Lucinda! Dare I tell you what I heard the
other day at my sister’s tea?
I shouldn’t
spread such dastardly tales, but the news scarcely bears credence!
I know. I know. Come closer. We’ll sit in this
corner near the doors to the garden and I will tell you. We don’t want everyone
here to listen in. Why, I’d never forgive myself if such words got out and I
was referenced as the one to have told the story!
Well, yes.
Settled? No one around us. Hmm. So, here is the tale.
You’ve heard, I
am certain, that the Marquess of Ridgemont has had a liaison for the past few
months with a certain duchess. Yes, you have? Hmm. And that she is soon to be
indisposed for the next six months? Yes. The duke is furious. But he knows not
who to blame! Is it Ridgemont? Or perhaps Wales himself? Dastardly choice,
isn’t it?
And now there is
another problem. Ridgemont is to wed.
Well, yes, yes,
everyone knows that. His mama and papa are quite insistent that he do. Finally,
he must wed. But he tarries.
Oh, pardon me. I
titter! He tarries and dallies, doesn’t he?
I mustn’t snort.
So unladylike. Well! Onward with my tale!
Ridgemont is to
wed. One of those American gels. The haughty sort. More money than any foolish
woman should have. I must throw myself into the nearest ha-ha with outrage…but
it is true. Glorious dark-haired, superbly sculpted Ridgemont must wed and get
the American dollars he desperately needs.
I hear your
question. Which girl, eh?
I do believe it
is—
Oh, my! Why,
Lord Ridgemont, I did not know you were here! How wonderful to see you!
The garden? With
me? You’d like to walk among the roses?
Well. My, my.
Let me open my fan. It is so stifling in this drawing room, isn’t it?
You won’t mind,
Lucinda, will you, dearest, if I admire the roses with Ridgemont?
No, no, I won’t be
but a few minutes.
What’s that, you
say, my lord?
More than a few?
Ten, a least?
I say! How
flattering and very exciting. Of course,
I will take your arm.
I’ll see you
later, Lucinda. Don’t whisper a word of this, will you, my dear?
Thank you, thank
you.
I am all yours, my dear Ridgemont!
For
more about this spicy tidbit, do read SCANDALOUS
HEIRESS, THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS, Book 4, by Cerise DeLand.
For
more about this spicy tidbit, do read SCANDALOUS
HEIRESS, THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS, Book 4, by Cerise DeLand.
My Fishingham twins spying on their sister’s meetings with the Beast Next Door.
“Why did you stop me telling Charis about the Earl of Wayford?” Matilda demanded, as soon as Charis was out of earshot. “She clearly has no idea…”
Eugenie smirked. “Exactly. She has no idea. Just think what a delightful surprise it will be for her when the Earl actually turns up to claim his bride!”
Matilda frowned, puzzled. She could work absolute magic with a needle, but she sometimes had to have plots explained to her. It was not that she was stupid, it was just that she was straightforward and honest, so Eugenie had to be devious enough for them both. Eugenie didn’t mind; that was, after all, what a twin was for.
Eugenie didn’t exactly mind, either, that Charis, who was two years older than the twins, walked around with her head in one of her books, and ignored the family’s dire straits and the measures needed to save them. That was just Charis. She had always been that way, preferring her own company to playing with the twins, and regarding fashion, gossip, and the twins’ other interests with a kind of bewildered disdain.
She was extremely cross that Mother had accepted a proposal on her behalf.
“Are you not delighted that Charis is the one to find a rich husband to save the family?” Eugenie asked Matilda. “You and I will be much freer to choose. Someone comfortably placed, of course, but how lovely that Mama will be able to depend on Charis!”
Matilda nodded. “Of course I am pleased. But Eugenie, shouldn’t we tell Charis…”
“Definitely not. After what she has put us through this season? Besides, if she had told mother she was meeting someone when she wandered off next door, she might have learned the truth much earlier. Nothing good comes of lying to one’s mother!”
Matilda burst out laughing. “Eugenie Fishingham, you are a complete card. You and I have been lying to Mother ever since we followed Charis weeks ago, and saw whom she was meeting. Not to mention…”
“Let’s not mention,” Eugenie said, hastily. She would be far more prone to falsehoods if she did not fear that Matilda would blurt them out at the first opportunity. She reminded herself that really was lucky to have such an honest twin.
“I suppose we can always tell Charis tomorrow,” Matilda decided. “Shall we go up to our room, dearest? I, for one, do not wish to return to the parlour to hear Mother berating Charis for refusing this wonderful opportunity.
