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Tag: Kelly Boggs

The Outrageous Literary Scandal of the Season

In which an enigmatic writer, a reluctant duke, and a lady of iron resolve overturn all expectations.

 Dear Reader:

Who, we ask, is the mysterious new author styling himself Remington J. Force, who has burst upon the literary scene from absolutely nowhere and is now enjoying the favor of the Prince Regent?

Force is a man with no title, no history, no lineage—yet he bears an uncanny resemblance to the Duke of R., a gentleman with a hitherto spotless reputation, who is now sponsoring the career of this aspiring author. Surely there is some blood tie there, even if not acknowledged.

The intrigue does not stop with Force’s own mysterious origin. Indeed, speculation is rife about the hero of his tale, A Beau Out of Time. The overabundantly named Augustus Remiel Josias Evander Montague is portrayed as a man about town, arbiter of fashion, and bon vivant. Some even call him a rake.

His name is clearly borrowed from both His Royal Highness and Remington Josiah Force. What, then, of his character? Is it a similar amalgamation—or barefaced flattery of the Prince to sell books? Whichever it is, it is succeeding, for Force has now been styled Publisher to the Crown.

But, my dear Reader, that is not all.

While I have not read the shocking novel myself, it has been hinted that this admirable gentleman, this pink of the ton, this Beau Montague, meets a fate worse than death. In short, after traveling two centuries into the future, he is tamed by a woman! An unnatural, domineering, matchmaking woman.

I can scarcely believe such a thing could be permitted to sully the page, but alas—Force is both author and publisher of his own scandalous tale. Yet one might have expected the Duke of R., who lent his support to the enterprise, to have advocated for decency.

It has also been reported by our correspondent in Hertfordshire that Force himself was recently betrothed to a woman unknown to society, which raises a host of additional questions about what manner of female he would choose to be his bride. Or whether he was the one to do the choosing at all.

There are even rumors that Force’s unknown lady was herself presented in a most unflattering light in a well‑known novel written by some anonymous female. We have not been able to confirm this last speculation, however.

Stop Press: It has been brought to our attention that the lady in question has stolen her betrothed’s characters—Mr. Montague and Miss Capell—and written her own story, undoing all of Mr. Force’s hard work. I do not believe we need speculate any longer on just what type of female she is.

A Rose in Winter

Return to Rosachron Manor for another tale of love that spans centuries.

When historical researcher Remington J. Force travels to Hertfordshire to investigate the disappearance of author Hannah Ridley, he’s swept through the same hidden portal into 1814. There he meets gentle, earnest Mary Winterose, and together they begin unraveling the disappearance of a missing heir. As secrets come to light, a tender romance blooms—one that may prove strong enough to defy time itself.

In 1985, folk singer Garnet Wildwood becomes captivated by the verses of the enigmatic poet P. K. Neville. Her search for his true identity draws her deeper into the tangled history of Rosachron Manor and the echoes of a love she can’t explain.

Meanwhile, Lord Peregrine Neville longs only to write his poems and wander the Peak District, free from the crushing expectations of a dukedom. How far will he go to claim a life of his own choosing—and what will it cost him?

Follow two pairs of lovers across intertwined timelines as they seek the truth behind Rosachron Manor’s mysteries and discover whether love can truly transcend the boundaries of time.

A Rose in Winter is the second enchanting installment in the Roses of Longbourn series.

Purchase A Rose in Winter and A Rake Redeemed, or the Gretna Rose on Amazon or read in Kindle Unlimited

https://a.co/d/05P7JBci

https://a.co/d/00hTdZ0K

The Roses of Longbourn series:

A Rose Out of Time – Book 1

A Rose in Winter – Book 2

Mrs. Christie and the Misplaced Rose (A Short Story)

A Golden-Hearted Rose (A Short Story)

A Rake Redeemed, or The Gretna Rose (A Novella)

Coming Soon:

A Rose at Dawn – Book 3

A Rose After Rain – Book 4

About the Author

Kelly Boggs is a writer who happily wanders between centuries on the page. She draws inspiration from Austen, quiet English estates, and the small wonders of everyday life—including the antics of her two dachshunds, who consider themselves indispensable to her creative routine. She lives in Ohio with her family and far too many books.

