Category: Teatime Tattler Page 148 of 154

The Diary of An Improper Governess

On July 16, 2016

July 15, 1819, Hartfield Hall, Sussex

Dearest Diary, Stone_Marcus_Two_Lovers

It has been some weeks since I last made an entry, for as you know, my life as a governess at Hartfield Hall these last six months has been hitherto relatively uneventful. My young charges, Miss Lavinia and Miss Kitty continue to be a delight to teach and their mother, the dowager Lady Barsby, is a fair enough mistress—as long as I do not cross her in particular matters related to her daughters’ behavior and appearance (rather than anything to do with their lessons). But heavens, how everything has changed within the space of a day…

And all because the master of Hartfield, Sir Nicholas Barsby has returned from his year long sojourn on the Continent.

I blush every time I recall our first meeting yesterday—the way he came upon me at the stile with my skirts all caught about my waist. I’d been returning from a visit to Hedgecombe (as well as escaping a most unwanted encounter with the vicar, Mr. Wentworth, but I shall relate the details of that particular incident another time, Dear Diary) when our paths crossed, or should I say, collided. Every time I recall the moment his wicked rake’s gaze wandered over my naked lower half, I feel like I could die of mortification. And then he insisted I share his mount back to the Hall. I would never have done so but for the fact a terrible storm had descended upon us and I feared for my safety.

Indeed, I feel as if the storm has not yet dissipated as I am still at sixes and sevens whenever I think of Sir Nicholas. Or see him. He is the most handsome, charismatic man I have ever encountered. As you know, Dearest Diary, Harry Blake, the footman at my last place of employment was also very attractive, and his mischievous smile certainly turned my head two years ago. But even though I swore to myself that I would never, ever again have intimate relations with a man who wasn’t my husband, I fear that I may break my vow when it comes to Sir Nicholas.

Oh, my goodness. When he looks at me with those dark blue eyes of his and smiles, or cocks a dark eyebrow, my knees turn to water and my heart flips over. I cannot, for the life of me, stop thinking about him and all the wicked things we could do together. It hasn’t helped matters at all that he has already bestowed unexpected and indeed, undeserved privileges upon me; after our ride through the storm, he insisted a bath be prepared for me and I was allocated another bedchamber (closer to his but I really shouldn’t think about that). And then he insisted on replacing all of the items I lost during our hair-raising ride on his horse—all of my purchases from Hedgecombe village, and all of my clothing which was ruined. I strongly suspect he desires me and that his apparent noblesse oblige is nothing more than a ploy to seduce me.

The worst part is, the wicked, wanton part of me that I cannot seem to contain, wants Sir Nicholas too. And if he continues to wield his arsenal of rakish charms, I fear that I will not have the strength to resist him…

Would that I were a passionless, docile creature, content to tread along the sensible path that all women of my station should follow! My life would be much easier. And safer.

Until next time, my only trustworthy Confidante,

Abigail Adams

____________________________

An Improper Governess is the second instalment in Amy Rose Bennett’s Improper Liaisons Novella series. It is an erotic Regency romance that can easily be read as a standalone title.

Lusting after one’s employer is certainly not the done thing when you are a governess. But Miss Abigail Adams cannot seem to help herself…

Abigail Adams, the resident governess of Hartfield Hall, might appear to be a very proper young woman, yet she secretly yearns for excitement to brighten her mundane life. And what she does want, she really shouldn’t long for—Sir Nicholas Barsby, the indecently handsome, charismatic master of Hartfield.

Sir Nicholas Barsby returns home from a tour of the Continent to discover his widowed sister-in-law has employed a decidedly delectable governess for his nieces. When it becomes blatantly apparent that the attraction is mutual, Nicholas ruthlessly decides to present Miss Adams with a thoroughly wicked proposal.

Abigail is initially shocked by Sir Nicholas’s outrageous and highly improper offer to become his mistress. Having wanton thoughts about a man is undoubtedly sinful but leading the life of a fallen woman is something else entirely. Nevertheless, falling into Sir Nicholas’s arms might just prove to be an invitation too tempting for Abigail to ignore. One thing is clear, whether she’s a governess or mistress, she must not lose her heart…

Amazon Buy Link

______________________________

An excerpt from An Improper Governess featuring the unconventional first-meet of Miss Abigail Adams and Sir Nicholas Barsby…

By the time she reached the stile, Abigail was gasping like a landed carp. As she gathered her skirts preparing to climb over, thunder clapped so close, she shrieked. A bright bolt of lightning lit the air around her and she swore she could feel her hair stand on end. Ignoring all dictates of decorum, she hoisted her skirts even higher and clambered up and over the rough wooden steps. However, as she jumped down, the muslin snagged on something and she found she was tethered like a nanny goat, her skirts caught up about her waist.

