I write to you today to share my
outrage at occurrences in Dudley Crescent. I simply cannot abide the recent
changes and must have your advice.
Two years ago, a murder occurred at
Number 10. The horrid matter was quickly resolved when the culprit was
identified and put away from fine society.
But the greater scandal was that the widowed lady of the house had
intimate relations with her butler! Then last year, a noted member of society
hired a young woman as ward to his child…and later, did marry the woman! She
was far below his station, though, I do understand, an heiress of considerable
worth. I must tell you the man is one of our finest gentlemen with a spotless
reputation and high military honors. Yet, I worry.
Another event occurring last week causes
me to question my presence here!
I understand that one noble gentleman
has paid attentions to one of his servants! This time, said woman is not a
governess. No, indeed, she is his maid-of-all-work! Can you imagine? I’ve been
inconsolable, riddled with a nervous stomach and headaches. My usual little
dose of laudanum is simply not enough to calm me.
This causes me to ask you if you think
I should move to a better part of town. Is there a curse on the Crescent? Must
I expect more servants who will climb above their station to enthrall their
masters or mistresses? Worse, will such an affliction affect my own house? I
must tell you, quite confidentially, that my only daughter, Lady Mary, seems
far too taken with one of our own servants. The new…dear me, I can barely write
this…stable boy. Yes! He is most definitely not
a boy. Not by any means. He is thirty years of age or more. Tall, taller than
my dear departed husband. And devilishly handsome with hair the color of coal
and eyes like lavender. He is quite ethereal.
I do rattle on!
Advise me, please!
Most sincerely,
Catherine, the Viscountess of Trelawny
Dudley Crescent is a verdant parcel of land in London, granted by King Charles II to the Earl of Dudley who was one of his staunchest supporters. With gold he’d stolen as a highwayman during Charles’s exile on the Continent, Dudley put his ill-gotten gains to good use and built the finest town homes in the capital. Renting the land in perpetuity to certain Royalist friends quadrupled his fortune.
Today, those who have townhomes surrounding the verdant park are a few of the wealthiest and most influential lords and ladies in the kingdom. But scandals abound on Dudley Crescent. You can find them here:
It is a sad day indeed when we are forced to communicate
such news as follows, but it is our duty to bring you even the most scandalous incidents…even
if they involve one of the most highly regarded residents of our region—the
venerated war hero, Colonel Johnathon P. Wescott.
Mrs. Charlotte Tisdale, a well-respected resident of New
Hope reported the following, and we relay it now to you. It seems that an
impromptu gala was thrown together at Lacewood by Colonel Wescott’s men, who
were given leave by their beloved commander to take part in Christmas Eve
festivities. It was late at night before Colonel Wescott left his post on the battlefield,
but he finally appeared at Lacewood, looking as gallant and intrepid as ever
such a highly esteemed man can look.
Of course, those in attendance at Lacewood included all of
the eligible young ladies from the region who hoped to catch a glimpse—or
perhaps even a dance—with the widowed father.
Dear readers, here is the news of which I warned you. It has
been reported to us by Mrs. Tisdale (and others) that the Colonel danced the
night away—not with one of the highly regarded Southern belles in attendance—but
with the Yankee caretaker of his young daughter!
Yes, friends, if you live in New Hope, you know the sad
story. The poor child was left motherless by the passing of his wife almost a
year ago, and now the sweet darling has been left in the hands of a stranger
whose reputation and character are known to us only by the gossip that trickles
in by attentive neighbors.
However, we know all we need to know. Mrs. Tisdale confirmed
that this woman, this Yankee she-devil, hails from New York and has a brother
in the Union army. Yes, you read that correctly. A brother…In the Union Army.
Wishing to verify these rumors—which are obviously too
absurd and preposterous to be accepted on their face, we discovered that the
news gets even worse. It seems Miss Annie Logan (the caretaker) placed herself
beneath the mistletoe when Colonel Wescott was near, and, of course, being a
Southern gentlemen of the highest order, he felt obligated to satisfy the
tradition that has been handed down for centuries.
