Category: Jude Knight Page 2 of 16

The scandalous bride returns

On August 9, 2025

“You’ll never guess who was at the Stillwaters’ house party, Arthur,” said Lord Spense to his bosom buddy, Lord Gough.

The pair were in their favourite corner of their club, sharing a plate of oysters, a good port, and a chat. Or, as some might say (but not Spense or Gough), a gossip.

“Well, Phillip,” said Lord Gough. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who was she? Or was it a he?”

“Both.” Spense announced the word with a gleeful chuckle. “That was the thing, my friend. Wouldn’t have expected to see them together, don’t you know. Not after last time. But they were. Daggers drawn at the start, but smelling of May and roses by the time they said their goodbyes and raced off to London. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if we hear wedding bells. Though it might end in tears again, as it did before.” He shook his head, sadly.

“Who, though, Arthur? You haven’t told me who!”

“Why, devil take me, I haven’t. Sorry, old friend.” Spense chuckled again.

Gough lost his patience. “Out with it, man. No more teasing.”

“Adaline Beverley, her who was Adaline Fairbanks back in the day,” Spense announced, and waited with a grin while his friend absorbed that piece of news. “You can probably guess the name of the gentleman.”

“It was never Kempbury!” Gough’s surprise and awe was everything Spense could wish.

Friends for over forty of their fifty-two years and confirmed bachelors, the pair were avid watchers of the ton, and a decade ago, they had had front row seats to the disaster that was the courtship by the Duke of Kembury of Miss Adaline Fairbanks, their betrothal, and the lady’s subsequent betrayal of one of the foremost bachelors in the realm.

“It was, indeed, Kempbury,” Spense confirmed. “And Arthur, I just happened to be in the corridor at night when people were all meant to be in their beds. You know how it is.” Gough nodded. He knew exactly how it was, since both of them enjoyed taking up a quiet observation post at a house party to see who visited whom. Spense took the nod as encouragement. “I would not tell anyone but you, but I saw with my own eyes that Kempbury visited Mrs. Beverley’s bedchamber one evening. And had left by the time I went to bed. Sadly, the bedchamber doors were disappointingly thick, but one can imagine! The very next day they announced their rebetrothal, and the morning after that, they left the houseparty! What do you think of that?

“Well!” exclaimed Gough. “Well I never. A man would think once bitten twice shy! I say, Phillip, it will be very interesting to see if they make it to the altar this time!”

The Lyon’s Dilemma

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party. But the matchmaker Mrs. Dove Lyon has promised him that his perfect match will be there, and Felix yearns for a wife.

He is horrified to find that the woman who meets the matchmaker’s description is Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel. The one woman on God’s earth he will never marry. Not after what she did last time they were betrothed.

Excerpt from The Lyon’s Dilemma

“You will be able to recognize your prospective wife,” Mrs. Dove Lyon had insisted. “Mrs. Beverley will be one of the maturer young ladies—she will be thirty years of age at her next birthday. She was widowed seven years ago and has been living a quiet life with her daughter. Her husband left few funds, and she has been supporting herself. I shall let her tell you the details.”

There were three possibilities. Perhaps four, but the fourth lady was turned away from him, so he was only judging by her back. As Mrs. Stillwater gave the signal to go in to dinner, she turned around, and Kempbury knew her immediately.

No! It can’t be.

It was, though, and if he had had any doubts at all, they would have been put to rest when she saw him, paled, then flushed bright red, and turned determinedly away.

Somehow, he managed to offer his arm to his hostess, lead her into dinner, and even carry on something of a conversation with her. All the while his mind was reeling and his heart was a pit of despair. Adaline Fairbanks.

Surely, Mrs. Dove Lyon did not think to match him with that lying jade. She had said “Mrs. Beverley,” but that was not reassuring. In a decade, Adaline might well have married, had a child, and been widowed.

He needed to find out, so he did something he usually found too difficult to contemplate. He engaged his hostess in conversation, asking about each of the guests with whom he was not personally acquainted.

He retained enough self-possession to ask about both men and women, but he doubted that small amount of camouflage fooled Mrs. Stillwater for a moment. She was much more informative about the ladies than the gentlemen.

One by one, her mini-biographies eliminated each of the ladies he’d marked as possibles. One was married. One betrothed. One was a devoted social butterfly committed to life in London, which would not suit Felix. Besides, she had turned down every proposal she had received in her eight years on the Marriage Market. “She has a private fortune,” said Mrs. Stillwater. “She declares she has no intention of marrying.” She shook her head at the thought.

