Tag: Books

Dear Mr. Clemens,

Greetings to you good sir! It is I, Miss Fanny Aberthnot, one of your most admiring readers, writing you yet again to report on a scandal most disturbing. While, like your kind self, I have a true fascination with all things involving the gentry, it is with much distress that I bring this deplorable situation to light.

Sadly, my letter yet again involves his most gracious Duke of Summerton, or rather not him, but his sister-in-law, Miss Beatrice Hawkins. As I hear it, while she was residing with the duke and his wife, her older sister, the Duchess of Summerton, she became engaged to a merchant gentleman from the north, a Mr. Bainbridge. It is my understanding that the betrothal was arranged by her distant cousin and former guardian, Sir Alfred Hawkins.

The scandal ensued when she, reportedly under the guidance of the Duke himself, fled the city in a most perilous and suspicious manner with none other than one of London’s most scandalous rogues, Lord Michael Carver, Earl of Bladen.

While news of their where-a-bouts is strictly guarded, it is feared that misfortune has befallen them and that, out of concern for his future bride’s safety, Mr. Bainbridge has set upon their trail to rescue her. Since he departed London, however, news of Miss Hawkins and the earl has been sparse and there were even reports that their carriage was set upon by thieves. As a result, it is now believed that Miss Hawkins is traveling with the earl and without a proper chaperone.

As you know, this is most unacceptable for a proper lady. More than that, a woman who would do so would be considered severely damaged and certainly not welcome in any proper parlors throughout the realm. The potential for her complete ruination is unfathomable!

As for the earl, Lord Bladen, a widower and no stranger to scandal himself, it is unsure what part he is playing in this drama. In some parlors, it has been suggested that Miss Hawkins and the earl have long been concealing an “affair de couer” for some time.

It has long been hoped that Lord Bladen would one day cease his rakish behavior and return to proper society. Among most of the bon ton, he is known for his penchant for dueling and had in fact been doing so under the guise of defending a gentle woman’s honor on several occasions. This does seem to cut him as a romantic figure. During his last bout he suffered the loss of his right eye and now sports a devilish black eye patch. You can imagine how such a dashing figure as he could cause many a young lady to swoon! (Especially if she were given to such frivolous ideas—of which I assure you, I am not!)

Oh, but if he were but to reform and return to the arms of gentle society, it is certain that he would be welcomed by all. He is an earl, after all, and many gently bred mothers would welcome the former rake into their families should he choose to cast his hat once again into the marriage mart.

Sadly, this is the extent of my knowledge of this scandalous affair at this time. No one is certain how it will end—will it be with Miss Hawkins married to the man to whom she is betrothed? Will His Grace, the Duke intervene yet again to prevent the nuptials? And, what’s to become of Lord Bladen? Will he somehow intervene in Miss Hawkin’s betrothal? I assure you, as soon as I hear the slightest of hints as to the outcome, I promise, I will be diligent informing you and your readers.

Once again, with kind regards,
Fanny Aberthnot

About A Most Delicate Pursuit

A notorious earl and a brokenhearted young lady are running from love . . . until their foolproof scheme backfires in the most decadent way.

Though he’s fiercely loyal to his friends, Michael Carver has managed to avoid romantic entanglements by cultivating a reputation as a rake and a gambler. Believing himself incapable of intimacy, the Earl of Blandon avoids anything more than lighthearted flirtations or trysts with married women—which leaves more than enough time to slip out into the wilderness for a little fishing. All is well until Michael agrees, as a favor, to keep his best friend’s stubborn yet alluring sister-in-law company.

After one failed engagement, Beatrice Hawkins would rather become a spinster than risk her heart again. Her family, however, is relentless when it comes to finding her a suitable match. So when the roguish earl suggests they join forces to feign courtship and throw everyone off their scent, Beatrice only hopes the ton will take the bait. But at the hunting lodge where Michael takes her to escape prying eyes, Beatrice finds herself lured in by the unexpected charms of a man who has so much love to give—even if he doesn’t know it yet.

