No one in London can be unfamiliar with the circumstances of the death of one of our most beloved and renowned citizens, the elephant Chunee, who Wednesday last met his fatal end at the Exeter Change in such a barbarous manner that many were moved to write letters on his behalf. The Tattler has learned the identity of one lady of quality, whose letter we reprint here. While we must applaud the lady’s sentiments on behalf of this noble creature, we must also wonder if so outspoken a young woman as Lady Emily Radstock will ever find a husband among the gentry and nobility of England. Rumor has it that she is one of the financial backers of Sir Arthur Broome’s Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Sir Arthur currently resides in Marshalsea Prison for debt.
The facts in the death of Chunee are so well known as to
need no recounting. Thousands in London have seen the prints of his cruel
slaughter. His agony at the hands of those on whom he long depended for his
sustenance and whose pockets were lined with the proceeds of exhibiting him to
the public is indefensible.
His handlers’ inability to consider his needs and to
foresee a time when distress of body and spirit would render him a danger to
himself and others and to plan accordingly for his care and ultimately for his
end brings into question the fitness of human persons for keeping any wild
animals in captivity, confined against their nature in cages, to be stared at
by the masses with no freedom to act in accord with the promptings of their
It is time to close the Exeter Change and all similar
institutions whose indifference to the well-being of their charges is a stain
on the honor of our city.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
About the Book: The Spy’s Guide to Seduction
Weeks from her twenty-ninth birthday, Lady Emily Radstock receives from her mother a little blue book, The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London.Outraged at her mother’s attempt to push her out of the nest, Emily declares she’ll marry the first imbecile she meets. Overhearing the beautiful heiress, Baronet Sir Ajax Lynley, newest gentleman spy in the Pantheon Club, takes her at her word. From the moment their engagement begins, Emily finds herself intrigued by her fiancé, a man who encourages her daring and who offers a most seductive partnership in spy-catching. When mounting danger and an uncanny echo of his painful past lead Lynley to abandon the partnership, Emily has to put aside the hurt and humiliation of a missing fiancé to save her partner in spying and seduction. A 2019 Library Journal Top Pick in Romance.
Kate Moore taught English lit to generations of high school students, who are now her Facebook friends, while she not-so-secretly penned Romances. In Kate’s stories an undeniable mutual attraction brings honorable, edgy loners and warm, practical women into a circle of love in Regency England or contemporary California. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best award winner and three-time RITA finalist, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her surfer husband, their yellow Lab, toys for visiting grandkids, and miles of crowded bookshelves.
Our devoted readers will no doubt find this clipping forwarded to The Teatime Tattler from The Headstone Gazette across the pond. Obviously, concerned citizens and devotion to proper behavior are not limited to here in London. — S. Clemens
Dear Ms. Decorum:
I’m penning this letter out of the utmost concern for the wellbeing and safety of our latest young debutante from Boston who arrived into Headstone yesterday. Lord have mercy, if the lovely Miss Daisy Danvers wasn’t thronged by a posse of train robbers the moment she set foot on the train platform! One witness claimed she fainted dead away and toppled straight over the side of the platform.
yet to verify the details, but another witness claims she was caught in the
arms of none other than Prescott Barra, the rough and ready local bull rider
who set a previously-unheard-of, 10-second record at our last rodeo. And you
know what they say about those Barra brothers? Nothing but trouble, that’s
worse about this report is the most unfortunate fact that Daisy hasn’t been
seen since Prescott rode off with her on his horse yesterday. The very notion
of them being lost in the desert — without a chaperone, no less — is giving me
the vapors right this second. Oh, where are my smelling salts?
did a little digging on my own and discovered that Daisy was sent to Headstone
by the reputable Boomtown Mail Order Brides Company in Boston, which can only
mean one thing: She is under contract as a mail-order bride to some gentleman
in our town. Our very town, dear citizens!
I’m not certain how reputable the name of this bridal agency will remain when
they discover one of their brides is missing. The poor gel could be anywhere.
Oh, the horrors! Is she safe? Is she alive? I can hardly bear to consider the
if Daisy Danvers is returned to town whole and in one piece — may the good Lord
let it be so! — I am distressed to be the one to point out that her reputation
will be in shreds. The way I see it, the lovely Miss Daisy will only have one
choice to salvage those shreds. Regardless of whom she is currently affianced
to (may the Lord comfort him and send him another, more suitable bridal
candidate), it is my Christian belief that Miss Daisy has been thoroughly
compromised by Prescott Barra. Alas, he is the man she must marry.
