Author: Rue Allyn Page 2 of 16

Gentle Readers, we quote here the greater part of an anonymous letter. We are fascinated, but you may make of it what you will.

Have you heard? The duke’s daughter’s been arrested. Now, do I believe it’s true? I’m afraid I do indeed and not only that, but they’ve thrown her maid in gaol. Her maid, you know, is a gypsy girl, and she’d be pretty if only she were English. I heard the guards talking about how she stole her eggs and she had lace about her person too. I’m certain this must have been pinched also because how else might that kind of beggar afford lace?

The guard walks out with my maid’s sister, you know, so I speak with authority. He says the maid was due to wed before she got herself arrested and I wonder at the wisdom of allowing such folk to purloin such Christian traditions as greedily as they do our legally gained produce.

The duke’s daughter is a lady Lydia and I’m not sure if you recall it, friends, but we came out together three Seasons ago, though she was never so fortunate as I. I married my Yorkshire lord and settled right to breeding, whereas the lady Lydia ran out on her earl. She might have been a countess by now, if she’d not caught herself up among such gyspy folk. What can one expect though, when one’s brother is already married and living among them?

It’s a terribly sad moment, you know, to see one’s former schoolfellows fallen in the world. Not just her, but all her family must now become barred. She’ll not be able to set foot in society again, I shouldn’t wonder, and who can survive without it? I, for one, cannot admit to ever having known her at all anymore. Not even to despise her at a summer ball.

This is what comes, you see, of losing your mama so young, for I’ve always had you to guide me away from such indecent connections. I am grateful, Mama, for your counsel, and your society which is a gratitude not all married matrons recollect to their mothers. Today’s events have put me in mind, however, of the warnings you were kind enough to proffer, regarding associations with such tribes and I wished to express my gratitude as soon as three sets of twins might allow me, which is to explain why these events occurred before Christmas, and I am only now passing on such vital outcomes.

About A Holiday Season at Clifton Hall:

Yorkshire, 1821:

The Romany have been barred from Lancashire for ten years under the old duke. The new duke, however, has new rules and encourages them to travel thither this Christmas. It’s a special season for the royal Romany House of Brishen. They have a new royal babe and a wedding to celebrate.

Or do they?

Stari Besnik is betrothed to Chal Brishen, the Romany King’s youngest brother. The marriage negotiations have taken so long, she doubts his commitment to her. Meanwhile, Chal is doing everything he can to meet her father’s demands for Stari’s bride price, as is the Romany men’s tradition. He determines to do this without his brother’s help. He wants no man aiding him to earn his bride!

Impatient to be with the man she loves, Stari seeks to gain what’s required at an old market. When she’s accused of theft and imprisoned, her life with Chal seems further away than ever.  The penalty for theft in a market town is death by hanging – and no Romany does well under English law.

Can Chal gain his bride by Christmas? And who’s the real thief with such a strong connection to Clifton Hall?

A Holiday Season at Clifton Hall is a Regency Christmas novella following on from Always a Princess and The King’s Mistress.

It includes the prologue to the final title in this series: An Impossible Duchess.

Available Now: Amazon

Excerpt:   “We’ve brought no trouble here,” Stari declared quietly. “However, the trade is fair.” She spoke through gritted teeth, extending her palm.

The fellow shrank away as though she’d the pox. “I’ll not take yer hand, gypsy. I’ve still business to make today.” His glance raked once more over her skirts, glaring disdain.

Despite his rudeness, Stari hoped Lydia wouldn’t seek another stall. They’d been among the English long enough. She longed to return to the woods outside this dark, dank, ill-scented town.

“Oi!” A shout behind made them all turn. The providore stood, red-faced with fury as he waved an empty basket in one huge, hammy fist. “Thieves!” he bellowed, his glare riveted on Stari. “You’ll pay for my eggs, girl! One way or another.” He advanced menacingly towards her as louder shouts came from the growing crowd behind him.

“No!” Stari cried out, aware the gallows awaited any thief in a market town – and a Romany woman had precious little with which to barter. “I’ve taken nothing.”

Lydia’s palm slid into hers, tensed and ready. “We’ve taken nothing.” Out of the corner of her eye, Stari  spied the Frenchwoman hurrying away, her little boy lifted up into her arms, clutching something close inside his coat. Eggs?