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About Pamela Labud

Pamela Labud, author of historical, paranormal and fantasy romance fiction, also writes sexy historical western romance stories as Leigh Curtis. She’s been published in book length fiction since 2003. Her first print book, Spirited Away, was published in Kensington’s Zebra line, earned a Double RITA nomination. Since then she has published in both print and electronic formats. You can read more about Pam at: http://www.pamlabud.net, and Leigh at http://www.leighcurtiss.wordpress.com.

The Housekeeper’s Fears

By Guest author

On March 23, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

From the diary of Beatrice Mellor, housekeeper at Blackheath Manor:

I worry about him, my boy.

He’s changed and I’m afraid I know the reason why.

lady Thomas James Worsley is the son of my late employer. So he’s not really my son — my husband and I were never so blessed, but nonetheless I nursed him.

I nursed him when he was as helpless as a babe returned to Blackheath after the war with Napoleon.

He was near death; the pneumonia had a strong hold on him. Each breath rattled through his lungs and I feared it would be his last.

I nursed him. I fed him when he was too weak to feed himself. I stayed with him night after night even when the doctor all but pronounced him dead.

I encouraged him when it seemed there was no hope. But I knew him. He was a fighter. Even when he got into scraps with his brothers, he would always been the last to yield. That fighting spirit helped him to live to another Christmas and then another.

I hadn’t realised he was blind at first, not when he was so ill and he spend more time in fever than not. And his leg! So many breaks in those bones and so many scars that he cannot straighten it for any length of time without pain…

My dear boy…

The way his brother treated him was shameful, but it’s not my place to question the Earl’s decision, mine is to do my duty and care for the people under my charge. And that is what brings me to this dilemma.

There’s a new addition to the household, a governess for the little misses.

Her name is Ella Montgomery and she knows.

She has seen Thomas and he seemed enraptured by her. I haven’t seen him this happy since the spring of 1815 – six years ago.

This can only end badly. I fear for him. His body has been broken, but what of his heart?

About the Book

In her first posting as governess, Ella Montgomery discovers beautiful Blackheath Manor hides family secrets and suppressed passions. Mysterious piano music in the darkness of night draws Ella to the talented Thomas Worsley, the brother of her employer, the Earl of Renthorpe. Grievously wounded in the Napoleonic Wars, Thomas is held prisoner at Blackheath by more than his blindness and scars. Driven by bitter jealousy, the Earl has ensured Thomas is only a memory, his name etched on a marble memorial in the Bedfordshire village graveyard. Drawn together by their love of music, Ella and Thomas begin a clandestine affair, but how far will the Earl go to keep his family’s secret?

~Excerpt~

Ella crossed to the small window and looked out over the dales where she caught a glimpse of the village through the grove of trees and farmlands beyond, all wearing a blanket of snow.

Turning back to the room, Ella unpacked her precious few belongings. Before hanging them in the wardrobe, she laid her dresses on the bed to smooth them out – a winter Sunday dress of felt, the color of ripe raspberries, a forest green walking dress, and a Sunday dress for summer in soft buttery yellow linen, along with her slate grey day dress. The first three were all gifts from the Bishop’s wife. They were hand-me-downs, but still of the finest quality and not too out of fashion.

As she hung the dresses up, she reflected that Mrs. Stanton’s generosity had more than doubled her wardrobe. Before that she had owned only the grey day dress in addition to the black one she wore now.

Ella placed her most valued possession on the bed – her father’s Bible. She stroked the black leather cover, rubbed soft with age, and opened it. Inside were her father’s commentaries. Seeing his handwriting made her feel as though he were alive once more. Ella closed her eyes. The sharpness of his loss had barely lessened over the year.

She had never felt more miserable in her life.

The chimes from the grandfather clock echoed up the stairwell, registering the fourth hour of the afternoon. No one had yet brought the promised meal to her room – not that she was hungry, anyway.

