Category: Historical Period Page 1 of 16

Were the Rumors Incorrect?

On March 14, 2026

In Aileen Fish, gossip, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Dear Reader,

The most fascinating on dits has reached our ears regarding the youngest sister of the Duchess of N. Lady L-A. is reportedly in London, having returned from her visit with the duke and duchess in Virginia. I have it on good authority she will be announcing an engagement with a certain constable who rescued her sister, Lady P. last year.

But wait! Reader, I’m shocked to inform you she is not anticipating a proposal after all! The stories I’ve heard regarding a certain Mr. P. of Virginia are most intriguing where they mention Lady L-A. I do believe the on dits have been far from accurate and I will tell you more as soon as I’m certain.

Falling for the American (The Bridgethorpe Brides Book 11)

The best thing about Lady Lucy-Anne Lumley’s visit to her sister’s American farm is the next-door neighbor, Kit Pennington. Too bad he’s as stubborn as her brothers when it comes to believing women can train good racehorses. How can she convince him he’s not complete without the love of the woman he thinks is the bane of his existence?

Thanks to the mother who abandoned him and his siblings, Kit knows enough about the gently bred women of English aristocracy, and he’s sworn to steer clear of them. Besides, he’s too busy for love, with the management of the family farm, establishing himself as a successful racehorse owner, and caring for his younger siblings. Yet everywhere he turns, Lady Lucy-Anne is underfoot, determined to tell him how to properly train his racehorses. And she appears to be weakening the defenses around his heart.

Can Kit remain strong enough against Lucy-Anne’s wiles until she tires of the rough farm life and returns to her life of ballrooms and titled bachelors in England, or will he suffer the same fate as his father and have to choose between his lifestyle and hers?

The final book in the popular Bridgethorpe Brides Series is now available!

Excerpt

Falling for the American

Chapter One

August 1819

Williamsburg, Virginia

Drawing in a deep breath of the brisk morning air, Lucy-Anne leaned her chin on her hands where they rested on the paddock fence rail on her brother-in-law’s farm near Williamsburg, Virginia. Perry, the Duke of Noblegreen, affectionately known as Nobby by his wife and duchess Madeleine, who was Lucy-Anne’s older sister, had inherited the property and its racing horses. He imported racing stock from his English stables and exported colonial stock back to England. Noblegreen Farm was already well-known locally for its quality runners, much as the Lumley name was lauded in England for their winning horses.

Inside the paddock was the colt that had traveled with Lucy-Anne on the ship from England. Watching him dart about stirred a longing that awoke from time to time. As the youngest of eight children of the late Earl of Bridgethorpe, Lucy-Anne felt she’d learned everything one could possibly know about the proper training of racehorses—how to inspect a potential broodmare before purchasing, the three most important traits to look for in a colt as it grew, and to watch for traces of their father’s foundation stud, Zephyr. Her brothers, Adam, the current earl, and David, were most guilty for spouting sermons on these matters as she grew up. Nobby had only recently married Madeleine, thus hadn’t had the time to send Lucy-Anne skulking into another room when his own opinions on horseflesh came up for discussion. Or perhaps he didn’t feel the need to ensure Lucy-Anne could spot a winning stud as easily as she could recognize the most desirable unmarried nobleman on the dance floor at Almack’s Assembly Rooms on any given springtime evening.

Her sisters and sisters-in-law had seen to that area of her education. By the time Lucy-Anne was sixteen years old, Mama had preferred to remain on their country estate, Bridgethorpe Manor, to nurse Lucy-Anne’s father, who eventually died last year when Lucy-Anne was eighteen. Hannah, the eldest of the Lumley girls and eight years Lucy-Anne’s senior, happily took Lucy-Anne under her wing when she’d made her curtsy to the Queen two years ago. Now married to Viscount Oakhurst, Hannah had introduced her to nearly every eligible gentleman in London that Season, avoiding only those rakehell friends of Oakhurst’s, plus those frowned on by their brothers. Surprisingly enough, there had been enough handsome men remaining after the fraternal culling that Lucy-Anne’s dance card had always been full.

Her dance cards were full, her days filled with activities, and the silver salver in the entry hall had overflowed with invitations to balls and musicales, but at the end of her first Season, and the next, Lucy-Anne’s heart was as safe as it had been before her first visit to a London modiste. But then she’d met Mr. Harrison.

The horrible manner in which their meeting came about had somehow not diminished her attraction, and he returned her feelings, she was certain of it. Just before she boarded the ship to sail with her maid, Tilly, the still-unnamed colt of Nobby’s, and the horse’s groom, Tim, Mr. Harrison had promised to call on her when she returned. She’d dreamed of him every night as she sailed west. When she’d seen the buildings on the coast of Norfolk, and a horizon of trees further up and down the coast, her thoughts of Mr. Harrison faded, and her excitement to see Madeleine overflowed.

