Tag: Romance Page 3 of 16

It has come to this author’s attention that a plot of seduction is afoot. While gentlemen of the ton are known for their penchant for seducing the fairer sex, one particular set is rumoured to have taken seduction to new heights.

The rakish and, frankly, piratically handsome Duke of P—, has been overheard taking bets in the billiards room of a certain gentlemen’s club on St James’s. While this particular club is known for its bet book containing all manner of nonsensical wagers, the latest bets to enter the ledger are rumoured to have taken a more salacious turn—to seduce a number of women, to order.

Who might the unsuspecting victims be? This author suspects them to be the inmates of S— House, an establishment owned and occupied solely by women. The dashing Colonel F—, recently returned from the militia, and one of His Grace’s closest friends, has been seen entering S— house, allegedly for the purpose of taking pianoforte lessons. If a man indulging in music lessons isn’t enough to arouse suspicion, let me tell you, dear reader, that S—House is the ancestral home of none other than the Duke of P—, which his grandfather lost as a result of gaming debts, and which His Grace has often declared that he’s determined to retrieve by any means necessary.

Perhaps those means include seduction. A certain Colonel F— has been seen in Hyde Park, with Mrs. B–, the resident pianoforte tutor of S—House. And, only yesterday, this author spotted Lord A—, another member of his Grace’s set, walking out with Miss R–, the renowned purveyor of lapdogs to the ladies, and resident of S— House.

But, dear reader, a man who underestimates his quarry is a fool. The women of S— House have not secured their independence through luck alone. His Grace may yet learn that while the world in which we live is undoubtedly a man’s world—an intelligent and capable woman will always triumph over a complacent man.

But, whatever fate awaits His Grace and his friends, this particular battle of the sexes promises to both amuse, and intrigue, this author for many months to come.

Seducing Sophia

The Scholars of Seduction, a band of rakes led by the Duke of Peterton, have pledged to seduce the women living at Summerton Hall, the Duke’s ancestral home—which his ancestors gambled away—in order to win it back. But a rake should never underestimate his quarry. With hearts and homes at stake, who will triumph in the Battle of the Sexes?

Colonel Adrian FitzRoy is tasked with seducing Summerton Hall’s resident music teacher, the widowed Mrs. Black. Expecting an elderly matriarch, he finds, instead, a delectable woman with an adorable young son. Soon, he questions his motives in seducing Sophia for a bet—a woman he’s in danger of falling in love with.

Sophia Black found sanctuary for herself and her young son at Summerton Hall, where she teaches the pianoforte. When she discovers that her newest pupil is an army officer, she initially turns him away, but his natural talent for music, and kindness toward her son, win her over.

Determined to protect her heart, Sophia struggles to conquer her attraction to the man who ignites previously-unknown passions with his skilful hands and scorching kisses. But when she learns of Adrian’s past, she realizes that the secret she’s harboring could destroy their friendship, and shatter her heart forever.

Extract from “Seducing Sophia”

A deep cough made her jump, and she turned around.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Not just leaning. He dominated it with his body. Broad shoulders filled out a smart, dark blue jacket, tailored to perfection. One hand was inside his pocket, the other hanging casually by his side. Long, lean fingers flexed, curled, and uncurled. Her gaze wandered over his body—the jacket, the highly polished black boots—then it settled on a pair of cream-colored breeches that fit his muscular thighs like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

His body was so large…

So muscular…

So male.

He shifted his weight onto one leg and crossed his ankles, almost as if his position were intended to draw her gaze toward his very maleness. Her cheeks warmed with shame, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

A deep voice spoke. “I think you’ll find my face is up here.”

Sophia looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

Clear blue eyes regarded her with appreciation. They radiated a sharp intelligence and something else—desire, and wickedness. Something she had not seen since…

She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. She curled her hands into fists only to find her palms slick.

His eyes darkened and a slight smile played on his lips while he held her gaze, as if he challenged her to look away.

But she couldn’t.

His looks conveyed a savage virility. A thick head of hair as dark as a raven’s wing surrounded a strong, angular face with dark brows, a strong, straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth.

He was, without doubt, the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Author Biography

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Emily Royal is a mathematics geek who grew up in Sussex, England and has always had a passion for romance and bad boy heroes in need of redemption. She now lives in rural Scotland with her husband, two daughters and a menagerie of pets including Twinkle, an attention-seeking boa constrictor.

Links

Website: http://www.emroyal.com/

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Shhh. The Trouble with Governesses!

By Cerise DeLand

On March 30, 2022

In Bluestocking Belles, gossip, Guest author, Historical Period, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

English Drawing Room of the Georgian Period, 1800. Art Institute of Chicago.