I’ll be joining a group of God-fearing women who will be holding vigil on the steps of the General Store this afternoon. It is my hope and prayer they will have an update on this brewing scandal. Be assured I will report back with anything new I hear.
Sincerely, A Concerned Citizen Who Wishes to Remain Anonymous
About the Book
Dare-Devil Daisy: Mail Order Brides Rescue #5
To the world, Daisy Danvers is a spoiled young debutante from
Boston who always gets what she wants. But she has secrets — big, festering
secrets she doesn’t want her best friend, Meg Nicholson, to find out. All she
needs from Meg is a promise to help her find the perfect husband the moment she
steps off the train in Headstone, Arizona. Her very life might depend upon it.
She never dreamed her troubles would follow her out West, and a
whole posse of armed robbers would be waiting for her when she disembarked. She
also never dreamed a cocky cowboy would sweep her away to safety on his horse.
It’s way too bad the devilishly handsome Prescott Barra claims
he’s already affianced to another woman, because he’s everything she’s been
looking for in a husband. He’s brave and fearless with a streak of adventure as
wide as the canyons they’re riding. When she discovers he has a secret or two
of his own, she begins to hope that maybe — just maybe — their secrets will
lead them to each other.
The storm swirling across Meg’s features cleared. She stood and
held out both hands to him. “You dear, dear man! I am so happy you’ve agreed to
That made one of them. He was fairly certain pretending to be
engaged to Meg’s dearest friend was the most foolish thing he’d ever been asked
“I’ll be sure to tell Shad how kind you were to me in his
He was only doing this to help out a man he respected. Or at least the friend
of the wife of a man he respected… Which was the same thing, wasn’t it? His
brain hurt just thinking about it.
“What is her name?” he asked abruptly. He at least deserved to know
the name of the chit he was going to be saddled with for a few days.
“Daisy.” Meg beamed at him. “Daisy Danvers, though some folks like
to call her Dare-Devil Daisy.”
Blast it all! Helping Daisy sounded like a pack of trouble. Then
again, he was a Barra brother. Trouble followed him everywhere he went. Trouble
was his middle name.
About the Author
Jo Grafford writes sweet historical and contemporary romance stories — with humor, sass, and happily ever afters.
A typical day finds her with her laptop balanced on her knees, a fizzy beverage within reach, and a cat snoozing on her knees. He takes credit for most of what she does.
When Jo’s not writing stories, she’s reading them. She adores dashing gentlemen, resilient heroines with a sense of adventure, humorous sidekicks, dusty cowboys, bounty hunters, mail order brides…you get the idea.
It is a sad day indeed when we are forced to communicate
such news as follows, but it is our duty to bring you even the most scandalous incidents…even
if they involve one of the most highly regarded residents of our region—the
venerated war hero, Colonel Johnathon P. Wescott.
Mrs. Charlotte Tisdale, a well-respected resident of New
Hope reported the following, and we relay it now to you. It seems that an
impromptu gala was thrown together at Lacewood by Colonel Wescott’s men, who
were given leave by their beloved commander to take part in Christmas Eve
festivities. It was late at night before Colonel Wescott left his post on the battlefield,
but he finally appeared at Lacewood, looking as gallant and intrepid as ever
such a highly esteemed man can look.
Of course, those in attendance at Lacewood included all of
the eligible young ladies from the region who hoped to catch a glimpse—or
perhaps even a dance—with the widowed father.
Dear readers, here is the news of which I warned you. It has
been reported to us by Mrs. Tisdale (and others) that the Colonel danced the
night away—not with one of the highly regarded Southern belles in attendance—but
with the Yankee caretaker of his young daughter!
Yes, friends, if you live in New Hope, you know the sad
story. The poor child was left motherless by the passing of his wife almost a
year ago, and now the sweet darling has been left in the hands of a stranger
whose reputation and character are known to us only by the gossip that trickles
in by attentive neighbors.
However, we know all we need to know. Mrs. Tisdale confirmed
that this woman, this Yankee she-devil, hails from New York and has a brother
in the Union army. Yes, you read that correctly. A brother…In the Union Army.
Wishing to verify these rumors—which are obviously too
absurd and preposterous to be accepted on their face, we discovered that the
news gets even worse. It seems Miss Annie Logan (the caretaker) placed herself
beneath the mistletoe when Colonel Wescott was near, and, of course, being a
Southern gentlemen of the highest order, he felt obligated to satisfy the
tradition that has been handed down for centuries.
