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Category: Teatime Tattler Page 148 of 153

A brigade of brides? Whatever next!

AnsonTxPostOfficeMuralCowboyDanceDancers409BGLorraine Stuart reporting from Tarnation, Texas direct to Mr. Clemens at the Teatime Tattler:

Your correspondent was fortunate to attend a festive evening at the luxurious home of Mrs. L. Harrison, young widow of famed United States Army soldier Col. William Harrison. As one might expect at this ball, ladies presented a rainbow of lovely gowns.

Foremost was Mrs. Harrison herself, who led fashion in a lavender silk gown trimmed in white Valencia lace. Mrs. V. H., wife of J.H., looked lovely in mauve gros grain accented by white point lace. Newcomer C. B. wore blue poult de soie trimmed in darker blue embroidery.

After twirling across the floor in the slightly scandalous waltz, Miss O. S. was seen strolling to the balcony in the company of E. K. for a secluded tête–à–tête. Do we hear wedding bells? Miss J. N. danced repeatedly with M. B. and love’s light also danced in her eyes—in spite of her vow not to wed. Was there a spat between Miss R. R. and Z. E? Your correspondent was not privileged to hear the words spoken, but there appears to be trouble on the horizon for this couple. Mr. G. P. took an unfortunate tumble to his knees and sat out the remainder of the ball.

Return next week, dear readers, when you correspondent will report on the opera house appearance of famed singer Geraldine Chitwood.

~~~~

The small, dusty town of Tarnation, Texas is suffering. There are no single women and young men are moving to more diversely populated towns. Lydia Harrison is a young widow who wants her town to prosper and grow. She travels back East to recruit suitable young women to come to Tarnation and live with her until they choose the man they wish to marry. To help, she holds receptions and dances where the seven young women can meet fifteen respectable men under properly chaperoned conditions. People in town have labeled these young women the Bride Brigade. Ophelia is a painfully shy, gentle woman who suffered severe beatings from her overbearing father before she escaped with the help of her friend, Josephine Nailor, also one of the seven women.

OPHELIA, Bride Brigade book 4:

Ophelia final LA painful past…

A desperate escape…

A hope for the future…

Ophelia Shipp wants safety, a home, a kind husband, and to raise a family. To achieve her goal, she travels halfway across the country to tiny Tarnation, Texas.  What awaits her there must be better than what she left. She longs for a respectable man who will treasure his wife and never raise his hand to her.

Elias Kendrick had a difficult childhood but has overcome poverty and shame to build his empire in Tarnation. Now that he owns a successful saloon, the opera house, and his home, he is ready to marry and start a family. He’s vowed his children’s life will be different from his—if only he can find the right woman.

Two opposites attract—or are they? Ophelia and Elias must learn to overlook their superficial differences and work out their chance at lasting love.

Excerpt from Ophelia

Here is an excerpt from OPHELIA at the first reception for the men and women to mingle. After greeting the fifteen men in a receiving line, shy Ophelia has chosen a seat at the side to watch others:

Mr. Kendrick strolled toward her holding a cup and a plate filled with samples of Mrs. Murphy’s delicacies. “You look as if you could use punch and a snack.”

She fought for something clever to say, but nothing came. At least she managed a smile. “Thank you. I am thirsty after introducing myself so many times.”

He sat in the chair separated from hers by a small table. “Nice shindig, isn’t it?”

She admired his ability to appear so at ease. She took a sip of punch before answering, “I love watching and listening. Everyone appears so happy and excited.”

“What about you? Are you happy or excited?”

She couldn’t prevent a grin. “Both. Being in Mrs. Harrison’s home is so pleasant and the other women are very nice. This morning I woke up excited about this event.”

“Me, too.” He chuckled, sending light dancing in his brown eyes. “What brings you to Tarnation, Miss Shipp?”

“Same as the others I suppose. No point pretending otherwise, I want a kind husband, a secure home, and children. This appears to be a nice town even though it’s small. I notice there’s even an opera house.”

“That there is. I built the opera house only a year ago. The manager and I try for a variety of acts so that by the end of the season, everyone has enjoyed at least a couple of shows.”

She leaned forward, happy to know he was so fair-minded. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy them all. I’ve never been to a live performance.” Oops, she hadn’t intended to admit that.

He leaned back and his eyes widened. “Never? You mean except at school, of course.”

A blush’s heat seared her face. How embarrassing to admit she was a country bumpkin who had done nothing interesting in her entire life. “My father was very strict. I couldn’t appear in or attend school plays. Mr. Kozlov has invited me to the opera house performance in two weeks. I’m looking forward to the event.”

Was that disappointment she saw on his face? “You’ll enjoy Geraldine Chitwood. We were exceptionally fortunate to book her. Normally, she only plays larger towns more easily reached. Being without railway access places us at a disadvantage.”

She had to restrain herself from rubbing her rear. “Oh, my bones haven’t forgotten that stage ride.” She leaned toward him. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Kendrick. Besides owning the opera house, I mean.”

“I’m twenty-nine and never married.” He took a deep breath and averted his gaze before he spoke.  “If you led such a quiet life that you weren’t allowed to attend plays, then you’ll no doubt look down on me because, as well as the opera house, I own the local saloon.”

She hoped she hid her surprise that Lydia had included a saloon owner in this group of “acceptable” men. What should she say?

Trying for the truth, she said, “I try never to pass judgment, Mr. Kendrick. I don’t approve of drunkenness but I know most men enjoy meeting with others and sharing a drink or game of cards.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Very broad-minded of you. Do you play cards, Miss Shipp?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t play anything. All I’ve ever done is work.”