Links:

Website: kellyboggsauthor.com

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/kellyboggs

Goodreads: Kelly Boggs (Author of A Rose Out of Time) | Goodreads

Excerpt from A Rose in Winter

An excerpt from the book within the book, which is only a small part of the tale:

From A Beau Out of Time, by Remington J. Force

The moment they were pronounced husband and wife, Valentina seized Augustus by the wrist with the brisk efficiency of a general reclaiming a stray recruit.

“Smile,” she ordered under her breath as she propelled him toward the waiting crowd. “Not the anxious one. The one that suggests reliability and mild romantic promise.”

“I have a smile like that?”

“You will in approximately three seconds.”

She paused only long enough to adjust his cravat—an adjustment that felt suspiciously like throttling—then resumed towing him toward the waiting portrait taker. Augustus had never entirely agreed to be the face of her matchmaking enterprise, Swooning for Swains, but he had also not disagreed quickly enough, which Valentina had interpreted as enthusiastic consent.

Before he could protest, she arranged his arm around her waist, angled him toward the onlookers, and beamed with triumphant satisfaction.

“Perfect,” she declared. “You look trustworthy, devoted, and only slightly bewildered. And devastatingly handsome, of course. Exactly what my clients want in a husband.”

“Your clients?”

“Our clients,” she corrected, patting his hand as though he were a promising but occasionally wayward puppy. “You are the living proof that my methods work. Do try not to look as though you were captured.”

“I was,” he murmured.

“Yes, but happily so.”

And with that, the new Mrs. Augustus Remiel Josias Evander Montague —matchmaker, strategist, and newly minted commander of one very obliging husband—swept him forward to greet their guests, already planning the next ten years of his public image.

Augustus followed, smiling the smile she had assigned him, and thinking that surrender had never felt so oddly delightful.

Excerpt from A Rake Redeemed, or The Gretna Rose

And because there are at least two sides to every tale, we present the alternative story, as told by Remington’s “dreadful” fiancée, Mary:

In truth, Mary had been more than a little shocked when Remington had written his hero as a rake, but there was no denying it had helped to win the Prince Regent’s endorsement. And naturally, in the tradition of all heroic rakes, he must be reformed by the love of a good woman. Or even a morally dubious one.

Miss Valentina Capell was a woman who knew her own mind. And a most superior mind it was. Unlike many of the fair sex, she did not let such small matters as humility or ladylike decorum stand in her way. She looked about, decided what she wanted, and then devised a capable and intelligent plan to obtain it. Valentina could see no reason why the procurement of a husband should proceed any differently.

When Valentina met Mr. Augustus Remiel Josias Evander Montague, she took one long, exceedingly thorough look at his manly physique, his handsome face, and his cravat—which was a work of art—and made two important decisions. She would have him for her own, and she would convince him that two names were quite enough.

Valentina had no idea what sort of man Augustus was on the inside, but no matter. His outside was most pleasing, and she had no doubt she could work with whatever talents he possessed to fashion him into an ideal husband.

Mr. Montague of the five‑named fame was equally thorough in his visual assessment of the lovely Valentina, letting his eyes linger on her more obvious charms in a way that was scarcely gentlemanly. For Augustus was a rake—a connoisseur of womanly beauty who never restrained himself with any notions of honour or propriety. Or rather, he had his own code of honour, which was amazingly flexible and generally allowed him to do anything he pleased.