She straightened her back, suddenly struck with the resolve to at least do something.

Although Mrs. Mellor had set a timetable, Ella was the girls’ governess, and therefore they were her responsibility. She would see them now and introduce herself before they were to be presented to their parents at bedtime.

Ella took a tentative step or two toward the staircase and looked up to the top floor. She could hear no sounds there. If she listened hard, she could hear maids downstairs preparing the dining table. Then she looked to the left and the right. If the school room was on this floor, perhaps the nursery was as well.

She knocked on several closed doors and received no response. The house was a jumble of passages and Ella soon found herself at the last door before a narrow stone spiral staircase. The sounds of kitchen activity below confirmed her belief these were the servants’ stairs.

She heard movement from behind the door – the scrape of a chair and a softly grunted curse. A moment’s indecision, then her hand was raised to knock on the door when Mrs. Mellor startled her for the second time today.

“Are you looking for something, Miss Montgomery?” she asked sharply.

Ella turned and found the woman’s expression as cold as the day outside.

“I’m seeking the nursery, Mrs. Mellor.”

“You won’t find it here.”

“Then if you would kindly direct me–”

“On the second floor. It is the room above yours. Use the main staircase, not the servants’. You do not want to give the wrong impression when you are new here.”

Mrs. Mellor extended her arms, drawing attention to a tray of food which Ella, so focused on Mrs. Mellor’s stern expression, had not noticed. The tray bore an elaborate silver savory dish warmed underneath by two small votive candles. Beside it was a platter of fresh fruit, a wedge of cheese and a sweetmeat dish filled with nuts.

“Oh,” said Ella, “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble on my account.”

The woman frowned a moment, then saw Ella’s gaze upon the tray and her look became glacial.

“This is not for you. I have more important duties than to be scullery maid to a governess. Get out of my way.”

Mrs. Mellor set the tray on a side table opposite the door on which Ella had been about to knock. With cheeks flushed red, Ella turned and hurried back down the passageway. Behind her as she fled, she heard a male voice answer Mrs. Mellor’s authoritative knock on the door.

Ella found the main stairs and started climbing, mentally berating herself. She had been here a scant two hours and gotten off on the wrong foot with one of the most important people in the house.

Her first post had not started well – and she had a horrible feeling it was not going to get any better.

Available from Amazon and iBooks

Nocturne is a novella from Elizabeth Ellen Carter whose full-length titles include Warrior’s Surrender, Moonstone Obsession, and Moonstone Conspiracy.

A Wager and a Curse!

By Guest author

On March 16, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

In which Mr. Clemens welcomes Alanna Lucas, author of Waltzing with the Earl, who interviews her heroine.

AL: Welcome, Lady Trevena. Thank you for joining me today. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.

LT: The pleasure is all mine. This is a new experience for me. I must admit, I am quite nervous. I’ve never been interviewed before. I have not been this nervous since I pretended to be my dearest friend at a country house party last year and….

She takes in a deep breath and then exhales slowly.

I apologize. When I’m nervous I tend to ramble. It is one of my greatest flaws, but one my darling husband assures me is quite endearing.

AL: I hear that you didn’t want to have a season in London. What made you change your mind?

LT: I lost a wager to my brother. I was so desperate for things not to change, to Eugene_Onegin_(Samokish-Sudkovskaya)_05a maintain a quiet country life that I left my fate to a game of chess.

She lowers her voice.

You see, I had not lost to Weston before. I thought nothing could go wrong. That game was the first of many things that would go wrong.

AL: Miss Jerome has made it known throughout the ton that you were an utter disaster.

LT: Miss Jerome is a horrible gossipmonger, but for once, what she spews is true. Between spilled punch, torn dresses, and toppled footmen…shaking her head… Who knew a wallflower could cause such a ruckus!

Giggling.

At least I can laugh about it now.

AL: Not a very auspicious beginning. Please tell us how you met Lord Trevena.