“Damn!” Without thought, the coarse expletive escaped her. Not only was she about to get caught in a storm she’d probably ruined her best day gown. Could this day get any worse?

“Damn indeed.”

It seemed it could.

Abigail whipped her head around and found herself staring up into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen. Raven-haired with slashing brows and chiseled features, he sat astride a glossy black gelding with the confidence of a knight-errant, but alas, not the gallantry. As his deep blue eyes raked over her naked thighs and lower to her stockings, his expression was a mixture of sardonic amusement and a darker, heavier emotion she had no trouble recognizing at all—male lust.

“May I be of assistance, dear lady?” he asked, his voice a rich rumbling purr.

Abigail’s face burned as she attempted to wrench her dress and fine cambric petticoats down all by herself. The distinct rip of fabric tearing made her wince. “You might avert your gaze, sir,” she snapped as hot outrage and mortification made her sound more like a harpy than a damsel in distress.

“Yes, I might. But then, that would not be of much help to you now, would it?” Before Abigail could even think to protest further, the ill-mannered stranger slid from his mount and within moments, had released the stubborn snag.

“There,” he said with a wide smile that was probably supposed to be rakishly appealing. “The fair maiden is free.”

“I could have managed on my own,” she retorted. She wasn’t going to thank the man, not when he’d been eyeing her lower body like a hungry beast of prey sizing up its next meal. Dear God, I hope he did not see my bottom, or worse, my—

Another crack of thunder made her start and the man glanced at the menacing sky. Lightning streaked above the dense copse of trees hiding Hartfield Hall from view. As he mounted his restive horse, a sharp gust caught his black traveling cloak and it flapped about him like the dark wings of a fallen angel. Perhaps even Lucifer himself. “Where are you going, Miss…?” he asked, his compelling blue gaze locking with hers again. “I really don’t think you should be wandering about the countryside in this tempest. In fact, it would be quite foolish if not altogether mad. I must insist you come with me.” He held out his gloved hand.

_____________________________

Amy Rose Bennett is one of the Bluestocking Belles. You can find out more about Amy, her books, and where you can find her on social media by clicking on the links right here!

A Most Disobliging Son!

By Guest author

On July 12, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Dearest Sally, Copthorne, Kent

June 15, 1814

I write to you because I feel that only you can truly enter into my feelings at this time. None but you know how disappointed I was when Tarquin so disobligingly refused to make an offer to Susanna, ruining all the hopes we had of bringing our children and families together in a most appropriate match! I feel so strongly that close family ties must and will always be a far more reliable basis for a marriage than romantical notions.

Alas, it was not to be. That scheming Mrs. Carlton has wrested my dearest Tarquin from me with her ingratiating ways, which seem to have fooled so many. But they have not deceived his mama! I know her for the scheming fortune hunter she is. Imagine Copthorne, with its hundreds of years of history having a mistress who has actually earned a living. And that after spending several years following the drum in the Peninsula! Spending one’s time in grubby camps, traveling around the countryside and cooking for her husband and his fellow officers instead of staying by hearth and home, to write letters and make sure that her hands and face were still white and soft for him when he came home!

But I think the worst of it is surely that she disappeared mysteriously for a fortnight, and no one seems to know exactly what she was about, or who she was with. So indelicate and damaging to a lady’s reputation, that I simply cannot countenance it! Her friend Damaris Honeysett would not breathe a word of the details to me, no matter how delicately I inquired. I must tell you dearest, that even though she is the daughter of a Viscount, her husband is not of the highest ton, so I am not entirely surprised. So, I am left to wonder why Tarquin returned from a sudden extended and unexplained visit to Town only to announce that he would marry in just a few days!

Really it is utterly exasperating! I console myself that although it is quite clear why her father Lord Upleadon cast her off, he at least is of the very best breeding. Some may say that he is rather high in the instep, but I think his opinion of his own superiority is quite justified by his birth, background, and of course the ancient nature of his title, and a very sizable fortune.

