They call me harlot.
For I got my belly full.
But I will survive.
They left me to die.
Fallen Lady in St. Giles.
A year on, I thrived.
Hunger, pain, and fear,
Kept me company at night.
My thoughts on revenge.
The prince who trained me
Coaxes vengeance in my heart.
Villains must be stopped.
This is my warning, to members of the Society for the Purification of England. We are coming for you.
Signed,
A Fallen Woman
London
5 May 1808
Have our standards truly sunk so low? Whereas once our superior paper printed articles on proper etiquette, interesting insights into the movements of Society, and important information regarding current events affecting our great nation. Must we now resort to reading the type of drivel that was posted on the 1st of May? And from a self-proclaimed Jezebel, no less? What is happening in this great nation, when the words of a fallen woman are being forced upon persons of superior standing and greater morals?
This type of behavior—nay, this type of voice—leads to women having ideas. Demands. Entitlements.
What’s next, then? Women voting? Wearing trousers? Going to school?
This must stop, before our great nation falls to ruin!
Signed,
Hester T. Smythe
4 Poston Houses
Little Nottingshire, Sussex
6 May 1808
Hester, you old hag. Put a stocking in it.
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.
Woman Reading Book in Wooden Landscape Edouard Jean Conrad Hamman (Belgian, 1819–1888)
The countryside is abuzz with stories of the latest visitors to Haverford Castle. Everyone knows that, when she is in residence on Mondays, Her Grace welcomes a selected visitor for afternoon tea; sometimes more than one. Rumour suggests that some of these visitors come from far afield.
None of her previous guests have been as strange as those seen entering the castle grounds this week. Monsters, some say; growling monsters with glowing eyes. Others speak of carriages with no horses; still others of strange styles of clothing the most exotic of imaginations could not have created.
Your correspondent cannot claim to know the truth of where they came from or how, but can only report what passed in front of my eyes.
Five couples visited Her Grace. The first pair were on horseback; the second in a buggy, much like that used by country vicars. Their clothing was not at all in the common fashion — the women wore sweeping skirts with waists at the natural level, and the men had long coats and narrow neck ties rather than cravats. But they were nothing to those who followed.
The third couple likewise rode on horseback, but both wore tight pantaloons in a soft blue shade. Yes, gentle reader, the woman, as well as the man, wore pantaloons.
The fourth couple rode some kind of two-wheeled machine, with a light fixed to the front that glowed brighter than a hundred candles. Even more startling than the light, the machine roared like a cotton mill or some other infernal engine. Like the third couple, these two wore blue trousers and calf-high boots, to which they had added black leather jackets. They also covered their heads with shiny head-gear in the shape of a ball.
The fifth couple were perhaps the strangest of all, seated as they were in the vehicle that others called a horseless carriage. It was unlike any carriage I have ever seen, being a low wheeled machine in a shiny red, with a long snout and a short rear, the centre having doors that gave access to the seating where the couple sat.
What they wore, I cannot say, for the doors concealed it. Nor can I begin to suggest where they came from. Beyond a doubt, however, they were invited guests, as where the others, for all were greeted by the Haverford butler and invited inside.
Does Her Grace traffic with the fairies? Or is there a scientific explanation for these odd happenings? The Teatime Tattler hopes someone knows, for we are mystified and Haverford Castle is not answering our questions.
The five couples that so intrigue our Teatime Tattler correspondent are from my New Zealand stories, which you’ll find all together in my new collection, Hearts in the Land of Ferns. The book is coming out on 23 April, and will be a mere 99c in US dollars.
The historicals
Step into the 1860s in All That Glisters, set in Dunedin at the time of the first gold rushes. It was first published in Hand-Turned Tales.
Rose is unhappy in the household of her fanatical uncle. Thomas, a young merchant from Canada, offers a glimpse of another possible life. If she is brave enough to reach for it.
Forged in Fire is set in geothermal country just outside of Rotorua in 1886, and was first published in the Bluestocking Belles’ collection Never Too Late.
Forged in fire, their love will create them anew.
Burned in their youth, neither Tad nor Lottie expected to feel the fires of love. The years have soothed the pain, and each has built a comfortable, if not fully satisfying, life, on paths that intersect and then diverge again.
But then the inferno of a volcanic eruption sears away the lies of the past and frees them to forge a future together.
The contemporaries
These were all previously published in collections by Authors of Main Street.
A Family Christmas: She’s hiding out. He’s coming home. And there’ll be storms for Christmas.