Here on Noblegreen Farm, with the exception of all the live oak and filbert trees, she could feel like she was at home in Bridgethorpe Manor. And without Mr. Harrison in front of her to remind her of the life she’d likely live as a constable’s wife in London, she could pretend she had a horse of her own to raise, to train, and to race, as she’d wanted to do for most of her nineteen years.

Nobby walked out of the stables and stood beside her, also watching the colt. He was a tall man, not towering, but even with his arms braced on the fence he had the air of a duke about him. “What’s your opinion of Cain?”

She snorted. “That’s what you’re calling him? That’s a horrid name for such a sweet young horse.”

He chuckled. “Madeleine said you didn’t inherit the family passion for horses.”

“I’ve tried to keep my passion to myself. I have never understood the need for evil names like Agitator or Outlaw. I prefer kinder names like Zephyr and Pride.”

He eyed her askance, obviously biting back a grin. “If you start calling my horse by some silly name, I’ll have your bags packed and put you on a ship back to England.”

Now she grinned wickedly. “Fluffy? No, he’s not fluffy. Beau? Swain? Truelove?”

“Methinks you require a husband, not a horse, Lucy-Anne.” His brown eyes twinkled.

“Between all my brothers and you, I have perhaps a hundred horses at my service, so I always have one available. And husbands, well, my sisters all have very good ones. When I find one as excellent as you lot, I might consider marrying. But I’m not pining.” She’d mentioned Mr. Harrison to Mad but wasn’t going to discuss him with Nobby.

“I wasn’t ‘pining’ either when Madeleine captured my heart. You take care. Some man will become necessary to you when you least expect it.”

Lucy-Anne couldn’t imagine any man being necessary to her happiness, but she had to admit her sisters all spoke as if it were so for them. Did she feel that strongly about Mr. Harrison? Maybe she was too logical for such extreme emotions. She’d be perfectly happy to become Mrs. Harrison, but her happiness was of her own making, not dependent on his love. “We shall see, but don’t bother making a wager on it. Put your money to better use.”

***

That afternoon while Mad napped, Lucy-Anne decided to take a walk. She stayed on the road, knowing better than to wander when she didn’t know the area. The ruts were well-defined, telling her there must be a few farms in the area, but she hadn’t seen any houses from the carriage when she first arrived the day before. Mad had said the neighbors were all pleasant, and that one young lady of similar age lived on the farm next door. Lucy-Anne would wait to meet anyone until Mad was up to making calls, which could be several weeks, from what she’d seen with their sisters’ pregnancies.

Such exciting news, the prospect of another niece or nephew. Could it be twins, since Madeleine was one? Lucy-Anne had planned to return to England before winter, but that would leave Mad to have her baby with no one from the family there. Mama would have received the letter bearing the announcement by now, and perhaps she would come. All their sisters were married, and all but Patience had young children, so it wasn’t likely any of them would want to make the trip. There was plenty of time to worry about that later, though.

Lucy-Anne had been walking about fifteen minutes when she heard the bawling of a calf. Following the sound of the cries, she forged a path through the brush and trees until she saw a very young calf standing alone. “Well, hello. Where’s your mama?”

Lucy-Anne approached cautiously, not wanting to frighten the animal. When she was a few steps away, she held out her hand and continued closer. “Hello, sweet thing. I wish I were strong and could carry you home. Or had a rope to lead you.”

Having no idea where “home” was didn’t help the matter. Nobby’s cows were kept on the other side of his property, and it wasn’t likely this little one had wandered that far. He probably belonged to the neighbors.

The calf shied away at first but then sniffed her hand as if looking for milk. “Sorry, I come empty-handed. Can we still be friends?” Now she was able to scratch the top of its head.

She turned a half-step toward the road. “Will you come with me? Come on.” She rubbed her fingers together in front of its face as if that would encourage it. She hadn’t played with calves since she was six, that she could recall, so she hadn’t a clue how to do so.

Surprisingly, the calf came closer. Lucy-Anne took another half-step to the side. “I have no idea who you belong to, but we can’t leave you here alone. Come on.”

When she reached the road with the calf at her side, she had to make a decision. Clearly, the calf hadn’t walked a mile or more from its mama, but it wasn’t wise to try to retrace its steps through the woods. The best option seemed to be to take it to Noblegreen and ask one of the farmhands to find its home in a wagon.

That plan seemed excellent until five minutes later when a horse approached from around the bend behind her. A deep voice called out, “Where are you going with my calf?” He sounded accusatory as if she was calf-napping.

She turned to face the rider. “Is it yours? I’m glad you found us, then. I wasn’t certain where he’d come from.”

He dismounted his horse, a giant of a man, and loomed over her. Her brother-in-law, Lord Oakhurst, was also quite tall and muscular, and he was such a sweetheart, so she didn’t shy away from this man.

