This reporter has become aware of several authors who may or
may not find themselves in a rather interesting condition together.
Lords, Ladies and Babies, yes. I mean babies; six of them!
Lady Meara Platt may or may not have exposed the going-ons
of a certain duke who has discovered a
rather unlikely surprise on his doorstep!
Lady Tabetha Waite writes of a lady who has taken (ahem)
drastic measures to escape an unwanted betrothal. Drastic measures with a
handsome highlander and now she faces rather drastic consequences.
Lady Tammy Andresen keeps company and has written all about the
Earl of Sin—a gentleman who has quite sworn off marriage until… well, you’ll
have to read the story to find out.
Lady Annabelle Anders has penned the memoirs of a troubled
Duke who is desperate for an heir. The muddle-headed fool requires help from a
levelheaded lady. Don’t they all?
Lady Merry Farmer will expose the scandalous deal that a
disgraced miss strikes with another muddle-headed fool. Won’t they ever learn?
And Lady Scarlett Scott’s has penned of the scandalous
goings on at a country house party… and oh, my… consequences here as well?
This reporter thinks it just may be springtime, what with
all the birds and the bees flying about. She’ll be keeping a watchful eye on
these six feisty author ladies. You ought to as well!
***********
About the Book
LORDS, LADIES &
BABIES: A REGENCY ROMANCE SET WITH LITTLE CONSEQUENCES…features heroes and
heroines who’s happily ever afters are “helped” along by six little bundles of
joy.
The Duke’s Surprise by Meara Platt: Cheyne Lyon, Duke of Mar isn’t surprised when
his wastrel brother dumps a wife and baby on his doorstep, but Jennifer is
intelligent, nurturing, and sweet, just the sort Cheyne could love, if only she
wasn’t already taken. When unsavory strangers come around looking for a runaway
young lady, Cheyne realizes Jennifer isn’t who she claims to be, and he isn’t
about to give her up.
The Scot’s Bairn by Tabetha Waite:
Damaris Honeywell suffers from an unwanted betrothal. Her solution? Ruin
her reputation. But one night with a handsome Scotsman leads to
certain…complications that can’t be ignored. When Callum Murray, Laird
O’Donogue encounters her again, he intends to show her that they are meant to
be.
The Earl of Sin by Tammy Andresen: The Earl of Sinclair vowed never to marry
again. But when a pretty spinster befriends his daughter, he begins to wonder.
The Perfect Little
Marquess by Annabelle Anders… His father dies before turning forty. His
oldest brother, the original heir, turns up his toes at the age of two and
thirty. And this year, the spare is killed most suddenly in a duel. Things
aren’t lookin good for this second spare turned heir. The new duke of Warwick
needs a son… And Quickly!
The Substitute Lover by Merry Farmer… Lord
Benedict Killian needs an heir of his own blood as fast as possible, but he has
no intention of marrying. Disgraced Miss Meg Wallace needs money, and a lot of
it, to start a new life. Agreeing to a deal to conceive a child for Benedict to
pass off as his own seems like an easy solution for both of their problems.
Until the red-hot passion between them proves irresistible.
Wooed in Winter by Scarlett Scott… The
Marquess of Haven has finally decided to do his duty and settle upon a bride,
preferably before the new year begins. What better place to find her than a
country house party? There’s just one problem, and she’s the beautiful widow
who once owned his heart. Surely there’s no harm in indulging in one night of
passion with her to get her out of his mind. But Haven is about to discover old
habits are hard to break, especially when the consequences last forever…
Love doesn’t always go as planned and sometimes it results in
adorable little consequences! Six tales of Regency love, each enhanced by a
little bundle of joy. Don’t miss this very special set of books written by your
favorite Historical Romance authors!
Sam, you made a good call when you sent me to listen to the debate in the Lords. Whoever told you the Duke of Haverford was up to something, didn’t hint at the half of it! Here’s a transcript of what he said.
Your Graces, My Lords, it is with a heavy heart that I come before you today. Not long ago, it was our sad duty to recognise that our esteemed monarch was no longer able to meet his responsibilities and needed to be placed in the care of his loving wife.