Kirilee is on the run, in disguise, out of touch, and eating for two. Rural New Zealand has taken this Boston girl some getting used to, but her husband’s family and her new community have accepted her into their hearts. Just as well, since she’s facing Christmas and the birth of her baby without the man who wed her and sent her into hiding. What will he think when he comes home and discovers he’s a father?
Trevor is heading home for Christmas, after three years undercover, investigating a global criminal organization. He hasn’t spoken to his sister and grandfather since the case began. He hasn’t spoken to Kirilee, his target’s sister, since the day nearly nine months ago he married her and helped her escape. Will she want to stay married? And if so, will he?
In the heart of a storm, two people from different worlds question what divides and what unites them.
Abbie’s Wish: Abbie’s Christmas wish draws three men to her mother. One of them is a monster.
After too many horrifying experiences, Claudia Westerson has given up on men. She’s done everything possible to exorcise the men in her life, short of changing her name and appearance. They’re unpredictable, controlling and, worst of all, dangerous. Besides, all her energies are devoted to therapy for her daughter, Abbie, who is recovering from a brain injury.
But after Abbie is photographed making a wish for Christmas, Claudia begins receiving anonymous threats, proving her quiet refuge is not nearly hidden enough.
Who can she trust? Three men hope to make her theirs:
Jack, the driver from her daughter’s accident
Ethan, her daughter’s biological father
Rhys, a local school teacher and widower.
They all sound sincere, but which one isn’t?
Beached: The truth will wash away her coastal paradise…
Grieving for the grandparents who raised her and still bruised from betrayals in New York City, Nikki Watson returns to her childhood home in Valentine Bay.
Zee Henderson has built a new life in New Zealand: friends, a job he enjoys and respect he earned for himself, without the family name and money he left behind.
The attraction between Nikki and Zee flames into passion, until Zee’s past arrives on their doorstep and washes away their coastal paradise.
The Teatime Tattler received this aged
parchment yesterday. While we puzzle over its delivery to our office, we are
pleased to know brazen wenches are not new in 1815.
S. Clemens
Freya
peaked around the canvas of a tent to watch the English knight as he made his
way through the crowd. She had first seen him leaving his own tent this morn
and on impulse she asked a nearby squire for the knight’s name. Sir Charles de
Grey, she had been told, and a small smile had lit her face upon hearing it
while she began following him through camp.
Heart pounding, she continued to dodge people and other obstacles in her pursuit to stay near Sir Charles. She was unprepared when he suddenly turned as though he felt her presence. She quickly ducked behind another tent in the hopes he had not caught her following him. She could not say why she was so drawn to this handsome stranger but he had certainly held her interest from afar. No harm could come from a closer look, could it?
With
her chest heaving at the near thought of being found out, she dared another
look only to find him gone! She stepped from her hiding place in order to once
more continue her search for him. She was unprepared when her arm was taken in a
fierce grip. Forced backwards against the canvas that had obviously not
provided any source of concealment, she stared into the eyes of the very person
who had momentarily escaped her. He was taller up close than she expected for
she barely reached to his chest. With his blond hair and vivid blue eyes, she
almost sighed at how handsome he was now that he stood before her. And then he
spoke, and her world crashed down around her.
“Why
are you following me?” he asked in an amused tone. Before she could answer, he
continued, much to her dismay. “If you are looking for a bit of sport, I do not
have time to dally at the moment. Perchance later, although I must admit you
are prettier than most of the wenches who meander about.” He took hold of her
chin as though to examine her closer before he gave her a quick kiss upon her
lips.
“H-how
d-dare ye kiss me?” Freya sputtered.
He began fumbling at a leather pouch upon his belt. Drawing out a coin, he held out the meager offering for her to take. “For your troubles…”
A
gasp escaped her. “Do ye ken who ye are speaking tae?”
A chuckle escaped him. “Given you have been dodging my every move this morn, I assumed you were one of the women camp followers who earn their way at such events. Was I mistaken?”
He thought her a whore! His insult stung even as she knew her brother Douglas would be mortified to learn she had been following the man in the first place. Swinging her arm to smack the smirk off his face, he easily caught her hand before pulling her closer. Her breath left her while she tried to think clearly.
She
began to struggle in his arms. “Ye braying arse! I am Lady Freya of Berwyck,”
she shouted. He let go of her so quickly she stumbled to right herself and not
land in the dirt.
“As in the sister to Laird Douglas of Clan MacLaren?” A look passed across his features showing her that he was not pleased she was associated with her brother.
“Aye.
I will tell him of yer insult tae me,” she hissed.
“Tell
him anything you like but for your own sake, and mine, stay away from me. I
have had all I can handle from a MacLaren for one day.”