She raised her free arm to point out the true culprits, remembering, suddenly, the desperation in the woman’s face. The joyless stare from her young son. What if eggs are all they have for Christmas? Like all Romany, Besnik had endured lean times, but the Romany aided each other. If a Romany house had no meat for Christmas, another furnished it in a fair trade. A Frenchwoman struggling to feed her hungry child in England had no recourse at all.

Stari’s arm fell slack. She closed her lips, praying the French mother and her son stayed safe. Meanwhile, the crowd hemmed right round her, louder, larger, and more menacing as they called for the law.

“Fetch the Watchman! Hang the thieves!” Their cries grew uglier. The pushing and shoving sent her forwards, practically into the goosepen.

Stari’s gut lurched as she struggled to hold her stance, flushing as cruder suggestions were made about disposing of two women in the Oldyards. They’d be lucky if the watchmen arrived in time.

Greetings, dear readers, and gather around as we delve into the enchanting tapestry of Westerfield Manor, where secrets lie beneath the polished veneer of Regency high society. In the historic halls of this venerable estate, a tale of mystery, love, and destiny unfolds—a tale that has tongues wagging and quills at the ready in the hallowed realms of gossip.

Lady Genevieve, a paragon of grace and refinement, and the dashing Lord Ashford have become the unsuspecting protagonists in a challenge that transcends time and family ties. Their quest? To unearth the concealed secrets that have lingered within Westerfield Manor for generations, like whispers carried on the wind.

At the heart of this clandestine adventure is a missing treasure—a brooch of exquisite craftsmanship, whispered to possess a magic of its own. Lady Genevieve, with her keen intellect and unwavering resolve, joins forces with the charismatic Lord Ashford to solve the riddles of the past. As the clock ticks towards the midnight deadline, the duo races against time, navigating the labyrinth of Westerfield Manor in search of answers.

Secret letters passed through the ages like precious heirlooms reveal a saga of love and intrigue that transcends the boundaries of time. The very walls of the manor seem to whisper tales of an age-old romance, echoing the sentiments of a bygone era.

Amidst the flickering candlelight and the rustle of silk gowns, Lady Genevieve and Lord Ashford find themselves entangled in a web of mystery and desire. As they draw closer to the truth, their own bond deepens, mirroring the profound magic that only true love can conjure. It is a love that defies the constraints of a society bound by rules and expectations.

As the clock strikes midnight, the secrets of Westerfield Manor are laid bare, and the legacy of a family is rewritten. The enduring commitment of Lady Genevieve and Lord Ashford serves as a testament to the transformative power of love—a force that illuminates even the darkest corners of the past.

Dear readers, as we pen down this tale of whispered secrets and hidden desires, let us raise our quills to Lady Genevieve and Lord Ashford, the architects of a love story that transcends time and societal constraints. May their journey inspire us all to look beyond the façade and seek the enduring magic that lies within the recesses of our own hearts.

Until next time, dear readers, who knows what secrets may be unveiled in Ms. Casie’s next story? I am certain it will be a tale to savor and enjoy.

About The Lady and the Christmas Brooch: Amidst the splendor of a Christmas ball, Lady Genevieve and a charming rogue Lord Ashford find the secret to her destinies intertwined in an antique brooch. Can their growing love defy society’s demands, or will their love reveal the true magic of the season?

In the historic halls of Westerfield Manor, an entwined tale of mystery, love, and destiny unfolds. Lady Genevieve and Lord Ashford embark on a challenge to uncover the hidden family secrets that span generations—before midnight. Amidst the allure of the past, they find themselves drawn into a web of intrigue fueled by secret letters, a missing treasured brooch, and the whispers of an age-old romance. As midnight draws near, Genevieve and Ashford’s bond deepens, revealing that true love, like the secrets of the past, is illuminated by those willing to look beyond the bounds of a restricted society. In a spellbinding story weaving together destiny and unwavering commitment, the legacy of a family finds itself rewritten by the enduring and profound magic that only love can offer.