LT: He is my brother’s oldest friend. But it wasn’t until I saw him at Lady Lamden’s ball that I thought of him as anything other than Weston’s friend.

She says with a sigh.

He was so handsome in his dark blue coat. From across the room, our eyes met. He strolled toward me, never shifting his gaze. He was the first gentleman to ever ask me to dance. The moment our hands met…I knew.

AL: How romantic! But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

LT: No. Tristram believed that he was cursed; it had all but consumed his life. Rumors had circulated for years about the Longstone curse, which had taken all Tristram loved.

Shaking her head.

He was convinced that harm would come to me, so he fled London to protect me.

AL: You must have been heartbroken.

LT: I was devastated, but my dearest sister-in-law devised a plan and arranged for me to go after him. Such wanton behavior! Desperate times called for desperate measures.

AL: Everything seemed to have worked out in the end.

LT: It definitely did. She said with a smile that lit the room. Our love is stronger than the curse of Longstone.

AL: Thank you for visiting today. I wish you and Lord Trevena much happiness.

About the Book
Believing he is cursed, Tristram, Lord Trevena, the Earl of Longstone, agrees to do just one favor for a friend, to dance with the man’s sister, but the beautiful and headstrong Isabel Albryght will settle for no less than claiming his lonely heart.

A PROPHECY FORETOLD

Raised by her doting older brother, Isabel Albryght grew up cosseted and protected. She enjoyed her life in the country, her books, and her freedom. Then her brother married. Within months Isabel’s best friend married. It seemed it was time for Isabel to marry, too. Socially awkward and a bit too keen for most of the ton, Isabel proceeded to have the most horrible season on record…until she was approached by Tristram, the Earl of Longstone.

Two dances. That was all Tristram could offer anyone when considering his family curse, which had taken all he loved in the last ten years, so his promise to the beautiful Miss Albryght’s brother was simply that. The ton would soon see she was a desirable partner, her awkwardness would fade and other young swains would beat feet to her doorstep. But then he held her in his arms, and the delightful Isabel became his beating heart. Headstrong and full of passion, she believed she might waltz them away from Death. She alone could tempt him to try.

~Excerpt~

The temperature in the room rose by several degrees—it was positively sweltering. Isabel did not know how much longer she could tolerate standing in the midst of hell, surrounded by a mixture of unidentifiable odors and loud boisterous laughter. She thought her head would explode.

Closing her tired eyes, she brought her gloved hand to her temple. Isabel could feel her body sway, but was unable to stop the motion. She could not even gather her wits about her to stamp down, or even beg, the feelings to cooperate. Isabel could sense another mishap was forthcoming, which further added to her distress. And she had been doing so well.

A gentle hand came to her elbow. “Allow me to accompany you onto the balcony for some fresh air, Miss Albryght.” Lord Trevena’s voice broke through the haze. His tone was soft and full of concern.

Isabel opened her eyes; they felt thick and heavy, and still out of focus. Tristram somehow managed to maneuver her through the crush without bumping into anyone. The moment they reached the unoccupied balcony, the cool evening breeze cleared the haziness Isabel had been fighting in her head.

They strolled to the edge of the balcony, partly hidden within the shadows, and clear of any curious gossipmongers. The garden beyond was concealed in darkness, but the lingering scent of blooming roses wafted through the air. Tristram released his gentle hold on her arm. The absence of his hand made her heart lurch, wanting more.

Isabel turned to face him. Even in the dim light, his clear blue eyes sparkled like stars in the night. She struggled to find the words, but when they finally came, they would not stop.

“Thank you for coming to my aid. I am quite recovered now. The room was quite warm and the noise…”

“Isabel,” Tristram said in a deep husky tone. Her name on his lips sent a jolt of excitement through her body.

Taking a step closer, he brought his hand to her face, his gloved thumb dancing intimately across her cheek. Her heart pounded against her ribs, practically stealing her breath.