A flurry of activity whirred through the parlor of Lady Benedicta Rangecroft, where a gathering of ladies was setting up to hear the news of London from Lady Selina Peckham. The tea service, complete with both China and Indian, a selection of finger sandwiches, and delicate pastries were set with the finest care. The visiting guests, five in total, made up the most influential women in Morgan Hill, South Carolina.
They busied
themselves with social responsibilities prior to the taking up the
responsibilities of motherhood, which would unavoidably usurp their valuable
time. This meeting was an invaluable opportunity to discuss important matters
of the day. And by extension, to stay abreast of the news from foreign lands.
And today, as luck would have it, Lady Selina Peckham, is gathering to delight
the group with news of London.
Lady Selina
Peckham, while standing by the fireplace holding the mantle with one hand, was
in thoughtful preparation to perform an imitation of Henry Irving’s performance
of Mathias in “The Bells”.
“Ladies, it
was precisely at this time,” Lady Selina began, with a flourish of her arm and
placing her wrist upon her forehead, regaling the group with her
performance. “I was dumbfounded, upon
the realization that Mathias, the primary lead character, would be haunted for
the rest of his life because of a moments madness.”
At this
point, Lady Christmas Harper, set down her tea cup and saucer with such command
that all could hear the clang of the china. “But didn’t you say that Mathias
had virtually killed a seed merchant in order to gather money to pay off his
own mortgage?”
Lady
Selina’s shoulders slumped knowing that the critical moment was destroyed with the foolish
question. “My dear, it’s not a simple matter of murder, he was a desperate man,
the seed merchant was overly fortunate, . . .”
“Heathen, he
was a heathen to take another man’s life for such a selfish reason.” Lady
Christmas stood to make her views known beyond doubt.
During the
kerfuffle, Lady Gertrude Stark, reached out for her third sandwich. She
carefully slid the sandwich behind her tea cup, in order, that it would escape
Lady Benedicta’s attention.
Clearing her throat, Lady Benedicta gently set her tea on the table and ushered her opinion to the fore. “Please, let us remember that we are here to fortify our minds with clever new ideas and thoughts to ponder. We are fortunate that Lady Selina so willingly exposed herself to the dangers of the theatre in order to regale us with the story of Mr. Henry Irving’s performance. Let us be understanding. Continue please,” Lady Benedicta said with authority, and again sat poised with her tea cup and saucer in her lap.
Lady Selina
smiled patiently at her challenger until finally Lady Christmas capitulated and
dutifully took her seat among group.
“Simply
said, Henry Irving’s performance in “The Belles”, was tragic magnifique.
I am not over praising his skill when I say his command of the stage is nothing
less than astonishing. No other actor will ever be able to match his resonate
vocalization, masculine gait across the stage, and his tender fall from grace,”
she said tipping her head just enough to show due reverence to the performer.
During the
moment of stillness that followed Lady Selina’s pronouncement, Lady Gertrude
captured another three cookies from the closest tray, having already finished
the earlier sandwiches. She briskly eyed the room, so as to make sure that her
theft went unnoticed by all.
It was at
this time Lady Philippa leaned forward, glassy eyed and swooning. “It sounds
like the most romantic evening that could ever be endured. How can you stand
that the performance ended?”
Lady
Christmas, upon hearing turned her head from the conversation and bit her lip.
Upon hearing
just this one note of appreciation, Lady Selina drew herself to the cushion
closest to Lady Philippa and prepared herself for yet another confession. “That
is not totality of the surprises we endured that evening.”
Lady Selina
stood again, and walked about the room while she gathered the perfect words to
compliment the most important revelation of the evening.
The
gathering of women, beyond Lady Christmas, waited with bated breath.
“After we
arrived at the Lyceum Theatre, and after we enjoyed the opulence of the crystal
chandeliers, the velvet wall dressing, and the handsomely carved wooden
banisters. After we were met with dignitary’s, business men, and their elegant
wives. After we…”
“Get on with
it, can you?” Lady Christmas nearly shouted.
Abruptly,
Lady Selina turned her back toward Lady Christmas and continued her talk
focusing entirely on the other three in the room. She noticed for a brief
moment, that Lady Gertrude had a biscuit crumbs on her mouth. Lady Selina, not
wanting to be distracted, offered a most discreet wiping of her own mouth, to
entreat Lady Gertrude to wipe the crumbs away. Then she continued, maintaining
her dignity to the end.