About Christmastide Kisses, a Bluestocking Belles with Friends collection:  Six charming holiday season romances from award-winning and best-selling authors. The Bluestocking Belles and Friends brighten your holidays with:

• A beleaguered uncle whose wards have run off every governess–what he needs is a wife, if only he can persuade the latest applicant
• A country solicitor who becomes an earl and then finds a secret that changes everything
• A very proper clergyman battles very improper urges when he and a lady with a murky past find themselves snowbound
• A viscount whose search to unearth generations-old family secrets kindles the fire of love for his lovely search partner
• A former army captain wonders if the best friend of his ex-fiancee is the woman he should have married
• A vicar with a misspent youth and the duke’s daughter who brings out the best in him

Six gentlemen and the ladies with whom they discover the power of a Christmastide Kiss.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/Christmastide-Kisses-Bluestocking-Friends-Collection-ebook/dp/B0CNL3HRKG

Dear Readers,

One of our favorite sources of scandal and on dit, Lady Ablethorp is at it once again. This conversation was overheard in its entirety by our intrepid London reporter.

“Have you heard?” Lady Ablethorp said as she approached her friend dressed in a frothy pink gown and chapeau, whilst carrying a charming pink umbrella, though no rain was in sight.

“Heard what?” the Honorable Miss Patricia Helmsworthy said with keen interest.

The day was balmy with a few clouds ambling above them. Lady Ablethorp looked around, checking none of those she planned to skewer were in the vicinity of Bond Street. Thankfully the coast was clear. “Did you hear about Lady Jersey?”

“I have not.” Miss Patricia Helmsworthy said, leaning closer.

“It appears that most esteemed lady was caught in a gust of wind and somehow her skirt and her chemise flew into the air, up around her head. Her privates were exposed!”

”Indeed!” Miss Patricia’s eyes went wide.

Lady Ablethorp tapped a finger to her cheek. “She was wearing drawers, but they are like chaps, and they made not one bit of difference.”

“Shocking!” Miss Patricia tittered, a flush rising to her cheeks.

“There is more! Lord Kingfisher received a new pair of teeth, and they look mighty strange.”

Much to Lady Ablethorp’s dismay, Miss Patricia merely sniffed.

“Word is, his teeth came from a dead soldier at Waterloo.”

“Indeed,” Miss Patricia said in a somewhat bored voice.

Not at all what Lady Ablethorp was expecting. More disappointment.

“I have a pair of those myself!” Miss Patricia grinned, showing teeth resembling a favorite mare of Lady Ablethorp’s. If she recalled, the mare’s name was Bernice. Lady Ablethorp cleared her throat, then offered a smile. “Yours are quite nice, my dear, though they must have belonged to a very large soldier!”

Miss Patricia sniffed again. “Indeed.”

“Have you traveled lately?” Lady Ablethorp asked knowing well that the Honorable Miss Patricia Helmsworthy had traveled recently, she suspected much to the lady’s chagrin.

“Indeed!” Miss Patricia said, with a wide smile as she rested her hands atop the handle of her umbrella. “To the Lake District, in fact.”

“And was it a comfortable trip?” Lady Ablethorp raised her monocle.

“Oh, indeed, it was, though I did have to share a bed at the Winged Swan, a quite charming inn.”

Lady Ablethorp winked, though it may have looked more like a twitch to observers. “You did not sleep alone?” Lady Ablethorp feigned shock. “In truth, it would be quite lowering for the Honorable Patricia Helmsworthy to share a bed at the inn, common practice or no.” It was her turn to sniff.

“Indeed. As I mentioned, I did share a bed!”

Why was the woman smiling? Lady Ablethorp waited for Miss Patricia’s embarrassment, for her horror. “Honorables” were not meant to lower themselves to cozying up in bed with a stranger. That was for the middle class and poor. And yet Miss Patricia seemed unabashed. Lady Ablethorp waited. And waited. Finally… “Were you not discomforted sharing your bed with riffraff?“

Miss Patricia rolled her eyes skyward. “Not in the least. For the bed I shared was with the Captain Lansdowne.”

“The marquess’ brother? That captain?”

“Indeed.”

There were those teeth again. “One of the heroes of Trafalgar?”

“Indeed.” Miss Patricia said, her smile increasing.

Lady Ablethorp was confounded and began to imagine Captain Lansdowne. Tall and stately and fit. Very, very fit. And young, not yet thirty. Lady Ablethorp liked the young ones best.