“Then we come to Mrs. Beverley, who is a widow, Kempbury. She is attending with her daughter, who must be ten years old, or close to it. Our governess says she is a delightful child. That’s Mrs. Beverley sitting between Baron Thornwick and Mr. Thompson. I understand she has been a widow for seven years, and that she runs a business, which is very enterprising of her. I do not know much more about her. I sent her an invitation at the request of a friend, but have found her to be a very pleasant guest.”

Mrs. Beverley. Adaline Fairchild. One and the same person. Did she really have a child of ten? If so, the child must have been a baby when they were betrothed, so that had been something else she had hidden from him all those years ago.

There was no point in him being here, but it was too late now. He would not insult John Stillwater, his charming wife, and the viscount his father by cutting his attendance short. Still, he would write to Mrs. Dove Lyon tonight and tell her that Mrs. Beverley was not a possibility.

Lowlife Preys on High Society

By Bluestocking Belles

On June 7, 2025

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

Blackmail is a disgusting business, yet that, dear reader, was the business of T.C., as disclosed in the recent advertisement that has been at the centre of gossip in London’s ballrooms this week. For any who missed the advertisement, it read, in part:

To anyone who has been the victim of blackmail by T.C., a villain of the darkest sort and a disgrace to his class. He no longer holds your letters, drawings, or other materials, and can do you no harm. All items have been burned to ashes.

We have to assume that many people with skeletons hidden in their wardrobes are breathing more easily this week. As for T.C., a certain baronet with those initials has been clapped up in debtors’ prison. So may all miscreants receive their just desserts!

As to the story behind the advertisement, dear reader, The Teatime Tattler continues to seek who retrieved and destroyed the blackmail materials, and who placed the notice in the newspapers.

Watch this space.

***

With a Valet in a Wardrobe at Midnight

By Judy Knight, for Dukes All Night Long

Gareth Lord Versey comes in disguise to Congleton Hall, home of the Earl of Congleton and his six daughters. Garry wants freedom to observe Lady Jenna, the second daughter, before he goes through with the marriage arranged by his grandfather, the Duke of Dellborough.

Lady Jenna Eliot has been informed of her betrothal, but she has more important things on her mind. Her sister is about to be ruined, unless Jenna can stop it.

On one moonlit night, Garry and Jenna managed to change the trajectory of several lives, as well as deciding their own future.

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***

Excerpt

Oops. Garry’s masquerade was about to come to a premature end unless he quickly thought of something. “Parsons! Lady Jenna, meet Parsons, a friend of mine from London. Parsons, um, taught me everything I know about being a valet.”

Parsons, who had been valet to Garry’s Uncle Lance until he had to leave to look after a sick mother, proved he’d lost none of his intelligence in the past three years. “It’s good to see you again, lad, but what are you and the lady doing here?”

“Your master has been blackmailing her ladyship’s sister, and we are searching for the evidence he has against her,” Garry said.

“Mr. Garry!” Jenna protested.

“Sir Thomas is a villain, my lady, and no mistake,” Parsons said. “You need not fear I shall tell him anything about seeing you here. What are we looking for? Letters? I know what is in most of Sir Thomas’s drawers and boxes, but there are a couple of boxes on high shelves in the dressing room I have been told not to touch.”

“Then let’s check those,” Garry said. “Parsons, how is your mother?”

“Poorly, Mr. Garry, thank you for asking,” the valet answered. “I am looking for a position by the sea. The doctor says she might recover more quickly if she can breathe sea air, but I am her only son, sir, and I must have her close enough to visit.”

He climbed up a set of steps he had pulled from a niche in the dressing room, and retrieved two large hat boxes, passing them down to Garry, who gave one to Jenna and carried the other to the table under the window in the bedchamber.

“I might be able to find something,” he said to Parsons. “I know some people with homes near the sea. I can ask for you.” Grandfather had promised him several properties as a sweetener to the proposed marriage, including a townhouse in Brighton. If he installed Parsons there to look after the house, the man could train someone younger, who didn’t mind travelling, as Garry’s valet. It was about time he had one, instead of depending on any available footman.

Parsons was touchingly grateful. “Would you do that for me?”

“Why not? I know you to be a fine valet.” Garry had the top off his box and was going through the contents, while Jenna did the same with the other box.

“Mr. Garry, these are all bundles of letters. In different writing. Do you suppose…?”

“That the cad is blackmailing other people, too?” Garry asked. “Yes, I do suppose. This hat box is the same. Sir Thomas has been a busy man. Parsons, do you have something we can put these in? Lady Jenna and I will take them back to Congleton Abbey and burn them.”

The Duke of Depravity is Back in Town

By Bluestocking Belles

On April 5, 2025

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

Husbands, lock up your wives and daughters. Wicked widows and wanton women, update your wardrobes and polish your charms. The Duke of Depravity is back in town.