~~~~~~~~

Caroline Clemmons is an Amazon bestselling and award winning author of American-set Victorian historical and contemporary western romances. A frequent speaker at conferences and seminars, she has taught workshops on characterization, point of view, and layering a novel.

Caroline and her husband live in the heart of Texas cowboy country with their menagerie of rescued pets. When she’s not indulging her passion for writing, Caroline enjoys time with family, reading, travel, antiquing, genealogy, and getting together with friends. Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Google+, Pinterest, and her books at her Amazon Author Page.

Subscribe to her newsletter here to receive a FREE novella of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE.

Caroline loves to hear from readers at caroline@carolineclemmons.com

The mystery of the hidden parchment

PD castle

Gentle Reader:

I am most pleased to share with you something that has come into my possession, although I will not divulge the source of such a rare find. Suffice it to say, this small treasure was found when a wall within a chamber at a certain castle caved in. Within the fallen rocks, several unusual items were found that surely could not have come from the medieval era. An odd writing instrument, made of a material that this editor has never seen before, accompanied a parchment containing the words of a lady who confirms my suspicions that she found herself in a time not her own. But I will let you be the judge of her origins as you read on.

Clemens

I’m losing my mind. There is no other reason for the delusion that is plaguing me. They tell me I hit my head upon my arrival at the beach and perhaps that can explain the migraine that has me hiding away in this room. Yet, it’s a room that isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen in my life, except between the pages of a book.

 I feel as though someone is constantly watching me. These servants come and go in my room and yet, half the time, I close my eyes because I refuse to believe what I am seeing when they are open. The people here are oddly dressed in clothes that belong in a historical movie or a faire. Candles light the room, and I have yet to see anything electronic or even electrical. No television. No landline. No wires or sockets. No lights that would require power. My cellphone doesn’t get reception. Food arrives on platters with wine even for breakfast but I have no appetite for food. They advise me that I’ll be well soon and will return to my normal self, but there is nothing normal about where I am. I feel like I’ve stepped through the looking glass into the twelfth century.

There is a man called Fletcher who is the reason I hit my head when I tripped trying to escape him. He scares me, not only because of the almost sinister appearance of his clothes, but also because of how I feel whenever he enters the room. I swear I know the instant he’s about to enter. And with just one look at him from across the room, all the air gets sucked from my lungs in a rush of emotions. I don’t even want to think about those hypnotic amber eyes. I hate to admit it, but a person could drown staring into those eyes and do so gladly.

Yes…I am going crazy. I keep pinching myself to wake myself up but all I am achieving is a red arm. Clearly, I am wide-awake, but I continue to refuse to believe that I am somehow stuck in twelfth century England. How is it possible? I cannot, in a single step along a Californian beach, go back 900 years in time and to a completely different continent than the good American soil I remember.

penMy name is Jenna Sinclair. I am 25 years old living in San Francisco, California and I’m not in a medieval castle. I am writing this note so I can remember who I am, where I come from, and not become drawn into this hallucination that will rob me of the last shreds of sanity I possess. I’ll finish this note to myself on this crazy parchment before my damn pen runs out of ink and hide it between the rocks in the wall. I will return home to my mother and my best friend Amy. And most importantly, I will not, under any circumstances, fall in love with a handsome stranger who dresses as a knight of old and who might fulfill every romantic notion that has ever crossed my mind. Obviously I’m dreaming this whole dang nightmare.

