Tag: Caroline Warfield Page 6 of 7

Men Are So Blind

On October 22, 2016

This heavily perfumed missive from Miss Mary Carlton to Lady Elsbeth Willknott has gone astray and finds itself in the Tattler

gerard_ter_borch_d-_j-_001 Cambridgeshire, 1826

My dear Elsbeth,

How I wish you were here for a heart to heart talk. Who else can I confide in? Do tell me you will return soon. Mother refuses to see what is beneath her nose, and father—well, he’s as blind as the rest of the men.

Why are gentlemen unable to see what is obvious to the supposed weaker half of the population? Well, we know why. Where Certain Women are concerned, they do not always make use of their minds. A woman may make herself look delicate and helpless, bat her eyes, and lean on a man’s arm, and men assume she is what she wishes to appear. They do not see the artifice, catch the avid gleam in the eye, or hear the nasty undertone when she speaks with those of her own sex.

emma_hart_later_lady_hamilton_george_romney_rothschild_collection_mfa_boston You and I both know Miss Julia Barrett, the squire’s daughter, for the harpy she is, while the men see only her delicate figure, blond hair, and adoring blue eyes. They do not hear how she mocks them to other women. They do not see her forward behavior. I believe, dear one, that she is no better than she should be.

Julia fluttered, blushed, and swooned into the arms of Mr. Rand Wheatly, oozing sweetness, until that poor lovesick gentleman lost all reason. He has hung on her lisping speech and adoring gaze for weeks, solicitous to each spoken or unspoken need. He praises her as a delicate flower of English womanhood. Behind his back she laughs at his goodness.

The poor fool made the mistake of introducing her to his cousin. True to her nature, she turned her attention to Charles Wheatly who, after all, is a duke, while Rand Wheatly is simply mister. I have watched her keep both on the end of her silken tether, flirting shamelessly with whichever one is in front of her behind the back of whichever is absent.

Today I happened upon Mr. Rand Wheatly in front of the millinery shop. He looked so rapt in thought that I followed his eyes to see what had his attention. Less than a block away Julia Barrett clung to His Grace’s arm, leaning her bosoms against it in a most shocking manner while staring into his eyes. Mr. Rand Wheatly looked as if he had been slapped. Mark my words. She will bring the duke up to scratch and soon.

Neither Mr. Wheatly nor his ducal cousin seems aware of her shamelessly forward behavior when men from the King’s regiment garrisoned nearby attend assemblies. I know for fact she has evaded all chaperonage for assignations with more than one of them. My brother mentioned seeing her near their quarters. Did Ralph express disapproval of that? No! He said he envied the officers.

I long, dear Elsbeth, for tea and a cozy talk. Do come home soon.

Your friend,
Mary

PS
A horrid thought wormed its way into my brain. Isn’t Rand Wheatly’s brother an officer garrisoned nearby? What if Julia has thrown herself at all three of them? She’ll make trouble in that family. Mark my words.

CRITICALTheRenegadeWife Julia does indeed make trouble for the cousins.

The Renegade Wife
Betrayed by his cousin and the woman he loved, reclusive Rand Wheatly flees England, his dreams of a loving family shattered. He clings to his solitude in an isolated cabin in Upper Canada. Returning from a business trip to find a widow and two children squatting in his house, he flies into a rage. He wants her gone, but her children are sick and injured, and his heart is not as hard as he likes to pretend.

Meggy Blair harbors a secret, and she’ll do whatever it takes to keep her children safe. She’d hopes to hide with her Ojibwa grandmother, if she can find the woman and her people. She doesn’t expect to find shelter with a quiet, solitary man, a man who lowers his defensive walls enough to let Meggy and her children in.

Their idyllic interlude is shattered when Meggy’s brutal husband appears to claim his children. She isn’t a widow, but a wife, a woman who betrayed the man she was supposed to love, just as Rand’s sweetheart betrayed him. He soon discovers why Meggy is on the run, but time is running out. To save them all, Rand must return and face his demons.

Available on Amazon

Caroline Warfield is a Bluestocking Belle. You can learn more about her here or visit her website.

