Tag: Susana Ellis Page 3 of 4

In Chapter 15, Anthony, Lord Kendall, calls upon Felicia to inform her that he believes her long-lost daughter may be at the Foundling Hospital. She and her maid Maris, a loyal friend from their days at the Pleasure House, reflect on the possibility that the much-anticipated reunion may take place that very day!

The Foundling Restored to Its Mother

Felicia [eyes glowing]: Oh Maris, can this really be happening? I’ve dreamed of this moment for ever, but always in the end believing it to be impossible. [Swallowing] If she had found a suitable home, where she would be nurtured and loved, I should, of course, have been glad for her and refrained from interfering. But I had to know!

Maris [tugging a brush through Felicia’s thick, curly locks]: ‘Twas ol’ Beazley that stole ‘er from ya, may she rot in ‘ell. And tol’ ya she was dead, besides. Witch!

Felicia [nostrils flaring]: I can’t tell you how that troubled my thoughts, dear Maris, worrying over in what manner such a woman might dispose of my child, and all of them so very disheartening.

Maris: As bad as that was, ’twas better than thinkin’ ‘er dead. Gave ya somethin’ ta live fer.

Felicia [clasping Maris’s hands in hers]: It did indeed. I shall always be grateful to you for reminding me of that fact at a time when the world was black and I had no hope.

Maris [tearfully]: No need, miss. ‘Twas out of selfishness, not wantin’ ta lose the only friend I had.

Felicia [turning and giving Maris a quick kiss on the cheek]: We have been through a lot together, have we not? I could not have made it through all those months at the whorehouse without you reminding me of my responsibility to my child. I should never have met and loved Charles, God rest his generous soul, and never have obtained the means to support myself respectably.

Maris [with a secret smile]: Or met Mr. Jamison, er, Lord Kendall ‘e is now, who seemed that eager ta find yer daughter fer ya, miss.

Felicia [flushing]: Don’t tease, Maris. There can be nothing between us. He is very kind, that is all.

Maris [snorting]: Kind? Kind, you say? Ye’ve called ‘im a jackass more ‘n once, and so ‘e was too!

Felicia [tugging at her neckline]: Yes, well, perhaps he was rather disagreeable in the beginning, but it had to be a bit of a shock to discover that his uncle left half of his fortune to his mistress. I’m inclined to forgive him for all that, especially now that he has sought to reunite me with my daughter. [Rises from the chair.] Cynthia. Oh Maris, she is three years old already and her name is Cynthia! How will I ever explain how I lost her?

Maris: Jis’ like that. She was lost and ya found ‘er.

Felicia: Or Anthony did. How can I ever thank him? [Maris chuckles.] No, no, not that way. Never again that way! I shall ever after be a respectable lady, for myself first, and also for my daughter. Cynthia. She shall have everything I can give her, that I never had myself.

Maris: A father?

Felicia [turning pale]: No, but a doting mother will surely be enough. We shall be very happy, just the two of us. And you, of course, Maris. We shall find a house in the country, near a village, with children and cows and fresh air.

Maris: And Anthony?

Felicia [folding her arms across her chest]: What about him? Anthony will go on with his life, take his seat in Parliament, marry some noble young lady with whom he will have a passel of children, and become a bastion of London society. He and I will never cross paths again. And that is the way it should be.

Maris: If you say so, miss.

Felicia: I do say so. [Looks toward the window.] Is that a carriage, Maris? Where is my bonnet? Oh Maris, I’m going to be a mother! Do you think she’ll like me? What if…? If she’s been abominably treated, I shall never forgive myself. Has Mrs. Grey finished preparing the nursery, do you think?

Find out what happens when Felicia and Anthony visit the Foundling Hospital in an attempt to retrieve her daughter in the next installment of Susana’s Resilience, on wattpad.

Resilience: Moving House and an Unexpected Visitor

By Susana Ellis

On December 31, 2016

In Regency (19th century Britain), Susana Ellis, Teatime Tattler

After a flurry of activity, Felicia, her daughter, and Maris arrived at Brook Street on the appointed day. As the house was to be sold soon, only a handful of servants remained to wait on them, the others having found positions elsewhere. Having assumed a new identity, Felicia could not offer them positions in her new home and risk someone letting slip a hint of her scandalous past. Maris, however, shared a long history with her mistress, and her loyalty to Felicia was unquestionable.