“Lord Trevena.” His name exited her lips in a breathy gasp.

He bent his head and whispered his name across her cheek. “Tristram.”

Isabel could not imagine anything more sensual than this moment. She lifted her chin, and their cheeks brushed. His lips were so close, but still too far away. His warm breath teased her senses. Closing her eyes, she waited for his kiss.

Amazon All Romance Smashwords Boroughs Publishing Group

About the Author

Alanna Lucas grew up in Southern California, but always dreamed of distant lands and bygone eras. From an early age she took interest in art, history, and travel, and enjoys incorporating those diversions into her writing. However, she believes that true love is the greatest source of inspiration and is always an adventure.

Alanna makes her home in California where she spends her time writing historical romances, dreaming of her next travel destination, spending time with family, and staying up too late indulging in her favorite past time, reading.

Find her here:

www.alannalucas.com

https://www.facebook.com/alannalucas27

https://twitter.com/alannalucas27

Lady Whingingley Tells All

By Guest author

On February 17, 2016

In Guest author, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Félix_Emile-Jean_Vallotton_-_Woman_Writing_in_an_Interior_-_Google_Art_Project Dear Mr. Clemens,

I wish to make your readers aware of the unsavory details surrounding the recently formed engagement between Miss Helena K and the Earl of W. It is incumbent upon the ladies of the ton to maintain the standards of behavior and propriety, which are so critical to the functioning of Polite Society. I shudder to contemplate the many ways that these individuals, in spite of their birth and breeding, have flouted of the standards governing polite behavior.

I am sure that no one who reads this excellent journal is unaware of the fact that Miss K was found kissing Lord Denby in a secluded anteroom at Montagu House during her Season four years since. Not only was she engaged in this abandoned behavior, but when the gentleman quite properly offered her his hand and the protection of his name, this hurly burly hoyden refused him! Naturally, this brassy minx was no longer welcomed at the best houses, and I know that at least one Patroness of Almack’s gave her the cut direct when they encountered each other in the Park during the hour of the promenade. Mercifully to all, she returned to the countryside of Kent before the end of the Season, her reputation in tatters!

And, if Miss K’s history does not bear close examination, why that of the Earl of W is even less savory! This rascal fled England for the Continent some 15 years ago, under suspicion of murdering another gentleman over the Pearl of Sirsi. While it is true that he was not guilty of the murder, no real gentleman exposes himself to even the possibility of being accused of such a thing! As a young man he was ever to be found at mills and in gaming hells, and would wager on anything. All that however, is nothing compared to what one hears about his time on the Continent, and how he operated a fencing school, a gaming hell, and even taught at the Riding School in Vienna! Who knows, he may have been a caper merchant to boot. Furthermore, he is said to have had any number of mistresses during his absence. Is this the kind of low adventurer we countenance in today’s Society?

Admittedly, his sister and brother-in law, the Earl and Countess of Brayleigh are arbiters of taste. However, even Brayleigh’s dealings with the fair sex do not bear close examination to be sure, as any number of barques of frailty enjoyed a connection with him prior to his marriage to Lady Rowena Arlingby, the sister of the disgraced Earl!

So, even though some may call me high in the instep dear readers, I urge the discerning among you to think carefully before lending countenance to either the Earl of W or his affianced bride lest responsibility for the creeping lowering of standards be placed at your doorstep!

Lady Whingingley

About the Book

Malcolm Arlingby, Rowena’s headstrong brother from Alicia Quigley’s A Collector’s Item, settles into his new life as the Earl of Wroxton. Content to while away his time in the decadence he missed during his exile from England, Malcolm hasn’t been paying attention to the duties that come with the title. A letter from the mistress of a neighboring estate warns of smugglers using Malcolm’s lands for their dastardly deeds and he must finally put aside his entertainments to handle the business of being an Earl.