“You must be Her Grace’s sister. From England.” He nearly spat out England. How charming he was, she thought sarcastically. His accent was odd to her ears.

“I am Lady Lucy-Anne Lumley, yes.”

“Well, you knew it wasn’t their calf, so why were you taking it to Noblegreen?” His manner hadn’t grown any kinder upon learning her identity. His features were somewhat fierce, narrowed eyes, a long nose, and down-turned lips with deep furrows beside them. His hat threw shadows across his face.

“I don’t know where any other farm is,” she answered, stretching up to her tallest self, which brought her eyes roughly to the top button of his waistcoat. “I thought it ill-advised to wander through the woods and have both of us become lost.”

He said nothing to that. Instead, he marched over to the calf, lifted it with ease, slung it across the horse’s back, and mounted again.

She was in awe of his strength and grace. And perturbed that he hadn’t thanked her for not leaving his calf to the wolves. “Well then, I shall be on my way,” she said, and continued to walk toward her sister’s home.

Lucy-Anne fully expected him to turn and ride off in the other direction, but he rode his horse beside her. She felt like a thief being marched to Newgate prison. Why couldn’t this man leave her alone? It dawned on her he hadn’t introduced himself, which wasn’t surprising given his obvious desire not to be polite or conversational in any way. “Is your farm beyond Noblegreen?”

“If it was, why would I accuse you of stealing my calf? You could have been bringing it to me.”

“Stealing?” Her voice almost squeaked in outrage. “Do many ladies in Williamsburg steal cattle?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “You’d have to ask my sister. I don’t read the gossip rags.”

She gave up trying to make conversation, although the choice of silence was just as awkward to her. She couldn’t recall being in someone’s company and not talking—if not speaking herself, she was listening to the others.

Eventually, he said, “I can’t let you walk home alone. Noblegreen would never forgive me if something happened to you.” His tone was softer, deep, rich, and pleasant.

She threw a glance up at him to attempt to read his expression. Oh, she shouldn’t have done so. When he wasn’t scowling, he was possibly the most handsome man she’d met. His coloring was the complete opposite of Mr. Harrison’s. His straight black hair was cut a bit longer than was the fashion in London, the ends flaring out a bit under the brim of his hat. His eyes were dark, cheekbones high, and his jaw had strong lines. Yes, the most handsome man she could recall. If only he weren’t so surly, he might be nice to know better. “My brothers would either thank you or laugh at you for assuming I’m fragile. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Perhaps, but your sister would never forgive me. Where’s your maid? Or a groom? You shouldn’t walk alone on the road.”

She turned her head away so she could roll her eyes unnoticed. If all the local men were like this, Mr. Harrison’s worries of her losing her heart to one were safe. Lucy-Anne could never fall in love with such a man.

Buy the book https://aileenfish.com/books/falling-for-the-american/

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren’t enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her “to-do” list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment, she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families.

She also writes steamy romance under the pen name Ari Thatcher.

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How Not to Avoid a Curse

By Barbara Monajem

On February 21, 2026

In Barbara Monajem, Bluestocking Belles, gossip, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers!

You, we are certain, are guided by reason and common sense.

Sadly, this is untrue of one of our noble peers. We refer, alas, to Lord N, who is labeled by the caricaturists as the Carpentry Earl.

Lord N‘s marquetry and inlay work is superb. No one denies that. But why did he enter into partnership with a man of low estate and indulge in (shudder) trade? This was deplorable enough when he was a mere second son, but after succeeding unexpectedly to the title, Lord N continues to eschew the ton in favor of laboring in his London shop.

We at the Tattler wonder if perhaps his diligence has something to do with avoiding marriage—or, to put it more plainly, the inevitability of an unfaithful wife. Why, you ask, would his wife be unfaithful? Lord N is a good-looking man, and physical labor renders him quite delightfully brawny.

But brawniness is no proof against the supposed Infidelity Curse laid upon his noble line by the Lady N of two centuries ago. Ever since, every Lady N has been unfaithful to her lord. No wonder his lordship would rather avoid marriage.

But if so, why did he commit the folly of entangling himself with the excessively beautiful Lady T, who (it is whispered) betrayed her elderly husband and then poisoned him? Does she have her clutches firmly into Lord N? If so, which fate will assail him first: poison or the dreaded curse? https://books2read.com/infidelity-curse

Here’s an excerpt from The Infidelity Curse:

Setup: At the reading of Sir Matthew Tifton’s will, all is going well except for the unpleasant presence of Sir Matthew’s nephew, Mr. Welton, who has already disrupted the proceedings twice. And then…

“There remains the question of guardianship, which is somewhat unusual,” Mr. Briggs, the solicitor, said.

Oh, God. Lucretia hadn’t thought of that.