Valentina, though properly brought up and unfailingly chaste in her own conduct, was not such an innocent as to be deceived for one moment about what Augustus was thinking when he looked at her. Very well—let the hook be firmly planted before she reeled him in like a slightly befuddled fish. She could see already that his intellect was no match for her own, and that was all to the good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Time Itself Misbehaves

Dear Mr. Clemens,

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a country gentleman with a tidy property, upon the death of his spouse, ought to become the rightful property of some or other deserving widow or spinster of the neighborhood.

In defiance of this natural order, Mr. Winterose of Rosachron Manor is rumored to be on the verge of succumbing to the wiles of some scheming hussy. A mere nobody—who appeared, by all accounts, from thin air—to carry off such a matrimonial prize? It is unnatural, and it ought to be unlawful.

At Rosachron Manor, however, it is well known that even Time itself does not behave as it ought. Stories abound of clocks running backward, visitors arriving before they have departed from home, and strange persons slipping through the centuries as though on a jaunt to the seaside.

If Time will not follow the dictates of propriety, perhaps it is small wonder that the handsome master of the Manor should also be led astray.

But what is to be done about it, we ask?

The neighborhood of Rosebury Village and Rosachron Manor is home to a most distinguished social set, comprising no fewer than four‑and‑twenty families who dine together regularly. Rosebury also boasts an extraordinary number of females of superior accomplishments, any one of whom would make a far more suitable wife for Mr. Winterose than an unknown adventuress.

We therefore present, for your consideration, several ladies who ought not—must not—be overlooked:

  • Item: A handsome widow, whose netting is said to rival the finest imported lace.
  • Item: A spinster of excellent character, whose singing voice carries half a mile, and whose years are mature, but not so mature that the entail might not yet be overthrown.
  • Item: A young lady, perhaps too young, but undeniably the baker of the best apple pies in the district.
  • Item: A formidable matron, formerly a governess, well able to rein in any rebellious daughters.
  • Item: A literary young woman of excessive accomplishment, having read one hundred novels, and thus perfectly suited to converse with a gentleman said to spend his whole life in his library.

Mr. Clemens, we are certain that a man of your excellent understanding and persuasive powers is precisely what is needed. May we not tempt you with apple pie and superior society to pay a visit to Rosebury, and to present our reasoning and logical deductions to the recalcitrant Mr. Winterose before it is too late?

We remain, most sincerely yours,

The Ladies of Rosebury Society

A Rose Out of Time

Modern author Hannah Ridley has spent years studying Pride and Prejudice, but nothing prepares her for the moment Rosachron Manor carries her back to 1814. Instead of dusty archives, she finds herself living among the Winterose family—a household whose joys, sorrows, and eccentricities feel uncannily familiar to the Bennets she has researched for so long.

At the heart of the family stands Elias Winterose, a widowed father whose quiet humor, weary tenderness, and fiercely guarded heart draw Hannah in from the moment they meet. As she slips deeper into the rhythms of Regency life, she discovers that the past is far more fragile—and far more precious—than she ever imagined.

A Rose Out of Time is a gentle, heart‑tugging romance about love across centuries and the unexpected places where we find home.

Purchase A Rose Out of Time on Amazon or read in Kindle Unlimited:

https://a.co/d/0dPOYe4a

 

The Roses of Longbourn series:

A Rose Out of Time – Book 1

A Rose in Winter – Book 2

Mrs. Christie and the Misplaced Rose (a Short Story)

A Rake Redeemed, or The Gretna Rose (A Novella)

Coming Soon:

A Rose at Dawn – Book 3

A Rose After Rain – Book 4

About the Author

Kelly Boggs is a writer who happily wanders between centuries on the page. She draws inspiration from Austen, quiet English estates, and the small wonders of everyday life—including the antics of her two dachshunds, who consider themselves indispensable to her creative routine. She lives in Ohio with her family and far too many books.

Links:

Website: kellyboggsauthor.com

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/kellyboggs

Goodreads:  Kelly Boggs (Author of A Rose Out of Time) | Goodreads

Excerpt from A Rose Out of Time

Hannah, now wholly at ease in Elias’ presence, did not hesitate when she discovered a finely bound copy of Pride and Prejudice tucked behind a stack of more ancient tomes. She drew it out with a smile and held it aloft.