 

Jenna Sinclair
San Francisco, California


TFMH 72dpi-1500x2000Jenna Sinclair and Fletcher Monroe are characters in Sherry Ewing’s just released novel To Follow My Heart: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novel (Book Three).

Blurb:

Love is a leap. Sometimes you need to jump…

After a gut wrenching break up with her fiancé, Jenna Sinclair heads to the coast to do a little soul searching. To say everything is subject to change is putting it mildly. Her world is not only turned upside down, but pretty much torn asunder when she is pulled through a time gate on the beach beneath the Cliff House and transported more than eight hundred years into the past.

Fletcher Monroe, captain of the garrison knights at Berwyck Castle, has wasted too much time pining for a woman who will never be his. When he finally decides to move on with his life and focus on his duties, he is suddenly confronted with a woman who magically appears at his feet. This could either be the best thing that has ever happened to him or another cursed event in a string of many.  He soon finds he is wildly attracted to her, but she’s scared to death of him ─ not a very encouraging beginning.

From the shores of California to twelfth century England and back again, Jenna and Fletcher must find a way to reconcile their two different worlds before Time forever tears them apart.

Buy Links:

Amazon US | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo
AU | BR | CA | DE | FR | UK

_DSF0006Sherry picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical & time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. Always wanting to write a novel but busy raising her children, she finally took the plunge in 2008 and wrote her first Regency. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Beau Monde & the Bluestocking Belles. Sherry is currently working on her next novel and 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 Sherry’s work here on her page with the Bluestocking Belles or on the following social media outlets:

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Runaway sighted in Paris

SeateddancerinpinktightsOh, la vache!

The rebellious and dare I say, scandalously improper, Lady Minnie Ravensdale, might have been sighted for the first time in years by a dedicated reader of this column in Paris.

If you last recall, the finishing school runaway disappeared four years ago in London. Rumors run amok of her whereabouts after a police officer in Whitechapel reported she posted bail for an Irish thief caught cheating at cards at the so-called gentlemen’s club, Millay’s. It’s not a well-hidden secret that the gentlemen’s club is frequented by those in London with deep pockets only to leave them with a bit light thanks to the gaming tables and boxing ring. Of course, those are only rumors. Mr. Ainsworth, owner of the club opposite that of London Hospital, prides himself on running a respectable operation.

I digress.

The reader reports that while in Paris on holiday, she spotted someone with a striking resemblance to Ravensdale kicking up her skirts at the den of iniquity itself, the Moulin Rouge. Has the niece of the infamous “Devil”, Bly Ravensdale, been so embraced by the wicked ways of Bohemian Paris?

It has well reported that the famous adventurer and celebrated hero after fighting in Afghanistan still upholds his wild ways, despite serving as a foreign diplomat to India and Iraq since returning to England to marry the family’s governess. Scandals abound in the Ravensdale family!

The reader goes on to report the woman is known to the morally polluted side of Paris as Evangeline Dupree, a much sought after temptress. And while her French is flawless, this letter gives credit to the earlier reports of her slumming around Whitechapel because she was seen once again with that Irish thief (now known as The Mad Paddy), speaking perfect English at the opera before the two slipped behind the a curtained room for several unchaperoned moments.

Oh, la vache, indeed!

So readers, it appears that the Ravensdales once again will be filling this column with their wild and improper behavior, as only can be expected for the nouveau riche. Once a finishing school runaway with bold dreams of becoming a ballerina, it seems Lady Minnie Ravensdale is now a lady of the demimonde, gracing the morally tainted music halls of Paris.

S. Clemens, Esq.,

Editor of the Teatime Tattler

Meet Rebecca Paula

AnythingMoreThanNowHighResRebecca Paula writes smart, emotional contemporary and historical romances about flawed characters brave enough to live outside the lines and embrace the messy and complicated bits of life and love. Also, there’s kissing.

She’s a champion of Byronic heroes, a wanderlust connoisseur, a hopeless romantic, and is epically losing the battle of conquering her TBR pile (okay, TRB closet). Rebecca lives in New Hampshire with a cat who thinks she’s a dog, and her YouTuber husband.