So now it seems I am to move to the Dower House. It is a matter of a mile or so away from Copthorne, and perfectly pleasant, but not of the size and importance that I am accustomed to. In addition, it will need entirely new hangings, wallpapers, and any number of other things – perhaps even an entire new wing!! I will certainly point out to dearest Tarquin that his mama must live in a certain style, and since my jointure will not run to the expense of addressing these shortcomings, he will have to open his purse to accomplish it.

I long to hear all of your thoughts about Mrs. Carlton and how Susanna goes on, even though it saddens me that she will not be my daughter-in-law.

Your very dear friend,

Henrietta Arlingby

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bio: Alicia Quigley is a lifelong lover of romance novels, who fell in love with Jane Austen in grade school, and Georgette Heyer in junior high. She made up games with playing cards using the face cards for Heyer characters, and sewed regency gowns (walking dresses, riding habits and bonnets that even Lydia Bennett wouldn’t have touched) for her Barbie. In spite of her terrible science and engineering addiction, she remains a devotee of the romance, and enjoys turning her hand to their production as well as their consumption.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blurb: Mrs. Valerie Carlton is the widow of a soldier who died in the Peninsular Wars. Disowned by her family for “marrying down,” she survives working as a governess. When the elder son of the family makes unwelcome advances, Valerie leaves, seeking refuge with a close friend until she can find another position.

Sir Tarquin Arlingby, a wealthy, handsome bachelor on his way home, is staying at the same inn as Valerie and witnesses her being robbed before she can board the coach. He goes to Valerie’s aid and is instantly attracted to her. As her friend’s home is near his estate, he offers to drive her there.

An unfortunate accident forces the pair to spend a night in a village inn. Over dinner, Valerie talks about her experiences during the Spanish campaign against Napoleon and the sense of mission that she felt following the drum, which she misses in her current life. Sir Tarquin, who is secretly spying for the Crown by masquerading as a smuggler to pass information in and out of France, is intrigued by her bravery and his attraction increases. Valerie is also drawn to the handsome baronet.

Tarquin needs a French-speaking woman to pose as a smuggler during a mission to the “City of Smugglers” in Gravelines. When he discovers that Valerie speaks French like a native, he successfully recruits her for the job.

Will the pair survive their dangerous mission? Will they finally acknowledge the depth of their feelings for each other?

Find out in Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy, a Regency romance with intrigue, humor and just the right amount of moderately explicit sex for those readers who enjoy sensuality with their romances.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt:

Valerie fell silent, looking down at her hands, and Sir Tarquin, finding himself appreciating the sight of her blonde curls, fine figure, and aura of calm, didn’t need to stretch his imagination far to imagine the son of the Forney household had been unable to resist the temptation of the pretty governess.

“It makes me angry to think of you being preyed upon,” he said abruptly, much to his own surprise.

“It is a common enough problem, and far worse has befallen others. He did not force me and, while Mrs. Forney was unkind, I left of my own volition,” said Valerie uncomfortably. “My friends have helped me before and will help me now. I would rather spend my time with children, but perhaps I will have to seek employment as a companion to an older lady instead.”

“You do not deserve a life as a drudge to children or as the companion of elderly harridan, who will doubtless have a horrid grandson who will treat you as Mr. Forney did,” Sir Tarquin exclaimed. “You are young, and have given far too much.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

“You sacrificed a husband and a family to your country, did you not?”

“I suppose you could say so, although it has been three long years since then.” A wistful look came over her face. “It seems so far away. Thinking of it now, Robert and I were both practically children; it is almost as though it happened to someone else, or was a story someone told to me.”

“Yet you are still all but penniless and without protection as a result, are you not? That is not much of an ending to the story.”

She gazed at him thoughtfully. “It was my decision, though I was far too young to understand the possible consequences. In some ways it was worth it all the same; I loved Robert as much as an eighteen-year-old can love anyone, and perhaps even more, I loved following the drum.”

Sir Tarquin looked startled. “Did you really? Surely it was a very hard life for a gently bred and sheltered young lady?”

Valerie laughed. “Indeed it was! I had no notion that such hardships were ahead of me. Yet the sense of purpose, of being needed and useful was inspiring . I was always rather bookish, and never truly enjoyed the rounds of parties and balls, to my stepmother’s despair.” She hesitated and continued, “My father you know, is very concerned about matters of manners and breeding, and my lack of interest in making a grand marriage upset him.”

Summoning up a vision of the ill-tempered Lord Upleadon, whose snobbery was legendary even among the ton, Sir Tarquin could easily imagine that he had made the Season a misery for his daughter. “I can easily imagine he was inexcusably harsh in expressing his disappointment,” he replied.