“Tell me, Elias—have you read this?”

He looked up, and his expression shifted into one of theatrical dismay. “Hah! Is there a soul in England who has not read that wretched book and laughed at the follies of the Bennets? I cannot say with certainty who that lady novelist is—though I have my suspicions—but should I ever encounter her again, I fear I may struggle to behave as a gentleman.”

Hannah laughed, wholly delighted. “Then I shall be sure to keep you well away from any literary salons.”

Elias regarded her hopeful expression and sighed, not without humour. “I know precisely what you are longing to ask. Were we the Bennets? How much of the tale is true?”

“Well—yes,” Hannah admitted, her voice soft but steady. “I have wondered far longer than you can possibly imagine.” She knew she ought to offer him an escape, to assure him there was no need to speak of it. But the words would not come. She wanted to know- and she wanted him to tell her.

His countenance remained unguarded, almost inviting. “You are acquainted, I daresay, with the peculiar talents of a caricature portraitist? He espies some unfortunate gentleman whose nose is but a trifle more prominent than his neighbors’ and proceeds to sketch a likeness so consumed by that singular feature, one forgets the man had eyes or a mouth at all.”

Hannah inclined her head, careful not to interrupt the flow of his thoughts.

“That lady novelist,” he continued, “is much the same — only her medium is ink. I read Sense and Sensibility, her debut, and laughed heartily at the charming absurdities she so deftly captured. But it is quite another matter when her pen alights upon one’s own relations. The amusement, I assure you, wears thin.

“Yes, we were the Bennets—though rendered in caricature. My daughter Jane is indeed a sweet and virtuous girl, but surely no mortal creature could possess the unblemished saintliness attributed to her namesake. Lizzy is the light of my life, and sharp of mind, yet even she might struggle to match the sparkling repartee bestowed upon her in fiction. As for my dear Mary—she is bookish and plain, and does tend to detect sermons where none were intended, but given the company she keeps, who could fault her? In truth, she is far more agreeable than her literary counterpart. Kitty, poor girl, is a follower by nature, but I hold out hope that she possesses a mind of her own and may yet be persuaded to use it—provided she falls under the influence of wiser heads.”

He paused, and Hannah, leaning forward with unconcealed interest, fervently hoped he had not yet finished.

“The two Lydias, however—my late wife and my youngest daughter—were, I regret to say, rendered with alarming accuracy. Foolish and indiscreet to a degree that defies polite description. And my cousin, heir to the fictional Longbourn—the so-called Mr. Collins—well, she captured him with such precision that I can only assume she had met him in person.”

Hannah listened, spellbound, wondering what judgment he might pass upon himself as Mr. Bennet.

“As for myself,” he said, with a sigh that carried both amusement and regret, “I must own that I am, on occasion, precisely as sarcastic, indolent, and ineffectual as depicted. But that is not the whole of me. I care for my daughters—every one of them—with a depth I seldom know how to express, save through teasing and irony, which is not understood by all. And my late wife—yes, I loved her, in my own fashion. I simply did not know how to live with her, day by day. She could not help the way she was made, and she bore her own burdens, not least the daily trial of my company—and the entail, of course, which hung over us all like a particularly ill-bred spectre.”

“Ah—the entail,” Hannah said at last, her voice low but steady. “So, it is real, then? And the events in the story—did she invent them entirely, or were they drawn from life?”

He inclined his head, a shadow of amusement passing over his features. “Names were altered, certainly. Characters and sentiments were, I daresay, embellished for dramatic effect. But the principal events were reported with surprising fidelity. Jane and Lizzy are indeed happily settled, each with a respectable husband. Poor Lydia remains bound to an incorrigible scoundrel—though I cannot imagine he will enjoy a long life, given his habits. There may yet be hope for her, if she can be persuaded to part ways with folly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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