London, 1815

One would think that finding and keeping a governess would not be a difficult thing, but apparently it is for Lord Preston Ambrose, Viscount Melcombe. He has had three in less than a year but is hopeful that the fourth will prove to be suitable for his household and settle in nicely to guide his nieces for the next few years.

The trouble with governesses started last spring when Lord Melcombe became the guardian of his five nieces, ages five to fourteen. They’d had a governess at the time, but she was sacked and we’ve yet to discover why.

Once the former governess had departed, Melcombe made no effort in finding a replacement, though he knew that he should. Then, one bright winter day, Miss Althea Claywell stepped off the mail coach. Melcombe was also aware that she was running and offered her the position within his household, which she gladly accepted.

All worked out well, until the two fell in love and married. Thus, Melcombe was in need of a governess again. This time he placed an advertisement, and was hopeful when the perfect candidate replied, a Miss Katrina Carrick. In fact, he and Lady Melcombe were quite pleased with the interview, and Miss Carrick was hired. But, before she could begin her duties, love arrived to claim her.

Lord Melcombe has now contacted an employment agency and is hopeful that the woman scheduled to arrive for an interview will be the fourth and final governess to be employed for some time. However, if that does not turn out to be the case, I might suggest that any miss wishing to wed become a governess in Viscount Melcombe’s home. No doubt, you will barely be unpacked before the love you have been waiting for finds you.

LINKS FOR THE LOVE OF A GOVERNESS SERIES: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09R26VG3L/

RELEASE DATE OF PURSUING THE GOVERNESS: April 26, 2022

EXCERPT from PURSUING THE GOVERNESS:

Regina started at the pounding on her door and stepped away.

“Regina, open this door.”

All hope of Alec thinking she was someone else fled. Or, had Lord and Lady Melcombe broken their promise and confirmed her identity?

“Open the door, Regina,” he called again.

If she remained silent, perhaps he would think she was somewhere else and go away.

“The girls told me you are in here,” he said.

She still didn’t move or answer him. It wasn’t as if he could do anything if she refused to unlock her door.

There was a sudden thud against her door and then it splintered, flying open. Regina quickly turned her back on him.

“I know it is you, Regina,” he said. “I simply wish to know why you have let me believe you were dead for a year.”

She bit her lip, not certain what to say.

“Please,” he begged in a softer tone. “Why won’t you look at me?

Tears sprang to her eyes. He couldn’t see her.

“Why?” he asked.

“It is for the best,” she finally answered.

“Best!” he yelled. “I loved you. Was in love with you. Do you know I wanted to die when I learned what happened?”

“I am sorry,” she whispered. What more could she say?

“Sorry?” he asked. “That is all you have to say! I thought you loved me as much as I loved you.”

Oh, she did. She still did. Even though Regina Rutledge died, her love for Alec had not. But she needed him to go away. “What we had is over. Please go.”

“That’s it? You are rejecting me without an explanation? One day you’re across my lap you cry out my name, and now you want nothing to do with me.”

“Please lower your voice. The girls will hear you.” She didn’t care what he thought of her, but her charges did not need to hear such talk.

“I now understand how misses and ladies feel after they have been ruined and discarded.”

Pain and anger merged within his tone, but Regina held her tongue. It was best for both of them if he hated her.

“At least face me while rejecting me after everything we shared.”

“I cannot. It’s best that you go.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

“Both.”

“If you want me to go, then you need to turn around and tell me. Swear that what we shared meant nothing to you.”

Regina had been dreading this moment, and hoped the day would never come, but Alec was going to be stubborn.

She took a deep breath and slowly turned around.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jane Charles, Author USA Today bestselling author Jane Charles is a prolific writer of over fifty historical and contemporary romance novels. Her love of research lends authenticity to her Regency romances, and her experience directing theatre productions helps her craft beautiful, touching stories that tug at the heartstrings. Jane is an upbeat and positive author dedicated to giving her characters happy-ever-afters and leaving the readers satisfied at the end of an emotional journey. Lifelong Cubs fan, world traveler and mother of three amazing children, Jane lives in Central Illinois with her husband, two dogs and a cat. She is currently writing her next book and planning her dream trip to England. Be sure to join Jane on Facebook @JaneCharlesAuthor for Wine Pairings Wednesdays.