“Sir Matthew appointed the Earl of Netherbroke as guardian of his child.” He paused. “Also as trustee, jointly with myself.”

“What the devil? I am meant to be the guardian!” Mr. Welton sprang up. “And the sole trustee, damn you!”

“Mr. Welton, if you cannot restrain yourself,” Mr. Briggs said, “Lady Tifton will be obliged to ask her footman to remove you.”

“Pah! She wouldn’t dare,” Welton said, “not with what I know about her.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Lucretia.

She shrank away. What could he possibly know? She’d never done anything wrong, except . . .

“Who is the Earl of Netherbroke?” demanded Lucretia’s niece, Noelle.

“He is an elderly peer who lives in Gloucestershire,” Lucretia said. “Sir Matthew and the Earl of Netherbroke were enthusiastic medal collectors. They met once at an auction and corresponded for a short while well over a year ago. Sir Matthew’s passion for marquetry was due to the Earl’s influence. I suppose my husband decided, judging by a brief acquaintance and some expensive furniture from the shop the Earl recommended, that the Earl would make a suitable guardian.” Fury swelled within her, but she strove to keep it from her voice. Surely a doddering earl was better than horrid Mr. Welton.

Mr. Briggs nodded. “Most likely due to his position in society.”

“Society be damned. My uncle feared for his life and the safety of his child.” Welton’s spittle flew. “He knew his precious wife had cuckolded him over and over, and then she tried to poison him with her noxious brews. What sort of mother would she be?”

Aghast, Lucretia clapped a hand to her breast. “No, no! I made him tisanes of healing herbs.” Her voice trembled. “He was ill. I tried to cure him!”

“Hah! You would claim that, wouldn’t you—but you don’t deny that you cuckolded him.”

Before Lucretia could gain control of her voice, he turned to Jellicoe, the valet. “You know all about this, don’t you? Sir Matthew valued you. He confided in you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, sir, he did,” Jellicoe said. “He believed Lady Tifton was trying to kill him. He feared the consequences to the child’s immortal soul if it was left to its mother’s care.”

Welton shook his fist at Lucretia. “You killed him because he was going to change his will. No. More likely he had already changed it, using the services of a more competent solicitor than this fellow. And then you burned it so no one would ever know.”

Lucretia quailed, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true.”

“You’re a whore and a murderess,” he shouted. “You may try to cozen the Earl of Whatshisname, but you won’t succeed. I’ll do whatever it takes to see that he takes the child away from you. You’ll be lucky if you don’t hang!”

A dark cloud swept over Lucretia. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came, and she fainted dead away.

The Infidelity Curse is only 99 cents at Amazon until the end of February! https://books2read.com/infidelity-curse

Duke’s Daughter Bickers with Stepmother

By Susana Ellis

On January 27, 2024

In Regency (19th century Britain), Susana Ellis, Teatime Tattler

November 19, 1817

Residence of the Duke of Huntingdon

Mayfair, London

“Must you always be badgering me on this matter, Wife? Alicia is barely one-and-twenty. She and Stanton will settle down one of these days. I daresay they are on the brink of setting a date even as we speak.”

The duke’s young wife crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“So you’ve told me for the last two years. Not only have they not set a date, Lucas, but they rarely even see each other! Alicia has danced more with the Prince Regent than with her own betrothed this past Season!”

The Duke of Huntingdon closed his book and laid his spectacles on top of it. “Has that old lecher been philandering with my girl? I’ll see him in hell first!”

Cheeks flushed, the young duchess clenched her fists. “No, of course not! That’s not the point, and you know it well. What I’ve been trying to tell you is that Alicia and Milton Gardiner show no signs of partiality for each other’s company, and people are beginning to question whether the marriage will ever be accomplished at all!”

Her eyes narrowed. “The Prince danced as many times with me this Season, but you’ve never said a word against him. I believe you care for her more than your own wife!”

She pulled out a handkerchief and swiped it over her eyes.

The duke rolled his eyes. “Good God, Elise, must you always make a fuss about everything? You know very well that as an unmarried young woman, Alicia’s reputation must be spotless, or no one, not even Stanton, will marry her. She and Stanton have always been the best of friends, Neither has ever spoken a word against their childhood betrothal, and you know Alicia well enough to know that she would certainly do so if she wished to.” He snorted.

“As far as Stanton, he can hardly be expected to dance with the gel when he’s spent most of the Season in Norfolk taking over his father’s duties on the estate. It may be unfashionable for a young man to take his responsibilities seriously, but I say it speaks well of his character.”

Lady Huntingdon glared at him. “And when Blackburn dies, the wedding will be postponed a year at least. Lucas, I must insist that you speak to your daughter immediately and impress upon her the urgency of securing this marriage as soon as may be!”

