Dearest Mr. Clemens, thank you for the delightful Tea you arranged for my sister and I before we left London. As you predicted, there is much delicious information to be had at Sir Peter and Lady Somerville’s house party in the lovely Sussex countryside. My sister Prudence will have already alerted you to the goings on of the night rider Captain Midnight. There will be more on that subject!
My purpose this morning is to inform you about one particular story of potential interest to your readers. A stranger appeared in the nearby village a week or so ago. While he appears to be a gentleman, he is not, in fact a guest of the Somervilles. He has been staying at the common hotel all this time. He has taken close, even obsessive interest in a woman who lives alone with only her small son for company.
Mrs. Tessa Fleming is a war widow and as such should be admired, but really, is it proper for her to be living on her own? The stranger has made repeated visits to her home, and I’ve heard not one word of a chaperone. The ladies here about, both of high and low estate generally attest to the woman’s virtue. Still, one must wonder about these visits by a man of particularly attractive visage and form, and the ladies watch the situation avidly.
What led me to write today is that the identity of the stranger has been revealed. He introduces himself as Titus Flavius Brannock, lately major in His Majesty’s 11th Dragoons. What was revealed last night is that he is the brother of the Earl of Astleigh! Lady Somerville, of course, immediately insisted that he be her guest when she discovered this. He will be at the closing ball. I am agog to discover how he will react when he finds that the widow has been invited also.
There will be more
Your most devoted correspondent,
Abigail Danvers
About the Book: Love’s Perilous Road
Travellers, a house party, smugglers, spies–and a mysterious highwayman. Who is the infamous Captain Moonlight? And how many lives will he change–for good or for ill?
Pre-order it for August: https://books2read.com/u/mqx0W6
About the Caroline Warfield’s Story: Charred Hope
Major Titus Brannock believes the charred painting that fell into his hands must be valuable to its owner. When he finds her, he finds a true treasure. Tessa Fleming’s first instinct was to burn the miniature her late husband scorned, but the admiration she sees in Titus’s eyes gives her different ideas. Perhaps the little gem will give them both a pearl beyond price.
Betsy Carmichael, recently dismissed from one of London’s most prestigious addresses wrung her hands and bit her lip.
Belinda Westcott doesn’t want to injure the Earl of Ridgemont. She merely wants to humiliate him. After all, one good prank deserves a payback. How could she anticipate that it would go so terribly wrong, or that he would turn out to be nothing like she expected?
First a bit of background. Betting has raged the better part of summer and into autumn about the fate of the Duke of Glenmoor who went missing quite suddenly. Dukes do not, as numerous well-connected people have pointed out, “go missing,” yet this one has. This has led to rampant speculation about his heath, his sanity, and even about his survival.
The Honorable Eustace is known to be what one wag called, “a dunderheaded drunken rattle,” and his claims could be easily dismissed but for one fact. Eustace Selwyn had just returned from his home in Dorset, a home that is known to be the neighbor of Mountglen, the duke’s primary seat. He claimed that, while there, he actually observed the brother or a man claiming to be he. Selwyn believes him and asserts that the brother, now calling himself Gideon Kendrick, is not only alive, but much brighter than reported. The Honorable Eustace proposed “cunning,” as the better descriptor. London is not certain what to make of it, but men are lining up on both sides of the bet nonetheless, as young men are prone to do.
Madelyn assumed marriage as an old man’s ornament would be better than life with her abusive parents. She was wrong.
You may understand, then, dear Sir, why I am aflutter with excitement. One could ignore the handful of persistent mamas who inserted ambitious daughters into the party. An unattached earl—particularly one as attractive (dare I say it?) as the earl—is a marital prize they cannot ignore. One can hardly blame them, but one can ignore them. I say that because it quickly became clear that Mrs. Morgan had marshaled the ladies of the family–regrettably not all of them legitimate members—to depress those ambitions. No amount of sprained ankles, lost wandering into the bachelor bedrooms, rearranged seating charts, or manipulated teams for games escaped the vigilance of the earl’s female relatives. I was ready to believe that he actually was not in search of a wife. Almost.
Sir:
I am quite, quite distressed to add that my precious Wellington, an extraordinarily noble pug, has taken him dislike as well. The impudent young man accused my darling Welly of damaging his boots. I cannot believe poor Welly has developed a taste for leather. He has demonstrated no such affinity in the past. I am certain Mr. Clarke enticed him as an excuse to make a quick departure.
The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage.