Tag: Teatime Tattler Page 21 of 22

Dear Readers,

Like many of you, last night witnessed the scandalous, public ruination of Lady Constance Stuart at the Renshaw Ball by Mr Aaron Wincanton. Mr Wincanton, who has recently returned a hero from the Peninsular, and Lady Constance were found in flagrante in the library by none other than the lady’s own fiancé and a huge crowd of eager onlookers. However, what you may not yet know, is that despite the bitter feud between the two families I received word that Lord Aaron procured a special licence and married the girl before the sun had risen the very next morning. 12498710_552117861604451_573223318_n The unlikely newlyweds removed themselves promptly from town to honeymoon at the Wincanton estate- Ardleigh Manor. Obviously, spurred on by my desire to provide you, dear rear, with all of the pertinent facts, I followed. Fortunately, the groom himself granted me this short interview which I print here for your titillation and amusement.

S. Clemens

Lord Aaron, it is fair to say your hasty marriage surprised a great many of us, especially in view of the long and bitter feud between the Stuart and Wincanton families and the fact that Lady Constance was already engaged to the Marquis of Deal. Is it true, the Earl of Redbridge has disowned his only daughter?

That is merely rumour and speculation. The earl happily gave us his blessing to marry. We had a cosy ceremony in his own study.

Then the three-hundred-year old feud is over?

Not exactly. Relations between our respective fathers are still… tense, however, I am hopeful, given time, this situation will improve once they see how happy my darling Constance and I am together.

That is interesting and contrary to what I have been told. My sources have reliably informed me that Lady Constance said, and I quote, ‘I would rather be cast out onto the streets than marry a vile Wincanton’ just minutes before the wedding ceremony. Those are hardly the words of a happy woman.

My Connie has a warped sense of humour at times Mr Clemens. She was merely joking. We are deeply in love. We tried to resist our strong feelings for each other, but alas, we could not. Like Romeo and Juliet, our love was too strong for a silly feud to prevent us from being together. But unlike Romeo and Juliet, our love story has a happy ending.

I see- if you do not mind me saying, that is a very impressive, purple bump you are sporting on your forehead. I overheard the servants saying you received it when your devoted, love-struck wife threw a projectile at you. Would you care to comment?

Oh that was merely a misunderstanding. One of those silly tiffs couples have from time to time. Connie discovered me reading The Taming of the Shrew and assumed I was consulting the play for tips on how to deal with her. She threw the book at me- quite literally as it turned out- because like all redheads she does have a fiery temper. I can assure you all is cordial between us again now.

Lady Constance does have rather vibrant red hair and she is a very… statuesque woman. Has she forgiven you for branding her with the unfortunate nickname you gave her at her come-out?

Again, another misunderstanding Mr Clemens. Connie is well aware I said what I did in jest and I had no idea the name would stick for so many years. In fact, I was shocked to hear it still being used when I returned from the war.

She must be a very understanding lady indeed to not be offended at being called the Ginger Amazonian, especially as the name has stuck. I do believe your expression gives you away Mr Wincanton. Did I just see you wince?

I am not particularly proud of myself Mr Clemens, if that is what you are alluding to, however Constance is a forgiving, good-natured woman and she realises I was very young and foolish when I came up with that terrible name. It is all water under the bridge now that we are so happily married.

So happily married that she throws books at you and has locked herself in her bedchamber and has refused to come out since her arrival?

I shan’t keep you Mr Clemens. It is a long drive back to London and I am sure you are keen to be on your way…

About the Book

Scandal broke last night when Lady Constance Stuart was discovered in the arms of Aaron Wincanton, the son of her family’s greatest enemy! But now we can reveal an even more shocking development. Our sources say a special license was obtained and the two were married before sunrise!

It’s been confirmed that Aaron has stolen his new bride away to the country to begin their unexpected marriage. We’ll be watching closely to see exactly what happens when a gentleman invites his enemy into his bed…

Amazon link: http://amzn.to/242XLtS

About the Author

When Virginia Heath was a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older, the stories became more complicated, sometimes taking weeks to get to the happy ending. Then one day, she decided to embrace the insomnia and start writing them down. Her first Regency Romance, That Despicable Rogue, was published in May 2016 by Harlequin and Her Enemy at the Altar is published this month. Despite this, it still takes her forever to fall asleep.