When not writing or reading, she loves ghost hunting shows, singing along to ‘Hamilton,’ or scouring stores for a cute dress with pockets.

Her Sutton College and Ravensdale Family series are available now, with another two releases scheduled for later this year. Her debut, EVERLY AFTER, is a standalone romance.

www.rebeccapaula.com

Buy Links for A PROPER SCANDAL, The Ravensdales, #2

—> Amazon: http://amzn.to/1KSwp6u
—> Barnes & Noble: http://is.gd/mtU1ui
—> iBooks: http://is.gd/V9CS4L
—> Kobo: http://is.gd/GP7jnO

Leadenhall_Street_J_HopkinsExcerpt:

It was a long walk, longer than he expected. They passed the time in general silence, which was best. He didn’t have anything else to say to Anne. To know more would just invite her closer to him, and Alex hadn’t come to London to become friends with anyone. He came to discover who he truly was. He wished, above all, to know his true name.

“You know, you’re a terrible pickpocket,” Anne said finally.

Alex shrugged. There wasn’t much he was good at, but he wanted to be. And that’s what drove him to London, as well. When the hunger for more finally possesses a man’s soul, it’s unrelenting. “You were too easy of a mark. I like a challenge.”

“We might have been friends, Alex. If the world was different and time didn’t matter.”

She shuffled a few steps ahead of him, stopping short at a great wall of bird cages that towered above them at a pet shop. The air reeked of ammonia and sawdust. Anne stood in front of the cages, her hands held tight behind her back. She watched the tiny finches inside flit about their home of bars, her eyes wide, her mouth drawn into a frown.

This was the sad girl who had run away, the one who stared at the caged birds as if she were right there beside them.

“Don’t you miss your family? Don’t you want what they can give you? I mean, Christ, Anne. You’ve just slept in a whorehouse for two days pretending to be my wife. You’re wearing rags. And now I’m supposed to just let you walk away and fend for yourself as some ballerina girl. Didn’t you have the world at your feet?”

Anne silently stripped off her glove and wiggled her finger between the bars, clicking softly to a yellow canary sitting along on a perch while the other finches hopped around the cage. “I have a parrot named Raja with fine blue and green feathers. He came with me from India.” The bird edged closer, tilting its head toward her. A soft smile spread across her lips while her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t you think we should let them all go?” She turned to Alex, a tear running down her cheek. She didn’t move to brush it away, she simply looked at him, imploring him to fix the world for her. And damn if he didn’t want to do just that.

Alex scratched the back of his neck before stepping closer. He wished to say yes, he wanted to say yes to bring back her smile and he didn’t understand. Before Anne, there had only been his mother and the mysterious woman who helped him and Danny escape. But Anne was different. Anne clouded his head and put a strange pressure against his chest, and that black mood that was slowly consuming him was held off by her soft voice. No doubt she could tame the rowdy crowds of London with a voice such as hers. She was a beauty through and through. A rare rose.

“No one sets a caged bird free, darling. I suppose that’s what makes them beautiful.”

Anne wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and straightened. “Of course. How foolish.” She turned and continued on her way, her head held high as she passed the towers of cages, a kingdom of kept creatures.

“If you stay out of trouble, perhaps we can sneak back one night and do so.”

She glanced back over her shoulder and stopped, looping her arm around his. She dropped her head against his shoulder for a moment, one searing moment that set his body on fire. “Wouldn’t that be lovely? Even if we never do so, what a pretty thought to think of all those birds flying off under the cover of night.”

They walked side by side until the theater rose from across a busy square. He slowed, following Anne’s lead as she took in the scene before them. The intersection was busy, the cafes crowded, and the air smelled of tobacco and garlic. Peddlers yelled, shouting for passersby to buy international newspapers. The square itself was shabby, the grass sodden, and the iron fence surrounding it rickety.

La vie de bohème,” Anne whispered, unlinking their arms. She stopped in front of the theater and took a deep breath, her arms on her hips. “This could be the start of everything, Alex. Can’t you feel it?”

He shrugged, unable to take his eyes off her. Regretfully, he handed her her bag. “Listen, Anne—”

She waved him off, spinning in a circle instead and nearly tripping and collapsing to the ground.

He reached out his hand and steadied her. “I wish you the best.” He reached into his pocket, already feeling the loss of what he was about to do. He filled her palm with the money she left on the nightstand. “Try to keep out of trouble. I suspect I’ll be finding myself by the docks. If you’re in need of a friend.”