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Website: https://www.janecharlesauthor.com/

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Church Lady’s Lament

By Bluestocking Belles

On December 4, 2021

In Caroline Warfield, Teatime Tattler

To Reverend Mr. Horace Sorsby, Vicar of Saint John the Evangelist Parish, Knaresborough

Sir:

Reluctant though I am to criticize church matters, I truly must speak up, and hope my frequent liberal contributions to your parish will gain me attention. As you know age and infirmity make it impossible for me to attend services in Knaresborough. While I am pleased that a chapel of ease has been set up here in Harrogate for the benefit of leading citizens like myself who find themselves hampered from full participation, the man assigned it has failed us. I am compelled to report that the curate you appointed to serve my our needs has proven to be negligent and useless.

First of all, his sermons focus entirely too heavily on service due the poor, in my opinion, and too little on the respect the lower classes owe their betters. I suppose I must excuse this as he is young and does seem to have a grasp on scripture.

I excuse it mainly because I am rarely able to attend even the chapel of ease here. That curate, Mr. Eustace Clarke, has been repeatedly asked to attend me at home. We are now moving into December, and I am obliged to report he made but two visits since summer. Neither visit lasted longer than an hour. I ask, Mr. Sorsby, do you believe that shows sufficient care for a frail old woman, one I might add who has generously supported Saint John in the past?

I am quite, quite distressed to add that my precious Wellington, an extraordinarily noble pug, has taken him dislike as well. The impudent young man accused my darling Welly of damaging his boots. I cannot believe poor Welly has developed a taste for leather. He has demonstrated no such affinity in the past. I am certain Mr. Clarke enticed him as an excuse to make a quick departure.

My loyal butler reports that it appears Mr. Clarke persists in wasting his time with that pathetic little soup kitchen he calls Pilgrim’s Rest, feeding every lazy, worthless beggar that imbibes from Harrogate’s public springs but refuses to pay for his lunch. Now news has reached me that he believes he needs funds to repair the roof of that barn. I will not stand for it. I demand you order him to close that fruitless and unproductive little mission down and focus on those of us who support the parish at large as he ought.

If my words have not been enough to convince you the man needs sharp words from his superior there is this. My personal maid, a woman of fine character, has told me that he is now seen walking out with a woman employed in the kitchens of the The Hampton Hotel. What such a woman is doing sporting about town on the arm of a single man, I can only guess. The hussy’s name I’m told is Doro Bigglesworth.

I trust you will counsel your curate about proper behavior and duties. I would hate to take my contributions and charity elsewhere.

With Respect,

Lady Louella Spotsworthy

About the Book: Desperate Daughters

Love Against the Odds

The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage.

The young dowager Countess’s one regret is that she cannot give Seahaven’s dear girls a chance at happiness.

When a cousin offers the use of her townhouse in York during the season, the Countess rallies her stepdaughters.

They will pool their resources so that the youngest marriageable daughters might make successful matches, thereby saving them all.

So start their adventures in York, amid a whirl of balls, lectures, and al fresco picnics. Is it possible each of them might find love by the time the York horse races bring the season to a close.

Among them? “Lady Dorothea’s Curate,” by Caroline Warfield

Employed at a hotel in order to assist her stepmother, Lady Dorothea Bigglesworth had no use for a title. It would only invite scorn, or, worse, pity. Plain Miss Doro Bigglesworth suited her fine.

Ben Clarke dedicated his life to helping the neediest. It gave his life meaning. He tended to forget the younger son of a viscount went by “Honorable.”

Working together at Pilgrim’s Rest, neither saw the need to mention it to the other, before fate separated them. When they were formally introduced after an unexpected reunion— in a ballroom in York—shock rocked them both. Can their budding love survive?

You can find links to various vendors here: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/desperate-daughters/

Foul Play on a Baron or the Foul Baron Played?

By Bluestocking Belles

On October 13, 2021

In Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Thomas, the second Baron Lyttelton, has died under mysterious circumstances.

Rumors concerning his death abound. He was an infamous rake, known for using his charm and talent to seduce women and gain influence. He fought duels, gambled away a fortune, and married the misguided Aphia Witts to pay his debts before fleeing to Paris with a barmaid. Upon his return in, he entered the House of Commons in 1768 and exited the next year after being accused of bribery.

Thursday last, 25 November, 1770 Lord Lyttelton told friends of an extraordinary dream he’d had the previous night. A bird had flown into his room, transformed into a woman wearing white, and informed him that he’d die within three days. He discounted the dream, attributing it to a recent party he’d attended where a robin had flown into the room. He was accustomed to a woman’s scorn, so that part of the dream seemed easy enough to explain.

By Saturday evening, he boasted he would “bilk the ghost” and ordered breakfast for the following day. He retired shortly after. Just before midnight, lying in his bed, Lyttelton’s valet said his master died “without a groan.” There was no inquest.