My own face reddens at the thought of this conniving kiss. Who
knows what else has transpired between the walls of Lacewood? We can only hope
that it will not stain the character of its occupants for generations to come…
About the Book
Two people trying to escape
their pasts find a connection through an old house—and fulfill a destiny
through the secrets it shares. Part love story, part ghost story, Lacewood is
a timeless novel about trusting in fate, letting of the past, and believing in
things that can’t be seen.
MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN in Virginia is a big
change for New York socialite Katie McCain. But when she stumbles across an
abandoned 200-year-old mansion, she’s enthralled by the enduring beauty of the
neglected estate—and captivated by the haunting portrait of a woman in
mourning.
Purchasing the property on a whim, Katie attempts to fit in with the colorful characters in the town of New Hope, while trying to unravel the mystery of the “widow of Lacewood.” As she pieces together the previous owner’s heartrending story, Katie uncovers secrets the house has held for centuries, and discovers the key to coming to terms with her own sense of loss.
Sometimes
love is just too powerful for one lifetime…
The past and present converge when hometown
hero Will Durham returns and begins his own healing process by helping the
“city girl” restore the place that holds so many memories. As the mystic web of destiny
is woven, a love story that might have been lost forever is exposed, and a
destiny that has been waiting in the shadows for centuries is fulfilled.
Take advantage of the low
launch-week price of only $3.99, and sign up for the author’s newsletter at https://www.jessicajamesbooks.com.
“I think Jon has finally broken away from the ladies,” Luke
said at last. “Here he comes.”
Annie turned and watched with an incredible degree of
composure as Colonel Wescott strode toward her with calm detachment, pinioning
her where she stood with his devouring stare. A strange sensation throbbed
in her then—like the beating of a new heart—and she marveled at its power to
fluster and confuse.
When he reached her he stopped, but his caressing gaze
continued to play across her face. “You are aware of the tradition, I suppose.”
Colonel Wescott’s voice, Annie had learned, could be
penetrating and commanding, or gentle and kind. He could easily silence an
entire roomful of people without yelling or losing control—and could just as
effortlessly melt her heart with the tender tones of a father.
The tenor tonight was both warm and imposing, throwing her
off balance. Her eyes darted around, not understanding his meaning.
“Tradition?”
He merely gestured to a place over her head, his smile
widening as she took in the swag of mistletoe hanging above her.
Grasping Luke’s ruse that had placed her in this spot, Annie
transferred her gaze to Luke just as he was exchanging a mischievous wink with
his brother. Even Miss Benton was now brimming over with amusement.
“Do you need schooling in the ritual?” Colonel Wescott’s
tone was businesslike, but the sentiment on his face was not. It reflected a
playfulness, a cheerful joviality that was both infatuating and intimidating.
He’d never crossed this line of familiarity with her before—and Annie was
fairly sure he’d not done so with others, even those he considered close
friends.
She wanted to pretend an affront, but when faced with his
appealing smile her defenses melted away. Candlelight and music filled the air,
exaggerating and intensifying the intoxication of her senses. Laughter and
conversation blended and blurred until nothing existed but the man before her,
whose smoldering eyes beckoned seductively.
About the Author
Jessica James is an
award-winning author of romantic suspense, historical fiction, and Christian
fiction, who combined all of her favorite things to create Lacewood.
Her new release is a
multi-era, small town, clean, inspirational novel that melds together elements
of mystery, history, and romance.
As someone who lives in a
200-year-old house, Jessica was intrigued when thinking about the generations
of people who occupied the same home. Lacewood
gives readers a behind-the-scenes glimpse of what took place in an old
neglected Southern mansion before two people from the modern world stumble
across it and into each other. It’s a love story that spans centuries, taking
readers on a journey into the past as the house reveals secrets about a
long-lost love affair.
Editorial Note: This packet of correspondence came to the Tattler offices when one of our reporters shared drinks with a man at the Bull and Codfish pub. The young man, who seems to be a careless footman in the employ of Mrs. Andrew Mallet of Bedford Square, left it on the table. We of course forwarded the entire packet on to its correct destination.
Mr. Clemens made copies first, but given the involvement of
the Foreign Office, he declared they were not to be published. He must have
forgotten to lock his desk. Besides, nothing here relates to matters of
national interest.
To the Duchess of Sudbury,
Lily,I am in London, but not at home to callers, family excepted of course. Andrew remains in Cambridge, make of that what you will. When I tell you what has happened you will understand my need to live apart. I beg your support.
I know you send private mail to Richard via official couriers and the packet ships. May I ask you to send the enclosed message as soon as it can be arranged? I need his help and my son must be alerted. I trust him to inform his nephew cautiously.
Athena is gone to
Italy.
I know that shocks
you, but perhaps not is much as it ought. Since the Heyworths’ visit five years
ago she has spoken of nothing but Italy, reminding me daily that in Italy there
are medical schools that admit women. The desire to study medicine is
admirable; you and I would both cheer her on if the girl was, not to mince
words, normal. Even if she could cope with strangers…but of course she cannot.
She sailed from
Falmouth a week ago. Her brother Archie, who perpetrated this insanity,
accompanied her, which would be a saving grace if I thought he could handle her
in a crisis. Her father, the wretch, professes to be proud of him. For a
scholar Andrew can be remarkably obtuse. I can’t imagine how the poor girl
managed the ship to Rome, much less life in a foreign country. I dread the
condition we will find her in when she returns.
I discovered this
morning that Lochlin assisted Archie as well. I can forgive a young man— they
often think with body parts other than their brains—but I can’t forgive her
father. I suspect Andrew actually abetted the young fools. He denies it, but I
don’t believe him.
Enough! I will tell
you all when I see you.
Georgiana
Editorial Note: The young lady in question, Miss Catherine Mallet, known to her family as Athena, is a recluse who shuns society after some unfortunate incidents of panic and hysteria (this paper has reason to know one such incident occurred in the Pembrook’s ballroom). She rarely leaves the family home in Cambridge except to visit close relatives, and is reputed to have an unnatural interest in the anatomy of animals and humans. Rumors about this abound in that shire, where some consider her quite insane, but others merely the oddest member of a notably eccentric family.
The second missive, in the same hand, although entirely concerning a private matter, was sent through official channels to Cairo. One wonders if that is entirely ethical.
The Duke of Sudbury
Her Majesty’s Envoy to
the court of Muhammad Ali Pasha, Khedive of Egypt
Cairo
Dearest Richard,
Forgive me for presuming by sending personal mail through the foreign office channels, and troubling you when you are deep into affairs of state—although when are you not?—but time may be of the essence.
To get right to the
point, Archie has taken Athena to Rome from where she expects she can be
admitted to medical school. I don’t need to outline for you all the reasons why
this is nonsensical. Archie, the coward, sent a message from Falmouth saying
that once he had her safely settled (as if that might be possible!), he will
travel directly to Edinburgh and begin his own studies.
This will grieve
Aeneas mightily. He and Archie quarreled on the subject of Athena shortly
before he left for Egypt. Archie has the pudding-brained notion she should be
encouraged to pursue studies to be a physician. Aeneas, ever the level headed
one where his sister is concerned, knows she should be kept close where we can
protect her.
I send this in the hope that you will use your connections to ensure our officials in Italy watch out for them. If I can further impose on your kindness, please make Aeneas aware that this has happened. If it should go badly, he needs warning.
With gratitude,
Your loving sister,
Georgiana
PS
Since you have a way
of discovering things anyway, I will tell you that Andrew and I have separated
over this at least for now. Do not chastise me. I suspect Archie acted with his
father’s blessing. I am too angry to patch things over.
PPS
Aeneas may be sensible
about his sister but not his work. I count on you to keep him from doing
something foolish like plunging deep into Africa in pursuit of some previously
undiscovered crumb of knowledge. I want him back in one piece.
G.
Editorial Note: Our
readers who pay follow the doings of the haut ton know that there is little the
Duke will not manage on behalf of his family, his friends, or the Empire come
to that. They will note, however, how unusual it is to have a one of his circle
actually ask for help rather than having it thrust upon them.
About the Author
Caroline Warfield writes family centered historical romance, largely set in the Regency and Victorian eras. The saga of the Mallets, their friends, and their family began with Dangerous Works.
A
marquess who never loses control (until he does) and a very independent woman
conflict, until revolution, politics, and pirates force them to work together. (In
which Sudbury had not come into his title and was yet the Marquess of Glenaire)
When
Jamie fled to Rome to hide his shame he didn’t expect a vicar’s daughter and
her imp of a niece to take over his life, with complications from an
interfering nun, a powerful count, and a genial monk.
With
Christmas coming, can the Earl of Chadbourn repair his sister’s damaged estate,
and more damaged family? Dare he hope for love in the bargain? (A free
novella—prequel to both series)
The Children of Empire Series: the Scattered
Three
cousins (introduced in A Dangerous Nativity) torn apart by lies and deceit work
their way back home from the far corners of empire.
The Duke of Murnane expects work to heal him. He doesn’t expect to face his past and find his future in China (The heroine is Sudbury’s daughter)
The
Children of Empire Series: the Seekers
This series, expected in mid 2020 will pick up with the travels and adventures of Aeneas, Archie, and Athena Mallet as they pursue their own happiness.
From the journal of Sophie Hartford – the Tattler has received her PRIVATE Journal from Chateau de Fontanes, the Pyranees, 1818
Tuesday, 28th
April.
We returned to the chateau today. I was sorry to say goodbye to my friends in
Ax-les-Thermes but the marquise assures me we’ll go back there soon. For now,
we’re going to spend a quiet few days here in the mountains, and I’m going to
be watching my sister closely. I sense she’s attracted to Joachim. Indeed, who
wouldn’t be, so handsome and warmhearted as he is. With those big brown eyes
and that smile like sunshine, he’s most alluring. But Nell is Nell and she hides
her feelings behind a cool composure. On the other hand, Joachim is making it
plain he likes and admires her.
This afternoon we went down to the stables and the two of them started talking together. I may be four years younger than Nell, but I’m grown up enough to see that Joachim only had eyes for her. So I dawdled around, stroking my horse, petting the stable cat, and then sat down on a bench. Joachim’s lurcher dog, Flocon, came and sat by me. They didn’t notice they were alone as they wandered off down the paddock, talking all the time. At several points they stopped, I could see them waving their arms around as they discussed something. Surely they must be coming to an agreement. Indeed, all the stableboys and grooms found excuses to come out and watch them as well.
My romantic hopes were sadly dashed when
they returned, and I found they’d spent the entire time talking about educating
the poor children of the estate. But tomorrow is another day and I’ll think up
a scheme to bring them together. Why is my 22 year old sister resisting such
charm?
Wednesday
29th April. This morning Nell was in the music room, helping a
little boy with his lesson. I casually told Joachim of this and soon I saw him
rush along to the music room. The little boy came out, and I pretended to be
arranging flowers in a vase in the corridor, so as to keep an eye on the door, in
case anyone else tried to go in. Flocon has become attached to me and he sat
watching as I fiddled with the flowers. A rather long time went by and I began
to worry that our kind hostess might come in search of us. So I tiptoed up to
the door, which wasn’t quite shut.
The Chateau de Fontanes
Somehow I stifled a gasp on seeing them
locked in a very passionate embrace
on the windowseat. As I peeped, they
slid down until Joachim was lying almost on top of her. Oh, my stars! What
lightning progress from yesterday’s formal behaviour. But I had to stop them before
they forgot themselves utterly. Suddenly I had a brainwave. I nudged the door a
little further open and pushed Flocon into the room. He started barking and ran
to jump up at his master. I saw Joachim jerk his head up, so I pulled the door
shut again and fled.
This evening. At dinner I
was expecting an Announcement but they both behaved as usual. Such a
disappointment. And later, when we came up to go to bed, Nell didn’t say a word
about her relationship with Joachim. She’s being very sly but tomorrow I shall
tell her that I KNOW!
About the book: TheOutcasts
Joachim is the youngest of the three Montailhac brothers.
Always close to the land, he now manages his father’s estates and
livestock. Athletic and handsome, Joachim seems to have an
ideal existence. But he has a guilty secret and it suddenly reappears to
cause havoc. His life is further complicated by dealing with an accident at the
iron mine on the estate just as visitors arrive, bringing yet more problems.
Nell and Sophie Hartford are cousins of Joachim’s sister-in-law, Olivia [see Scandalous Lady]. In the Spring of 1818 they find themselves outcasts from their officer father’s home in Paris, and are forced to accept Olivia’s assurance that her mother-in-law, the Marquise de Fontanes, will make them welcome. After all, says Olivia, life in the family chateau in the Pyrenees will be a tonic for them. Two unhappy girls struggle to fit into the very different lifestyle of the large and slightly exotic Montailhac family. At the same time, danger threatens from a deranged criminal bent on vengeance against their hosts.
Read an excerpt from The Outcasts
Nell seemed to have grown even prettier while he was away. Joachim joined his family in the Assembly Rooms and gazed appreciatively at her while she exchanged greetings with several of her new friends. Her primrose yellow dress brought out the russet gleams in her hair. She looked elegant and appealing. Glancing towards his mother he found her watching him with a twinkle in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow and he stepped close.
‘Mother, you’ve wrought a miracle. When she first arrived, dressed all in grey, I called her ‘Miss Dismal’ to myself. Now, I wonder if even her own father would recognise her.’
The marquise squeezed his hand. ‘Poor girls. Cast out as they were, no wonder they were so dejected. It is a pleasure to see them thrive here.’ She smiled at the buzz of light hearted chatter coming from the group. ‘Now you can keep an eye on them. I want to talk to my friends for a while.’
‘Hey, Joachim,’ one of the young men greeted him with a horrified air, ‘Did you know what’s in store this evening? Old Deschamps is going to recite one of his endless poems.’
There was a general muttering and some groans.
Nell gave a choke of laughter and looked enquiringly at Joachim.
He crossed his eyes at her, which made her laugh aloud. He sobered suddenly, staring into her green-grey eyes. She really was lovely, especially with that wash of pink colouring her cheeks. He wanted to get her away from the others.
‘Do you play cards? Then we could escape to the card room.’
‘No, neither of us plays.’ She looked round for her sister, but Sophie had disappeared.
‘She doesn’t like poetry recitals, I take it?’ said Joachim, amused.
‘No, but this is rude. I must find her.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ They slipped off towards the other room. ‘Well,’ said Joachim, ‘it seems we don’t care for poetry recitals either.’
She gave him a glance full of mischief, and laughed again, making him want to get her right away from everyone. ‘Let’s hope we don’t find Sophie too quickly, then.’
However, ten minutes later, Sophie was nowhere to be seen and Nell was showing signs of alarm.
‘I’d better see if she’s returned to the recital,’ she decided. They stood in the doorway, peering in. The marquise saw them and beckoned. Nell went to her and sat down. The poet was in full flow, and Joachim shook his head at his mother, who shrugged. He turned back into the card room and came face to face with Sophie. She smiled naughtily.
‘I saw you looking for me,’ she told him. ‘Bertrand spotted me but he didn’t say anything.’
‘Bad girl.’
She tossed her head. ‘You had more fun looking for me with Nell than being bored to death in there. Let’s play cards.’ She spun away, towards a table at the back of the room, where Bertrand was shuffling a pack of cards. He rose to his feet and pulled out a chair. Sophie sat down, casting a look of triumph at Joachim.
‘Nell said you don’t play,’ he protested.
She bit her lip, looking shamefaced suddenly. ‘Not really,’ she mumbled, ‘but I can watch you.’
A few of the older players were casting disapproving looks their way, although there were other ladies in the room. It was simply that Sophie was so very young. His mother would give him an earful later but until the poet finished his recitation, they would stay here.
‘Vingt-et-un?’ suggested Bertrand, dealing. The luck went against him for several games. He slammed his cards down. ‘Let’s have a drink. It might turn the luck in my favour.’ He beckoned to a waiter and held up three fingers.
‘Have they still not finished next door?’ he asked. He smiled at Sophie. ‘There’ll be some folk-songs later. You’ll enjoy that.’
She agreed and glanced at the approaching waiter. She stared for a moment and gave a gasp of surprise.
Joachim heard her and looked up. It was that toothy lad, and something was wrong. He saw the boy’s face change as he looked at Sophie. He set the tray down awkwardly, keeping his head bent down.
Bertrand picked up a glass and offered it to Sophie.
‘Er, no, no, sir,’ spluttered the waiter, jerking his hand out, but Sophie had already raised the glass to her lips.
‘Don’t drink,’ said Joachim sharply. Too late.
She set the empty glass down and tossed her head. ‘I’m old enough to drink wine, you know.’ Then the blood drained from her face. She put a hand to her throat. ‘Aargh,’ she croaked.
Both young men were on their feet. Joachim seized Sophie by the arm. ‘Get Nell,’ he shot at Bertrand and pulling Sophie’s arm round his shoulders he half-walked, half-dragged her towards the back door, which was close by.
‘Open it, you,’ he panted.
The rabbit-toothed waiter darted to obey.
They barely made it outside before Sophie began to retch. Joachim pulled out his handkerchief and was turning to look for some water when something struck him on the back of his head. He saw a mighty flash of red and then nothing more.
About the Author
Beth Elliott
Beth Elliott loves speaking different languages and traveling to out of the way places. A Welsh mother and a Lancashire father mean she has a complicated mix of imagination and practical common sense. After a teaching career in several countries, she settled in the Thames Valley. Settled, that is, except when the traveling bug takes her. An excuse for this is that she has published a number of travel articles, and of course, she can use the settings for her novels.
Her Regency Tales are
stories of intrigue, adventure and romance, with a few real people in among the
cast of characters who find themselves caught up in events that rather upset
their normal lives. She hasn’t yet put Napoleon himself in a story, but he’s on
the waiting list. On the principle of ladies first, especially in the Regency
era, Lady Hester Stanhope played a small but vital role in ‘Scandalous Lady.’
From her own experience of life in Turkey, Beth likes to add a
touch of exotic to some of her stories. But adventure and romance can – and do
– occur just as easily in London, Bath or Brighton as in Constantinople.
For more information, visit her at the following links.
It will be no surprise to you that your grandson, Sir Perran Geoffrey, is once again featured in the street-corner scandal sheets such as that horrid Teatime Tattler. I realize that, living in Cornwall as you do, you like to believe that both situation and distance isolate you from scandal, but as your friend of some years, let me disabuse you of this notion.
It may give some in the drawing rooms of London comfort to think that, simply because the Countess Lieven and the other Patronesses have dubbed Sir Perran and his friends as the “Rogues of St. Just,” those gentlemen now possess the general approval of society.
Just this week I found myself in the position of having to explain to a social-climbing mama that this is not the case. You likely already know that dear Lady Mainwaring is sponsoring her Penrose nieces in their debuts this Season. I can see already that my work will be cut out for me in that quarter, since from your information, the young ladies are already acquainted with the Rogues.
This very evening, I am welcoming a number of select friends
and acquaintances for supper and dancing, and of course have sent Sir Perran
and his friends invitations. Part of the reason for my seeming inconsistency is
that suitable gentlemen are scarce upon the ground this Season. And part, of
course, is that he is your grandson, my dear friend, and I may have news of you
from him. While I myself have not witnessed any questionable behavior on his
part—he is always civil in his dealings with me—I am quite certain that he and
his friends alone could keep the scandalmongers scribbling all Season.
I beg you, dear Ghislaine, to write him a line or two and
urge him to curb his wild inclinations to drink, cards, and ladies such as the
Countess Eaton, with whom his name is linked. It will be difficult for him to
make a good match if he does not. No woman wishes to know for certain that she
is the consolation prize.
Your own,
Sally Pennington
About the Book
He is a penniless baronet. She is the wealthy great-granddaughter of a tradesman. Can these childhood friends find their way back to each other when scandal strikes them both?
Sir Perran Geoffrey needs a wealthy
bride to repair his family estate and to bring his sister out in Society. But
what woman with money and standing will accept him as a husband—practically
penniless, his title under a cloud thanks to his ne’er-do-well father, with an
estate far away in Cornwall?
Alwyn Penrose and her two sisters
are in London for their first Season. Imagine their surprise when they meet the
heirs of the neighboring estates—gentlemen whom they are barely allowed to
acknowledge. For to be seen with the Rogues of St. Just means the death of
one’s reputation.
Except that Alwyn is seen. More
than once. And the gossip spreads all the way to the sacred portals of
Almack’s, which close in her face and end her hopes for a good marriage
forever.
The ruin of her Season is Perran
Geoffrey’s fault. And when they are both forced to return to Cornwall, only one
thing is clear: One good ruination deserves another.
“Charlotte
Henry’s storytelling is nothing short of brilliant—Regency romance that will
sweep you away.” —Regina Scott
Excerpt from The Rogue to Ruin (Rogues of St. Just
#1) by Charlotte Henry
Hyde Park, London, Spring 1816
Sir Perran Geoffrey pulled up his
horse in such surprise that the sensitive animal danced in the path. “By Jove,”
he exclaimed, “isn’t that the Penrose sisters there, coming in at Lancaster
Gate?”
Captain Griffin Teague, formerly
commander of the sloop of war Artemis,
craned his neck, causing his own horse to sidestep. “Easy, boy.” He patted its
withers. “Where? On a fine day in London there are a thousand young ladies
parading about Hyde Park—how is one to tell one lot from another?”
“There.” Perran inclined his head
three degrees to the northwest. “The landau drawn by the pretty matched bays.
It is certainly the Penrose girls from home—bonnets or not, I recognize their
mother’s nose.”
“There you would be mistaken, old
man,” said the third member of their party. Jago Tremayne had probably never
mistaken a lady in his life. Or a bird, or the contents of a letter, or a hand
of cards. His memory was prodigious—as was his entirely undeserved reputation
as a flirt. “Mrs. Penrose died a handful of years ago. That, I suspect, is her
sister, Lady Mainwaring.”
“Help us.” Griffin did not quite
implore the skies for mercy, but he came close. “Have they come up to London
for the Season?”
There was only one answer. Of
course they had. “You know perfectly well we cannot renew the acquaintance.”
Perran spurred his horse down another path toward the Long Water. “Come!”
“Hold up—we cannot escape it now.”
Griffin raised a hand to stop him. “We have been spotted.”
“So? Better to cut a young lady
than ruin her.”
About the Author
Charlotte Henry is the author of 24 novels published by
Harlequin, Warner, and Hachette, and a dozen more published by Moonshell Books,
Inc., her own independent press. As Charlotte, she writes the Rogues of St.
Just series of classic Regency romances. As Shelley Adina, she writes steampunk
adventure, and as Adina Senft, writes Amish women’s fiction. She holds an MFA
in Writing Popular Fiction, and is currently at work on a PhD in Creative
Writing at Lancaster University in the UK. She won the Romance Writers of
America RITA Award® for Best Inspirational Novel in 2005, and was a finalist in
2006. When she’s not writing, you can find Charlotte sewing historical dresses,
traveling for research, reading, or enjoying the garden with her flock of rescued
chickens.