Today, we face a like task, as one of the foremost peers in the land falls victim to the ravages of time and illness, so that his judgement is impaired and his decisions dangerous for his family, his estates, and the realm.
I refer, dear colleagues, to one of my oldest friends. With the greatest of regret, I must disclose to you that the Duke of Winshire has succumbed to the blandishments of a rogue and the yearnings of his own heart, and has recognised an imposter as his heir.
This man, claiming to be Winshire’s only surviving son, arrived on these shores only days ago. I have reason to believe he is not even English, but comes from the far reaches of Persia, or even further into those godless lands.
My lords, the Duke’s sons are all dead. I, myself, wept with him when the news came from the East of the death of the man this reprobate claims to be.
Moreover, the rogue brings with him six young people whom he claims to be his legitimate children. You and I, my lords, will know how to answer such a ridiculous attempt to lay hands on one of the treasures of England, the duchy of Winshire.
So there it is, Sam. I can’t wait to see what happens next! Fun times to be a reporter, that is for certain.
In 1812, high Society is rocked by the return of the Earl of Sutton, heir to the dying Duke of Winshire. James Winderfield, Earl of Sutton, Winshire’s third and only surviving son, has long been thought dead, but his reappearance is not nearly such a shock as those he brings with him, the children of his deceased Persian-born wife and fierce armed retainers.
This series begins with a prequel novella telling the love story of James senior and Mahzad, then leaps two decades to a series of six novels as the Winderfield offspring and their cousins search for acceptance and love.
To Wed a Proper Lady, the first novel, is on preorder and will be released on 15 April.
Everyone knows James needs a bride with impeccable blood lines. He needs Sophia’s love more.
James must marry to please his grandfather, the duke, and to win social acceptance for himself and his father’s other foreign-born children. But only Lady Sophia Belvoir makes his heart sing, and to win her, he must invite himself to spend Christmas at the home of his father’s greatest enemy.
Sophia keeps secret her tendre for James, Lord Elfingham. After all, the whole of Society knows he is pursuing the younger Belvoir sister, not the older one left on the shelf after two failed betrothals.
The racing curricles had negotiated the bend
without disaster and were now hurtling towards the village. Long habit had
James studying the path, looking to make sure the villagers were safely out of
the way, and an instant later, he put Seistan at the slope.
It was steep, but nothing to the mountains they
had lived in all their lives, he and his horse, and Seistan was as sure-footed
as any goat. Straight down by the shortest route they hurtled, for in the path
of the thoughtless lackwits and their carriages was a child—a boy, by the
trousers—who had just escaped through a gate from the village’s one large house,
tripped as he crossed the road, and now lay still.
It would be close. As he cleared one stone
fence and then another, he could see the child beginning to sit up, shaking his
head. Just winded then, and easier to reach than lying flat, thank all the
angels and saints.
Out of sight for a moment as he rounded a
cottage, he could hear the carriages drawing closer. Had the child recovered
enough to run? No. He was still sitting in the road, mouth open, white-faced,
looking as his doom approached. What kind of selfish madmen raced breast to
breast, wheel to wheel, into a village?
With hand, body and voice, James set Seistan at
the child, and dropped off the saddle, trusting to the horse to sweep past in
the right place for James to hoist the child out of harm’s way.
One mighty heave, and they were back in the
saddle. James’ shoulders would feel the weight of the boy for days, but Seistan
had continued across the road, and just in time. The racers hurtled by so close
James could feel the wind of their passing.
They didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. In moments,
they were gone.
The boy shaking in his arms, James turned Seistan with his knees, and walked the horse back to the gates of the big house. A crowd of women waited for them, but only one came forward as he dismounted— a gentlewoman, if her aristocratic bearing and the quality of her fashionable gown were any indication.
“Forgive my temerity in speaking without an
introduction, my lady,” he said, “but have you perchance mislaid this child?”
“How can we ever thank you enough, sir?” Her
voice confirmed her class. She took the child from him, and handed him off to
be scolded and hugged and wept over by a bevy of other females.