Freya continued to stare at him while he stomp away and as she watched him go, she was uncertain if she was happy or sad at his leaving.
Freya and Charles are secondary characters in Belle Sherry Ewing’s latest release: To Love A Scottish Laird: De Wolfe Pack Connected World. This novella has become a prequel to Sherry’s debut novel If My Heart Can See You. It combines the worlds of Katheryn Le Veque’s De Wolfe Pack series and Sherry’s Knights of Berwyck.
Sometimes
you really can fall in love at first sight…
Lady Catherine de Wolfe knows she must find a husband before her brother
chooses one for her. A tournament to celebrate the wedding of the Duke of
Normandy might be her answer. She does not expect to fall for a man after just
one touch.
Laird Douglas MacLaren of Berwyck is invited to the tournament by the
Duke of Normandy. He goes to ensure Berwyck’s safety once Henry takes the
throne. He does not expect to become entranced by a woman who bumps into him.
Yet, nothing is ever quite that simple. Not everyone is happy with the union of this English lady and a Scottish laird. From the shores of France, to Berwyck Castle on the border between their countries, Douglas and Catherine must find their way to protect their newfound love.
Excerpt:
“You can let go of me now,” she said softly, not wanting to appear
ungrateful for his help. His arms dropped to his sides, and she swore she felt
a loss she had never experienced before.
“Aye, of course,” he said a little too gruffly. “Mayhap we should
introduce ourselves since I all but caused ye tae fall.”
“’Twas hardly your fault,” Catherine said with a small smile. “I must
apologize for my clumsiness.”
“No harm was done as long as ye were not injured.”
“Nay… I am well, as you can see for yourself.”
“Ye appear very well.” A
grin split his lips. He gave a short bow. “I am Douglas of Clan MacLaren and
laird of Berwyck Castle. And ye are…”
She curtsied. “Lady Catherine de Wolfe.”
His brow lifted, giving evidence of his surprise. “de Wolfe?”
Catherine raised her chin. “Aye. You have perchance heard of us?” she
asked. Although proud of her heritage, ’twas sometimes an inconvenience when it
came to men, their ambitions, and her dowry. Dowry? When had Lord Douglas become a possibility for her husband?
He chuckled. “I would have tae be living in a hole in the ground tae have not heard of the de Wolfe family.”
Buy it on Amazon or read it now with Kindle Unlimited.
Sherry
is proud to be one of the Bluestocking Belles. Sherry picked up her
first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever
since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to
awaken the soul one heart at a time. When
not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an
Information Technology Specialist.
You can
learn more about her on the tab above or visit her on one of these social media
outlets:
It has been heard about Auckland
Town that Mr. von Tempsky, that intrepid adventurer, (and don’t try to tell me that a man who has fought in the
jungles of South America would ever truly settle to such a staid existence as being
merely a newspapermen, even in as wild a place as the mining towns of the Coromandel),
a newly made commander in the Colonial Army, is currently involved in the
rescue of a female settler-to-be somewhere in the wild Hunua Ranges, to the
south of our good town.
This female, they say (and I hesitate to call her a lady, or perhaps even a person of womanly means), has made her way, alone, all the way from the feral East Coast of our fair land to Auckland, riding a wild Indian pony. It appears she had finally, after some searching, found Mr. von Tempsky, an acquaintance of her husband, after riding (swimming?) her Mustang across the large swamps between the town of Thames and Pukorokoro, (at the Miranda Redoubt). The good commander, in the middle of his preparation for war against the wild men of the Waikato, had rightly sent her north to abide in safety with his wife and children. However, after some bungling by the men sent to guide and protect her, it appears the girl has disappeared—and foul play is suspected.
Awaiting the news with bated breath, I remain,
Yours, etc.
Mr. Samuel Clemens
A Sea of Green Unfolding
December 1863, Maketu Pā, south of Auckland, New Zealand
“I
appreciate the Pākehā working so hard to help us.” Tangawai watched the
uniformed men in the distance to the southwest of his outpost, high atop the
Maketu pā.
“They
clear the bush beside the Great South Road to keep their supply trains safe
from us, not to help us,” Mahi replied in Māori, his brows drawing
together as he looked at the young rangatira from the corners of his
eyes.
“Their
stripping back of the bush from the road also lets us see who comes and goes on
their road.” Tangawai grinned and raised the telescope back to his eye. The
colonial army soldiers continued to toil and wear themselves out in the morning
sun. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. The weather was
already hot and humid for this hour, and he wasn’t swinging an axe.
As
he scanned the Great South Road northward from the loggers, three mounted men
came into view, trotting toward Auckland. Two wore military uniform and one was
clad in a ragged-edged leather tunic.
“Tangawai,”
a female voice called up to him from below.
He
handed the scope to his cousin and leaned over the wall. The woman was climbing
the steep side of the pā before him, a flax kete on her back. He
threw a coil of rope to her and she climbed the last bit with its help.
Tangawai
smiled as he took her hand and helped the slim, but heavily pregnant, young
woman over the last parapet. “It must be getting difficult to climb, my Tūī.”
He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head on her glossy black hair.
“It
won’t be long now, and your son will be on my back instead.” She smiled up at
him and pulled his kai from the satchel.
He
sat and ate with her while his cousin kept watch.
“Tangawai,”
Mahi called over his shoulder, “weren’t there three riders heading north
before, from Williamson’s Clearing?”
“Yes,
two in uniform and one other.”
“There’s
only the one Pākehā now.”
“Can
you see the uniformed men?”
“No,”
he said, and watched for awhile more. “Ah, there they are…they’re going away
from us, toward the homesteads on the west side of the road. It might be a
trap.”
“We’d
better go spring it, then.” Tangawai frowned and pulled Tūī to her feet. “I’ll
signal the village to ready the riders, but you’ll need to get down there and
explain. The rest need to be ready to disappear into the bush. The Pākehā
won’t follow them there.” He gave her a quick hug and a kiss, then she slid
over the edge and lowered herself on the rope. Tūī waved from the bottom, then
turned and ran down toward the village.
Yes,
the Pākehā made it easy to see their road…and easy to see the figure on
a small buckskin horse. Alone, when he’d just had a military escort. Why had
they left him alone? This was a new trick.
He
signaled via mirror to the village below and four men made ready. They approached
Tūīwhen she reached the encampment and stood beside her for a few
minutes, gesturing, before they mounted up and raced from the encampment. Their
horses were gaunt and hard from their time in the bush on rough feed, now that
the Māori were beginning to be pushed from the lands of their ancestors.
Tangawai
returned to his telescope and scanned the horizon as his men galloped down the
hill toward the newly-cleared road. The dust cloud raised by their passing
diminished as the warriors settled themselves just inside the bush on both
sides of the track to await the lone rider.
He
was soon in their own trap. Tangawai gripped the parapet before him as his men
surrounded the Pākehā. The rider looked small and puny, now that his whanau
surrounded him. His men seemed to be speaking to the rider, then the little
horse made a dash to escape, but its way was blocked. The Pākehā’s horse
reared and sunlight glinted off metal near the hand of the rider as his men
rushed toward him.
The
rump of the gray horse was stained scarlet by the time the diminutive rider was
dragged off the buckskin by two of his remaining, seasoned warriors. The man
who’d been riding the gray crouched next to his horse, holding his bleeding
forearm, and the other lay face-down on the ground. Tangawai shook his head and
swore, while the men beside him on the walls stepped further away from him. He
watched as his men picked the rider up off the ground and shook him.
And
knocked his hat off.
Tangawai
took the telescope away from his eye and blinked, glanced at the telescope,
then peered through it again.
It
was still there.
The
blonde hair, down past his knees.
Pākehā men didn’t wear their hair that way.
The
man who’d just bested two of his finest warriors had blonde hair cascading down
past her knees…for it had to be a wahine.
This
wasn’t normal, by anyone’s reckoning.
A Sea of Green Unfolding
When you’ve already lost everything, the only place left to go is up…
Tragedy strikes in Aleksandra and
Xavier’s newly-found paradise on their Californio Rancho de las Pulgas and
newspaperman Gustavus von Tempsky invites them on a journey to a new life in
New Zealand—where everyone lives together in peace.
Unfortunately, change is in the
wind.
When they reach Aotearoa, they
disembark into a turbulent wilderness—where the wars between the European
settlers and the local Māori have only just begun—and von Tempsky is leading
the colonial troops into the bush.
Lizzi grew up riding wild
in the Santa Cruz Mountain redwoods, became an equine veterinarian at UC Davis
School of Veterinary Medicine and practiced in the Gold and Pony Express
Country of California before emigrating to New Zealand. She is the proud mother
of two boys in that sea of green. When she’s not writing, she’s swinging a
rapier or shooting a bow in medieval garb, riding or driving a carriage,
playing in the garden on her hobby farm, singing, cooking, being an equine
veterinarian or high school science teacher. She is multiply published and awarded
in special interest magazines and veterinary periodicals.