Helena, the one who sent the letter, is not the sour spinster Malcolm was expecting, however. She is a beautiful, vibrant and equally headstrong woman who is more than ready to take Malcolm to task for ignoring his duties. As the pair becomes embroiled in solving the problem of the smugglers, a strong attraction develops. The smugglers aren’t going without a fight, though.

Will a chance encounter with his new neighbor bring Malcolm all the things he never knew he wanted? Or, will the smugglers destroy it all? Find out in The Contraband Courtship.

~excerpt~
“Well, it is not only about Ms. Lacey,” said Rowena, looking a bit embarrassed. “But, certainly, I have my concerns about her. She is married, Malcolm, and unlikely to be free to wed you any time soon.”

“Wed me?” Malcolm gave a hoot of laughter. “I should say not!”

“You see?” said Rowena. “I know that you wish to enjoy yourself, and I would never say you did not deserve to, but surely you are aware of the duty you owe your family.”

“Rowena, I have years ahead of me to sire a pack of children, if that’s what I decide needs to be done,” said Malcolm. “But for now, I have no interest in leg shackling myself to one woman. I’ve spent twelve years on the Continent living by my wits, and damn, I want to enjoy myself now. One of Estella’s principal charms—outside of the most obvious ones—is that she cannot importune me to marry her!”

“You are being very vexing,” said Rowena. “It is not that I wish to deny you your pleasures, Malcolm—”

“I should say not! And, sister dear, should you even know about Estella?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Rowena crossly. “All the world knows about the two of you. I’m hardly an innocent. The gossips are only too happy to inform me that half the ladies in London have either succumbed to you since your return or to Alaric prior to our marriage.”

“Only half? Well, you might have taken Brayleigh out of circulation, Rowena, but you can’t force me into such a staid existence.” Malcolm gave his sister a shrewd glance. “There’s more here than you’re telling me. You might as well come out with it.”

Rowena exchanged a glance with Alaric. “Well, if you must know, I have received a letter from Helena Keighley.”

“Who?” asked Malcolm.

“Helena Keighley. The daughter of Sir Douglas.” At Malcolm’s blank look, Rowena sighed. “Really, Malcolm, this is why you must go to Wroxton. Sir Douglas Keighley’s estate marches with Wroxton to the west. You must have met him, and Helena, dozens of times when you were a child.”

“Oh yes, Keighley, I remember the name,” said Malcolm. “Sir Douglas, you say? As I recall, Father said he was a bruising rider to hounds.”

“Yes, Malcolm, I’m sure he was,” said Rowena impatiently. “But this has nothing to do with fox hunting. “

“A pity, I might almost be tempted to leave London for that,” said Malcolm. “What does this Miss Keighley want?”

“I received a letter from Helena a few days ago,” she said, producing a folded piece of paper and waving it at Malcolm. “She would have written to you, but had no idea where to find you, and we are acquainted. She is a year or two older than I am, but we did spend some time together as children, and of course I have met her at assemblies and house parties. Surely you remember her.”

“I can’t be bothered to remember your childhood friends, Rowena,” said Malcolm. “I had other things to attend to. What does this mysterious letter say?” asked Malcolm.

Rowena unfolded the letter and perused it quickly. “Here it is,” she said. “It seems that French brandy is being smuggled in through Kent, and the lack of interest of the Earl of Wroxton in his estate has been taken as a sign that his lands are free to be used for this purpose. While Felix Arlingby was not a strong-minded gentleman, he cared enough to prevent such nonsense, but now landings occur almost nightly. I have no doubt that some of the servants have been bribed to allow this. The whole affair is unsettling; I have no desire to see Keighley lands overrun by ruffians because Wroxton is poorly managed. It is imperative that your brother cease his wastrel ways and take up the responsibilities that come with his birthright. He was ever an irresponsible young man, but surely the circumstances of the past years must have brought him some wisdom, no matter how slight. Please inform him that he is needed immediately at Wroxton.”

“What a termagant!” said Malcolm. “She doesn’t even know me, and she’s calling me a wastrel!”

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About the Author

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.

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