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Poison and Plots at Hartwell Hall

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?

Preorder at various vendors for January 28 release.

https://books2read.com/snowedbywallflower

Be Wary of What You Read in the Paper

The Teatime Tattler September 1813

Letters to The Teatime Tattler October 10, 1813

To the editor,

I write to alert you to a misleading advert that has appeared in this paper frequently this autumn, to wit the one entitled “Governess Wanted.” I am one of the foolish women who responded. I therefore can knowledgeably warn any gently-bred lady who considers the position to run the other way.

While the county in question may appear pleasant in the brief summer, its bleak landscape grows drearier with every mile north and every month,closer to a dark, cold winter. The “gracious manor” saw better days under one of the earlier Georges perhaps. Grim and neglected, it is woefully understaffed forcing a governess to activities not expected of one in her position. The mentioned accommodations might be considered comfortable but were hardly attractive. Shabby describes much of the manor.

Description of his lordship’s wards as “bright” fails to mention that they lack manners. The little demons are as civilized as savages. As to the viscount himself, a more grim and taciturn oaf I have yet to meet. That is, he is taciturn until his intemperate anger gets out of control. I would shudder to report the words he said when we parted ways.

Tilly Wilkins, unemployed governess

PS Return fare was provided as promised

About the Story

Duncan Laidlaw, newly and expectantly raised to Viscount Mildrum, is in trouble. He’s been saddled with a neglected estate, an equally neglected and shabby household, and three wild and undisciplined children, his cousin’s step-children. They may not be his blood, but they are his to care for.

After several failed attempts he has concluded that what he needs first isn’t a governess, it is a wife, someone who can help him bring order to his home. He turns to his friend, vicar Micah Turner, to send one.

What an outrageous request! Yet, Micah happens to know just the woman. She’d be perfect for Duncan, if he can convince her. The only way to find out is to plunge her into the middle of the chaos.

“Duncan’s Twelfth Night Miracle” by Caroline Warfield appears in the next Bluestocking Belles’ holiday collection, a bundle of sweet and saucy romances for your holiday leisure, Boxing Day and beyond. Each is a short tale perfect for an evening’s quiet read over hot cocoa and candlelight. Watch for it later this month.

 

A new woman seeks to marry from an advert! She shall not have him!

I write to you today, dear Tattler, to tell of an outrage in my village. What do you say to a lady who sails all the way from London to the south shore of Wales, all to get a husband?

And to take one who has advertised to get you to come hither?

Is that not a ridiculous venture?

Sight unseen to agree to travel hundreds of miles to a sordid little town and devilihs house like the tumbledown Rambles of the barons of Rhouse and Gary? This is a sprawling, ugly monstrosity built by Normans, kept by men who made their living stealing what bounty floated up from the shores.

A wicked house it is too. Filled with wicked men who take women for their money and their land. Hollow men who fill themselves up with the dowries of naive girls and who ravaged them…and any others they wish.

The barons of this house and this lineage are thieves and charlatans. What woman would want such a man as husband? 

I didn’t. Yet I had to. My father demanded it of me and where else was I to go, sicne my fiance’s father had already defiled me, eh?

Now this girl comes. Silly thing. She will not have this new baron to wed.  I will see to it.

Warn your female readers not to accept a man’s hand if they know him not. It is not wise. It is not safe.

I warn you. Do not answer an advert to become a wife of a Welsh baron. He had only danger and heartache in store for you.

Sincerely,

~ Desperate Lady

*****

When a young widow wishes to marry again, will the man she grows to love ask more than she can give?

Mrs. Tynley Wallingford yearns for a quiet, comforting marriage to a man whom she can respect. She’ll go to any lengths to find the best candidate who can respect her, in turn. Even correspond with one fellow at length before she agrees that Kendryck Hollens is the man whose words awaken her desire for a husband she might grow to love.

Tynley takes a risk and sails to Wales with the best intentions. She finds in Kendryck a man with a noble ambition—and a family filled with age-old conflict and despair.

Kendryck Hollens returns home to Wales after fifteen years abroad, a stranger to his cantankerous family. He assumes his rightful title as baron of the legendary house of Strade and attempts to change the dastardly reputation of his ancestors, and put his siblings on the right path to a purposeful life.

Thrilled that Tynley has come to his home, he notices that her presence creates challenges among those in his family. But he feels assured she can help him obtain what he wants most in this world.