“I see you know my father, so I won’t try to deny it,” she replied with a ghost of a smile. “But I can’t regret any of the difficulties, for I did discover the powerful joy of knowing that my life had meaning and purpose, and that overcame all else.

“Even in the tail of the Army with all the camp followers, and rabble you felt so?” Sir Tarquin asked curiously.

“Oh, I rode with the column, Sir Tarquin,” she exclaimed proudly. “I had no children to care for and I was handy with horses even before I went on campaign, for my father’s stables are renowned and I spent a great deal of time in them as a child. I soon learned to kill and stew a chicken, and make sure that there was always something to eat at our billet, so it was not long before many of the other officers were to be found at our table.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buy link:

Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy

Social Media:

Web Site and/or Social Media links

Twitter

Facebook

Biscuits and Tea with a Side of Questions

By Aunt Augusta

On July 9, 2016

In Nicole Zoltack, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

b5d29f087f038a11e7949613308a1f1a Sage gathered some biscuit and tea for the guests. Using her shoulder, she nudged the door open. She smiled at her lady, the strange but kind Katia who did not seem to quite belong to this day and time.

Trying not to be overly intrusive, she couldn’t help but listen to the conversation her lady and her friends were having.

Lady Theodosia pointed to the page. “As always, Aunt Augusta has wonderful advice. Love can be hard sometimes, but if it is meant to be, it will find a way.”

Lady Anna smiled. “And have you found love?”

Lady Theodosia brought her cup to her mouth, but Sage spied her now-pink cheeks.

“Does anyone have a guess as to who Aunt Augusta is?” Katia asked. She murmured her appreciation to Sage for the tea.

Sage was curious herself. Katia had been teaching her how to read, and Sage enjoyed reading the column herself. As to who was the one dispensing the advice, Sage had no idea.

Neither, as it turned out, did any of the ladies gathered.

“She has to be old,” Miss Eliza put forth. “She seems rather knowledge.”

“Yes. And someone who must have experienced a great love,” Lady Vanessa said with a faraway look in her eyes.

“Why else would she be such a proponent for love? I do agree.” Lady Theodosia nodded and helped herself to a biscuit.

“Married then,” Katia said.

“Or else a widow,” Sage commented without thinking.

“True,” Katia mused, as always seemingly unmindful of today’s customs. Sage knew she shouldn’t have spoken; Katia never cared. “Although that is a tragic thought, so hopefully she is still with her love.”

For a time, the ladies conversed and even ventured names, but not one of them could figure out the mystery. Perhaps one day it would be resolved, but until then…

Sage brought forth some parchment and quills and had to smile when she saw each lady surreptitiously fetch one. I wager that Aunt Augusta will be getting a letter from each soon enough.