***

Being required to assist in conveying the luggage, neither John, the coachman, nor Richards, the armed footman, remarked the presence of the small tattered boy huddled behind the street lamp, his discerning eyes focused with interest on the new arrivals. This development would be worth a coin or two when relayed to the folks at the Pleasure House. He remained in his position until long after the coachman had driven the rig around the back to the stable area, observing that although no other activity appeared to be taking place there, the heavyset footman with a bulge in his pocket that could have been a pistol maintained constant vigilance over the house’s entrance from the parlor window, relaxing his duties only for a few minutes while he accepted a cup of tea from another servant. As darkness came and the house appeared to be settled for the night, the boy left his post, visions of jingling coins occupying his thoughts.

***

The next few days were busy ones indeed, as Felicia and the few remaining servants were engrossed in packing up the contents of the house to be either sold or conveyed to Weldon Park. Felicia had her hands full with Cynthia, as well, since it had been decided to leave the nursemaid behind and there were no servants to spare for minding the child. It was actually a blessing, she thought, as she finished doing up the buttons on the pretty pink frock and took a brush to her daughter’s unruly reddish blonde curls. There was far too much to do to allow for painful thoughts, such as bidding a final farewell to Charles and their life together, and also, she realized in surprise, disappointment that Anthony had failed to call on them since their arrival.

Nor had he been present at her meeting with the solicitor, who had discussed the sale of the house and presented her with several documents to sign, remarking that Lord Kendall had overseen the entire process personally, and that all that was necessary was Felicia’s approval.

Personally? thought Felicia. Not hardly, since she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since their arrival. Well, why should he, she argued with herself? He was a Lord of the Realm who—if the Pendergast chits were correct—was much too occupied in courting a wife to be bothered with one such as her. In any case, once wed, his wife would see to it that any friendship between them was severed, so it was well and good to put some distance between them now. Or so she told herself.

“Ouch!” complained Cynthia. “Mama, you’re hurting me!”

Instantly contrite, Felicia hugged her daughter. “I’m sorry, poppet. I’m hopeless with hair. But Maris is occupied with the linens at present, so you’ll have to make do with me instead. I shall try to be a bit more gentle.”

She had noticed before that Cynthia’s hair, although with a tinge of strawberry, was as lush and curly blonde as her own. Felicia had always struggled to keep hers tamed, and it seemed her daughter would be fated to do so as well. She did wonder where the red had come from, as Cynthia’s natural father had been very fair. But she had never seen his parents, or, for that matter, her own natural parents. No doubt some ancestor up the line had been red-headed.

As she turned her daughter loose in the nursery to play with her dolls, Felicia started down the stairs and halted suddenly when she saw a stranger on the landing, a middle-aged lady dressed in finery from head to toe, wearing a dashing pelisse of peacock blue, in the process of removing a stylish bonnet of matching hue, to reveal a head of abundant strawberry blonde locks that appeared to be an exact match to Cynthia’s.

A maid rushed in and took the new arrival’s hat and pelisse, apologizing when she saw Felicia. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hammond, but we’re so short-handed there weren’t nobody ter send fer ye ter say that Lady Middlemarch has come ter call.”

Lady Middlemarch looked up at Felicia with bright eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. “I’m sorry to have come at an inconvenient time, Mrs. Hammond. Perhaps I should come back at another time?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Felicia insisted. “Please come and sit in the parlor.” Turning to the maid, she asked, “Kate, do you think you could manage to bring us some tea?” At the maid’s curtsy of assent, she turned to her unexpected guest.

“I apologize that I am unable to offer you anything more, Lady Middlemarch, but as you see, we are in the process of packing up the house and we are in a state of upheaval at present.”

“Yes,” said the older woman, “I-I-I understand that you are removing to the country.” Her blatant stare unnerved Felicia.

As they sat facing one another, Felicia was struck by the woman’s resemblance to herself and her daughter: the thick, curly hair, the clear blue eyes, the pert nose, the pale skin. What could she think but that this elegant lady might be… no, of course not.

Breaking the silence, she began. “Lady Middlemarch…”

“Mrs. Hammond,” began the other woman at the same moment, wringing her hands nervously. “Mrs. Hammond, I think you must comprehend by our resemblance that I—” she paused, “—that I am your mother. Your natural mother, that is.” And then she broke down into uncontrollable weeping as an astonished Kate carried in the tea tray.

Resilience is the story of a prostitute and demimondaine who escapes to the peace and respectability of country life with her young daughter.

I wrote this story in 2010 during my “summer of practice retirement” where I wanted to prove to myself I could become a productive writer and not a coach potato. I got so into the story that I had dreams about it and got up at 4 a.m. (once school started) to write them down.