Anne quickly took the money and stuffed it inside her reticule, then looked up, beaming. “You know, you could always come find me. I’ll be the one onstage.” She winked, then spun around, leaping through the air before she laughed and knocked on the door.

And that was it of Anne, the girl he meant to rob blind. She didn’t put any food in his stomach, but she had given him something far more—a fire in his belly to conquer London.

Fashions through the 19th Century

e151193902c5c697610611c6f38a0f48Mr. Clemens, Esq.

Sir:

Please be so kind to inform the readers of the Tattler about the guests coming to a very special event at RWA16 this year in San Diego. Sarah Richmond, along with the San Diego Costume Guild presidents Margaret Hagar and Lisa Root are presenting a workshop entitled: Dressing the Part: Costuming Romantic Characters of the 19th Century: A Fashion Show.

This is a fashion show they’ll not want to miss.

The first guests are Elizabeth Bennett and her sisters accompanied by no other than Mr. Darcy. (Maybe he’ll reveal his Christian name.) The women will be wearing the Empire waist dresses of the Regency era made famous by author Jane Austen. The accessories such as a pelisse, reticule et al which are part of the vocabulary of a Regency author will be on display.

Representing the romantic era of the 1840’s is the poet who wrote ‘How do I love thee’ Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband Robert Browning. The couple will be arriving from the continent where they eloped—so irresponsible and yet so wildly romantic.

Next, and I’m holding my breath just thinking about it, Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. What a treat to have them. Scarlett will explain the mysteries of wearing a hoop skirt and how ladies in mid-century America managed to maneuver in them. Rhett will be dressed as the handsome rouge he is.

The last guests will be a couple from the Naughty Nineties/fin de siècle. A tragic pair and I’m thrilled they could attend: The Phantom of the Opera and his much adored Christine. He will be wearing his iconic evening suit. Her silhouette, complete with a bustle, will show off a woman’s S curve.

There you have it. The workshop will be held on Saturday, July 16 at 2 pm. at the Marriott Marquis and Marina. The room will be announced at the conference. Hope to see you there.

Your obedient servant,

Miss Dorothea Wycliffe


 

A Perilous Proposal

perf5.000x8.000.indd Edmund Caruthers is a man with all the answers, comfortable in his own circle, and confident in his profession as a junior barrister with ambition to wear the silks of a King’s Counsel. Born to privilege, he loves to gamble with the old money heirs at his club.

A milliner’s apprentice, Dolly Wycliffe pursues her dream to make fashionable ladies’ hats, but her earnings cannot support her widowed mother and siblings. She seeks legal council to sue a powerful English peer for the wrongful death of her father who was in his lordship’s employ. Everyone including Edmund turns her down. The death has been ruled an accident and there is nothing he can do. The old boys at Edmund’s club agree and bet he can’t loosen the purse strings of a titled gentleman, especially with a shop girl as a client. With a sizable wager at stake, Edmund decides to prove them wrong.

Edmund and Dolly uncover a dastardly plot that suggests her father’s death was not an accident, but murder.  Together, they risk ridicule and ruin to prove their suspicions are true.


1822-millinery-shop-paris-chalonExcerpt from A Perilous Proposal

Dolly sighed. “I must go.”

Edmund must convince her of his earnestness before all was lost.

“If you don’t forgive me, I shall shrivel up and die an old, forgotten barrister with nothing to show for my troubled life but a drool cup and thick glasses.”

Her upper lip twitched. “You are a most unusual man.”

“So I’ve been told.” Encouraged, he carried on. “In truth, I couldn’t bear us parting with you holding me in such low regard.”

“Very well, you are forgiven.”

Edmund was so pleased he couldn’t help but grin.

“I’ve thought of a way to make amends,” he said.

“That is not necessary.” They continued toward the high street.

“I must. Your hats inspire me.”

“Now you are making fun.”

“I wouldn’t. Truly they are the most wonderful hats I have ever seen.”

They’d reached the stop for the tram. She turned to face him. “Thank you.”

At that very moment, he made a decision that would be met with controversy among his friends and family. And he didn’t care a fig what any of them thought.

“I say,” Edmund said. “Would you like to go to Ascot with me?”

“Are you joking?”

“I’ve never been more sincere.”