The woman lingered, and James too. He could
hear his father and the others riding towards them, but he couldn’t take his
gaze off her. He was drowning in a pair of brown-gray eyes, like a pond in the
deep shelter of a nurturing forest. Did she feel it too? The Greeks said that
true lovers had one soul, split at birth and placed in two bodies. He had
thought it a nice conceit, until now.
My name? Let’s just call me Miss Kitten. I have some of the most wonderful gossip about Lord Belmont!
You see, he’s in town with his mother for the Season and it seems he’s taken a liking to the most inappropriate of women. You probably know who she is, of course. That’s right, Miss Emma Sellars, the bluestocking who fancies becoming a doctor! Now I’m not exactly sure if he knows that about her, but I’m not going to say a word! Her parents are simply desperate to marry her off and once they find out about Lord Belmont they’re going to want to keep it as quiet as possible. I only hope Miss Sellars can keep herself in line long enough for him to ask for her hand!
The Hellion and the Highwayman, now available for preorder at all retailers as part of the A Hellion’s Midnight Kiss boxset!
Emma Sellars wants to be a doctor, but her parents would rather see her as a bride. Her sister Katherine is excited about the upcoming Season, but with her parents’s ultimatum that she either find a suitor or leave their house, Emma is less than enthusiastic about it.
Lord Thomas Belmont recently came into his title as Earl of Arabel when his father died, and in London at his mother’s request. While the balls are a delight, his real interest lies in the pockets of the affluent people coming in on the London highways.
When they meet by chance on an outing with Emma’s sisters, Thomas is immediately taken with Emma but knows his nighttime outings won’t make for a happy courtship. He’ll have to choose between duty and love, or leave Emma to continue her studies penniless.
About the Author
Rebecca Lovell fell in love with history when she first visited the stockyards in her native Fort Worth and she has been writing and studying different eras ever since. When she’s not writing she enjoys crocheting, running, and playing with her many cats. Find her online at:
As happens on occasion, The Tattler has received a cache of letters
and documents exchanged between two cousins relating to historical events of
the late 17th century. Whenever such papers cast light on affairs of the past
that may now affect the present we feel it our duty to publish such information
as may be found therein. I will not editorialize upon the contents of the
letter published below except to say that any thinking person may well draw the
connecting lines between the events referred to in the letter and the events
now occuring on the far side of the Atlantic Ocean. Our soldiers are giving
their lives to regain the lands which England settled, but the cause of that
original revolt and the present difficulties without a doubt lies in free and
easy access to armaments. Armaments which, as I understand it, are still being
supplied to our enemies by men who dare to call themselves English, all in the
name of filty lucre.
My dearest Maude,
I have very little hope that this letter will produce any
change in the devestating circumstances occurring here in Plymouth colony and
elsewhere throughout English territories here. However, having received
information to the detriment of our people and our government representatives throughout
the colonies, I am morally compelled to share that information and my outrage
at the deceptions being practiced in the name of England.
I refer, my dearest cousin, to the illegal and immoral trade
in weapons between a majority of English colonists and the indigenous peoples
who share our marvelous new world colonies. I have received word from relatives
and friends–in particular one Wm. Bradford that their lives and homes are
threatened by the insidious trade in guns made with the local natives.
And I quote “Base covetousness hat got such a sway, as
our own safety we ourselves betray; For these fierce natives, they are now so
fill’d, with guns and muskets and in them so skill’d, as they may keep the
English in awe . . .” And from a friend who experienced the very disasters
so portended by Mr. Bradford “The trees stood like sentinels and bullets
flew, from every bush (a shelter for their cre)/Hence came our wounds and
deaths from every side, While skulking enemies squat undescried.”
As you know I reside in Boston, but I live in fear daily,
The streets are crowded with survivors of the depredations of natives who seem
to have taken innocent farmers in hatred with little cause. My husband assures
me that there is cause enough for our new Governor has attempted to halt the
illegal trade in firearms and the natives strongly object. Those objections
take the form of retribution hailed in bullets upon all and sundry English.
The crux of the matter is that it is we ourselves who are to
blame for this dire circumstance. Had we not initiated the trade in guns, shot,
and powder, there would exist no threat to our citizens.