Will I ever have cause to send one myself?

~~~

Sage and Katia are from The Test of Time, Lady Theodosia from Masked Love, Lady Vanessa from Love Before Honor, and Miss Eliza from Joy to the World. Lady Anna will have her story told in Christmas Kisses, which will be included in this year’s Bluestocking Belles’ boxed set.

Thetestoftimesmall Katia jumps at the chance to go to England with her best friend after Rose ditches her deadbeat boyfriend. While walking through the market, she spies a large mansion and recognizes the guy out front as her high school friend Tony. Just as they start to reconnect, Katia passes through times and lands in the arms of Lord Landon, who looks like Tony but certainly doesn’t act like him.

Soon, Katia learns that this 1815 is different from the one in history books. Trapped in a parallel world, Katia struggles to not fall for Landon but his charm proves too much for her. Just when she is about to confess her love for him, Katia travels through time yet again.

The course of love never did run smooth and if Katia can’t figure out and master the test of time, she’ll never see her friends again, or worse, never be reunited with Landon.

Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Kobo ~ iBooks

Nicole is one of the Belles. You can learn more about her here.

Society’s darling is a spy, ancient scandal suggests

By Guest author

On July 6, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

a895948cf5311c3b02637bb6d875c905

Dear Readers,

Our correspondent in Scotland, Ms. Rue Allyn—a descendant of the estimable Geoffrey Chaucer—has uncovered correspondence dating from 1294 between Sir R. M, of the Scottish hinterlands and Sir R. C., ancestor of society’s darling, the current Baron Ravensmere. In July of 1294, Sir R. C., then a landless knight and herald to Edward I, was escorting the king’s cousin, Lady J. V. to her wedding when that knight married the lady instead.

Stories are told that the marriage was necessary, but given the king’s reputed ire over the incident we suspect that passion may have got the better of the noble knight and the virtuous (or perhaps not so) damsel. Regardless of the stories the marriage brought shame to the king and the Ravensmere family. We are surprised to learn that Sir R. C. kept his title and lands. Longshanks must have been in a very generous mood. His only punishment for this indiscrete marriage was to banish the couple to their holding in the north of England.

Such a scandalous marraige is bad enough, but the letters discovered by Miss Allyn reveal that Sir R. C. continued his betrayal of king and country by supporting Sir R. M. in his opposition to King Edward’s plans to invade Scotland several years before he actually did. The delay in the execution of Longshank’s invasion resulted in the delay of Scotland’s legal union with England by more than 400 years.

Needless to say, the revelation that spies and ravishers are the root of the tree from which the current Baron Ravensmere is sprung has cast doubts about his recent actions in France, especially with the escape of Boney from Elba following hard on the heels of the Baron’s departure from England, supposedly to take the waters at a Sicilian spa in Palermo. Since no one of any sense would travel to Palermo (being much too close to harbors sheltering Corsican pirates), one can only imagine the Baron does not care what anyone believes is his true purpose in visiting that forsaken island. We do hope that as Miss Allyn continues her researches for the novels plans to write she will share with us any tidbits she learns that may cast light on the actions of the ton.

S. Clemens

Author’s Note: The ‘scandal’ described by M. Clemens is a twisted interpretation of the events described in RONE nominated novel, Knight Errant. Please leave me a comment and let Miss Allyn know how you enjoyed her post.

Blurb: If Sir Robert Clarwyn can’t find a way to compel Lady Juliana Verault to return to England, he’ll lose any chance of regaining his family lands and redeeming his heritage. Yet Juliana must complete her mission or endanger her gender’s future in the church. With danger and intrigue mounting, Robert and Juliana must rely on each other and risk everything … including their hearts.

Excerpt: Here’s a link to an excerpt if you would like to read more from Knight Errant http://rueallyn.com/2f1KEexcerpt.html.

Buy Links: Amazon B & N B-A-M GoogleBooks iTunes Kobo Crimson Romance

About Rue Allyn: Rue Allyn, the imaginary love child of an immortal Scottish knight and Margaret Mitchell, was abducted adopted at birth by a pair of professor experts in Child Development and Education. She loved the parents who raised her and tried very hard to please them by starting school at the age of two and receiving more than 30 years of formal education, culminating in a Ph. D. that led to a number of teaching positions at various universities.

Her destiny at birth was to be the most famous and talented Coloratura Soprano ever. Sadly, when she was abducted adopted that destiny fell to a woman named Julie Andrews. Rue’s creative impulses could not be denied. She searched long and hard in universities, in the US Navy, in retail sales and odd jobs to find release for her undeniable desire to sing out about romance that melts the heart. She watched old movies, read stories by Dante, Chaucer, Charlotte Bronte, Georgette Heyer, and even—unknown to Rue—her mother’s legendary Gone with the Wind. Not until she met the man of her dreams, her very own True and Perfect Knight, did she discover that while fate had stolen her singing voice, she could—in the traditions of Ovid, Homer, and the Beowulf poet—still sing her songs of heart melting romance by weaving them into stories about love, joy, and ecstasy in all ages.

When not writing, loving her spouse, or attending conferences, Rue travels the world and surfs the internet in search of background material and inspiration for her next heart melting romance. She loves to hear from readers, and you may contact her at contact@RueAllyn.com. She can’t wait to hear from you.