“Are you sure it was the dark-haired handsome one?” Lady Ablethorp said.

Miss Patricia smiled so wide it looked as if her cheeks might break. “We two spent a lovely night beneath the covers. Most lovely indeed.”

What a lucky duck.

About The Bond: Rosamund is at a dangerous crossroads…

Lady Rosamund Fielding hides a secret so terrible it could ruin her, her family, and Major General Lord Rhys Lansdowne, the man she loves. Rose and Rhys were inseparable in childhood—their friendship was the one shining light in Rose’s dark upbringing.

Yet when Rhys proposes, Rose refuses, for he can never know her shameful truth.

Returned from the Napoleonic wars and now the Marquess of Ravenscroft, Rhys is determined to uncover the reason behind Rose’s rejection and win her hand and her heart once and for all.

Yet Rose’s father, Earl Fielding, is demanding Rose accept Brigadier Viscount Pennworth’s marriage proposal, threatening dire consequences if she does not obey.

Time is of the essence as Rose faces this difficult crossroad, where she is forced to confront past demons and choose a path.

Should she marry Rhys, deceiving him, and forever be branded a liar in his eyes? She cannot.

Wed Pennworth? Never.

Or flee? Away from Rhys, away from her father, and away from all she holds dear.

Rose has faced many dangerous choices in her life. Will this final one destroy her?

Available Now:  Amazon: https://amzn.to/3I5G7n6 Everywhere Else: https://books2read.com/u/4DJvx7

About Samma Brand:  Award-winning author Vicki Stiefel now also writes as Sanna Brand, whose Regency Romance, THE BOND (The Secret Tales Book 1) launches May 15. Vicki has also written the fantasy romance series, The Made Ones Saga, as well as The Afterworld Chronicles, an urban fantasy series. Her award-winning mystery/thrillers feature homicide counselor Tally Whyte.

Vicki tapped into her love of knitting to produce Chest of Bone The Knit Collection and co-write 10 Secrets of the LaidBack Knitters.

After running The Writers Studio with her late husband, William G. Tapply, Vicki taught fiction writing at Clark University.

She is currently working on THE DECEPTION, The Secret Tales Book Two.

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/vicki.stiefel.5/

Facebook, Author: https://www.facebook.com/vickistiefelauthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vickistiefel/

Dear readers,

This letter, we assume it is a copy, was left on the editor’s desk anonymously. The information contained herein is so scandalous that we feel obligated to print the missive in its entirety. You dear readers shall be the judges of whether or not you each believe attendance at the Mistletoe Assembly is appropriate or not.

Dear Mrs. Pearler,

I have heard quite reliably that all the tickets to the Grand Mistletoe Assembly have been sold and while I congratulate you on the success of the event to be held at your magnificent residence, I must point out a grave error that must be resolved.

I, Lady Agatha Witherspoon, third cousin to Lady Cowper, was unable to procure one!

Surely, you can find room for one more person, especially one who is held in high regard by members of the ton and who travels in the best circles. I was so looking forward to attending as I heard from my cook (not that I listen to idle rumors from belowstairs, mind you) that you will be serving an array of  delicacies only those of us with the most refined palettes will appreciate.

A monstrous rumor has also been circulating (not that I gossip, but one cannot always leave a room when other people’s conversations are taking place) that tickets have been sold to a female boxer, a woman who was once accused of murdering her husband, and the widow of a philandering artist. I shudder to think these three creatures will be mingling with the crème de la crème of the ton. My heart is palpitating at the mere thought. (Excuse me while I ring for my maid to bring my vinaigrette.)

I suppose you must allow riffraff in when they pay the price of the ticket to a charity ball, but perhaps you’ll consider a charity lecture or sermon next time. I am thrilled of course that your event has already brought in a considerable sum for the foundling home you support. I gather even more will be raised from the silent auction that will take place. If you can find one more ticket, for me, I guarantee that I shall be bidding on the exquisite diamond necklace you are donating to the auction. Are you not afraid of thieves, setting such a tempting item on display? With your unfortunate lack of diligence in ferreting out suitable patrons, you may have one in your midst.

I do hope to hear from you soon. I must have time to order a new gown.