My own face reddens at the thought of this conniving kiss. Who
knows what else has transpired between the walls of Lacewood? We can only hope
that it will not stain the character of its occupants for generations to come…
About the Book
Two people trying to escape
their pasts find a connection through an old house—and fulfill a destiny
through the secrets it shares. Part love story, part ghost story, Lacewood is
a timeless novel about trusting in fate, letting of the past, and believing in
things that can’t be seen.
MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN in Virginia is a big
change for New York socialite Katie McCain. But when she stumbles across an
abandoned 200-year-old mansion, she’s enthralled by the enduring beauty of the
neglected estate—and captivated by the haunting portrait of a woman in
Purchasing the property on a whim, Katie attempts to fit in with the colorful characters in the town of New Hope, while trying to unravel the mystery of the “widow of Lacewood.” As she pieces together the previous owner’s heartrending story, Katie uncovers secrets the house has held for centuries, and discovers the key to coming to terms with her own sense of loss.
love is just too powerful for one lifetime…
The past and present converge when hometown
hero Will Durham returns and begins his own healing process by helping the
“city girl” restore the place that holds so many memories. As the mystic web of destiny
is woven, a love story that might have been lost forever is exposed, and a
destiny that has been waiting in the shadows for centuries is fulfilled.
“I think Jon has finally broken away from the ladies,” Luke
said at last. “Here he comes.”
Annie turned and watched with an incredible degree of
composure as Colonel Wescott strode toward her with calm detachment, pinioning
her where she stood with his devouring stare. A strange sensation throbbed
in her then—like the beating of a new heart—and she marveled at its power to
fluster and confuse.
When he reached her he stopped, but his caressing gaze
continued to play across her face. “You are aware of the tradition, I suppose.”
Colonel Wescott’s voice, Annie had learned, could be
penetrating and commanding, or gentle and kind. He could easily silence an
entire roomful of people without yelling or losing control—and could just as
effortlessly melt her heart with the tender tones of a father.
The tenor tonight was both warm and imposing, throwing her
off balance. Her eyes darted around, not understanding his meaning.
He merely gestured to a place over her head, his smile
widening as she took in the swag of mistletoe hanging above her.
Grasping Luke’s ruse that had placed her in this spot, Annie
transferred her gaze to Luke just as he was exchanging a mischievous wink with
his brother. Even Miss Benton was now brimming over with amusement.
“Do you need schooling in the ritual?” Colonel Wescott’s
tone was businesslike, but the sentiment on his face was not. It reflected a
playfulness, a cheerful joviality that was both infatuating and intimidating.
He’d never crossed this line of familiarity with her before—and Annie was
fairly sure he’d not done so with others, even those he considered close
She wanted to pretend an affront, but when faced with his
appealing smile her defenses melted away. Candlelight and music filled the air,
exaggerating and intensifying the intoxication of her senses. Laughter and
conversation blended and blurred until nothing existed but the man before her,
whose smoldering eyes beckoned seductively.
About the Author
Jessica James is an
award-winning author of romantic suspense, historical fiction, and Christian
fiction, who combined all of her favorite things to create Lacewood.
Her new release is a
multi-era, small town, clean, inspirational novel that melds together elements
of mystery, history, and romance.
As someone who lives in a
200-year-old house, Jessica was intrigued when thinking about the generations
of people who occupied the same home. Lacewood
gives readers a behind-the-scenes glimpse of what took place in an old
neglected Southern mansion before two people from the modern world stumble
across it and into each other. It’s a love story that spans centuries, taking
readers on a journey into the past as the house reveals secrets about a
long-lost love affair.
Editorial Note: This packet of correspondence came to the Tattler offices when one of our reporters shared drinks with a man at the Bull and Codfish pub. The young man, who seems to be a careless footman in the employ of Mrs. Andrew Mallet of Bedford Square, left it on the table. We of course forwarded the entire packet on to its correct destination.
Mr. Clemens made copies first, but given the involvement of
the Foreign Office, he declared they were not to be published. He must have
forgotten to lock his desk. Besides, nothing here relates to matters of
To the Duchess of Sudbury,
Lily,I am in London, but not at home to callers, family excepted of course. Andrew remains in Cambridge, make of that what you will. When I tell you what has happened you will understand my need to live apart. I beg your support.
