.

It is with great honor that I announce that none other than the reclusive Dr. John Edward Hartwell has agreed to give a lecture on Mathematics and Sir Isaac Newton’s Laws of Classical Mechanics as well as discuss his own theories, recently printed, with regards to chaotic tendencies in orderly systems, at my home near Bath on Monday the 9th of January.

Perhaps, after I attend his lecture, I will understand what, precisely, all that means.

In the meantime, my guests and I await with baited breath, the arrival of our mysterious genius. Never fear, dear readers, for you will be the first to hear all the delicious details regarding this elusive man. Here. In the Teatime Tattler.

My Umbrella is at the ready.

Signed,

Lady Harriett Ross
—Self-proclaimed Matchmaking Motley Meddler
—Mistress of Destiny
—Wielder of the Infamous Umbrella

Bloomfield Place
Bath, England

I’m just an old woman with opinions. On everything.

Editor’s Note:

  1. More Information to follow as Lady Harriett Ross and author Amy Quinton reveal more of what’s to come in the 3rd Installment of the Umbrella Chronicles: John and Emma’s story. Due in time for Valentine’s Day, February 2019.
  2. The image is an engraving of Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727), English scientist and mathematician. It captures the story of Newton’s dog, Diamond, who once knocked over a candle while Newton was out of the room, causing the papers piled on Newton’s desk to catch fire. Those papers contained some pretty important information – they were filled with calculations which had taken him twenty years to make! Upon finding nothing but ashes remained of all his hard work, he cried, “Oh, Diamond! Diamond! Thou little knowest what mischief thou hast done!”

 

Musings of a Motley Meddler: Men Who Do Not Listen

A Stolen Kiss by Marcus Stone

A Stolen Kiss by Marcus Stone

Christmastide 1814
Bath, England

Dear Interested Parties or Women the World Wide,

Today I’d like to discuss men who do not listen: the bane of every woman’s existence.

But first, a little background. The following is a record of my recent conversation with a certain prodigal duke at my home in London:

“Forgive an old lady for not standing, lad. My doctor says I have poor humours in my toe. What a load of shite, I say, but the left one does ache a’ times.”

He dipped his head and scarcely gave my propped foot a glance. “I need your help.”

“Indeed. I assume this is regarding Miss A— M— and her attentions, or lack thereof?”

I’ve blacked out her name from this transcript, for privacy’s sake, of course. As you well know, I am everything that is discreet.

At this point, I waived THE Umbrella about as many who talk with their hands might, but he took no notice. When I added a “Hmmmm?” and waved it again, I finally caught his eye.

He smiled. “May I hold It?”

“But of course.”

He took it gently, handling it with obvious care, and ran his hand down the length as if it were a treasured heirloom. “I’ve heard much about this Umbrella and your devious little exploits,” He raised a brow, but his lips held a smile. “and I think I might need this.”

So far so good, right? I like a man who knows what he wants. Still, I asked:

“Are you sure, young man? I must warn you,” I gestured towards the Umbrella. “That thing works.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Right then. What’s your plan?”

Now, he looked uncertain. Of course. Come on, ladies, let’s raise our eyes heavenward and say it together: Men.

“Plan?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, my daft boy. What? Were you just going to toss It at her and hope for the best? It doesn’t work quite like that. Especially with the right kind of woman, and Miss M— is the right kind of woman.”

The duke got that silly look on his face at the mention of Miss M— by name, the one all men get when they are thinking of their one true love, but I digress.

“Ahem, yes, well, fortunately, for you, I have a plan already written out for you to follow.” I handed him my list. “I must say I was quite surprised by your note, saying you would call today. But I’d hoped—and here you are, poised to make my little job quite a bit easier.”

By job, I was referring to my plans to play matchmaker to him and Miss M— regardless of either of their preferences on the matter.

At this point, he stopped to read my plan:

  1. Make your intentions clear
  2. Send her a cornucopia of her favorite flowers
  3. Ensure everyone knows your intentions
  4. Give her a special gift—one she cannot return.
  5. Take her for a ride

His head jerked up, and a faint blush colored his cheeks. “Is take her for a ride a euphemism for…”

I shrugged and withheld a snort. “Time will tell.”