Website: http://www.virginiaheathromance.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/VirginiaHeath_
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/virginiaheathauthor

Tale of a Tattling Clergyman

By Guest author

On July 20, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Bluestocking belles 483px-'Reverend_Joseph_Stevens_Buckminster,_D.D.'_by_Gilbert_Stuart,_Cincinnati Mr. Clements,

After much soul-searching, and with great reluctance of spirit, I find I must give in to your entreaties and share the details of that most shocking event which you probed me about after services Sunday last. The sad details I have confirmed, and though I have no wish to hasten a lady’s descent into perfidy by exposing her true identity to the world, relating these events in your publication will, I trust, provide a cautionary tale for young women readers everywhere.

As I described to you, a young lady under my pastoral care (I shall call her “Miss M”) has involved herself in a sordid situation. Having known Miss M for over a twelvemonth, and her elderly relative for more, it was my most considered duty to shepherd the young woman. Nay, upon the demise of her relative, I even offered that most honorable of states, matrimony, for though the lady’s means are limited, she is a most comely and, I believed, well-bred creature.

Alas, I fear that an excess of sentiment clouded Miss M’s judgment. She embroiled herself in the activities of a female who runs, in her very home, a kind of shelter for the offspring of women who have fallen. With no shame, I count it as a blessing from the Almighty that Miss M declined my suit, and you shall hear why.

At Christmastide Miss M traveled to an outlying inn and involved herself in a most heathen undertaking, a Wife Sale! I know not how or why she came to know of this auction, but it is perfectly reflective of the state of her mind. Had I known of her intent, I would, as her spiritual adviser, have stepped in and stopped this most dangerous scheme.

For you see, the worst has happened. Not only was the object of this mercantile image for Bluestocking Belles post Sampson_Vryling_Stoddard_Wilder event delivered into an adulterous union, Miss M, I fear, is Lost, having fallen like the mothers of the children she ministered to into the hands of an upstart, Lord C, reputed to be a man of great wealth and poor moral repute. It is said, she has even been residing with him these many days without benefit of wedlock!

I fear that Miss M has descended to the fate of so many young women unsupervised by father or brother, given to vanity and excessive sensibility, and unwilling to accept the guidance of those more prudent. Whether matrimony shall ensue…well, that is anyone’s guess, but even if it does, I fear she is lost to all respectable society.

Let this be a lesson to any young reader who comes across this story.

With regards,

I shall only sign myself “A Clergyman”

About Rosalyn’s Ring By Alina K. Field

When a young woman is put up for auction in a wife sale, Rosalyn Montagu seizes the chance to rescue her—and to recover a treasured family heirloom, her father’s signet ring. Her plans are thwarted by the newly anointed Viscount Cathmore who finds her provoking beauty, upper crust manner, and larcenous streak intriguing. Her secrets rouse his jaded heart, including the truth of her identity—she is the woman whose home he has usurped. But more mysteries swirl around Rosalyn’s past, and Cathmore is just the man to help her uncover the truth.

~excerpt~

She looked at him earnestly. “Will Mr. Logan raise this little one as his own?” she asked in a worried whisper. “Properly?”

He nodded. “He will.”

She blinked back tears and studied young William. “A boy needs a father. A girl, too. Even the ones born on the wrong side of the sheets.”

His breath left him a moment. She was not, like so many of the philanthropist matrons, a condescending patron of the poor.

“Rosalyn. Why are you not married?”

Her eyes glinted. “Why are you not?”

He smiled, and her face fell. “Or are you, sir?”

“I am not. And you are not. We are both unmarried. I asked you first and you must answer first. That is the rule.”

She turned that over in her head, but answered anyway. “I had offers.” Her nose wrinkled with distaste. “All from clergymen associated with the orphanage. I did not marry them because we did not suit.”

He felt a sense of relief. “Why ever not? I should think a good-hearted maiden like yourself and a clergyman would suit quite well.”

“I did not love any of them, which, I know, practical people say is not important. But besides that, they did not love the children. No, no, they did not like the children. I’ll grant you, some of the children are so hardened they are difficult to like, but they did not like a one of them, not even the babies. They looked at them as, as, offal, trash. I could not abide a man who would claim to serve a child born in a stable and then throw away another child because he or she was base-born.”

“So why were they there?” He lifted a tendril of her hair. “For this, I suppose?”

She blushed hot red, and the air crackled between them.

“It is your turn to tell,” she said. “Why are you not married? You are rich, titled, and handsome.”

“Do you think I am handsome, Rosalyn?” He twirled the tendril of hair in his fingers.

Her brow creased. “Do not be coy, Cathmore. You know you are a handsome devil, even though, or perhaps especially because, you look like a bloody pirate.”

Hamish laughed, startled that such profanity had come from such a pretty mouth. “My lady,” he said in feigned shock. “Your language!”