Yours,

Lady Agatha Witherspoon.

About the Stories in The Grand Mistletoe Assembly: a Regency Christmas Anthology: Can the festive ball of the Season bring these couples together in time for the holidays? A collection of Regency romances with star-crossed lovers, fast-paced plots and timeless connections. Cuddling under mistletoe, fine lace, snowy linen: true love can be found in the flickering lights of a hundred gas lamps. Pearler House is bedecked for the holidays and everyone is attending the event of a lifetime.

He gambles for a ticket to the ball, but might win the love of his life.

High society’s rules make it impossible to meet. Is their love doomed to remain a scandalous secret?

A young woman forging a career as a bare-knuckled boxer. A footman looking for something more … and an overturned platter at the event of the year.

Will her secret stand in the way of their second chance at love?

He’s her brother’s best friend, and he wants her for Christmas.

What’s an earl to do when his sister’s best friend becomes the one temptation he can’t resist?

Experience the joy of the season with six all-new tales of passion. Some are sweet, some are spicy, all will capture your heart.

Available at:    https://buy.bookfunnel.com/zk90pzt05b

About the Authors:

Bestselling author Sara Adrien writes hot and heart-melting regency romance with a Jewish twist. As a law professor-turned-author, she writes about clandestine identities, whims of fate, and sizzling seduction. If you like unique and intelligent characters, deliciously sexy scenes, and the nostalgia of afternoon tea, then you’ll adore Sara Adrien’s tender tear-jerkers.

Jemma Frost:  Jemma Frost writes steamy, unconventional romances for an easy escape into history. She grew up in the Midwest where she visited the library every day and read romance novels voraciously! Now, she lives in North Carolina with her cat, Spencer, and dreams of stories to be written! She also writes contemporaries under the name Hallie Bennett.

Nina Jarrett, best-selling author, likes to tell mischievous tales of life-changing decisions and character transformations while drinking excellent coffee and avoiding cookies. When she finished school she moved on to work in non-profits assisting recovering drug addicts in South Africa. She now lives in Florida with her real-life hero and fellow bibliophile.

Edie Cay writes Regency Historical Romance about women’s boxing. She obtained dual BAs in Creative Writing and in Music, and her MFA in Creative Writing from University of Alaska Anchorage, and has gone on to win numerous writing awards. Once a month she interviews other authors on the Paper Lantern Writers YouTube channel! Tune in.

Award-Winning and International Bestselling author Tanya Wilde developed a passion for reading when she had nothing better to do than lurk in the library during her lunch breaks. Her love affair with pen and paper soon followed after she devoured all of their historical romance books! She lives in South Africa and when not writing, loves to go off on adventures.

Pamela Gibson’s novelette is called Lily’s Scandalous Secret and features Emily’s aunt, Lily Whittington, from Scandal’s Promise. She’s back in London and meets a man from her past who invites her to the ball. Their “connection” is instant, but Lily shies away because she has a terrible secret and can never marry again.

Excerpt from Lily’s Scandalous Secret:

He took her hand and gently rubbed her covered wrist. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the erotic strokes, imagining those fingers elsewhere. When the carriage stopped, Alastair leaned closer.

“I know we’ve just recently become reacquainted, but it seems like the years have fallen away. May I escort you to the charity assembly at the end of the week? Your niece told me you are reclusive, although I’ve yet to understand why, but I shall honor your decision if you choose not to go.”

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to spend as much time in Alastair’s company as she could before returning to Langston Grange. She wanted to savor his expressions, his seductive voice, and his turns of phrase. She wanted memories of him to cleanse the horrors in her past.

Others would be at the assembly, people he knew and who had known his deceased wife. His daughter would be there. No. She couldn’t risk being recognized by a dowager who might remember the old scandal.

The evening had been perfect, and here she was, contemplating ruining it by refusing to give him the answer he sought. She shouldn’t be churlish. Nothing happened at the theatre. She was being a ninny. She should say yes, say she was looking forward to the assembly.

They entered the quiet house and slipped into the drawing room, away from the prying eyes of the night footman. “Can I offer you a brandy? My nephew’s late father put down an impressive cellar both here and at Cardmore Hall.”