When a tragedy threatens to ruin his ambition and his family, he fears the price of endurance will ruin Tynley’s personal objective too—and drive her from him.

How much can one ask of one whom they love? Are any prices too high?

*****

Excerpt YOU MADE ME LOVE YOU, All rights reserved. Copyright 2023. Cerise DeLand.

Kendryck put his two hands to her cheeks. “I told myself I would not take you like a villain.”

“Hmmm,” Tynely said as she considered that with a tip of her head this way and that. Then she pulled at the end of his beautifully tied cravat and said, “You aren’t.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Not against the stables, not in a carriage. We must be in a bed.”

“I do agree.” She sank to lick the skin of his corded neck. “But one must have a few bites of bliss before the main course.” She undid the button of his soft linen shirt and kissed the hollow of his throat. “Otherwise, one’s appetite is not prepared.”

He laughed, he groaned, then he pressed her flush to his chest. “You should have told me you were a tease.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why? Isn’t this more fun?”

He hooted. His grip on her was mighty and seductive. “What should I know, my darling?”

“About…?”

“Making love to you.”

She bent to his mouth and licked his bottom lip. “That I will be as needy as you.”

“Thank God.”

“That I will want all of you as mine.”

“I rejoice at it. And? Anything else?”

“That I am yours completely and you may have me at your will,” she whispered and took one of his fingers and nipped the end, “as long as I may have you at mine.”

BUY LINK:     https://books2read.com/u/4jBX90

Cerise DeLand is the USA TODAY Bestselling Author who believes love brings rich rewards from a life lived with honesty, valor—and a functioning funnybone. 

Known for her poetic elegance and accuracy of detail, she’s won awards for many of the more than 70 novels she’s written.

Her work has been nearly life-long! First published in 1991 by Kensington, then Pocket Books, St. Martin’s Press and independent presses, she is now published by DRAGONBLADE PUBLISHING. Plus her books have been monthly selections of the Doubleday Book Club and the Mystery Guild. 

To research, she’s dived into the oldest texts and dustiest library shelves. She travels abroad taking good walking shoes, big notebooks, trusty pens and a camera! She visits chateaux and country homes she loves to people with her own imaginary characters. 

And at home every day? She cooks. (Every night.) Never dusts. (That can be a problem.) She goes swimming or pumps iron once a week and tries (desperately) to grow vegetables in her arid backyard in south Texas!

Website: 

https://www.cerisedeland.com

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/Cerise-DeLand/e/B0089DS2N2/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cerise.deland/

Blog:  https://cerisedeland.blogspot.com/

Reabridge seethes with scandal and romance

Well, Sam, the town of Reabridge has closed ranks against me since my last missive. Not just me, either, but any curious stranger. They have guessed that someone is sending news of their goings on to you for publication, and they are not best pleased.

Not that I’ve allowed that to stop me, but gone are days I can just walk into a tavern or one of the two inns, strike up a conversation over a beer, and walk away with several stories.

However, a little kindness to a bar maid at the tavern, and I have my handful of leads, for no more price than walking the poor lass home and showing an interest in her life. The kiss was a bonus for me and the handful of coins for her. She has promised to keep her ears open for me.

Here, in no particular order, is what I’ve discovered. There’s another bar maid heading for a fall, apparently. This one is a daughter of the family who owns one of the town’s two inns. The story goes that she had a brief summer fling years ago with a duke’s son. Did he leave her still innocent? Opinions vary. The thing is, he’s back, and it can’t end any better this time, surely.

Not much of interest in the town doctor being a lush. Good doctor, apparently, but can’t stay off the sauce. He was courting the cousin of the local earl before he went off to Waterloo, but she won’t have him now, I imagine.

The earl is courting too—a lady who is French by birth, but a respectable widow of an English gentleman. He was not meant to earl, but his two older brothers died. I’ll dig a bit more, but the only thing we might make something of is the lady’s interest in an abandoned orphan that is currently living with the vicar. She’s not the only lady who wants the little sprog, but we’ll see whether the earl is willing to take on a wife and a child. One who is probably common and possibly base born.

Two other French ladies are scooping up bachelors from the town. One is the son of that same vicar and the French girl is looking after the abandoned orphan. Is it actually hers after all? No one is quite sure, but apparently the aunt has her hooks into the vicar!  

The other lady is of respectable birth and also arrived with an aunt in tow looking, so my bar girl tells me, for a husband. I can’t see an angle for us in that one.

The other possibility involves Lady L. Yes, I thought you’d sit up at that. She has been seen around town escorted by the son of the owners of the other inn! Not in her class at all, though, to be fair, the family has come up in the world in recent centuries, and hire people to run the inn. Not high enough to aspire to an earl’s daughter, though.

Then we’ve got a nobody who is being pursued by a Scottish heiress. Yes. You read that right. He likes her, right enough, but can see as well as you and I can that he’s not the right man for her.

I have nothing to say about the farmer who found a sick woman in his milking shed and now looks at her like the moon rises in her eyes. For a bit, I thought she might be connected to the orphan, but that was a false lead.

Nor do I suppose you will be interested in the farrier and her armless suitor. I thought we could do something with that when I found out he’s been an officer. But apparently it was a battlefield commission, and our readers don’t care when the lower sorts find love.

Anyway, Sam, I’ll find you at least one story. Please send me a bank draft for ten pound. My bar girl is going to cost, and also, I need to stay on for at least another week.

Yours in the brotherhood of journalism.

Frank.

***

Read the inside gossip that Frank will never know. Preorder your copy of Under the Harvest Moon today.

As the village of Reabridge in Cheshire prepares for the first Harvest Festival following Waterloo, families are overjoyed to welcome back their loved ones from the war.

But excitement quickly turns to mystery when mere weeks before the festival, an orphaned child turns up in the town—a toddler born near Toulouse to an English mother who left clues that tie her to Reabridge.

With two prominent families feuding for generations and the central event of the Harvest Moon festival looming, tensions rise, and secrets begin to surface.

Nine award winning and bestselling authors have combined their talents to create this engaging and enchanting collection of interrelated tales. Under the Harvest Moon promises an unforgettable read for fans of Regency romance.

Preorder now: https://books2read.com/UnderHarvestMoon

Or find out more about the individual stories.

 

She is mine and I will take her back! Help me!

I write to you today, Tattler, in search of the woman I need to take back to my home. She has escaped me. Having written to that other nefarious newspaper that publishes adverts for those who wish to find spouses, she has gone to London and become the lover of a fellow who is not worthy of her.  

I appeal to you to help me find her. He has taken her away, supposedly to marry her.

But I will not care. Married or not. Ruined by him or not, I will have her back. She is mine. Has always been mine. I care not that she resembles my dead wife. She is lovelier than that one and my wife knew it. Knew I craved this one.

If you hear from her, Tattler, you must write to me. I track her now. Papers in London and Brighton papers say the couple has gone to Brighton. 

I will take her from him when they least expect me. I will show her that she is meant for me alone. No matter what she thinks.

MATRIMONY! #1. IF I LOVED YOU

Love does not advertise. Love counts no wrongs.

But when a young woman needs to escape, she’ll take an ad to find a man she can adore.

Verity Carr wants a new life in a new town far from her old home—and the vile threat to her body and soul. She comes from a fine family, has a good education and a bold ambition to become a portrait artist. She’s ready to live her life with a man who will value her. A husband she can can respect—and in time, hopefully love. Yet valiant though she is, she questions if she can escape her past and one who will not let her go.

Can a gentleman to whom great wrong was done, build a new life with a true wife and leave the past behind?

Miles St.John Armstrong never should have wed his first wife. He vows to select a new one with logic and careful investigation—via advertisement. The young lady he selects is Verity Carr who is no ordinary woman. She has charm, wit and a beauty that sears his soul. No wonder theirs is a relationship built quickly on admiration and trust. No wonder their marriage becomes one built of mutual mad passion. 

But devoted as they are, their past comes to call.

And it asks of them the ultimate question: Can their love withstand the tempest and survive the terror?

AUTHOR Cerise DeLand invites you to read her newest in a dramatically different romantic suspense inspired by the adverts to a spouse in Regency period!

Excerpt, IF I LOVED YOU. Copyright, 2023, Cerise DeLand.

