A January afternoon, offices of The Teatime Tattler
Betsy Carmichael, recently dismissed from one of London’s most prestigious addresses wrung her hands and bit her lip.
Clemens, the Teatime Tattler’s editor, glared back. One of his underlings had let this one in. What she had had better be good. He had his doubts. “Well, what do you have to say.”
She rubbed her nose with her sleeve. “Ye’ll pay me, right? The old witch tossed me out.”
“A dismissed servant isn’t gossip. If your story is good, I’ll pay you a shilling.”
“Two!” the cheeky chit demanded.
“Tell me what you know,” Clemens said firmly.
“Her ladyship is back from one o’them country parties up north. Hartwell Hall. I remember that clearly,” Betsy said.
“Ladyship? You mean Lady Arncastle?” One of the worst gossips in the Ton. Loose with the facts, but a good source of dirt. “Who was there?”
“She mostly talked about that menace woman. Said she poisoned her cousin. That has to be worth two shillings.”
“Wait. Did you say poison?” Clemens pried his memory open. Hartwell — the earl was the uncle of that Westcott girl, the one they called the Westcott Menace after half the Ton got sick on her food at one of the Duchess of Haverford’s charity dos.
“The girl tossed her breakfast all over the ice in front of the Earl of Ridgemont. He went tearing right though the house, her ladyship says. Carried the girl right up to her bedroom without a by your leave. Her ladyship says she was afraid to eat a bit the whole time after that, what with the menace around.”
“Ridgemont. Isn’t he a duke’s heir?”
Betsy nodded eagerly. “And there’s more too. He and the menace were caught together in some weird closet full of poisons. Bottles and boxes of stuff. Old Hartwell had a fit, her ladyship says. Had his servants clean it all out and get rid of it. Her ladyship says she was trying to kill Ridgemont, or trap him or something. I say trap more likely. Who’d kill of a future duke if you could drag him to the altar?”
Clemens rubbed his chin. Ancaster was not reliable, but where there is smoke, there’s fire. It might be worth sending someone north to investigate. Or better just to sniff around Hartwell’s London house and other relatives.
He hustled the girl out of the office. She got her shilling and. in a moment of charity, he dropped a sixpence on top.
*****
Snowed by the Wildflower
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?
Skilled in both chemistry and cooking, Belinda happily hides in her aunt’s kitchen rather than risk embarrassment at the ongoing house party. The unexpected appearance of the earl and a skating party present the perfect opportunity to embarrass him in front of some snooty society miss. Unfortunately, his partner is Belinda’s own cousin, and even worse, the cousin drinks the hot chocolate—laced with emetics—meant for the earl.
As plain Major Conlyn, John had sunk into a morass of dissipation when first released from the army. Neither his actions nor his companions make him proud. The death of a beloved cousin shocked him back to sense. It also made him an earl and the heir to his grandfather, a duke. He’s been ordered to find a wife and settle down. He wouldn’t mind, but now he’s surrounded by flighty debutantes and their grasping mothers. The one woman who interests him avoids him. She acts as if she despises him. Is it possible he did something when out of control that he ought to apologize for, something he can’t recall?
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https://books2read.com/snowedbywallflower
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.
The Duke of G__ arrived in town this week with a highly irregular guest. A Mr. K_, a Welshman with three children stays at the duke’s elegant townhouse where he is being treated almost, dare we say it, as family. Our usual sources—servants do talk, especially when in their cups at certain taverns—imply the men act like brothers.
Madelyn assumed marriage as an old man’s ornament would be better than life with her abusive parents. She was wrong.
When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead. One was his defiant daughter. He left her nothing.