**********

At the sound of her stepmother’s footsteps moving toward the door, Alicia fled down the hall into the nearest room where she posed in front of the hearth and pretended to be studying a portrait of her late mother. Too late, she thought better of the idea. Elise hated that portrait of her predecessor almost as much as she hated Alicia herself.

The staccato clicks of her stepmother’s heels on the wooden floor paused when they passed the drawing room where Alicia had taken refuge.

“What are you doing here?” Elise demanded, her voice dripping with suspicion.

Alicia shrugged and smiled innocently. “Why, looking at my mother’s portrait, of course.”

The duchess’s brow furrowed. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with your father?”

Alicia’s mouth assumed a slack expression. “Were you having a conversation with my father? About me?”

Her stepmother’s nostrils flared. “You were listening! I knew it!” she snapped. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

“I-I, well…,” Alicia stammered.

“A thousand pardons, Your Grace, but you’re needed in the nursery. Master Gervase is poorly today, and Nurse wishes to call in a physician.”

One of the upstairs maids appeared in the doorway, looking worried.

“Gervase, my darling child…ill? Oh my, I knew that Nurse should not have taken him out of doors yesterday! Oh, I must go to him immediately!”

She gave Alicia a menacing stare, lifted her skirts, and rushed toward the stairway.

The maid winked at Alicia. “More ’n likely he’s just teething.” Then she took off after her mistress.

Alicia sighed heavily and gazed up at her mother’s beautiful face. It was almost like looking in a mirror, as she had inherited Frances Howland’s dark wavy hair, tawny eyes, and high cheekbones. Her prominent nose and light brown skin that no amount of lemon juice scrubs would lighten had come from her father, who had some French ancestry in his blood.

“Oh Mama! Why did you have to go sailing that day, of all days?”

She pressed her face down against the cool marble surface of the mantel. Three years ago she’d received the devastating news that her mother and Lady Blackburn had drowned when the skiff they’d been sailing had run into a sudden storm and capsized in the Wash a mile off the Norfolk coast. Her life had never been the same since. Particularly not when, after a year of mourning, her father had married a young girl only a few years older than she, who’d had the nerve to bear him the son he’d always wanted fifteen months later.

Her new stepmother, the daughter of a baronet whose mother claimed to be a displaced French countess, had been scheming to get rid of Alicia from the first day she’d moved in. Alicia was a constant reminder of her mother, a notorious London beauty. Elise’s skin was the pale porcelain favored by society, but in combination with her gray eyes, small round head and pale blonde hair, she tended to fade into the woodwork. With dark hair in fashion these days, it galled her to appear in public with the stepdaughter who outshone her.

Nor did it help when all the servants showed a pronounced preference for Alicia.

“That’s not my fault,” she said lifting her head to her mother’s face as if to defend her behavior. “I never encouraged them to do that.”

But you never did anything to prevent it, did you, Daughter? You weren’t raised to prevaricate, you know. This type of behavior is beneath you.

A lump formed in Alicia’s throat. It was true. Her mother, at least, had worked very hard to keep her grounded in good Christian values and a healthy respect for others. Alicia knew her mother would have been sorely distressed to see the way she provoked her stepmother, sometimes without half-trying.

Your behavior causes your father much grief, you know. Does he not deserve a peaceful home?

Alicia paled as she recalled the conversation she’d just overheard in her father’s study. Unkind as it was to deliberately provoke her stepmother, it also had the effect of disturbing her father’s domestic life. Which she’d not hesitated to do at first when she’d been furious with her father’s decision to remarry, but now…it seemed rather childish and cruel.

He’s been a good father to you, Alicia. He was a good husband to me as well. Does he not deserve your loyalty?

“Alicia, my dear.”

Lucas Howland, the Duke of Huntingdon, strolled through the doorway toward her. At forty-nine, he was still a fine figure of a man, although his dark hair was now sprinkled with gray and his stomach was beginning to make itself known beneath his olive-green waistcoat.

He sighed as he cupped her shoulders and drew her against his chest as they both gazed up at the portrait of his first wife.

“Aye, she was a marvelous woman. I still miss her too, you know. Many times I wish I had forbidden her to take the boat out that day.”

Tears gathered in Alicia’s eyes. “But she would never have heeded you, Papa. It wasn’t your fault.”

He turned her around and hugged her to his chest. “No, she was a willful one, my Frances. So spirited and full of life…I’m sure it never occurred to her that it could all be lost so quickly and tragically.”

They stood there a moment and reflected on what the loss of the former duchess had brought to their lives. For the duke—a young second wife and the heir he’d always wanted. For Alicia—a new baby brother with whom she’d felt an instant connection, but who came with the inconvenience of an antagonistic stepmother.

“She was my best friend,” Alicia whispered. “I could tell her anything and she would never laugh at me or remonstrate with me. She always told me to forget the past and live each day to the fullest.”

She lifted her wounded face to her father’s. “But how can I forget her? She was my life and now she’s gone! I feel…lost without her, Papa.”

Her father sighed and kissed her forehead before drawing her head to his shoulder. “I know it well, my dear. I’ve seen you drift aimlessly through two Seasons, and I know well things would have been much different had it been your mother sponsoring you and not your aunt.”

“Aunt Tabitha has been very kind, Papa, but you are correct—it’s not the same.”

Her father’s sister had not got on well with her sister-in-law and it seemed Alicia had inherited too many of her mother’s characteristics to make for an amicable connection between aunt and niece.

The duke turned and, taking her arm, led her to a settee.

“Come and sit with me, Daughter. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken privately, and I think a chat is quite overdue. Shall I order tea?”

Tea? Alicia forced herself to relax her hands, which had tightened into fists at her father’s request. She knew where this conversation was going.

“No tea, Papa. It will be time for nuncheon soon. I suppose you want to know about how things stand between Milton and me.”

Her father patted her hand. “I don’t wish to push you out of the nest, Alicia, but people are beginning to wonder if you and Stanton mean to marry after all. You’ve had two Seasons and I’ve heard no reports of your forming any other attachments in that time.”

Because everyone knows I’ve been betrothed to Milton forever.

“I had beaux,” she said defensively. “I was never a wallflower, you know. I had any number of escorts to Vauxhall and drives through the park.”

The duke heaved a sigh. “Of course, you did. I never meant to imply otherwise. But of all of them, did none appeal to you as a better choice for husband than young Stanton?”

“No, nothing like that.” Well, there was Lord Hadley, the handsome young viscount who made all the young ladies’ hearts flutter, but he’d gone off on his Grand Tour last year and showed no sign of returning any time soon.

“As far as I know, Papa, Milton and I still plan to be married. I haven’t heard from him lately, since he’s been so busy at Blackburn, but I’m sure we’ll discuss it after our return to Huntingdon.”

Her father grimaced. “I don’t mean to pressure you, my dear, but with Blackburn’s illness, you might want to set an early date. I’m sure it would give him great pleasure to see his son wed before… well, there’s no way to avoid the fact that his days are numbered.”

“And once he’s gone, there will be a year of mourning. I do realize that, Papa. I’m sure Elise will be no end of piqued to have me on your hands for another year.”

Her father flinched. “It’s not that, Alicia. It’s just that… it’s obvious you’re not happy with us, and we think it’s time you settled down and started your own family. With Stanton, if he’s your choice. No one wishes to force you out, least of all your stepmother.”

Alicia snorted. Did her father really think she would believe that? She’d have known it to be an untruth even if she had not overheard their recent conversation.

“Of course not. I’m sure Elise is eager to become a grandmother.”

Her father tried to hide his grin, and Alicia turned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll discuss it with Milton, Papa. He has a lot on his mind these days. When his father dies, he’ll be alone in the world. At least I still have a father left.”

Her father let out a huge breath. “Thank you, my dear.”

He stood and started to leave, then turned and looked at her with a twinkle in his eye.

“I can’t speak for Elise, of course, but I for one am looking forward to becoming a grandfather with great anticipation. And I’m sure Gervase will be in alt to have a little niece or nephew to play with.”

Alicia blushed. “Really, Papa!”

Baby Gervase an uncle? An amusing image, but it all seemed so premature. She’d been betrothed to Milton for so long, but the actual marriage had seemed far off. In all that time, she’d never actually thought much about being Milton’s wife and having his children. Now that the time seemed imminent, she felt a growing feeling of panic. Bridal nerves, of course. All brides had them. It would all turn out well in the end, she assured herself.

******

All I Want For Christmas is You is part of the Bluestocking Belles’ latest Christmas collection, Christmastide Kisses.

https://books2read.com/u/m26VG6

About Susana Ellis

Susana Ellis is a retired teacher, part-time caregiver, sewist, cook, and fashion print collector. Lifelong reading and a fascination with history led her to writing historical romances. She is one of the original Bluestocking Belles and a member of Regency Fiction Writers and the Maumee Valley Romance Authors Inc.

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Meet Blaise Arquette, formerly of Wellington’s Army

By Susana Ellis

On December 16, 2023

In Bluestocking Belles, Regency (19th century Britain), Susana Ellis, Teatime Tattler

Blaise Arquette has just returned from a position at the Home Office where he had served since Waterloo. Prior to that he served nearly two decades in the War with France, lately as an exploring officer with the Duke of Wellington. Just one day prior to this scene, he had met a lovely seamstress in his brother’s haberdashery shop. The rest of Blaise and Susana’s story, A Seamstress, a Soldier, and a Secret will appear in an updated version of Desperate Daughters, which you can get for free in January 2024 if you have previously purchased the ebook version.