According to close friends, the only legacy he leaves behind is a reputation of questionable character as a compulsive gambler, drug addict, and debaucher of women. So, The Teatime Tattler asks, was his death an act of vengeance? Or did karma finally come calling for the wicked baron?

About the Book

Upon a Midnight Dreary is up for preorder and will release this month, October 21.

This amazing anthology contains dark, romantic tales of ghosts that haunt and taunt, written by some of your favorite historical romance authors. Each novella will include a romance and a “real” ghost story. Aubrey Wynne’s contribution includes the wicked Lord Lyttelton.

Buy Link: (https://books2read.com/midnightdreary)

**Excerpt from “Percy’s Perdition” in Upon a Midnight Dreary Halloween anthology**

Ellie nibbled at a candied apricot as she snuggled against Percy’s chest. They had foregone supper, moved to their bedchambers, and now ate a cold repast spread about the counterpane. “I heard the most delicious tale the other day. Did I tell you of the wicked Lord Lyttelton?”

Percy smiled and kissed the top of her head, the blond waves spread over her bare shoulders. His limbs were heavy, and he couldn’t care less about some rakish peer. “No, love.”

“He was a baron with no regard for mankind, wasting his money and seducing innocents. One mother was so horrified when her daughter succumbed to his advances, she died of a broken heart.” Ellie paused while she took sip of wine. “But the mother had the final word.”

“They always do,” he agreed.

She slapped his arm but grinned. “Anyway, she returned as a ghost and told him of his looming demise. Three days and he would be dead.”

“Ah, but one can do so much living in three days.” He picked up a hunk of cheese and offered Ellie a bite. She shook her head.

“Well, a quarter hour before midnight of the third day, he dropped dead! Can you imagine?” She sank her teeth into the blue and white Wiltshire and smacked her lips.

“People die every day, my dear. It doesn’t mean an apparition caused it.”

“This happened forty years ago, but there is much documentation. And it gets stranger.” She kissed his cheek. “The wicked lord stopped by his friend’s bedchamber on his way to Hell. The man saw the baron at the foot of his bed, miles away in another county, the same night he died. He woke his household to look for the scoundrel since Lord Lyttelton was known for his pranks. But alas, he was never found.”

“Because he was dead.”

“Exactly!” She beamed at him as if he’d done something very clever.

Percy snorted. “You have a way of maneuvering our conversations until it appears I agree with you.” He kissed her soundly on the mouth.

“Don’t you?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

About The Author

Bestselling and award-winning author Aubrey Wynne is an elementary teacher by trade, champion of children and animals by conscience, and author by night. She resides in the Midwest with her husband, dogs, horses, mule, and barn cats. Obsessions include wine, history, travel, trail riding, and all things Christmas. Her Chicago Christmas series has received the Golden Quill, Aspen Gold, Heart of Excellence, and the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and twice nominated as a Rone finalist by InD’tale Magazine.

Aubrey’s first love is medieval romance but after dipping her toe in the Regency period in 2018 with the Wicked Earls’ Club, she was smitten. This inspired her spin-off series Once Upon a Widow. In 2020, she launched the Scottish Regency series A MacNaughton Castle Romance with Dragonblade Novels.

Social Media Links:

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There Are Odd Folks in Some Villages

By Guest author

On April 7, 2021

In Teatime Tattler

London, Saturday Last

Dearest Catherine,

Although I was thrilled to receive your letter now that you are settled in, I find your new situation most tenuous and upsetting! One can hardly believe that you have no decent milliner in that little town of Clun that you and Randall have moved to, but to also know that a young woman serves by choice to be the town’s layer-out of the dead is most disturbing. I found myself in need of respite after reading your letter the first time through. I cannot imagine the dire straits you find yourself in. Does anyone in that little town serve as your equal? I dare hazard a guess that there is none amongst them worthy of sitting in the same parlor as you.

I do hope Randall understands your sacrifice. While I know he has business interests in the area and hopes to expand into milling and manufacturing, he cannot expect you to reside there forever, does he? Men. Our husbands have no understanding of the sacrifices we make do they?

It is not the same here in London without you. I find I must take tea with the Chatsworth sisters more often now, and I find them much less entertaining without you. They are in need of advice as their daughters are coming of age and shall debut next fall. I do not hold much hope for either of them. Both seem too mousy and indelicate in features and personality. I have forgotten twice now that they were in the same room with us upon meeting with them. Can you even imagine being so forgettable?

As you expected, the snow is beautiful and banked deeply along the Thames as our winter has been a cold one so far. Ms. Starling sends her well wishes and has promised to make you a special hat for me to bring to you, since you have no milliner worthy and equal to her skill in your quaint little town. I shall ask her to use some of that lovely blue fabric you commented on during your last visit.