Contact Rue: Amazon FaceBook @RueAllyn Goodreads Author Travels Blog Website

Please send money…and Montmartre soup

By Aunt Augusta

On July 4, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Jessica Cale, Teatime Tattler

A letter was recently discovered in the ditch outside His Majesty’s bedchamber. It is said King Louis’ interest in his subjects extends to reading their missives before they are delivered. Given the insalubrious place it was found, one can only assume he did not approve of its contents…

Francoise_Marie_de_Bourbon_par_Caminade_Alexandre-François Dearest Sister,

I’ve run out of money again. I lost ten thousand écus on bassett last night. I know you disapprove of gaming, but His radiant Majesty does not permit us to sit unless we are playing. I was attending Ysabeau, and quite suddenly I suffered a pain to my back so terrible I thought for a moment someone had done me in! I simply had to sit, and once I did, I was quite relieved. Perhaps it was the silver threads in my newest gown. It’s heavy enough to wear into battle, and that may be just as well. One cannot be too careful surrounded by so many rivals.

Could I prevail upon you to send me a little more to get by until I receive the estate? Belchamps lingers, the stubborn old goat, and inheritance powder isn’t cheap, you know. Ysabeau insists on the smallest of doses so as to avoid detection, but as diverting as it is to watch him suffer, I’d prefer to smother him and be done with it. My Chevalier is aware Belchamps is ill, but he does not know his affliction is yours truly. I daresay he would not approve—my sweet, innocent love! Perhaps ever so slightly less innocent as of late.

I would not need much, perhaps another thirty-thousand? I am confident I could recover my losses. I’ve a talent for cards, as you may remember. I will repay you by Christmas, and treat you to half a dozen new gowns, as well. The estate is not insignificant, and once I have his wretched daughter safely confined to a convent, it will all belong to me, and I will be in a better position to contest the possession of St. Croix. Archambault, that insufferable blackamoor, has further disgraced himself by bringing an Englishman into our midst, a certain Jack Sharpe of Southwark, wherever that is.

It is said this Sharpe is related to an earl, but it is plain he is common as dirt. His every thought shows on his face as he fights the King for Cendrillon’s favour—bon chance, cher!—and disdains the rest of us for only the Lord-knows-what. He has no lover nor true patron, and I am convinced he thinks himself above court politics. Ha! Just this week, I saw him enter the chapel with a button in his cuff undone, and he neglected to remove his hat when Marie-Celeste sneezed. Poor, misguided youth.

As for the much celebrated Cendrillon, she will be fortunate to survive the week. His Majesty gifted her with a pair of coveted red-heeled slippers for the tableau tomorrow, and Ysabeau is furious. She is convinced everything the girl has done since her arrival has been part of a great plot against her, but between you and I, Louise, I do not believe Cendrillon is deceptive enough to play so deep a game. Ysabeau is at once my dearest friend and greatest enemy, and is prone to fits of paranoia and insanity. If the King discovers half of what she has done, she will beat Belchamps’ daughter to the convent.

I have enclosed a little love charm to aid you in capturing your neighbor’s affections. Wear it around your neck, but take care not to crack it open–it’s filled with blood and holy oil, and will stain your gown. I am assured its magic is very potent. If you find yourself in Montmartre soon, might I beg you send me more inheritance powder, or some of La Voisin’s infamous soup? I am impatient to be rid of Belchamps, and Ysabeau charges far too much for hers.

Give my love to the children.

Your Affectionate Sister,
Chloe

The Long Way Home
(The Southwark Saga, Book 3)
By Jessica Cale

A paranoid king, a poison plot, and hideous shoes…it’s not easy being Cinderella.

After saving the life of the glamorous Marquise de Harfleur, painfully shy barmaid Alice Henshawe is employed as the lady’s companion and whisked away to Versailles. There, she catches King Louis’ eye and quickly becomes a court favorite as the muse for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella. The palace appears to be heaven itself, but there is danger hidden beneath the façade and Alice soon finds herself thrust into a world of intrigue, murder, and Satanism at the heart of the French court.

Having left his apprenticeship to serve King Charles as a spy, Jack Sharpe is given a mission that may just kill him. In the midst of the Franco-Dutch war, he is to investigate rumors of a poison plot by posing as a courtier, but he has a mission of his own. His childhood friend Alice Henshawe is missing and he will stop at nothing to see her safe. When he finds her in the company of the very people he is meant to be investigating, Jack begins to wonder if the sweet girl he grew up with has a dark side.

When a careless lie finds them accidentally married, Alice and Jack must rely on one another to survive the intrigues of the court. As old affection gives way to new passion, suspicion lingers. Can they trust each other, or is the real danger closer than they suspect?

“Really brilliant writing that’s so engaging with such endearing characters! I especially love the way Jack and Alice are both so devoted to each other! I was totally absorbed in this exciting and fascinating world Jessica Cale created from the very first paragraph to the last! I read this all in one sitting, staying awake late to finish, just had to!” – Romazing Reader

Jessica Cale is the award-winning author of the historical romance series, The Southwark Saga. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in North Carolina.

Jessica is also a Bluestocking Belle. You can visit her page here.