I know you send private mail to Richard via official couriers and the packet ships. May I ask you to send the enclosed message as soon as it can be arranged? I need his help and my son must be alerted. I trust him to inform his nephew cautiously.
Athena is gone to
I know that shocks
you, but perhaps not is much as it ought. Since the Heyworths’ visit five years
ago she has spoken of nothing but Italy, reminding me daily that in Italy there
are medical schools that admit women. The desire to study medicine is
admirable; you and I would both cheer her on if the girl was, not to mince
words, normal. Even if she could cope with strangers…but of course she cannot.
She sailed from
Falmouth a week ago. Her brother Archie, who perpetrated this insanity,
accompanied her, which would be a saving grace if I thought he could handle her
in a crisis. Her father, the wretch, professes to be proud of him. For a
scholar Andrew can be remarkably obtuse. I can’t imagine how the poor girl
managed the ship to Rome, much less life in a foreign country. I dread the
condition we will find her in when she returns.
I discovered this
morning that Lochlin assisted Archie as well. I can forgive a young man— they
often think with body parts other than their brains—but I can’t forgive her
father. I suspect Andrew actually abetted the young fools. He denies it, but I
don’t believe him.
Enough! I will tell
you all when I see you.
Editorial Note: The young lady in question, Miss Catherine Mallet, known to her family as Athena, is a recluse who shuns society after some unfortunate incidents of panic and hysteria (this paper has reason to know one such incident occurred in the Pembrook’s ballroom). She rarely leaves the family home in Cambridge except to visit close relatives, and is reputed to have an unnatural interest in the anatomy of animals and humans. Rumors about this abound in that shire, where some consider her quite insane, but others merely the oddest member of a notably eccentric family.
The second missive, in the same hand, although entirely concerning a private matter, was sent through official channels to Cairo. One wonders if that is entirely ethical.
The Duke of Sudbury
Her Majesty’s Envoy to
the court of Muhammad Ali Pasha, Khedive of Egypt
Forgive me for presuming by sending personal mail through the foreign office channels, and troubling you when you are deep into affairs of state—although when are you not?—but time may be of the essence.
To get right to the
point, Archie has taken Athena to Rome from where she expects she can be
admitted to medical school. I don’t need to outline for you all the reasons why
this is nonsensical. Archie, the coward, sent a message from Falmouth saying
that once he had her safely settled (as if that might be possible!), he will
travel directly to Edinburgh and begin his own studies.
This will grieve
Aeneas mightily. He and Archie quarreled on the subject of Athena shortly
before he left for Egypt. Archie has the pudding-brained notion she should be
encouraged to pursue studies to be a physician. Aeneas, ever the level headed
one where his sister is concerned, knows she should be kept close where we can
I send this in the hope that you will use your connections to ensure our officials in Italy watch out for them. If I can further impose on your kindness, please make Aeneas aware that this has happened. If it should go badly, he needs warning.
Your loving sister,
Since you have a way
of discovering things anyway, I will tell you that Andrew and I have separated
over this at least for now. Do not chastise me. I suspect Archie acted with his
father’s blessing. I am too angry to patch things over.
Aeneas may be sensible
about his sister but not his work. I count on you to keep him from doing
something foolish like plunging deep into Africa in pursuit of some previously
undiscovered crumb of knowledge. I want him back in one piece.
Editorial Note: Our
readers who pay follow the doings of the haut ton know that there is little the
Duke will not manage on behalf of his family, his friends, or the Empire come
to that. They will note, however, how unusual it is to have a one of his circle
actually ask for help rather than having it thrust upon them.
About the Author
Caroline Warfield writes family centered historical romance, largely set in the Regency and Victorian eras. The saga of the Mallets, their friends, and their family began with Dangerous Works.
marquess who never loses control (until he does) and a very independent woman
conflict, until revolution, politics, and pirates force them to work together. (In
which Sudbury had not come into his title and was yet the Marquess of Glenaire)
Jamie fled to Rome to hide his shame he didn’t expect a vicar’s daughter and
her imp of a niece to take over his life, with complications from an
interfering nun, a powerful count, and a genial monk.