“After we
were seated in our most comfortable box seats, and just before the performance
began, can you imagine what happened next?”
“Do, please
tell us, before we are lost in your circular theatrical tale,” Lady Christmas
blurted.
This
outburst was followed by Lady Benedicta clearing her throat for the third time
in this conversation.
“Oh, yes,
please do put us out of our suspense,” Lady Philippa said, clapping her hands
and bobbing her knees up and down.
“Imagine if
you will, the red velvet curtain opens, the gas lights on the stage using some
magical method of sorcery. . . “
“Sorcery!
Holy Mother of God, what demon story is being inflicted on me now!” Lady
Christmas exclaimed her protest at the top of her lungs.
The next few
moments were a flurry of activity.
Instantly,
Lady Philippa audibly gasped, pulled out her ornamental fan, leaned back in her
chair, and waived the fan briskly in front of cheeks. Which by this time, at
the mere mention of sorcery had gone flush with excitement.
Lady
Gertrude took the break in the conversation to refill her tea cup and fill her
saucer with the final pastry on the serving tray.
Lady
Benedicta stood, placed her hands on her hips, and with an admonishing glare,
stared fiercely at Lady Christmas.
“You will
take care not to insult a guest in my home or you will be forced to leave and
not return again. It doesn’t matter that you are my sister-in-law. Am I made
perfectly clear?”
It was at
this point that Lady Christmas, whose eye’s had filled with scorn, looked to
the heaven’s for strength. She muttered a soft prayer to herself and finally
took her seat once again, and braced for the worst. Which was inevitably to
follow.
Then,
without hesitation, Lady Benedicta nodded for Lady Selina to continue.
Lady Selina
had determined her best opportunity to complete her story was to focus her
attention toward Lady Philippa and remain this way through the duration of her
story.
“As I was
saying, the gas lamps on the stage were extremely bright and this was the first
time I had seen anything like this. But the lights in the theatre were dimmed
to the point that the entire audience was sitting in the complete dark.”
“Oh no!”
exclaimed Lady Christmas.
“Oh yes!”
exclaimed Lady Benedicta.
“Oh my!”
exclaimed Lady Philippa.
“I will,”
Lady Gertrude said, and pinched an untouched sandwich from another woman’s
plate.
Lady
Philippa moaned in astonishment. She was dumbfounded beyond measure. Her fan
flipped with such energetic gyration that it nearly split up the middle. “Well, I have never sat in the dark during
the performance of any kind, let alone in a box seat with my husband. The
entirety of the audience could see you. In the dark, it’s near madness.”
Lady Selina
shook her head, “No my dear, all the audience was in the dark. Never in my
life, and I have been witness to dozen’s of plays, have I ever
sat entirely in the dark with my husband in a public venue. I don’t mind
saying, it was thrilling to say the least.”
A wily
smiled passed across Lady Benedicta’s sober face for the first time today.
There was a
stillness that fell across the room, each woman in her own seat pondering the
dark.
“I’ll tell you
ladies, it was a celebratory event,” Lady Selina said taking her first sip of
tea.
About the Book
Eleven lovelorn singletons. Eleven tales of Cupid, catastrophe, and maybe more…
These characters have had it with love—or, if not with that, with Valentine’s Day. But no matter how they fight it, Cupid refuses to relent. From struggling singles to secret crushes to enemies turned much, much more, these lightning strikes of love will add a spark of hope to your holiday.
Worst Valentine’s Day Everflips the script on lonely hearts who seem destined for Valentine’s disaster. If you like laugh-out-loud rom-coms, terrible dates gone right, and gorgeous happily-ever-afters, then you’ll love this adorable collection. It ain’t all hearts and roses; but these tales of triumph will find your faith in Valentine’s Day—and your faith in love—restored.
Daphne Masque – Writes about Romance in the theatre for any time period.
Daphne started keeping a journal during her formative years, junior high. Journaling and bad poetry started her love of working with words. She didn’t know it would last a lifetime. She went on to study Theatre Arts in college and since that time she’s been working in the theatre for over four decades. Her love of dialogue, storytelling, and bringing characters to life has been her passion ever since she first stood on the stage. Writing romance has brought a new dimension to her craft. She adores putting the two elements of romance and theatre in the same world. She hopes you enjoy her stories as much as she enjoying writing them.
I have been researching love and St. Valentine’s day for a work in progress and came across this somewhat erudite opinion piece. I thought your readers might find intriguing, this writer’s opinions about St. Valentine and the traditions we associate with him. I do hope the Tattler’s audience will let you know what they think. The opinion article begins below.