You can meet Susana Bigglesworth here.

18 December 1816

Leeds, West Yorkshire

Early afternoon

Blaise knew that finding work would not be an easy task; his time at the Home Office had shown him that. Soldiers and sailors trudging London streets desperately trying to feed their families, many reduced to begging in the streets. Those who returned without limbs had even less to hope for; they would end among the parish poor, no doubt in some workhouse or another. He always felt a flutter of guilt when he came upon them; wishing there were some way to help them but at the same time perceiving that, but for the grace of God, he might even now be among them.

He at least had his brother to fall back on, although he had no intention of remaining a hanger-on. He had no clear idea of what sort of position he might find; the skills he had mastered in the Army—namely marksmanship, horsemanship, map drawing, and writing—were not transferable to any sort of trade he could think of. The government was eliminating positions right and left as the post-war economy hurtled the country toward disaster, his own with the Home Office included.

That morning he rose early, determined to do a bit of reconnaissance in the neighborhood to assess the situation. The tradesmen he chatted with were impressed with his military service, but few were taking on employees, and even fewer—none actually—were the sort of jobs suitable for Blaise. Young boys who could be apprenticed to learn a trade without pay had more choices than he, he mused grimly. Returning to France to fight for his inheritance might be his only option.

Heading back to Fanshawe & Sons, he noticed a tradesman’s carriage harnessed to a pair of black Percherons, Macclesfield Silks painted on the side. Inside, he found his brother and Louise poring over ells of colorful fabric arrayed on the counter, a stranger—presumably the silk merchant—running his hand over the wares.

“Thomas Pemberton,” he introduced himself after Benoît had presented him. “Grandson of Joseph, founder of Macclesfield Silks.”

Pemberton was middle-aged, a few streaks of gray in his dark hair, hazel eyes, and a jovial manner. He regarded Blaise with new respect when he heard of his military career.

“Served with the duke, did you? This country is in your debt, sir.” He tilted his head and regarded Blaise with furrowed brows. “So, what does a soldier with your experience do with himself after the war is over?”

Blaise grinned wryly. “I’m still looking for the answer to that, Pemberton. There doesn’t seem to be much of a use for soldiers in peacetime.”

“Thomas. Do call me Thomas.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Look, I may have something that will suit. I’m short an assistant at present, a traveling man to demonstrate our wares to shops like your brother’s.” He blew out a puff of air. “This,” he said waving at the wagon in front of the shop, “isn’t my strong suit and I’m needed at the mill. Is this something you could consider, for the present, at least? I might have something better in the future.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “Certainly,” he said slowly, unwilling to dismiss any possibility. “But I don’t know much about silk.”

Thomas laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That can be rectified,” he asserted. “Come and see me in Macclesfield after the holiday, and I’ll show you around the mill, introduce you to the weavers, give you a bit of an apprenticeship. If it’s not to your taste, you’ll at least come away with a better acquaintance with the textile industry.”

Benoît and Louise looked at him hopefully. Blaise chuckled. “I can see you are already anticipating the discount for silk wares for the shop.”

Turning to Thomas, he held out an arm. “I’m honored to accept the offer, sir.”

Louise squealed, and Susana, needle and thread in hand, peeked out of her “office” to investigate. “Oh, the silks are here,” she exclaimed, misunderstanding the situation. “I can’t wait to see them! I shall be out as soon as I finish the hem on Miss Delphi’s dinner dress. I expect her momentarily for a final fitting.” She rushed back into her workroom.

Thomas appeared momentarily stunned by her appearance. Noticing his interest, Louise said helpfully, “That’s Susana, Miss Bigglesworth. She’s our modiste.”

Running his hands through his hair, Thomas swallowed. “I beg your pardon, but she looks familiar. Although I can’t place her. Or the name.”

“She’s from Harrogate,” Louise offered. “Comes from a family of ten sisters.”

“Ten!” Thomas’s eyes widened. But then he shook his head. “Doesn’t bring back anything. It’ll come to me, I suppose.”

He straightened his back and offered his hand first to Benoît and then to Blaise, subsequently tipping his hat for Louisa.

“I thank you for your business, sir,” he said to Benoît, and then to Blaise: “I’ll write you soon, Mr. Arquette, er, Blaise. We’ll expect to see you in Macclesfield after the New Year.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Blaise accompanied him out of the shop to the driver’s seat of the wagon, beginning to feel hopeful for the first time in a while.

Desperate Daughters

This story was written for the readers of the original version of Desperate Daughters who expressed concern over the absence of Susana’s story, since she played a key part in the other sisters’ stories.

Her story deserves to be told.

Susana Ellis is a retired teacher, part-time caregiver, sewist, cook, and fashion print collector. Lifelong reading and a fascination with history led her to writing historical romances.