I write in hope that you will encourage your spouse, who
stands to parliament will act to intervene in this disaster. I also wish to inform
you that we will be leaving Boston to return to England within the next six
months. It is entirely too dangerous here.
Most sincerely, your beloved cousin
Nan
Readers: The above letter is an imagined correspondence
between two fictional women based on my reading of Thundersticks by David L. Silverman. Mr.
Silverman’s text published in 2016 sheds interesting light on the impact of
guns and the gun trade on the lives of Native Americans between roughly 1600
and 1900. If you’d like more information about this book please click on the cover
below.
Where, oh where, is the Duke of
Reddington? Since the 23-year-old Viscount Tisdale acceded to the dukedom upon
the death of his father last month, he seems to have disappeared. A certain
housemaid in the Half Moon Street residence of the volatile beauty known as La
Fantasia (with whom, readers may recall, the viscount has for some time enjoyed
an intimate acquaintance) informs the Tattler that the young duke
returned to Town after the funeral only to quarrel violently with his
inamorata, at last being driven from the beauty’s abode by means of vases,
figurines, and sundry other bric-a-brac hurled at his head.
When questioned as to the duke’s
whereabouts, Sir Ethan Brundy will only say that the duke is seeing to one of
the several estates that came to the young man along with his ducal title. Pressed
for particulars, he declined to specify which estate, claiming that the duke
controls so many he cannot keep them all straight. Given that the late duke had
sufficient confidence in Sir Ethan’s intelligence to name him executor of his
will, we at the Tattler suspect his professed ignorance is, in fact,
false modesty. Readers will remember that Sir Ethan is the brother-in-law of
the young duke (having married the duke’s sister four years ago in what at that
time was called the mésalliance of the century) as well as the political
rival of Sir Valerian Wadsworth, both men currently standing for the same seat
in the House of Commons.
Adding to the mystery, a young
man fitting the duke’s description has been sighted in a Lancashire village
near Manchester—specifically, at what was formerly the home of the late Mr.
Henry Drinkard, now converted to a boardinghouse run by his widow and daughter,
Daphne, the latter being a promising young poetess whose work the Tattler
has had the honour to publish.
But what’s this? An examination
of public records by one of our intrepid reporters indicates that none of the
duke’s holdings are located in Lancashire; however, that northwestern county is
the location of a thriving cotton mill owned by none other than Sir Ethan
Brundy himself. Can it be that Sir Ethan knows more than he is telling? And
where do Mrs. Drinkard and Miss Drinkard fit into the puzzle?
We are pleased to assure readers that our intrepid reporter is on the case, and we hope to have an answer very soon to the Mystery of the Disappearing Duke.
~excerpt~
“Truth to tell, Ethan, I’m deuced glad you’re
here” Theo confessed. “I’d be obliged to you if you can advance me something on
my inheritance—just enough to tide me over until the will is probated, you
know.”
Sir Ethan shook his head. “Much as I’d like to
oblige you, I can’t.”
“You can’t?
But—well, but dash it, Ethan! You’re the executor, aren’t you?”
“Aye, I am.”
“Well, then—”
“Theodore, all that means is that I’m charged
with making sure the terms of your father’s will are carried out the way ’e
intended—and that includes seeing to it that everything is done open and
aboveboard.”
“But it’s my own money, dash it!” Theodore
protested.
Sir Ethan nodded. “And you’ll get it, all in
good time.”
“Good time for you, maybe!”
“Aye, and for you. After all, you’d not like it
if I started doling out legacies to your father’s valet, or housekeeper, or
butler, would you?”
“No, but—”
“But the money’s rightfully theirs,” he added
with a look of bland innocence in his brown eyes. “It says so in the will.”
“It’s not at all the same thing!”
“It is so far as the law is concerned. If I
were to distribute so much as a farthing from your father’s estate before
probate is granted, I’d open meself up to legal action.”
“But I
would be the logical one to bring any such action against you, and it’s not
like I’m going to prefer charges against you for giving my money to me!”
“You
might not do so, but your father’s lawyer might,” his brother pointed out. “
’e’d be within ’is rights, too. In fact, ’e might even consider it an
obligation to ’is grace.”
“Crumpton is my lawyer now—and he’d do well to remember it!”