Thank you very much for the service you provide to our community. Lady C.
Two things struck me as I did research for this piece intended to be about
St. Valentine’s day, but which turned out to be about much more. One amazing
item is that Valentine was sentenced to die by beating, stoning, and finally
decapitation, because he performed marriage ceremonies in defiance of an edict
against marriages by Roman Emperor Claudius the second.This according to Father
O’Grady’s article about the Real St. Valentine http://www1.cbn.com/st-valentine-real-story.
The other compelling item is that the lives of Christian saints were first
recorded by Jacobus de Voragine, Archbishop of Genoa, 1275—later ‘Englished’ by
William Caxton in 1483—in a book called the Golden Legend or Legenda Aurea. It
is not so much this book that is remarkable in relation to Valentine’s Day, but
the reason the book was produced. The prologue exclaims in a variety of ways
that the Archbishop produced the book to avoid the perils of idleness. “THE holy and blessed Doctor S. Jerome
saith this authority: Do alway some good work, to the end that the devil find
thee not idle. And the holy Doctor S. Austin saith in the book of the labour of
monks that, no man strong or mighty to labour ought to be idle.” http://www.catholic-saints.net/saints/the-golden-legend/prologue.php.
How many of us actually associate labor, or
work, with today’s version of St. Valentine’s day? Do gardening, chores, office
work, teaching, investigation or any other form of work leap immediately to
mind when Valentine’s Day is mentioned? Or do you perhaps imagine lolling on a
romantic beach, relaxed dining in a five-star restaurant where customers do
nothing more than lift a finger to get their smallest desire fulfilled
immediately, or perhaps simply spending hours on end making love—where your
greatest task is to bring your partner pleasure? These are traditional image of
Valentine’s Day, images not normally associated with work.
For what reason(s) did that medieval archbishop take such great effort to emphasize that idleness is perilously close to sin? In part, I suspect, Jacobus de Voragine prefaced his ‘work’ on saints’ lives with this warning, because he saw work as an expression of Love—Love in the sense of God’s love for man and when we are at our best, our own love for our fellow man. So, it may have been St. Valentine’s sacrifice that eventually became the reason for associating him with the kind of idleness we see today as passion and devotion, even carnal loving.
Valentine died not
because of his own love for a woman, but as Father O’Gara says [and I
paraphrase] there comes a time when he [Valentine] had to lay down his life
upon the line for what he believed. “And with the power of the Holy Spirit we
can do that—even to the point of death.” Indeed, every faith that I know of
contains some version of ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that he should
lay down his life for another. [Paraphrased from John 15:13, King James version.]
What then does all of this talk of sacrifice and keeping busy mean for those of us who love romance, and often idle away hours with reading romance novels?
First of all, I do not believe that reading romance is idle in any way. I prefer to think of my recreational reading is purposeful. It helps me to learn new things. It keeps my mind active and my imagination and my faith healthy. This is so because romance novels are most often stories of sacrifice. Whether the sacrifice is a life, a hope, a dream, a love or some other thing highly valued by readers, authors and characters does not at all diminish the fact of a sacrifice being made for love.
Valentine sacrificed his life so that lovers could marry in the church of their choosing. Romeo and Juliet gave their lives for each other. Readers of romance sacrifice hours of their time to gain the benefits of reading our favorite kinds of stories. Almost everything of value comes at some cost, and I’m not writing about the exchange of money and goods. The prices paid in life and in romance novels are much greater than a few coins or a little cash. This is why romance is celebrated on St. Valentine’s Day, because of all that has been given to make love between two people possible. To recognize not simply the pleasures of physical love, but the worth of the emotional give and take that each person in a relationship shares.
This is what I believe. I’d be interested in your thoughts about Valentine’s Day and how it came to be what it is today, so please leave a comment below.
About Rue Allyn: Hi, I’m Rue Allyn, I write heart melting romance novels. Books about characters and adventures in which love triumphs at the darkest moment. The kind of hopeful, steal-your-breath romance that melts a reader’s heart. The type of book I like to read. Hope you will too.
You can find Rue at the following social
media links:
It is with great reluctance and heaviness of
heart that I write to you today, but decency demands I must. Were that it not
so! A most intriguing stranger arrived at the Pump Room not a fortnight past —
you’ll note I hesitate to call him “gentleman”! The Chevalier d’Aubusson — if
indeed he holds the honor — has charmed all and sundry with a practiced grace
and the face of an Adonis, but I rather suspect –nay, I am certain! — he
means to abscond with one of our impressionable young ladies. For their part,
the young ladies are only too happy to comply!