Yes, you read that correctly. The source of everyone’s favourite gossip, the juiciest scandal, the most outrageous stunts, has returned from exile.

Regular readers will remember that six years ago and more his road to perdition became littered with acts even the King, or Prince Regent as His Majesty then was, could no longer turn a blind eye. The final straw is rumoured to have been an act of lese majeste—the duke was caught in dalliance with the mistress of England’s First Gentleman.

Even dukes cannot be forgiven such trespasses.

Except, it appears, for this duke. He must have been forgiven, for he has most certainly returned to London. The knocker is on the door of his palatial residence, which readers will know has recently undergone a grand refurbishment, from the attics to the basements. Including, the duchess’s chambers, which have been empty and neglected for quarter of a century.

At first, we all thought the young marquess, His Grace’s son, must be planning to marry. But no, dear reader, that fine young gentleman still holds the title of wealthiest and highest ranked young aristocrat on the London marriage market.

For the intended beneficiary of all this magnificence is not the wife to the heir, but the wife to the duke himself.

Yes, dear reader, you read that correctly. The Duke of Depravity is married. Little is known about Her Grace. What kind of woman has convinced His Grace to dip his toes once more into marital waters? The Teatime Tattler will, of course, bring you her name and her story as soon as we discover all.

One thing is certain, if Her Grace expects the duke to change his wicked ways, the poor lady is doomed to disappointment. A leopard cannot change its spots.

The Duke’s Price

By Jude Knight
As a governess, Ruth Henwood has always put her pupils first, sometimes sacrificing her own interest. The choice facing her now could become the highest sacrifice of them all.

Two men want her as their mistress. The Spanish war hero, the Duque de la Sombras, plans to wed the Princesa Isabella, Ruth’s fourteen-year-old pupil, but promises not consummate the marriage if Ruth will come willingly to his bed. The English rake, the Duke of Richport promises help her and Bella to escape Isabella’s tiny Pyrenean kingdom, but his price is the same.

Ruth’s decision must be guided by what is best for Bella. No matter that one man repels her, and one man is a risk to her heart.

Richport lost his heart to his wife when he was seventeen, and had it broken and trampled on. He has managed very well without a heart in the twenty-six years since, gaining the nickname Duke of Depravity. His offer to Ruth is a heartless joke—he always intended to help her and her charge. But if she takes him up on the offer, he will be happy to school the governess in the ways of the flesh.

Little does Richport realise that his heart is back on the line once more.

But love is not their worst risk. The duque is in hot pursuit, and is determined to take back what he believes to be his own.

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Where will the wicked duke go next?

By Bluestocking Belles

On February 14, 2025

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

It seems that the Duke of R. is settled in Spain. Or, rather, in the little principality of Respomuso, in the Pyrenean Mountains. Several travelers recently returned to England called at the castle in the tiny country’s one major town, to pay their respects to the royal Princesa and her guardian and uncle the Duque de Respomuso. R., they say, appears to be a fixture in the castle.

Readers will remember that the duke left for overseas after an insult to a very important personage indeed–a gentleman of the highest rank. It was the last straw. R. had seduced the daughters, wives, and mistresses of too many of Society’s leaders, been drunk and obnoxious at too many balls and dinners, borrowed too much money without any intention of paying it. Then he was heard by the personage in question making unpleasant remarks about that personage’s girth, taste, and ability as a lover.

A message was delivered. It would be wise for R. to take a long voyage.

Has it benefitted his health, we ask? Not according to the travelers from whom we heard this story. His head is still on his shoulders, which must be accounted a win, but he has gambled, drank, and womanized his way through Europe until he has run out of welcome almost everywhere.

How long until the Duque, by all accounts a respectable man, suggests that his guest moves on?

The Duke’s Price

By Jude Knight

As a governess, Ruth Henwood has always put her pupils first, sometimes sacrificing her own interest. The choice facing her now could become the highest sacrifice of them all.

Two men want her as their mistress. The Duque de Respomuso plans to wed the Princesa Isabella, Ruth’s fourteen-year-old pupil, but promises not consummate the marriage if Ruth will come willingly to his bed. The Duke of Richport promises help her and Bella to escape Isabella’s tiny Pyrenean kingdom, but his price is the same.
Ruth’s decision must be guided by what is best for Bella. No matter that one man repels her, but is widely admired as a wise ruler and a good man, and one man attracts her, but is well known to be wicked to the core.