  1. Waltz with her in private
  2. Give her a taste of passion
  3. Take her sailing
  4. Bare your soul
  5. Propose

Now ladies, pay particular attention to this point in our conversation. For when he finished, I immediately articulated my warning:

“Heed me, lad. You must follow this plan to the letter. No skipping steps. No combining steps. And no funny business.”

He didn’t even blink. “When do we begin?” he asked.

“December 22. The Ruthford’s Winter Solstice Ball. I know. They’re a touch pagan, but it’s the perfect segue into Christmastide, which we shall spend at my home near Bath, and we need every opportunity available to us if we hope to secure your engagement by Twelfth Night.”

“Twelfth Night,” he repeated in a bit of a daze.

“Too soon?” I asked.

The duke smiled. “Absolutely not. Just wondering if I can wait that long.”

“Good answer. You’ll do.”

“And if the weather thwarts our departure for Bath?”

“Harrumph. It wouldn’t dare.”

“Heaven forbid.” The duke bowed and turned to leave, a smile on his handsome face.

“Duke? Leave everything else to me.” I help up my finger in warning. “I mean it, lad. Everything. Else.”

The duke dipped his head. “Yes ma’am.”

Now, perhaps I should have added: “Repeat after me. No skipping steps. No combining steps. And no funny business.” A second time.

But alas.

And wouldn’t you know, it all began to unravel on Christmas Day when he botched Step Four completely.

Which required a new step: Step 4.5— Apologize in a grand way; grovel if necessary.

I must say he executed step 4.5 beautifully over Christmas dinner.

But then, His Graceless Idiot decided steps 8 and 9 weren’t truly necessary.

Weren’t. Truly. Necessary.

Now. One would think that when wooing a reluctant woman, a man would take and follow the advice he had received from a knowledgeable person who was/is, in fact, a woman.

But then again, he is only a man. Flawed and human, though beautiful in his way.

Fortunately for him, my Umbrella and I work magic.

Unfortunately for you, you will have to read the latest story in the Umbrella Chronicles by Amy Quinton to find out what happens next—release date, November 2018 and included in the 2018 Bluestocking Belles Holiday Boxed Set.  Details to come!

 

Lady Harriett Ross,

Bloomfield Place
Bath, England

Self-proclaimed Motley Meddler * Mistress of Destiny * Wielder of the Infamous Umbrella

I’m just an old woman with opinions. On everything.

Musings of a Motley Meddler: The Prodigal Son Returns!

1814
England

Dear Interested Parties,

The ballrooms of London are atwitter…
And widows are revamping their boudoirs.
A few debutantes are likely still bitter…
But secretly consulting grimoires.

The demimonde ladies remain hopeful…
And gamblers are flooding the Hells.
The shopkeepers are restocking by the boatful…
But matchmaking mamas are hiding their gels.

*chuckles gleefully*

What is this special occasion you ask?
Why the prodigal son has returned!

Yes, dear readers, you all know who I mean…
And this time he will not escape my matchmaking schemes. (Alas, I couldn’t help myself.)

For I am determined, dear reader, to find without delay…
A mate who can rein in his extravagant way.

*grin*

Sure, I only have the slightest inkling of an idea, and with this wily bachelor, I will need much time to plan.

Nevertheless, I am confident I shall prevail, and by the holidays, he will no longer be a single young man!

My Umbrella is at the ready.

Signed,

Lady Harriett Ross—Self-proclaimed Matchmaking Motley Meddler—Mistress of Destiny—Wielder of the Infamous Umbrella
Bloomfield Place
Bath, England

I’m just an old woman with opinions. On everything.

*Lady Harriett Ross appears in all of the novels of the Agents of Change series by Bluestocking Belle, Amy Quinton, and has her own matching making series called The Umbrella Chronicles. See www.amyquinton.net for more information.

The Motley Meddler Strikes Again!

England 1814

G— St . V— never saw it coming.

And he never stood a chance.

Once again, we’re delighted to announce that the gentleman in question proved no match for the machinations of Lady Harriett Ross and her infamous Umbrella.

The betting books at Whites are on fire.

The gossips at every holiday party are all atwitter.

And if you’ve been following along, you, our dear readers, were the first to know as we’ve regaled you with all the delightful details every step of the way via firsthand accounts through the humorous musings of Lady Harriett Ross…straight from that dear woman’s own pen…as she set the scene for the downfall…aka—betrothal…of G— St . V—, the Future M— of S— and Miss Do—a W—e.