A Wary Widow Seeks Advice

By Aunt Augusta

On September 26, 2016

In Ask Aunt Augusta, Teatime Tattler

Dear Aunt Augusta,

I am alone in a foreign country where I speak not a word of the language. I recently hired an Englishman fluent in Italian to interpret for me. He claims to be a military man but I see no evidence of it. He wears a shabby coat, is in want of a hair cut, and, I am embarrassed to say, smells of drink. He does his job, but frequently oversteps and appears to think he is my bodyguard. I fear I like him too much. Can he be trusted?

Signed,

A wary widow, the heroine of DANGEROUS SECRETS by Caroline Warfield

Dearest Wary Widow,

I commend you for being alone in a foreign country and endeavoring your best to not only survive there but to thrive. Hiring an Englishman to interpret for you is smart, and it is smart, too, I feel, for you to be wary. If a man claims to be military but you see no evidence of it, that does raise suspicions.

Then again, you mention that he appears to think he is your bodyguard. He obviously cares about you, and your safety, as do I, and I am grateful that he is there for you. It cannot be easy to be alone in a foreign country and you a widow!

You fear you like him too much. I always advise to follow one’s heart, and if you feel safe with him, your interpreter and bodyguard, maybe you can trust him.

I would suggest that you talk to him. Ask him for more details. And maybe, just maybe, you can interpret each other’s hearts.

I wish you the very best,

Aunt Augusta

DANGEROUS SECRETS by Caroline Warfield

Will love—and the truth—bind them both together?

http://www.carolinewarfield.com

~~~

Dear authors, if ever you should find that one of your characters has found him or herself in a rather trying position, whether in matters of the heart or matters of fashion or any matter at all, do be a kind soul and write to me. I will endeavor to answer your questions, if you but pen them for me.

Only Foolish Servants Gossip

By Caroline Warfield

On September 23, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Caroline Warfield, Teatime Tattler

HonoredReaders,

Mrs. Mulligan of Pudding Lane came to our offices this very morning with a most intriguing document. Knowing our readers’ avid interest in the activities of the Grenford family, we agreed to her rather ambitious price to obtain the missive. We hereby print the document in its entirety (with some discrete corrections to spelling and grammar, which were greatly needed) and sincerely hope Miss Maud Mulligan, upstairs maid for the Duchess of Haverford at Hollystone Hall, doesn’t find her career as a servant cut short by her willingness to report on the doings her betters, at least until another such missive may come into our possession.

S. Clemens

Maud Mulligan

Dearest Mother,
You said as how you wanted to know how I got on in this big house and what the toffs and their ladies get up to for three weeks running. It would take more time than that the Stanley woman might give me and more paper than I can afford to tell you all I’ve seen and heard. Most of my stories will have to wait until I see you, if I’m ever free to visit.

Right off I was assigned as maid to Miss Dinah Baumann, a spinster lady of some years. I worried, me not knowing anything about hair and clothes and such, but turns out the lady mostly kept to her bed and had me fetching and carrying for her and the little grey kitten that wiggled its way into her bed one afternoon.

Besides getting up early, starting the fire, fetching the lady’s chocolate, and general cleaning, I go up and down the servants’ stairs once or twice an hour, between Miss Baumann’s demands, the cat making disagreeable messes, and Mrs. Stanley sending me off on one errand and another every time she claps eyes on me, there being so many guests and so few maids. The house fairly buzzes with stories, I can tell you.

Esther Baumann

Miss Baumann—Miss Esther, the young one, not the old lady—is ever so kind. She brought her own maid and told Reba—that’s the maid—to look after me a bit so I don’t get behind. I wouldn’t say an unkind word about the Misses Baumann for all some in this house, ignorant all, think a Jewish Banker’s daughter ought not to be here. A perfect lady is Miss Esther Baumann, dressed as smart as they come and refined as need be. I won’t hear a word against her and so I said over servants’ tea to the ruffian who tends the spit. Young is no excuse for stupid. That’s what Mr. Fournier, (he be the French cook) said. No excuse for stupid. I know better. Remember Mr. Cohn the baker? Most honest baker in the city and his cakes are heavenly.

I was ever so surprised though when that gentleman of Miss Esther arrived with no invitation and still dirty from the road on Christmas morning. Some said as how it showed disrespect, but the duchess didn’t mind. I heard she welcomed him like a long lost friend. When I helped fetch hot water up to the room he shared with Lord Elfingham—beggars not being choosers—he seemed gentleman enough to me. He put me in mind of Mr. Cohn’s son Havel.

Adam Halevy

I should say I believe Mr. Halevy is Miss Esther’s gentlemen, but I’m not sure. She certainly follows him with her eyes when he’s around, or, so a footman told me, but she told her aunt that she never wanted to talk to him. Ever.

But that isn’t the end of it. This is why I took pen to paper tonight. The servant’s hall went all abuzz when the duchess asked Miss Esther and Mr. Halevy to say their Sabbath blessings with the company. I know I shouldn’t have, but I slipped upstairs and into the room where they had set up the table. No one saw me back by the draperies, but I watched it all. I heard that crab, Lady Stanton whisper some horrid things, but most of them looked so interested I think they prayed along. The look on Mr. Halevy’s face when he said the last blessing and she said “Amen,” would have melted any woman’s heart. Maybe the rumor I heard later about Miss Esther going out to the barn with Lord Jonathon Grenford wasn’t true.

Oh my! I’ve gone on too long. The house is in an uproar about the costume ball, and I should be working. Maybe costumes and candlelight and such will make magic for Miss Esther and her gent. I hope so.

Your daughter,
Maud

PS When you go for bread, tell Havel Cohn I asked after him.

__________________________________________________

An Open Heart, by Caroline Warfield

Esther Baumann longs for a loving husband who will help her create a home where they will teach their children to value the traditions of their people, but she wants a man who is also open to new ideas and happy to make friends outside their narrow circle. Is it so unreasonable to ask for toe curling passion as well?

Adam Halevy prospered under the tutelage of his distant cousin, powerful banker Nathaniel Baumann. He’s ready to find a suitable wife, someone who understands a woman’s role, and will make a traditional home. Why is Baumann’s outspoken, independent daughter the one woman who haunts his nights?

You’ll find it in Holly and Hopeful Hearts, the 2106 Bluestocking Belles’ holiday anthology, available now for pre-order. 25% of all proceeds will go to the Malala Fund. The education of women and girls is the favorite charity of the Duchess of Haverford and the Bluestocking Belles. Scroll to the bottom for links.

An excerpt:

Her restless gaze found Adam standing with the Belvoir ladies and their brother. He smiled down at Felicity Belvoir, who looked utterly rapt.

Esther knew she should move. All afternoon she had avoided him, but at that moment, she could not make her feet move. What has Felicity so fascinated? Is he telling her about Spain? Did he actually meet Wellington? What of his perilous journey? Longing to know kept her fixed in place even as her stubbornness urged her to move away before someone noticed she stared. Too late! Hythe glanced up, saw her, and smiled.

Hythe bowed over her hand and said, “Your friend has had quite an epic adventure.”

“Is that what he’s telling Felicity?” she asked with a haughty shake of her head.

Hythe’s lips twitched, and she felt her cheeks heat. When he offered his arm, panic set in. Does he mean to walk me back to his sisters? Adam is there, the wretch!

Hythe followed the direction of her eyes. “Shall we take a turn about the room, Miss Baumann?” he asked. When she laid a shaking hand on his and nodded, he patted her it with his gloved one, changed the topic of conversation to riding mishaps at the hunt, and soon had her laughing.

An hour later, Esther, relieved to have passed the afternoon without being cornered, she felt composed and less shaken. If Mr. Halevy wishes to speak with me, I’ll permit it. It is foolish to allow him to discomfort me. I’ll be all that is cool and in control.

When she spied him across the room speaking with one of the Duke of Ashbury’s daughters, he looked at her across the expanse of room and smiled with such sweetness that her heart skipped two beats.

hhh-meme

Amazon US: http://ow.ly/INwa3049Ey3
Amazon UK: http://ow.ly/ZMuH3049ELM
AmazonAustralia: http://ow.ly/TczG3049EQ2
Amazon Canada: http://ow.ly/IERm3049EYM
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/holly-and-hopeful-hearts
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/holly-and-hopeful-hearts-bluestocking-belles/1124623729/
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/664559

Dispatches from Spain

By Caroline Warfield

On May 28, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Caroline Warfield, Teatime Tattler

Teatime Tattler, January 1814

Out troops continue to make a good showing, chasing forces of the little Corsican back where they belong. It will not, one thinks, be long now. While many have given with blood and treasure to bring glory to England, we have reported before that fail their duty. This paper has never failed to report such dereliction when it comes our attention and to bring public shame on them miscreants. I draw the reader’s attention to recent examples.

—One Lt. D lured a certain Miss W., who had been hired as nursemaid to officers’ families safely billeted in Lisbon, from her post one evening. The young lady did not return and is reputed to followed the Lieutenant in the train of camp followers when troops moved north, her disgrace at his hands now permanent.

—The well known episode of an entire company of men who deserted their post when rumors of a liberated wine seller came to light, failed to appear on time to face the frogs at Roncesvalles does not bear repeating. A description of their punishment would not be fit for ladies’ eyes.

—Captain L., officer though he may have been, was shot for desertion, having fled the field and hid in the hills during action in the Pyrenees.

Sometimes, dear reader, we wrongly report. Rarely does this happen. When it does we make it right. Loyal readers may recall that we had reports, well verified reports, that a certain Major M., seen at the siege of San Sebastian, disappeared from his post and was rumored to have been discovered malingering in an inn along to the coast, probably in a drunken stupor.

By Camille Clère (1825-1918)

It pleases us to correct the error. We have been reliably informed that the gentleman is in fact recovering from wounds received at the hands of the vile French, and we are able to publish the name of this heroic soldier. Maj. Andrew Mallet left San Sebastian during the siege on a mission whose purpose is shrouded in mystery. Our source indicates that he is believed to have been captured and questioned by the French in a —here we beg the indulgence of our more gentle readers—“hell-hole.” His release was obtained through the heroic efforts of those soldiers closest to him and, it must be said, the expenditure of considerable amount in gold supplied by the Marquess of Glenaire, that fixture of Horse Guards, himself.

We have been unable to uncover any specifics about the mission that led to his capture, but rumors abound that the Marble Marquess himself may have ordered it. The presence of his private yacht off the coast during the daring raid to rescue Mallet gives credence to the rumor. If he was indeed responsible, his rescue efforts are to be applauded.

Servants have told our informant that the major suffered wounds “in every part of his body,” surely an exaggeration. They are adamant to a man that his head and face are swathed in bloody bandages, however, and one man swears he saw saber slashes across his chest when he delivered more linen.

Of the Marquess, we have no word. If he is present at the inn as rumors imply, he has either bribed or intimidated all witnesses into silence. One can only conclude he regrets his part in this horrific episode and does not wish his name bandied about.

Major Lord James Heyworth, hard riding cavalry officer and well-known rakehell, has been seen visiting the bedside, It appears the three of them have been friends since Harrow, along with the Earl of Chadbourn who returned from the Peninsula to take up his responsibilities upon the death of his father last hear. School ties run deep.

We await the start of the spring campaign and hope for an end to the madness caused by the French emperor.

DangerousWorks_600x900 copy Dangerous Works
Andrew Mallet recovered from those wounds and returned, badly scarred, to service, only to suffer even greater injuries at Waterloo. The war over, he sold out and went home to Cambridge, seeking healing for his wounds and peace for his soul. His only desire was work that would have made his father, a classics scholar, proud. A determined woman had other ideas. What happened? You can read his story in Dangerous Works.

As to the others, the Marble Marquess meets his match in Dangerous Weakness, Jamie Heyworth confronts his demons in Dangerous Secrets, and the Earl of Chadbourn finds a partner he can lean on n A Dangerous Nativity.

For more about their stories see:

http://www.carolinewarfield.com/
http://www.amazon.com/l/B00N9PZZZS/

Or their Pinterest Boards

https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-works-1816/
https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-weakness-1818/
https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-secrets-1820/

3covers

Earl’s Ward Sets Fire to School

By Caroline Warfield

On March 19, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Caroline Warfield, Teatime Tattler

320px-Almeida_Júnior_-_Saudade_1899 News about one’s children received from strangers is rarely good. The Countess of Chadbourn stared at the missive in her lap grateful her own children still resided in the nursery. Responsibility for her teen-aged brothers had become the very devil.

“Worry fixes nothing,” she reminded herself picking up the unopened letter and tapping it on her desk. She had, after all, expected this message as soon as she prevailed upon Mrs. Bosworthy to check on the boys. She had only met the woman once, but knew she lived near Wembley, had boys in the school, and would have access to local gossip.

Spy might be a more accurate term since Catherine begged the woman to be discrete and let neither the boys, nor their tutors, nor the house-masters know of her interest. Rather more discomforting was the fact that she had requested it be kept from her husband.

Within a year of her marriage her new husband, the earl, had insisted that Freddy and Randy go to school along with his nephew Charles, who was also their cousin. Catherine resisted for a year, insisting they needed time to adjust to the change in circumstances. The earl—Will— remembered school fondly and expected all three boys to do well. Within months first one and then all three wrote to complain about conditions. It was, her husband informed her, normal. “Don’t be overprotective,” he said. “Boys need to grow tough.”

A year later when the complaints stopped, he seemed to be proven correct. Freddy at least appeared to be thriving, and the boys showed no signs of problems for three terms, until the younger two moved to a different house. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew something was wrong. Randy had become more and more withdrawn. During the most recent holidays he looked downright ill. When asked he shrugged. He said the oddest thing. “It is just how things are done.” She tried talking to Will who gave her the most provoking superior look and said, “Women don’t understand these things.”

What was she to do? She turned to another mother, one who lived close enough to snoop. She flipped the wax seal from the missive with more force than strictly necessary, unfolded it, and gasped. She was out of her chair and down the hall in minutes.

“Will, Will! You must listen to me,” she insisted, flying into his study. “You have to read—“ She stopped. Will raised his head from his hands and faced her with a bleak expression. Letters of his own lay open on his desk.

He swallowed hard. “What is it, Catherine?”

“It’s about Randy.” She hesitated when her husband blanched.

He waved a hand rather helplessly over his own letter.

Catherine sank into worn leather chair. “Bertha Bosworthy has heard that some upper form boys are using Randy for a whipping boy. She says they’ve told him he has to take his cousin’s share of punishments because Charles is a duke and they aren’t allowed to touch him. She says the local physician told her he has seen Randy three times and the last time—“ She looked down at the letter to make sure she got it right. “—he told her last time Randy may have been ‘violated.’ Do you know what that could mean?” She looked up and saw her husband, pale as death, a sick expression twisting his handsome face. Apparently he did know.

Will pushed himself to his feet slowly as if infinitely tired. “I’m going down there,” he said. “I’ve had a letter too. Freddy set fire to Randy’s house-master’s office. It almost took the whole place down. He’s been thrown out.”

“Good!” Catherine said. “He probably deserved it. The house-master I mean, not Freddy.”

“I have no doubt he did,” Will said with a nod at the letter in her hand. “I also had one from Fred. All it said was, ‘Randy had a problem. The three of us took care of it.’”

He walked around the desk and pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry Catherine. I misjudged the situation. I’ll get them out of there.” He kissed her soundly and started for the door.

“Do it quickly,” she said at his retreating back, “Before one of those horrid gossip rags like The Teatime Tattler gets wind of it and we have, ‘Earl’s ward sets fire to school’ screaming from every headline in London.
____________________________________________________

This bit of fiction has been enlarged and published as A Mother’s Work is Never Done, a short story that describes Will’s efforts to comfort Randy.

You can obtain a ***FREE*** copy of it on Smashwords.

Dangerous-Nativity-Cover-Front-900x1350 Catherine and Will’s love story can be found in A Dangerous Nativity, which also introduced the boys, Fred, Randy, and Charles. They, in turn, will find their own happiness as adults in my next series. The first, The Renegade Wife will tell Randy’s story. It is due out in October 2016, with the other two books to follow in 2017.