“I have a better idea.” He looked into her eyes as he slowly tugged her glove completely free. He lowered his mouth to her hand, and when his lips touched the inside of her wrist, tingles went straight to her center. His tongue traced a pattern there that nearly melted her knees, then he drew her gently toward him and kissed her.

She’d forgotten what a delicious kisser he was, eliciting murmurs and sighs as the kiss deepened and their tongues entwined. His mouth brushed her ear. “Say yes, Lily. Say you’ll attend.”

When his lips caressed her neck and feathered kisses behind her ear, she knew what her answer would be.

Rumor has it that the coming season of the Drury Lane Theatre is wracked with drama. Not – as you would hope – with Shakespearean dramas, but rather with drama behind the stage. In fact, there have been so many scandals that one must wonder whether anyone respectable will attend the next production.

First, the company ran out of money for repairs. If whispers are to be believed, a woman of ill repute approached an esteemed personage for an investment. Even more shocking, the aforementioned personage – known to our ears as a duke of extreme eccentricities – put his own money into the theater. One can only guess how the woman persuaded him.

Then, there were whispers that a lady of good family wrote the script. While this type of story may be charming in the privacy of a drawing room, it beggars belief that the theater company expects polite society to brings its ladies and daughters to see a play with such shocking origins.

And now, dear Tattlers, we have heard a whisper that the construction of the sets and the very structure of the theater has been entrusted to a woman carpenter. For the last few decades, the theater (when not burned to the ground) has always been run by the Billings and Sons Carpentry. With the demise of Billings earlier this year, his daughter Miss Billings has taken over the business.

Our source, who is highly placed in the Carpentry Guild, indicates this is highly irregular and leaves the theater at risk of physical calamities. A poor carpentry job could lead to broken sets, trapdoors gone awry, and even the collapse of the audience’s box sets.

To make it worse, Lord Preston and his strange band of ruffians at Northfield Hall have seized this opportunity to sink their teeth into London. Rumor has it that Miss Billings has hired a Northfield Hall carpenter as her supervisor. One can only imagine he will be redesigning the theater so that the common man is in the boxes and good society must stand in the pit!

I am sure you will agree with me, Tattlers, that this season at Drury Lane sounds abysmal. I, for one, will be at the front row to see what happens next.

About The Hellion of Drury Lane: For Samantha Billings, nothing can go right. Ever since she inherited her father’s business as head carpenter for Drury Lane Theatre, she has been fighting off problems from creditors to unending rain. When an inspector of the carpentry guild announces he will stop her work unless she hires a master carpenter, Samantha fears she may lose everything – but she resolves to overcome, one way or another.

For Oliver Chow, nothing can go wrong. In London for the first time ever, he is celebrating his new status as a master carpenter and looking for the adventure of a lifetime. When he happens upon a woman carpentress in distress, he is happy to help – even if it is in name alone.

Thrown together to thwart the guild’s inspector, Samantha and Oliver discover that sometimes, a little drama behind the scenes can have a surprisingly happy outcome.

Pre-order NOW!

Excerpt:  Samantha walked straight into the trap: Benedict Haypenny of the City Carpentry Guild.

“Ah, Miss Billings. I thought I might find you here.”

An unpleasant shiver ran down her back at the mere sight of him. Even over the age of forty, he was a stick of a man, with cheekbones and elbows and knees that jutted out at all angles. Worse, he looked at everything—and everyone, including Samantha and each of her sisters—with greedy, beady eyes.

“Funny, I didn’t think you liked to see where the work actually happens.” Samantha never had been good at keeping her true feelings out of her words, so she didn’t see much point in trying. Even though it led to moments like this, with Haypenny going red in the neck and ears.

Dad had never liked the man, and neither did she. Haypenny came from a long line of carpenters. His great-grandfather supposedly had been the best carpenter in London, and Samantha was fine believing that might be true. The generations that followed, however, rested on that ancestor’s heritage, until by now, Benedict Haypenny earned money from sending apprentices to do his contracted work while he spent the earnings on clothes and carriages and other fixings, as if he thought he could fashion himself into some kind of gentleman.

Samantha preferred a carpenter who knew what he was and loved himself for it.

“You do like to jest.” Haypenny wagged a finger in the air at her. “Your father did too, the way old friends do.”

“My father had many friends.” Samantha had to lock her tongue between the sharp spikes of her teeth to keep from adding You were not one of them. “What business do you have here, Mr. Haypenny? Or are you just stopping in to admire the best carpentry in all of London?”

“I am sure you can guess, Miss Billings. I am here in my office as Chief Inspector for the City Guild to approve this contract. Who is the master carpenter of the project here at Drury Lane?”

The answer had always been Dad. Until last spring, when he had dropped dead of a heart attack. Benedict Haypenny knew that as well as anyone. “I am.”

Haypenny narrowed his eyes. The gesture felt as rehearsed as the diva Mrs. Beckwith exclaiming surprise at an Act II reveal. “And yet, Miss Billings, you are not a master carpenter.”

It was no wonder Samantha bristled at the mere sight of Haypenny. Who had the time for a stickler such as he? He only applied the rules when he saw fit, and that always seemed to be when it would inconvenience everyone else the most.

“My father was a master carpenter. He passed the business on to me same as he would to a son.” In a bid for diplomacy, Samantha added, “Had I been blessed with a brother.”

“Either way, you or a brother would need to be a master carpenter with the guild to accept contracts such as this one from the Drury Lane Theatre.” Haypenny looked about the group now. Behind him was the cart with the last of the lumber, wheeled by the Pelham brothers from the timber yard. Harry Isaacs and Jack Gorseman had come out from the theater to see what the fuss was about; Samantha could feel them gathering behind her as if preparing to roll up their sleeves for a round of fisticuffs. A few of the actors joined the group, too, attracted to the simmering conflict.

They had a crowd, in other words, and Haypenny was all too happy to play to it. He raised his voice to ask, “Is anyone here a master carpenter?”

The answer was no. Because no one in London cared about having a proper master carpenter except for the City Guild, not when Samantha had earned her reputation alongside Dad as the best craftsman for theater set construction. She hadn’t the money to purchase the status from the guild, and even if she did, she wasn’t sure she wanted to give it to the likes of Haypenny.

“I am in all but name,” Samantha replied, with as much sweetness to her tone as she could manage.

“Unfortunately, it is the name that matters most, my dear.” He had the gall to wink, as if this were a flirtatious repartee.

Years ago, when she had just come of age and started working with Dad in earnest, Haypenny had tried to kiss her. Without even so much as a by-your-leave. Dad had made it clear that day that Haypenny wasn’t welcome at the Theatre. Apparently, that task was up to Samantha now. She fisted her fingers. She didn’t care how much it hurt. Slamming her knuckles against Haypenny’s bony face would be worth it.

From behind her, Flory, the stage manager—God bless him—asked, “What’s all this then?”

“Ah, are you the overseer of this enterprise?” Haypenny swept his arms through the air to encompass the entire theater. “Regretfully, all carpentry work here must cease until a master carpenter joins the Billings company to oversee the project.”

“You want a bribe, is that it? A fat payoff so that I may continue to work?” Samantha advanced, close enough that she really could punch him.

She didn’t. Yet.

“You’re a miserable old codger, do you know that? My father taught me all he knew. I am a better carpenter than you, even if I can’t afford to buy myself a ‘master carpenter’ status. What kind of man stands between a family and their livelihood?”

“My dear woman”—this last word he emphasized, as if it negated every claim Samantha had just made—“I stand between no one and their livelihood. I’m sure I can find some other way to ensure my late friend’s family is taken care of.”

Flory nudged between Samantha and Haypenny. “So you are saying we must find a master carpenter, else you won’t allow any carpentry to be completed at the theater?”

“Where are we to find a master carpenter?” Samantha growled. She knew a dozen or more, of course. But they all had their own businesses. Their own projects. And their own petty reasons not to help her.

It was in that moment that a stranger stepped forward from behind the lumber cart. “I happen to be a master carpenter. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

About the Author:  Katherine Grant writes award-winning Regency Romance novels for the modern reader. Her writing has been recognized by Foreword INDIES Book of the Year Awards, the Romance Slam Jam Emma Awards, the Shelf Unbound Indie Book Awards, and more. If you love ballgowns, secret kisses, and social commentary, a book hangover is coming your way.