She gave him a soulful look. “Now you are being charitable.”

“Do you think so badly of me? I am asking because I want to spend the day with you. Besides, you can wear one of your creations. Think of the publicity.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. All the meanness of this world flew away.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

And she did.

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Sarah Richmond is a multi-published author of historical romance set in the Old West and Edwardian England.  When not in front of her computer, she enjoys lunch with friends, University of Michigan football and old movies.

Please visit me at www. SarahRichmond.com, Sarah Richmond Writer on Facebook and SRichmondWriter on Twitter.

Dispatches from Spain

Teatime Tattler, January 1814

Out troops continue to make a good showing, chasing forces of the little Corsican back where they belong. It will not, one thinks, be long now. While many have given with blood and treasure to bring glory to England, we have reported before that fail their duty. This paper has never failed to report such dereliction when it comes our attention and to bring public shame on them miscreants. I draw the reader’s attention to recent examples.

—One Lt. D lured a certain Miss W., who had been hired as nursemaid to officers’ families safely billeted in Lisbon, from her post one evening. The young lady did not return and is reputed to followed the Lieutenant in the train of camp followers when troops moved north, her disgrace at his hands now permanent.

—The well known episode of an entire company of men who deserted their post when rumors of a liberated wine seller came to light, failed to appear on time to face the frogs at Roncesvalles does not bear repeating. A description of their punishment would not be fit for ladies’ eyes.

—Captain L., officer though he may have been, was shot for desertion, having fled the field and hid in the hills during action in the Pyrenees.

Sometimes, dear reader, we wrongly report. Rarely does this happen. When it does we make it right. Loyal readers may recall that we had reports, well verified reports, that a certain Major M., seen at the siege of San Sebastian, disappeared from his post and was rumored to have been discovered malingering in an inn along to the coast, probably in a drunken stupor.

Camille_Clere_Verwundet

By Camille Clère (1825-1918)

It pleases us to correct the error. We have been reliably informed that the gentleman is in fact recovering from wounds received at the hands of the vile French, and we are able to publish the name of this heroic soldier. Maj. Andrew Mallet left San Sebastian during the siege on a mission whose purpose is shrouded in mystery. Our source indicates that he is believed to have been captured and questioned by the French in a —here we beg the indulgence of our more gentle readers—“hell-hole.” His release was obtained through the heroic efforts of those soldiers closest to him and, it must be said, the expenditure of considerable amount in gold supplied by the Marquess of Glenaire, that fixture of Horse Guards, himself.

We have been unable to uncover any specifics about the mission that led to his capture, but rumors abound that the Marble Marquess himself may have ordered it. The presence of his private yacht off the coast during the daring raid to rescue Mallet gives credence to the rumor. If he was indeed responsible, his rescue efforts are to be applauded.

Servants have told our informant that the major suffered wounds “in every part of his body,” surely an exaggeration. They are adamant to a man that his head and face are swathed in bloody bandages, however, and one man swears he saw saber slashes across his chest when he delivered more linen.

Of the Marquess, we have no word. If he is present at the inn as rumors imply, he has either bribed or intimidated all witnesses into silence. One can only conclude he regrets his part in this horrific episode and does not wish his name bandied about.

Major Lord James Heyworth, hard riding cavalry officer and well-known rakehell, has been seen visiting the bedside, It appears the three of them have been friends since Harrow, along with the Earl of Chadbourn who returned from the Peninsula to take up his responsibilities upon the death of his father last hear. School ties run deep.

We await the start of the spring campaign and hope for an end to the madness caused by the French emperor.

DangerousWorks_600x900 copy Dangerous Works
Andrew Mallet recovered from those wounds and returned, badly scarred, to service, only to suffer even greater injuries at Waterloo. The war over, he sold out and went home to Cambridge, seeking healing for his wounds and peace for his soul. His only desire was work that would have made his father, a classics scholar, proud. A determined woman had other ideas. What happened? You can read his story in Dangerous Works.

As to the others, the Marble Marquess meets his match in Dangerous Weakness, Jamie Heyworth confronts his demons in Dangerous Secrets, and the Earl of Chadbourn finds a partner he can lean on n A Dangerous Nativity.

For more about their stories see:

http://www.carolinewarfield.com/
http://www.amazon.com/l/B00N9PZZZS/

Or their Pinterest Boards

https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-works-1816/
https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-weakness-1818/
https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-secrets-1820/

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