“Aye, that ’e is. And if you know ’e can’t be
trusted to look out for your father’s interests, ’ow can you trust ’im to look
after yours?” Seeing this observation had deprived his young relation of
speech, Sir Ethan added gently, “What’s the matter, you young fool? Surely you
’aven’t got yourself rolled up within a se’ennight of in’eriting the title?”
“I’m not ‘rolled up,’ ” Theodore protested.
“I’ve got plenty of money—or I will have, as soon as it comes into my
possession.”
“Is it that little ladybird you’ve ’ad in
keeping?”
“No—that is, not entirely, but—dash it, Ethan,
she expected me to marry her! I may have been green, but I’m not such a flat as
all that! And when she saw I couldn’t
be persuaded, or seduced, or coerced into it—” He broke off, shuddering at the
memory.
“Didn’t take it well, did she?” Sir Ethan
observed knowingly.
Theodore gave him a rather sheepish grin.
“Lord, you never saw such a shrew! It made me think that perhaps I’m well out
of a bad business. But I couldn’t let it get about that she’d ditched me, so I
went to Rundell and Bridge and bought her the most expensive thing they had.”
Sir Ethan, who had bestowed upon his wife more
than one bauble from this establishment and thus had a very good idea of the
prices to be found therein, gave a long, low whistle.
“And then,” Theodore continued, “I went to
White’s and—well, I just wanted to forget about it, just for a little while—not
just Fanny, but all of it: the dukedom, and the steward and his blasted
‘improvements,’ and the House of Lords, where I’ll no doubt be expected to take
my seat, and—oh, you don’t understand!”
“Actually, I do,” said his brother with a
faraway look in his eyes.
Theodore, intent on his own troubles, paid no
heed to the interruption. “And I can’t let it get out that the Duke of
Reddington don’t pay his debts, for we’ve had quite enough of that in the
family already! But I don’t have to tell you
that—God knows you shelled out enough blunt, towing Papa out of the River
Tick.” At this recollection, a new possibility occurred to him. “I say, Ethan,
I don’t suppose you would be willing to lend me the ready? Just until the will
is probated, you know, and at any interest rate you care to name,” he added
hastily, lest his brother-in-law balk at agreeing to this proposal.
Sir Ethan gave him an appraising look, and
asked, “ ’ow much do you need?”
Theodore told him.
“You’ve managed to run through that much in
less than a fortnight?” demanded his brother-in-law.
“No!” Theodore said, bristling. “That is, I’ll
admit I’ve spent more than I should, but old Crumpton says the will could take
months! A fellow has to have something to live on in the meantime.”
This figure, while high, seemed quite
reasonable compared to the sum Theodore had felt necessary to sustain him for
the few months it might take for the will to go through probate.
“All right, then,” pronounced Sir Ethan. “It’s
yours.”
Theodore was moved to seize his brother’s hand
and wring it gratefully. “I say, Ethan, you’re a great gun! You’ll have every
penny of it back, I promise—and, as I said, at any rate of interest you care to
name.”
Sir Ethan shook his head. “There’ll be no
interest. As for paying me back, you don’t ’ave to do that—at least, not in
pounds, shillings, and pence.”
This assurance left Theodore more than a little
puzzled. “What do you want, then?”
“You’ll pay me back by working it off.” In case
further explanation was needed, he added, “In the mill.”
About the Book
When 23-year-old Theodore becomes Duke of Reddington after his father dies, his new responsibilities are enough to send him off in a blind panic. Within days, he’s amassed a pile of debts, which his brother-in-law, mill owner Ethan Brundy, agrees to pay—provided Theo works in the mill until his father’s will is probated. In the meantime, Theo has a lot to learn about how the other half lives—and there’s no one better qualified to teach him than Daphne Drinkard, forced to take in boarders since the death of her father has left her and her mother penniless.
About the Author
Sheri Cobb South is the bestselling author of the John
Pickett mysteries (now an award-winning audiobook series!) as well as Regency
romances, including the critically acclaimed The Weaver Takes a Wife and
its sequel The Desperate Duke, winner of the 2019 Colorado Authors
League Award for Best Romance Novel.