It’s been languishing in my pile of unfinished manuscripts, but I was just thinking the other day that it might be time to resurrect it. So that’s what I’m doing on Wattpad. You can read more here.

Interview with Charlotte Clark from Cherishing Charlotte

By Susana Ellis

On December 3, 2016

In Character Interview, Regency (19th century Britain), Susana Ellis, Teatime Tattler

Cherishing Charlotte is Book 3

of The Hertfordshire Hoydens

by Susana Ellis

Charlotte Clark is the oldest child of John (Jack) and Marianne Clark, who operate a charity school for boys in Oxford. Her maternal grandfather, a wealthy landowner who disinherited his daughter for running off with the tutor, appears to have relented somewhat, having invited his granddaughter to visit his estate, Heatherwyck. But does he have an ulterior motive?

Charlotte agreed to have tea with me at Miss Clemens’s Oxford Street Book Palace and Tea Rooms on Mount Street in London.

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Charlotte Clark from Cherishing Charlotte

Susana: Thank you so much for meeting me today, Miss Clark. I know it is a bit of a journey for you from Oxford.

Charlotte: Indeed. It is only the second time I have been to London in all of my nineteen years. If not for Mama needing my help with Papa, I would have remained home with the boys. My twin brothers Robert and Thomas. They are ten. They are looking after the pig and chickens in our absence. [grinning] And the neighbors are looking after them.

Susana: Is your father in poor health, then? Is that why you have come to London?

Charlotte [taking a deep breath]: Yes. Unfortunately, he is afflicted with consumption. The local doctor doesn’t give much hope, but Mama wanted to consult a London physician. We didn’t have the money, but one of Papa’s former pupils graciously offered to provide the fee and lodgings at his home. Papa wanted to refuse, but Mama would not hear of it.

Susana: Your father must have made quite an impression on his students, then.

Charlotte [nodding enthusiastically]: Oh yes! He is a first-rate teacher. Many of his students who have been to Oxford or Cambridge have said that Papa is superior to most of the dons. I’m sure he would have been one himself had he not married Mama instead.

Susana: So dons cannot be married, then?

Charlotte: That is correct. But after he met Mama, nothing else mattered. He’s such a romantic, you see.

Susana: And your mother?

Charlotte [smiling]: Oh, she loves him madly too, of course. But she’s the practical one. Which is really quite fortunate for us, because it was she who managed to keep us fed all these years. Papa is more of a dreamer, and as she is fond of saying, dreams don’t keep food on the table.

Susana: And yet, she agreed to elope with her tutor. More romantic than practical, wouldn’t you agree?

Charlotte [shaking her head]: She was young and silly and at loggerheads with her father. Her mother had just died, and I don’t think she really believed he would cut her off, since there was just the two of them. But hurt pride can be pernicious. Mama has it in full measure. I’m sure she is determined to show him she could make a success of things. [sighing] Although she couldn’t have known how difficult it would turn out to be.

Susana: Do you think she regrets the decision she made, then?

Charlotte: No. Yes. Well, in a way I believe she resents having to struggle so hard to survive when her father has Heatherwyck all to himself.

Susana: Heatherwyck?

Charlotte: Yes. Heatherwyck is my grandfather’s family estate. The Chapmans have owned it for five generations. Mama says it is one of the largest estates in Hertfordshire. [biting her lip] Only recently I discovered she has hopes of reclaiming it. My grandfather invited me to spend the summer with him, you see.

Susana: Just you? Not the rest of the family?

Charlotte [stiffening]: : Yes. Just me. And his nephew, Wyatt.

Susana: Ah. So you suspect matchmaking.

Charlotte [teacup rattling vehemently as she sets it down on the saucer]: I know it!

Susana [delicately]: I don’t suppose there’s any harm in going, at least. It’s not like you can be forced into marriage, after all.

Charlotte [nostrils flaring]: That’s just what Mama says! Perhaps I shall like him. Or Grandfather will take a fancy to me and effect a reconciliation regardless. And it would be so good for the boys, you see, if he would sponsor them to Eton.

Susana: Why Eton? It sounds as though they are getting an equally good education at your father’s school.

Charlotte: True, but Mama has high hopes for them. So many political and social connections are made there. And they really are bright boys. [closing her eyes briefly] I shall feel obligated to fall in line with Grandfather’s plans for them. And for Papa. And Mama. What shall we do when Papa can no longer teach? [swallowing and holding back tears]. Mama might be a good manager, but when-if Papa is gone, there won’t be anything to manage.

Susana: It is quite a dilemma. I understand that you feel it is on you to become the sacrificial lamb for your family. That is a very great burden to put on such a young girl.

