Dear Readers,
I’m sharing this interesting piece of news from a faithful reader:
To the gracious Readers of this most Charming and Incomparable journal, called the Missal of Mischief by those who fail to see its Import, but more widely known to its Affectionate and Loyal friends as the Teatime Tattler, I address these remarks.
Mr S Clemens has been so kind as to bring his Custom to The Chelsea Bun House, of which my husband and I are Proprietors, for many a year. Those who have not yet honoured us with a visit will find us in Chelsea, opposite the old Ranelagh Gardens. There, since the reign of His Majesty George the First, the Hand family has provisioned London with the finest Buns the City has ever known, so much so that the Highest of the Land have been our patrons, viz., HM George II, Queen Caroline and the princesses and, more recently, HM King George III and his most beloved Queen Charlotte.
To the matter at hand. It is my intent to present a True and Accurate accounting of events that have been carelessly and, I avow, untruthfully reported by others, that is, the Twelfth Night Fire in Chelsea some weeks ago. Those who were not at the scene have cavalierly proposed that the bonfire on the Green was allowed to escape its lawful confines to wreak havoc upon the vicinity. That is not so! Every precaution was undertaken. The bonfire, having been fixed upon that spot, on that night, since the time of Elizabeth Tudor, has never caused harm to Man, Beast, or Building. I will not go so far as to say some vile design caused it to do so this past Epiphany morning, but a Discerning Eye would find much to interest it, should it be cast upon the particulars.
I would also apply the ink of correction to some slurs that have appeared in print, those directed toward the hapless young widow, Mrs Amelia de Maupassant,
whose bonnet shop was the only building consumed in the blaze. That she is French cannot be contested. But her parents fled that country for our shores years ago! Should they be blamed for the depredations of that monster Robespierre? Still less their daughter, a mere child at the time, now the widow of a bold Royal Navy seaman, lost at sea in a naval action. Shame, shame, to blame the victim of three bereavements and a fire for her own woe!
The same cruel pens have made sly mention of a certain gentleman who appeared at the doorstep of Chapeaux d’Amelie before the embers had quite cooled. This gentleman, whom I shall nominate only the M of F, drew up to the ruined shop on horseback, but has elsewhere been seen in a coach bearing an escutcheon attributed to a notorious family. Of that, I can say no more, except to beg readers to remember that we are bid by Holy Writ not to visit the sins of the fathers upon the sons.
The remedy for all false rumours flying about this affair lies in a book written by England’s newest and most marvellous contraption, a lady writer. If you care to know the TRUTH of this most captivating and passionate tale of a Man, a Woman, and a Shop full of Hats, you will hie yourself to any bookseller, for all carry The Chelsea Milliner in their stock.
The Chelsea Milliner
A Regency Romance e-novella from Annie R McEwen and The Wild Rose Press
“The writing style is seamless, flowing page after page like warm, spiced, honey—you just want to keep reading.” Reader review on Amazon
All Paris-born Amelia de Maupassant ever wanted was to make hats. But overnight, her dream’s gone up in smoke, along with her London millinery shop. When witty and handsome Hugh Fyne comes to her rescue, Amelia has doubts. Is he there to save her or seduce her?
Hugh’s heart leaps to its own conclusions. He must have Amelia and he will, if she doesn’t discover his dreadful secret.
Betrayal and horror in Revolutionary France haunt Amelia. Memories of war and a father’s villainy ravage Hugh. A woman sick of lies. A man lying for love. Will the truth destroy them? Or release them from their pasts to make a future together?
Excerpt from the novel
Hugh paced. It helped with the cold but didn’t do as much as he hoped to still the spinning wheels of his brain. He rehearsed ten different opening remarks for when he found Amelia, discarding them one after another. Too formal, too intimate, too light-hearted, too unbelievable, too sodding pathetic—
“What?”
“I was just askin’ His Lordship the Captain, and beggin’ pardon, but is she worth it?”
Woolcott had pushed up his hat brim. His eyebrows were frosted like white caterpillars and arched in what appeared to be genuine curiosity.
“Yes.” Hugh went back to pacing and Woolcott pulled down his hat.
The flurries finally stopped, and the countryside took on the muffled beauty that follows snow. “Let’s go,” Hugh said, and pulled the blankets off the horses.
Things went well after that until they lost the road.
Available everywhere. On Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DK3WXXCW
The YouTube book trailer link: https://youtu.be/lcrvaqOpquk
About Annie R McEwen
Granular history, intricate plotting, humour.
A career historian, Annie R McEwen has lived in six countries and under every roof from a canvas tent to a Georgian Era manor house. She writes historical romantic suspense, paranormal romance, and historical fiction. Annie is published by Bloodhound Books (UK), Harbor Lane Books (US), The Wild Rose Press, and Rowan Prose Publishing. When she’s not in her 1920s bungalow in Florida, Annie lives, writes, and explores castles in Wales.
Winner of the 2022 Page Turners Writing Award (Romance Category), Annie earned both a First and Second Place 2022 RTTA (Romance Through the Ages Award), the 2023 MAGGIE Award, and the 2023 Daphne du Maurier Award. She was a Finalist for the 2024 Page Turners Writing Award and Shortlisted for a Writer’s Mentorship Award. Annie’s short fiction appears in numerous anthologies.
Find Annie online at:
https://www.anniermcewen.com
https://facebook.com/Quillist/
https://www.instagram.com/anniermcewen/
https:www.youtube.com@anniermcewen
https://www.amazon.com/author/anniewritin
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22379947.Annie_R_McEwen
https://linktr.ee/mcewenannier
@anniermcewen.bsky.social
As your devoted servant in all things scandalous and sparkling, I regret to inform you that yesterday’s highly anticipated auction at the Mivart Hotel was nearly undone by a brazen theft of the entire Lady Babbage jewelry collection—yes, you read that correctly, the entire collection!—mere hours before bidding was set to begin.
It Takes a Spy
Dear Mr. Clemens,
Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Dear Reader,
Beauty and the Lyon
To Lady Charlene Fielding.