After January 1, 2024:

To update your Kindle book version, go to Manage Your Content and Devices. Search for Desperate Daughters. If available, select Update Available, then select Update.)

A new woman seeks to marry from an advert! She shall not have him!

By Cerise DeLand

On October 28, 2023

In Cerise Deland, gossip, Historical Period, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

I write to you today, dear Tattler, to tell of an outrage in my village. What do you say to a lady who sails all the way from London to the south shore of Wales, all to get a husband?

And to take one who has advertised to get you to come hither?

Is that not a ridiculous venture?

Sight unseen to agree to travel hundreds of miles to a sordid little town and devilihs house like the tumbledown Rambles of the barons of Rhouse and Gary? This is a sprawling, ugly monstrosity built by Normans, kept by men who made their living stealing what bounty floated up from the shores.

A wicked house it is too. Filled with wicked men who take women for their money and their land. Hollow men who fill themselves up with the dowries of naive girls and who ravaged them…and any others they wish.

The barons of this house and this lineage are thieves and charlatans. What woman would want such a man as husband?

I didn’t. Yet I had to. My father demanded it of me and where else was I to go, sicne my fiance’s father had already defiled me, eh?

Now this girl comes. Silly thing. She will not have this new baron to wed. I will see to it.

Warn your female readers not to accept a man’s hand if they know him not. It is not wise. It is not safe.

I warn you. Do not answer an advert to become a wife of a Welsh baron. He had only danger and heartache in store for you.

Sincerely,

~ Desperate Lady

*****

When a young widow wishes to marry again, will the man she grows to love ask more than she can give?

Mrs. Tynley Wallingford yearns for a quiet, comforting marriage to a man whom she can respect. She’ll go to any lengths to find the best candidate who can respect her, in turn. Even correspond with one fellow at length before she agrees that Kendryck Hollens is the man whose words awaken her desire for a husband she might grow to love.

Tynley takes a risk and sails to Wales with the best intentions. She finds in Kendryck a man with a noble ambition—and a family filled with age-old conflict and despair.

Kendryck Hollens returns home to Wales after fifteen years abroad, a stranger to his cantankerous family. He assumes his rightful title as baron of the legendary house of Strade and attempts to change the dastardly reputation of his ancestors, and put his siblings on the right path to a purposeful life.

Thrilled that Tynley has come to his home, he notices that her presence creates challenges among those in his family. But he feels assured she can help him obtain what he wants most in this world.

When a tragedy threatens to ruin his ambition and his family, he fears the price of endurance will ruin Tynley’s personal objective too—and drive her from him.

How much can one ask of one whom they love? Are any prices too high?

*****

Kendryck put his two hands to her cheeks. “I told myself I would not take you like a villain.”

“Hmmm,” Tynely said as she considered that with a tip of her head this way and that. Then she pulled at the end of his beautifully tied cravat and said, “You aren’t.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Not against the stables, not in a carriage. We must be in a bed.”

“I do agree.” She sank to lick the skin of his corded neck. “But one must have a few bites of bliss before the main course.” She undid the button of his soft linen shirt and kissed the hollow of his throat. “Otherwise, one’s appetite is not prepared.”

He laughed, he groaned, then he pressed her flush to his chest. “You should have told me you were a tease.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why? Isn’t this more fun?”

He hooted. His grip on her was mighty and seductive. “What should I know, my darling?”

“About…?”

“Making love to you.”

She bent to his mouth and licked his bottom lip. “That I will be as needy as you.”

“Thank God.”

“That I will want all of you as mine.”

“I rejoice at it. And? Anything else?”

“That I am yours completely and you may have me at your will,” she whispered and took one of his fingers and nipped the end, “as long as I may have you at mine.”

BUY LINK: https://books2read.com/u/4jBX90

Cerise DeLand is the USA TODAY Bestselling Author who believes love brings rich rewards from a life lived with honesty, valor—and a functioning funnybone.

Known for her poetic elegance and accuracy of detail, she’s won awards for many of the more than 70 novels she’s written.

Her work has been nearly life-long! First published in 1991 by Kensington, then Pocket Books, St. Martin’s Press and independent presses, she is now published by DRAGONBLADE PUBLISHING. Plus her books have been monthly selections of the Doubleday Book Club and the Mystery Guild.

To research, she’s dived into the oldest texts and dustiest library shelves. She travels abroad taking good walking shoes, big notebooks, trusty pens and a camera! She visits chateaux and country homes she loves to people with her own imaginary characters.

And at home every day? She cooks. (Every night.) Never dusts. (That can be a problem.) She goes swimming or pumps iron once a week and tries (desperately) to grow vegetables in her arid backyard in south Texas!

Website:

https://www.cerisedeland.com

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/Cerise-DeLand/e/B0089DS2N2/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cerise.deland/

Blog: https://cerisedeland.blogspot.com/