With her debut novel, A
Long Trail Rolling, she was Finalist 2013 RWNZ Great Beginnings; Winner
2014 RWNZ Pacific Hearts Award for the unpublished full manuscript; Winner 2015
RWNZ Koru Award for Best First Novel and third in Koru Long Novel section; and
finalist in the 2015 Best Indie Book Award.
Miss Miranda de Courtenay held back the tears threatening to leak from her eyes. Her chin jutted forward even while she took a firmer hold on Phillip, the Marquis of Wyndham’s arm. Her brother Adrian and Lady Celia Lacey both threw accusatory glances in her direction. In their eyes, Miranda had betrayed them. Could they not see for themselves she was doing them a favor? Having arrived with Celia’s father just as the couple had fallen to the ground in a public display had been sheer luck on Miranda’s part and was far more than she had expected when she urged the duke that his daughter needed him. Maybe having the entire ton as a spectator was a step too far but some matters needed to be shook up for the greater good. Adrian and Celia belonged together…
…and Miranda wanted Phillip as a husband.
He was as good a choice as any other titled lord and at least he had been
giving her the time of day. Celia did not want the man so why should Miranda not
take advantage of the situation presented to her.
“I believe I will excuse myself from this fiasco, Miss Miranda,” Phillip murmured before his mouth clamped shut. She peered up at him and saw his cheek tick as though his tightly clenched jaw was an indication as to his true feelings for Celia.
“Of course, my lord,” she replied even
though she was disappointed he refused to stay with her. It took everything in
Miranda’s power not to stomp her foot to show her displeasure. She let go of
his arm with a sense that any thoughts of this man becoming her husband just slipped
through her grasp.
She went to a nearby bench and sat beneath
the swaying branches of a tree. Adrian and the duke passed by her as though she
did not exist. Celia’s sister’s quickly tucked the poor girl into their fold to
usher her away while the gossipmongers began their attack.
But it was the whisperings of the Danver
sister’s as they walked by that caused Miranda to truly regret her actions both
today and in her past.
“You should not be surprised de Courtenay
was taking advantage of a young woman like Lady Celia,” Prudence said making no
attempt to lower her voice. “Why he is a notorious rake of the worse sort!”
“Really, Prue,” Abigail scolded, “you are
just miffed he did not give you the least bit of attention during the last
season. I would be far more concerned on what this will do to his younger
sister’s reputation.”
A snigger left Prudence’s lips. “Her
reputation was ruined during that altercation with the Marquis of Aldridge
during the charity ball at Hollystone Hall. She failed to get Aldridge to
propose then and it appears she has had no better luck with Wyndham now.”
“Let us hurry and get this all written down while the latest bit of gossip is fresh in our minds. I have no doubt Mr. Clemens at the Teatime Tattler will be publishing this latest development as soon as he receives the news,” Abigail said with a laugh.
Miranda whipped out her fan to flutter it before her flushed face. A sob tore at her throat at the injustice of it all. Making her way from the gardens, she called for her carriage to be brought around and could only wonder just how much farther she must fall before she finally found someone to love…
The Earl Takes A Wife by Sherry Ewing
Lady Celia Lacey is too young for a husband, especially man-about-town Lord Adrian de Courtenay. But when she meets him at a house party, she falls in love and cannot get him out of her mind. Will he ever think she is old enough to become his wife?
Adrian
finds the appealing innocent impossible to forget, though she is barely out of
the schoolroom and a relative by marriage. If they are constantly in each
other’s company, then how can he move on without her?
His sister’s deceptions bring them together, but destroys their happiness. Can they reach past the hurt to the love that still burns?
Valentines From Bath: A Bluestocking Belles Collection
The
Master of Ceremonies announces a great ball to be held on Valentine’s Day in
the Upper Assembly Rooms of Bath. Ladies of the highest rank—and some who
wish they were—scheme, prepare, and compete to make best use of the
opportunity. Dukes, earls, tradesmen, and the occasional charlatan are
alert to the possibilities as the event draws nigh.
But
anything can happen in the magic of music and candlelight as couples dance,
flirt, and open themselves to romantic possibilities. Problems and conflict may
just fade away at a Valentine’s Day Ball.
Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing hopes you’ve enjoyed this little tidbit into Miranda de Courtenay’s life. She’s a secondary character in Sherry’s novella The Earl Takes a Wife that is in the Belles box set Valentines From Bath.
If you’d like to keep in touch with Sherry, be sure to follow her on the following social media outlets. She also has a street team on Facebook and she’d love to have you join her team!