Her machinations have met with unquestionable success…you may have noticed their betrothal announcement in all the major papers this Monday past.

If you want all the details of their whirlwind courtship, you can read about it here.

Now, we have it on good authority that Lady Harriett Ross herself will be writing us again soon, her sights set on a new person of interest: Lord J— Q—, 8th M— of M— and heir to the Duchy of S— W—.

But this time, in an unusual development, the persons of interest just might have initiated certain events with Lady Harriett Ross first!

Stay tuned…

She’s just an old woman with opinions. On everything.

 

Musings of a Motley Meddler: G— St. V—, Part 3

England 1814

Dear Interested Parties,

Today’s topic: The Betrothal of G— St . V—, the Future M— of S—, Part 3

In my last post, I recounted the gist of an incriminatory, private conversation between G—St. V— and his (hopefully) soon-to-be-betrothed, Miss Do—a W—e, as overheard via that most ancient and beloved of all past times: Eavesdropping.

Now, I must admit I found the implications of their entire conversation to be delightfully delicious, unlike my colleagues, yet as expressed previously, such a compromising conversation was utterly inconvenient for my plans as I desired them to unfold. As such, I thought I’d have my hands full redirecting my contemporaries away from such delectable gossip…seeing as they, regrettably, also overheard the aforementioned conversation.

Alas, I should have had more faith, dear friends, in my pick for Lord St. V—‘s future bride, for she handled the potential architects of her downfall with absolute grace and aplomb.

Or, at least, quite a bit of pluck.

Shall I recount the events as they unfolded?

But of course.

First, let me set the scene:

I interrupted the decadently delightful conversation by bursting through the library door with overabundant flourish (my forte, you know), my contemporaries right on my heels. St. V— was rather unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on who you ask—disheveled: his jacket dusty, his collar droopy, his cravat loose…y (I had to). Miss W— was not much better, but then her appearance appeared in such a sorry state as a general rule.

Both were seated on a red, velvet settee, entertaining a rock of all things.

And both stood with alacrity upon my glorious entry, Miss W— stating the obvious (or not so obvious, depending): “It’s not what you think.”

Of course, it wasn’t.

Regrettably.

To the women on my heels, I added, “Well, it’s clear there’s nothing to see here.”

The rest occurred as follows:

Lady Str—n, sputteringly: “Nothing to see here! I think we can all agree there is quite a lot to see here. Besides, I know what I heard.”

Lady Led—r, enquiringly, “I expect you are prepared to do the gentlemanly thing, St. V?”

It should be noted: St. V— was not the least bit ruffled by her pointed question, yet before he could speak…

Miss W—, challenging…ly: “Of course, we’re not going to marry. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

Lady Led—r, accusingly: “We all heard you.”

Miss W—, arguably: “Did you now? And what, precisely, did you hear?”

Lady Led—r, blushing…ly: “A lady does not speak of such things. Besides, you know what you said…”

Miss W—, confidently: “Indeed. I do know. I was looking at Lord St. V—’s engraved rock, offering him a translation of its markings. What did you think I was doing?”

Lady Led—r, dismissively (and with a very unladylike snort): “That still doesn’t explain the state of your clothes.”

Miss W—, defiantly: “I rather don’t know what you mean Lady Led—r. Besides, I am thirty years of age…”

St. V—, idiotically: “You’re thirty?”

Miss W—, pointedly: “Do you have a problem with that?”

St. V—, fortunately: “No…”

Miss W—, self-assuredly: “As I was saying, I am thirty years of age: far too old to be forced into marriage for the sake of my nonexistent reputation. Especially given we’ve done nothing wrong.”

Lady Led—r and Lady Str—n, jealously: “Harrumph…” 

Me, happily: “Ahem. You see? Nothing to see here at all. Now, I suggest you all run along before you miss the morning’s events. I’m sure my nephew has many activities planned for his guest to enjoy. You won’t want to miss a thing, I assure you.”

Miss W—, relieved…ly: “Thank God that’s over.” (Once everyone had left, of course.)

See? Perfect for G— St. V—, isn’t she?

Soon, dear readers, soon…

*Hums the wedding march*

Lady Harriett Ross
Bloomfield Place
Bath, England

I’m just an old woman with opinions. On everything.

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