From the journal of Sophie Hartford – the Tattler has received her PRIVATE Journal from Chateau de Fontanes, the Pyranees, 1818
We returned to the chateau today. I was sorry to say goodbye to my friends in
Ax-les-Thermes but the marquise assures me we’ll go back there soon. For now,
we’re going to spend a quiet few days here in the mountains, and I’m going to
be watching my sister closely. I sense she’s attracted to Joachim. Indeed, who
wouldn’t be, so handsome and warmhearted as he is. With those big brown eyes
and that smile like sunshine, he’s most alluring. But Nell is Nell and she hides
her feelings behind a cool composure. On the other hand, Joachim is making it
plain he likes and admires her.
This afternoon we went down to the stables and the two of them started talking together. I may be four years younger than Nell, but I’m grown up enough to see that Joachim only had eyes for her. So I dawdled around, stroking my horse, petting the stable cat, and then sat down on a bench. Joachim’s lurcher dog, Flocon, came and sat by me. They didn’t notice they were alone as they wandered off down the paddock, talking all the time. At several points they stopped, I could see them waving their arms around as they discussed something. Surely they must be coming to an agreement. Indeed, all the stableboys and grooms found excuses to come out and watch them as well.
My romantic hopes were sadly dashed when
they returned, and I found they’d spent the entire time talking about educating
the poor children of the estate. But tomorrow is another day and I’ll think up
a scheme to bring them together. Why is my 22 year old sister resisting such
29th April. This morning Nell was in the music room, helping a
little boy with his lesson. I casually told Joachim of this and soon I saw him
rush along to the music room. The little boy came out, and I pretended to be
arranging flowers in a vase in the corridor, so as to keep an eye on the door, in
case anyone else tried to go in. Flocon has become attached to me and he sat
watching as I fiddled with the flowers. A rather long time went by and I began
to worry that our kind hostess might come in search of us. So I tiptoed up to
the door, which wasn’t quite shut.
Somehow I stifled a gasp on seeing them
locked in a very passionate embrace
on the windowseat. As I peeped, they
slid down until Joachim was lying almost on top of her. Oh, my stars! What
lightning progress from yesterday’s formal behaviour. But I had to stop them before
they forgot themselves utterly. Suddenly I had a brainwave. I nudged the door a
little further open and pushed Flocon into the room. He started barking and ran
to jump up at his master. I saw Joachim jerk his head up, so I pulled the door
shut again and fled.
This evening. At dinner I
was expecting an Announcement but they both behaved as usual. Such a
disappointment. And later, when we came up to go to bed, Nell didn’t say a word
about her relationship with Joachim. She’s being very sly but tomorrow I shall
tell her that I KNOW!
About the book: TheOutcasts
Joachim is the youngest of the three Montailhac brothers.
Always close to the land, he now manages his father’s estates and
livestock. Athletic and handsome, Joachim seems to have an
ideal existence. But he has a guilty secret and it suddenly reappears to
cause havoc. His life is further complicated by dealing with an accident at the
iron mine on the estate just as visitors arrive, bringing yet more problems.
Nell and Sophie Hartford are cousins of Joachim’s sister-in-law, Olivia [see Scandalous Lady]. In the Spring of 1818 they find themselves outcasts from their officer father’s home in Paris, and are forced to accept Olivia’s assurance that her mother-in-law, the Marquise de Fontanes, will make them welcome. After all, says Olivia, life in the family chateau in the Pyrenees will be a tonic for them. Two unhappy girls struggle to fit into the very different lifestyle of the large and slightly exotic Montailhac family. At the same time, danger threatens from a deranged criminal bent on vengeance against their hosts.
Read an excerpt from The Outcasts
Nell seemed to have grown even prettier while he was away. Joachim joined his family in the Assembly Rooms and gazed appreciatively at her while she exchanged greetings with several of her new friends. Her primrose yellow dress brought out the russet gleams in her hair. She looked elegant and appealing. Glancing towards his mother he found her watching him with a twinkle in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow and he stepped close.
‘Mother, you’ve wrought a miracle. When she first arrived, dressed all in grey, I called her ‘Miss Dismal’ to myself. Now, I wonder if even her own father would recognise her.’
The marquise squeezed his hand. ‘Poor girls. Cast out as they were, no wonder they were so dejected. It is a pleasure to see them thrive here.’ She smiled at the buzz of light hearted chatter coming from the group. ‘Now you can keep an eye on them. I want to talk to my friends for a while.’
‘Hey, Joachim,’ one of the young men greeted him with a horrified air, ‘Did you know what’s in store this evening? Old Deschamps is going to recite one of his endless poems.’
There was a general muttering and some groans.