Please do come and stay with us. You need never wait for an invitation. When you come you must tell me all about this scandalous woman who deals with the dead. Despite my efforts to be only appalled at the thought of it, I find myself quite curious as to what such a woman would look like and act like.

With all my love,

Ophelia

About the Book, Lovely Digits

When two murders strike the sleepy Victorian town of Clun, England, an unlikely partnership forms. But can the killer be found before there is a third?

Lovely Digits is the town oddity…

But quirky spinster Lucy Wycliffe prefers to ignore gossip and embrace her position as the town’s layer out of the dead, despite how her parents’ deaths thrust her into such unlikely work. Lovely Digits, as she’s known to the local townspeople, no longer dreams of marriage, but takes pride in providing dignity to the dead. Desperate to hold on to her family’s cottage and support her widowed sister and young niece, an unexpected offer of employment as assistant to the constable arrives at the perfect time.

Former sailor John Brodie is the mysterious new constable…

But John Brodie is far from a stranger to Clun or the events of its past. Accepting the position as constable in the small town is a double edged sword meant to heal his past and redeem his future, but falling for the beautiful and intelligent Lucy Wycliffe was never part of his plan. As the killer closes in, will John reveal his secret and risk losing everything to save Lucy’s life?

Excerpt

Clun, England

February, 1839

Old Man Codger’s frozen toe rolled across the floor toward the door.

“Lord above. Mind the corner, sister,” Lucy muttered. She blew an errant curl from her cheek as they swung the man’s stiff body onto the scarred wooden table in front of the hearth. The body landed with a thud.

Blast. Lucy scanned the floor. Nothing. Where had it gone? She lifted her skirts.

“There you are,” she grumbled. The rogue digit rested between the scuffed heels of her old brown boots. Using the edge of one of the sleeves of her faded blue blouse, she leaned down and clutched the rather putrid, large hairy toe and placed it on the man’s chest. Now she’d have to sew on a toe, too. A frozen toe.

Perfect.

Priscilla covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yielded a dry retch. Plugging her nose, she rolled her eyes. “There has to be another way.”

Lucy eyed her pert younger sister and sighed. At thirteen, Cil was on the cusp of womanhood. There were so many things she would miss from their parents not being there to guide her. The guilt over the death of Mother and Father a month past stung like a barb under Lucy’s skin. If only she’d arrived home at the cottage sooner instead of lingering about the forest to find her pet starling. She banished the thought away.

After tying back her hair, Lucy pushed up her sleeves to the elbow. “If there had been any other option, we’d have done it. It’s either prep him for burial or starve. It’s just us now, Cil.”

The old man’s time in the woods had not been kind to him, but at least the extreme cold had kept the insects at bay. A white milky maggot dropped from his nose to the table. Lucy shuddered. Most of them. She loathed insects, especially worms. Things that could move without legs weren’t natural.

“Hand me the needle and thread.” Lucy rested her hands on her hips. “I need to get this toe sewn back on when he thaws. I’ll not be docked pay for him missing parts.”

Care to read more of Lovely Digits? Here are the Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lovely-Digits-Jeanine-Englert-ebook/dp/B07SB6HJMW/

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lovely-digits-jeanine-englert/1133788922

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/search?id=7694523126087&query=lovely+digits&filter=

About the Author:

Jeanine Englert is a Golden Heart ® Finalist, Silver Falchion Award Winner, and Daphne du Maurier Award Winner in historical romantic suspense. After years of writing in secret, she joined Romance Writers of America and Georgia Romance Writers in 2013 and has been an active member ever since. She writes Scottish Highland historicals and historical romantic suspense novels.

When she isn’t wrangling with her characters on the page, she can be found trying to convince her husband to watch her latest Masterpiece or BBC show obsession. She loves to talk about books, writing, her beloved pups, and of course mysteries with other readers on Twitter @JeanineWrites, Facebook, or at her website www.jeaninewrites.com.

Her debut novel, Lovely Digits, released in June of 2019 by Soul Mate Publishing, is a Victorian romantic suspense that won the 2020 Silver Falchion Award for Best Mystery and the 2020 Maggie Award for Best Romantic Suspense. It also won the 2017 Daphne du Maurier Award and was named a 2018 Golden Heart ® Finalist for best unpublished romantic suspense. Her latest novel, The Highlander’s Secret Son, will be released in May of 2021 by Harlequin Historical.

Where you can find me:

Website: https://www.jeaninewrites.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JeanineWrites

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46222432-lovely-digits

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JeanineWrites

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jeanine-englert?list=about