Charlotte [chin quivering]: Perhaps I should be more grateful to have the opportunity to make a difference in the future of my parents and brothers, but in all honesty, I have no wish to be a martyr. I am no Maid of Orléans, Miss Ellis. Burning at the stake does not appeal to me, any more than a marriage of convenience does. Do you not think me a wretched person?

Susana [reaching forward to stroke her forearm]: Wretched? No. Human? Yes. And a bit dramatic, perhaps. [takes out a handkerchief] Now, stop crying and and take another biscuit. I always think things look better after I’ve consumed a good dose of sugar. I wonder if we can order some fruit scones here, with strawberry jam and clotted cream?

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Cherishing Charlotte, Book 3 in The Hertfordshire Hoydens, is due for release in March 2017. Book 1, Treasuring Theresa, is available on Amazon. Book 2, Valuing Vanessa, is part of the Belles’ 2016 collection, Holly and Hopeful Hearts.

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Gossip from a Taproom Vagrant

By Caroline Warfield

On November 19, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

jan_baptist_lambrechts_attr-_-_at_the_tavern I can only say that it is a good thing Mr. Clemens located a prime investigator inside the Duchess of Haverford’s Hopeful Hearts house party because I, intrepid reporter, find myself a marooned at a third rate inn along a road that has become impassible with mud and rutted beyond use. My post chaise broke an axel in the stuff. Here I sit. Tomorrow being Christmas I will go no further for now.

The ale here is poor but abundant, and, with naught else to do, I have stationed myself in the taproom to pick up what miserable crumbs I might. I have not come up empty handed.

I no more ordered my third pint when a horseman swept in, grimaced over a mug of rancid cider, and left. Folks on horseback may travel as they will, but carriage traffic has all but disappeared. I tried to hire a horse with the pittance Clemens gives me for expenses and could not. (More about that later) This man’s horse, a peculiar specimen, stood in the courtyard looking so cool I would have thought it a fresh mount, not one that had been given water and sent on its way again.

The innkeeper acted in awe of the man who stood well over the common height and possessed both dark skin as well as hair. Unlike the innkeeper, I knew the man: he who pretends to be Elfingham, heir in waiting to the Duke of Winshire. He chases the Belvoir chit no doubt, or her brother’s consequence rather, his own being not worth a pittance. Everyone knows he is after her in hopes to shore up the family’s pretense of legitimacy. He swept from the place like the furies pursued him, dark robe flapping in the wind.

Not three hours passed when a groom came in to say a carriage lumbered up the road putting a lie to everyone’s belief that none might make it through. The greedy publican hastened to the door and the rest of the room to the windows to see who had made it so far. I watched it go by with my own eyes, a top of the trees equipage if ever I saw one. I saw the ducal crest as well: The Duke of Haverford. I doubt the old duke bothered to attend his wife’s do. Aldridge, on the other hand, can never resist a party full of beautiful women. It was he, I am certain, and there will be delicious stories to uncover, if only I can get to the Hall and insinuate myself through the kitchen.

Just when the taproom began to settle for the night, yet another carriage arrived, this one less well fated, and obviously unable to go further. A frantic young man, a cit as I live and breathe and a Hebrew—one with a French accent at that— began to berate the innkeeper, obviously desperate to get to Hollystone Hall. Why, I don’t know. No young woman of gentle enough birth to attend a duchess’s house party would entertain such a one as a suitor. I did hear him mention Baumann, the banker. Perhaps he has business with the duchess or with Aldridge. That must be it. Our readers might like to know what.

Here is the odd part. He demanded a horse, and I knew well there were none. Had the innkeeper not refused to hire one out to me? Money talks. Horses were found. Before too long he left with two nags, one a miserable hack and the other, obviously a carriage horse, with his bags loaded on it. Off he went, while I, good Christian citizen of His Majesty’s fair land that I am, remained here with naught but a bench to sleep upon.

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What happened to these holiday travelers? Find out in Holly and Hopeful Hearts, available now from various retailers. 25% of proceeds will go to the Malala Fund.

About the Book

When the Duchess of Haverford sends out invitations to a Yuletide house party and a New Year’s Eve ball at her country estate, Hollystone Hall, those who respond know that Her Grace intends to raise money for her favorite cause and promote whatever marriages she can. Eight assorted heroes and heroines set out with their pocketbooks firmly clutched and hearts in protective custody. Or are they?

About the Stories

A Suitable Husband, by Jude Knight

As the Duchess of Haverford’s companion, Cedrica Grenford is not treated as a poor relation and is encouraged to mingle with Her Grace’s guests. Surely she can find a suitable husband amongst the gentlemen gathered for the duchess’s house party. Above stairs or possibly below.