Nell gave a choke of laughter and looked enquiringly at Joachim.
He crossed his eyes at her, which made her laugh aloud. He sobered suddenly, staring into her green-grey eyes. She really was lovely, especially with that wash of pink colouring her cheeks. He wanted to get her away from the others.
‘Do you play cards? Then we could escape to the card room.’
‘No, neither of us plays.’ She looked round for her sister, but Sophie had disappeared.
‘She doesn’t like poetry recitals, I take it?’ said Joachim, amused.
‘No, but this is rude. I must find her.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ They slipped off towards the other room. ‘Well,’ said Joachim, ‘it seems we don’t care for poetry recitals either.’
She gave him a glance full of mischief, and laughed again, making him want to get her right away from everyone. ‘Let’s hope we don’t find Sophie too quickly, then.’
However, ten minutes later, Sophie was nowhere to be seen and Nell was showing signs of alarm.
‘I’d better see if she’s returned to the recital,’ she decided. They stood in the doorway, peering in. The marquise saw them and beckoned. Nell went to her and sat down. The poet was in full flow, and Joachim shook his head at his mother, who shrugged. He turned back into the card room and came face to face with Sophie. She smiled naughtily.
‘I saw you looking for me,’ she told him. ‘Bertrand spotted me but he didn’t say anything.’
She tossed her head. ‘You had more fun looking for me with Nell than being bored to death in there. Let’s play cards.’ She spun away, towards a table at the back of the room, where Bertrand was shuffling a pack of cards. He rose to his feet and pulled out a chair. Sophie sat down, casting a look of triumph at Joachim.
‘Nell said you don’t play,’ he protested.
She bit her lip, looking shamefaced suddenly. ‘Not really,’ she mumbled, ‘but I can watch you.’
A few of the older players were casting disapproving looks their way, although there were other ladies in the room. It was simply that Sophie was so very young. His mother would give him an earful later but until the poet finished his recitation, they would stay here.
‘Vingt-et-un?’ suggested Bertrand, dealing. The luck went against him for several games. He slammed his cards down. ‘Let’s have a drink. It might turn the luck in my favour.’ He beckoned to a waiter and held up three fingers.
‘Have they still not finished next door?’ he asked. He smiled at Sophie. ‘There’ll be some folk-songs later. You’ll enjoy that.’
She agreed and glanced at the approaching waiter. She stared for a moment and gave a gasp of surprise.
Joachim heard her and looked up. It was that toothy lad, and something was wrong. He saw the boy’s face change as he looked at Sophie. He set the tray down awkwardly, keeping his head bent down.
Bertrand picked up a glass and offered it to Sophie.
‘Er, no, no, sir,’ spluttered the waiter, jerking his hand out, but Sophie had already raised the glass to her lips.
‘Don’t drink,’ said Joachim sharply. Too late.
She set the empty glass down and tossed her head. ‘I’m old enough to drink wine, you know.’ Then the blood drained from her face. She put a hand to her throat. ‘Aargh,’ she croaked.
Both young men were on their feet. Joachim seized Sophie by the arm. ‘Get Nell,’ he shot at Bertrand and pulling Sophie’s arm round his shoulders he half-walked, half-dragged her towards the back door, which was close by.
‘Open it, you,’ he panted.
The rabbit-toothed waiter darted to obey.
They barely made it outside before Sophie began to retch. Joachim pulled out his handkerchief and was turning to look for some water when something struck him on the back of his head. He saw a mighty flash of red and then nothing more.
About the Author
Beth Elliott loves speaking different languages and traveling to out of the way places. A Welsh mother and a Lancashire father mean she has a complicated mix of imagination and practical common sense. After a teaching career in several countries, she settled in the Thames Valley. Settled, that is, except when the traveling bug takes her. An excuse for this is that she has published a number of travel articles, and of course, she can use the settings for her novels.
Her Regency Tales are
stories of intrigue, adventure and romance, with a few real people in among the
cast of characters who find themselves caught up in events that rather upset
their normal lives. She hasn’t yet put Napoleon himself in a story, but he’s on
the waiting list. On the principle of ladies first, especially in the Regency
era, Lady Hester Stanhope played a small but vital role in ‘Scandalous Lady.’
From her own experience of life in Turkey, Beth likes to add a
touch of exotic to some of her stories. But adventure and romance can – and do
– occur just as easily in London, Bath or Brighton as in Constantinople.
For more information, visit her at the following links.