His attention has fallen upon the rather
tragic figure of Lady Emilia Lloyd-Marshal, known to some by the affectionate
appellation “Lady Taffy” because of her unfortunate Welsh roots. As you well
know, Lady Emilia was presented late, and is now on her sixth — sixth! —
season with not a suitable swain in sight. What does she expect, carrying on
the way she does? She shocked the assembly into silence with an impromptu harp
recital whilst we were attempting to take the waters in peace. She discarded
her gloves, then emptied her glass into a ficus — a ficus, I ask you! At the
ball this Thursday last, I espied her sneaking gin from a flask concealed on
her person, then she stole a dance with the chevalier from my daughter, and deported herself like a veritable harlot. If that
isn’t enough to scandalize you, my dear Mr. Clemens, you may need to find your
seat for what I am about to impart.
Lady Emilia Lloyd-Marshal is to appear in a
play with none other than the infamous Countess of Somerton — in a theater!
Truly, some Good Samaritan ought to save that
girl from her own worst impulses. I suppose it cannot be helped. Though I have
not seen her parents in your scandal sheet of late, I can assure you their behaviour
is as reprehensible as ever. It is an open secret Lord Brecon lives in sin with
a fishwife in some Welsh backwater, while Lady Brecon frequents the bawdy
houses of Soho with her retinue of misguided lords, chief among them the
hapless Lord Dorchester, who seems quite devoted, poor lamb. In such a
household, I daresay Lady Emilia hadn’t the slightest chance of reaching
maturity unscathed. But I digress–!
Mr. Clemens, I only wish to caution the
unmarried ladies of the ton against this mysterious chevalier. He must be a
pretender, for what gentleman would ever seriously court Lady Taffy? Fortune
cannot make up for shamelessness or ill manners, and I’m afraid Lady Emilia has
an abundance of both. I shudder to think what machinations the “chevalier” has
in store for her, but whatever fate awaits her, I am assured she brought it on
herself.
Regretfully,
Lady C—-
Beauty
and the Bounder by Jessica Cale
He’s a
liar and a fortune-hunter . . . and exactly what she needs.
The moment Lady Emilia sets eyes on the Chevalier d’Aubusson, she knows their fates are tied together. For good or ill, she cannot say. A mysterious aristocrat with a tragic past, the chevalier makes waves with his considerable charm.
Seb
Virtue is not as he seems. A once-famous actor with a limited options, his
future depends on him catching a rich bride. He thought it would be easy, but
he didn’t count on Emilia.
There
are cracks in Seb’s story, and Emilia never could resist a mystery. Whether
he’s a gentleman or a bounder, he might just be the man for her.
Seb had as much right to be here as
anyone. Birth be damned, he was just as good as them if not better. Hadn’t he
fought and nearly died for his country? So, he didn’t have a fortune or an
ancient name that meant anything outside of Southwark, but he knew how to treat
a woman. If Emilia took a chance on him, she’d find out just how good he was at
that.
As the couples split into pairs, Seb took Emilia in his
arms. She looked startled as his hand found its natural place at the base of
her back. At a loss, her free hand skimmed his chest and settled behind his
neck. Holding their joined hands tighter, he led her around the room. As he
spun her in clockwise circles in an anticlockwise direction, the unavoidable
dizziness gave one the sense of flying.
Emilia followed him easily, but he had the sense he’d
shocked her. They were moving too quickly to properly converse, and he
preferred it that way. He relaxed into the familiar steps and focused on her
face. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and her lips parted in
surprise. She was a little breathless, but not nearly breathless enough. As he
twirled her, a sprig of lavender fell from her hair and was crushed underfoot,
adding to the perfume of beeswax and warm bodies in the air. She gasped as he
caught her and held her to his chest.
Her gaze fell to his lips. “I’m quite scandalized.”
He regarded her with interest. Not yet, she wasn’t.
Jessica Cale is an
author, editor, and historian based in North Carolina. Originally from
Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned her B.A. in
History and MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles for history
magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough)
and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in a place where no one
understands his accent. She is the editor of Dirty, Sexy History, and you can
visit her at dirtysexyhistory.com.
Website: http://www.dirtysexyhistory.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/dirtysexyhistory
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/JessicaCale
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/caleisafourletterword