Valuing Vanessa, by Susana Ellis

Facing a dim future as a spinster under her mother’s thumb, Vanessa Sedgely makes a practical decision to attach an amiable gentleman who will not try to rule her life.

A Kiss for Charity, by Sherry Ewing

Young widow Grace, Lady de Courtenay, has no idea how a close encounter with a rake at a masquerade ball would make her yearn for love again. Can she learn to forgive Lord Nicholas Lacey and set aside their differences to let love into her heart?

Artemis, by Jessica Cale

Actress Charlotte Halfpenny is in trouble. Pregnant, abandoned by her lover, and out of a job, Charlotte faces eviction two weeks before Christmas. When the reclusive Earl of Somerton makes her an outrageous offer, she has no choice but to accept. Could he be the man of her dreams, or is the nightmare just beginning?

The Bluestocking and the Barbarian, by Jude Knight

James must marry to please his grandfather, the duke, and to win social acceptance for himself and his father’s other foreign-born children. But only Lady Sophia Belvoir makes his heart sing, and to win her he must invite himself to spend Christmas at the home of his father’s greatest enemy.

Christmas Kisses, by Nicole Zoltack

Louisa Wycliff, Dowager Countess of Exeter wants only for her darling daughter, Anna, to find a man she can love and marry. Appallingly, Anna has her sights on a scoundrel of a duke who chases after every skirt he sees. Anna truly thinks the dashing duke cares for her, but her mother has her doubts.

An Open Heart, by Caroline Warfield

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

Dashing Through the Snow, by Amy Rose Bennett

Headstrong bluestocking, Miss Kate Woodville, never thought her Christmas would be spent racing across England with a viscount hell-bent on vengeance. She certainly never expected to find love…

BUY LINKS for HOLLY AND HOPEFUL HEARTS

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Amazon Australia: http://ow.ly/TczG3049EQ2
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An Unreasonable Father…

By Aunt Augusta

On November 14, 2016

In Ask Aunt Augusta, Teatime Tattler

Ask Aunt Augusta

Dear Aunt Augusta,

My father is unreasonable! I’ve been living with my aunt’s family since my mother died almost two years ago. I’ve only seen him a handful of times since then, and I figured he didn’t want to be bothered with me. In any case, he’s a solicitor who is never home. I really didn’t mind, because my aunt and uncle are kind and I love their children as though they are my own younger siblings. So now they are going to live a fabulous life in St. Petersburg and asked me to accompany them, but my father says no. Why should I have to stay at home when I could be dancing with princes in Russia? I AM the granddaughter of a French comte, you know. It’s not fair that I have to die of boredom in St. Albans just because my father is so provincial. Please, Aunt Augusta, can you not help me persuade him to allow me to go? If my mother were alive, SHE would certainly do so. But since she is dead, I must depend on you to do it.

Signed,

Granddaughter of a French comte, a heroine in Valuing Vanessa of Holly and Hopeful Hearts by Susana Ellis

Dearest Granddaughter of a French comte,

My dear, I am so sorry for the loss of your mother. It is always so very tragic when a child loses a parents, and for that, I wish I could give you a hug and a large cup of tea and some biscuits.

I am also sorry that you have not had the chance to spend much time with your father. Do you think it possible that your father might wish to right the wrong he has done you? That he does not seek to destroy your happiness, but to create happiness with you? Men can be a little slow at times to realize when they have wronged up. Not all endeavor to correct their past mistakes, and if he is being forthright and seeking your attentions and trying to make you happy, than perhaps you can forgive him.

If that does not prove to be the case, however, then you have my permission to show him this–that I, Aunt Augusta, ask him to be truthful with himself as to why he will not allow you to go.

But, granddaughter, I also ask you to be truthful to yourself when trying to uncover your father’s motives.

I wish you the very best, and that you may find a charming dancing partner soon, whether or not he be a Russian prince,

Aunt Augusta

Valuing Vanessa of Holly and Hopeful Hearts by Susana Ellis

Facing a dim future as a spinster under her mother’s thumb, Vanessa Sedgely makes a practical decision to attach an amiable gentleman who will not try to rule her life. The last thing widower George Durand thinks he wants is another wife, but his difficult daughter is proving difficult to handle. In any case, the admirable Miss Sedgely is far too young for him. A love match is not even a remote consideration for these two. Or is it?

http://www.susanaellis.com

~~~

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

Because history is fun and love is worth working for