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Excerpt from the Duke’s Price

Ruth Henwood was stuck like a rat in a barrel, and the Duque de Respomuso had his guns fully loaded and aimed. She could run, of course, but that would leave her pupil Bella to her uncle’s non-existent mercies. Besides, he would send people after her, and she doubted she would even make the border.
If she took Bella with her, she would ensure the recapture of them both, for he would leave no stone unturned until he had his princess back again. She was his sister’s daughter, and without her, he had no legitimate role in the principality’s government.
Her other choices were even less palatable. She could continue to refuse the Duque’s advances, but only for as long as he allowed her to do so—she could tell he was losing patience, and one day she fully expected him to take her by force. Probably somewhere in private, for he was still enamoured of his own reputation as the kindly uncle who loved his niece and fought to save her from the evils of Napoleon’s army.
Refusing him would not protect Bella, either. As her legal guardian, he had given consent to their marriage. A man approaching forty. Bella was only fourteen. Furthermore, she did not like her uncle. “He makes my skin crawl, Ruth,” she said. “And he is mean. He beats his servants. Also, he is disrespectful, not only to me, but to you and to Mother Caterina.”
Mother Caterina was the mother superior of the town’s convent of Carmelite nuns, and member of the Council that had ruled the principality during the war.
Bella was correct. The Duque acted like a gentleman when he was being watched by men of status, but in private, or when only women or servants could see him, he was rude, cruel, and offensive.
She had one chance to protect Bella. Except that she did not believe that would work either. He had made her a solemn promise—“On the bones of my sainted sister,” he said—that if she would come willingly to his bed, he would put off consummating his marriage to Bella.
Since Ruth had Bella’s word for it that her uncle had despised his sister, she had more than her instinct to say that his promise was not worth beans.
“Miss Henwood, good evening.”
The voice that interrupted her musing was far from welcome. Another duke. Another rake. The same intentions. Even if this duke, far from making her ill, had her all hot and bothered.

Shocking goings on at Haverford House

By Bluestocking Belles

On December 7, 2024

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

Haverford House, London, November 1821

Haverford greeted his wife and his sister with a cheerful smile, which faded when he saw their faces. “What is wrong?” he asked.

“Read this,” said Cherry, handing the scandal sheet to Haverford. She had no doubt her husband would be as furious at the slur on his sister and on his own name as she was.

Some three years ago, the Polite World was shocked at the arrogant and irresponsible actions of the Duke of H., when he removed his mother’s ward from her rightful place at her husband’s side. Some said at the time that Lady C. was more sinned against than sinning. We in London had seen little of her since she wed Lord C., although her husband kept up his duties to his seat in the Lords and the accustomed pleasures of the Capital.

Still, adultery and periodic desertion are not grounds for a woman to complain. After all, they are the right of every red-blooded nobleman, and their women are trained to ignore their practices. Indeed, the lady would not exist had it not been for the pecadillos of her own sire, so she could hardly hold the same behaviours against her wedded lord and master. Albeit her half-brother the duke had shown an inclination to upbraid the straying husband.

No explanation was ever given for Lady C. abandonment of her husband’s manor for her brother’s, but since she kept herself to the country, or to quiet pursuits when in town, most of us were inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, and even the grandest of dames and the stuffiest of gentlemen would nod politely at the lady if their paths crossed.

But then, a month past, Lord C. died. And this week, his will was made public. In it, he names and excoriates three men with whom, or so he says, his lady wife made merry before ever she was a widow. This, he claims, is the reason he sent for her brother to remove her from his house and from the care of his three young daughter by his previous marriage.

In fairness, we must note that all three supposed lovers are dead, and one died overseas without setting foot in England for the whole of Lord and Lady C.’s short (and clearly eventful) marriage. Is the lady innocent?

And if she is guilty, will the ton turn against one who is supported by none less than two ducal pairs and several earls and countesses? Or will the Duke of H., whose own riotous life before his marriage has often shocked and amazed the readers of this newsheet, prevail upon all and sundry to ignore their consciences and accept his sister?

Only time will tell.

***

Jessica Lady Colyton has no intention of being a wicked widow and no time for rogues. Her father and her brothers were rogues enough for a lifetime. However, she has joined the Wicked Widow’s League, seeking help after her husband’s will proves to be just one more blow from another controlling and manipulative man. When her new friends organize a holiday in a country cottage for her, she blesses them—right up until she finds a naked rogue in her bed.

Martin Lord Tavistock is no rogue, unlike his father before him. The man’s early death in sordid circumstances brought him a title and a barrow-load of responsibilities. His uncle’s strict upbringing has given him little taste for pleasure. He shuns his matchmaking sister’s Christmas house party and the beauties she has undoubtedly invited to tempt him. When he wakes up in a strange lady’s bed, naked, tied down, and clueless as to how he arrived at her cottage, he wants no part in whatever plot is underway.

Trapped by a snowstorm, he and his furious hostess must form a reluctant alliance to survive, and that will be the end of their acquaintance. Won’t it?

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