Miles  had not known her for more than a few hours, but he’d seen her shock over such a sizable bequest. Certainly he could revel in the good fortune of anyone. But if she had suspicions about who had given her such a large inheritance and did not wish to discuss it with him, he could understand that, too. But her new-found gain, enough to support her at current standards in meager means for her lifetime, could lead her to break their agreement to marry. The possibility of losing her created an ache in his heart. A place he’d never expected to feel anything at all ever again. 

As they entered the Grosvenor Gate and passed the park wall, she strode more slowly and breathed more deeply. They took a turn on the path south and one glance at her told him she was more at ease.

“I hate to spoil your enjoyment,” he said, “but I think we should not walk here much longer. The shadows grow deeper.”

“You are right, of course.” She had her hands in her coat pockets as she stopped and spun toward him. “You have been very good to me today.”

He raised a hand, his smile wry. “No more gratitude, please. I am quite thanked.”

She stopped, faced him and tipped her head, suddenly the coquette, though to him, she did not seem to have planned the spontaneity of such an attitude. She was without guile—and he valued that unexpected characteristic more than he could ever have imagined.

“You are a darling man,” she said with an honesty that emphasized her simplicity and lack of artifice.

“You are kind to think so.” He remembered a few instances when the moniker he deserved was the opposite. Savage. Insane. Gullible. All came to mind in a rush of bile. 

She put her hands to his and held tightly. “Do you still want to marry a woman you barely know?”

“I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

She shook her head as if the whole idea were impossible. “Why? Why?”

“I want a wife. A friend. I am lonely. You seem a gentle soul. I think we would do well together.”

“I cannot imagine that you have not met a thousand young ladies you know better than me who would not make you a friend and wife because they do know you better.”

But they knew his past, too. His wife. “I would never find happiness with any I’ve met. They see me as the mill owner, a cit with a new title, an upstart viscount, too rich for his title. They also see me as a widower.” Not knowing I am more aggrieved than grieving. 

She stood immobile, only her large eyes searching his for what he would not reveal. “Did you love her?”

“When I married her, yes.”

“And do you miss her?”

“No.”

She nodded. “I see. Then your loneliness comes not from her lack.”

“No. It does not.”

She gulped. “Do you want children?”

He blinked and peered up at the deep blue clouds scudding across a darker moonlit sky. “I have not wished for that in many years. But now,” he said as he met her frank gaze, “I believe I would.”

She smiled as if he’d just given her the keys to the kingdom. “I would, too.”

He stepped closer to her, dropped her hands and cupped her shoulders. Her luscious curves fit into the planes of his suddenly very needy self. “Might we proceed to getting them?”

She arched her neck and let her eyes dance into his. “First we must be wed.”

“Will day after tomorrow do?”

“Quite well,” she said on a delighted laugh. “And then we must become better friends.”

He sent his fingers up into the heavy coil of hair at her nape. Her skin was as soft as charmeuse and her hair smelled of lavender. She’d been in his arms often today and her need had been great. Now, he would test to see if she might come for a new and startling reason. Might she come because she could want him? Want him as a man? As her lover?

She pulled back a little, a question on her plump lips. “Friends kiss.”

“They do,” he said with a smile that grew from a friend’s to a ravenous man’s. “Shall we?”

She studied his mouth and swallowed hard. “Oh, yes. From the moment I heard your voice on the Great North Road, I have wanted to know how you taste.”

“Well, then,” he said as he loomed over her lips, “we must not delay.”

 She circled her arms around his shoulders and pushed up on her toes. “Please don’t.”

The temptation to take her with all the ardor he bore her raged through him. He could not devour her like a satyr. He was a man who had foresworn passion and love. A man of reason and temperance. But then…

She put her lips to his, a brush of warm temptation. The sensation of her desire met the one of his quest as if two stars collided in the dark of night. Blinded by it, he groaned and caught her up. Her mouth was lush, and as his tongue invaded, he knew how hot her body was. How sweet. He swept the inside of her mouth and felt her complete surrender. This was what he’d craved. A woman who might love him.

He pulled away, breathless, cupping her cheek. “Darling, we must stop.”

In the shadows of the soft spring evening, she tipped her head and smiled at him. “You’ll kiss me again?”

“As often as you wish.”

There again was that sweet woman who drew him to her with the artless look of enchantment. “Must I tell you each time?”

“No,” he said on a laugh and hugged her close, then set her from him. “Only look at me like that, my darling, and I am yours.”

“As I am forever yours,” she said and put her arm in his to turn and walk home. 

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