You can find it on Amazon

About the Author

Award winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but she found her true passion in reading and writing romance. Though her roots are in the Midwest, after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband and a blue-eyed cat who conned his way in for dinner one day and decided the food was too good to leave.

She is the author of the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner in the novella category, Rosalyn’s Ring, a Regency novella, the novel-length sequel, a 2015 RONE Award finalist, Bella’s Band, both Soul Mate Publishing releases, and a prequel novella, Liliana’s Letter, a 2016 National Reader’s Choice Award finalist.

Visit her at:

http://alinakfield.com/
https://www.facebook.com/alinakfield
https://twitter.com/AlinaKField
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7173518.Alina_K_Field
https://www.pinterest.com/alinakf/
https://www.instagram.com/alinak.field/

Dispatches from Spain

By Caroline Warfield

On May 28, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Caroline Warfield, Teatime Tattler

Teatime Tattler, January 1814

Out troops continue to make a good showing, chasing forces of the little Corsican back where they belong. It will not, one thinks, be long now. While many have given with blood and treasure to bring glory to England, we have reported before that fail their duty. This paper has never failed to report such dereliction when it comes our attention and to bring public shame on them miscreants. I draw the reader’s attention to recent examples.

—One Lt. D lured a certain Miss W., who had been hired as nursemaid to officers’ families safely billeted in Lisbon, from her post one evening. The young lady did not return and is reputed to followed the Lieutenant in the train of camp followers when troops moved north, her disgrace at his hands now permanent.

—The well known episode of an entire company of men who deserted their post when rumors of a liberated wine seller came to light, failed to appear on time to face the frogs at Roncesvalles does not bear repeating. A description of their punishment would not be fit for ladies’ eyes.

—Captain L., officer though he may have been, was shot for desertion, having fled the field and hid in the hills during action in the Pyrenees.

Sometimes, dear reader, we wrongly report. Rarely does this happen. When it does we make it right. Loyal readers may recall that we had reports, well verified reports, that a certain Major M., seen at the siege of San Sebastian, disappeared from his post and was rumored to have been discovered malingering in an inn along to the coast, probably in a drunken stupor.

By Camille Clère (1825-1918)

It pleases us to correct the error. We have been reliably informed that the gentleman is in fact recovering from wounds received at the hands of the vile French, and we are able to publish the name of this heroic soldier. Maj. Andrew Mallet left San Sebastian during the siege on a mission whose purpose is shrouded in mystery. Our source indicates that he is believed to have been captured and questioned by the French in a —here we beg the indulgence of our more gentle readers—“hell-hole.” His release was obtained through the heroic efforts of those soldiers closest to him and, it must be said, the expenditure of considerable amount in gold supplied by the Marquess of Glenaire, that fixture of Horse Guards, himself.

We have been unable to uncover any specifics about the mission that led to his capture, but rumors abound that the Marble Marquess himself may have ordered it. The presence of his private yacht off the coast during the daring raid to rescue Mallet gives credence to the rumor. If he was indeed responsible, his rescue efforts are to be applauded.

Servants have told our informant that the major suffered wounds “in every part of his body,” surely an exaggeration. They are adamant to a man that his head and face are swathed in bloody bandages, however, and one man swears he saw saber slashes across his chest when he delivered more linen.

Of the Marquess, we have no word. If he is present at the inn as rumors imply, he has either bribed or intimidated all witnesses into silence. One can only conclude he regrets his part in this horrific episode and does not wish his name bandied about.

Major Lord James Heyworth, hard riding cavalry officer and well-known rakehell, has been seen visiting the bedside, It appears the three of them have been friends since Harrow, along with the Earl of Chadbourn who returned from the Peninsula to take up his responsibilities upon the death of his father last hear. School ties run deep.

We await the start of the spring campaign and hope for an end to the madness caused by the French emperor.

DangerousWorks_600x900 copy Dangerous Works
Andrew Mallet recovered from those wounds and returned, badly scarred, to service, only to suffer even greater injuries at Waterloo. The war over, he sold out and went home to Cambridge, seeking healing for his wounds and peace for his soul. His only desire was work that would have made his father, a classics scholar, proud. A determined woman had other ideas. What happened? You can read his story in Dangerous Works.

As to the others, the Marble Marquess meets his match in Dangerous Weakness, Jamie Heyworth confronts his demons in Dangerous Secrets, and the Earl of Chadbourn finds a partner he can lean on n A Dangerous Nativity.

For more about their stories see:

http://www.carolinewarfield.com/
http://www.amazon.com/l/B00N9PZZZS/

Or their Pinterest Boards

https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-works-1816/
https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-weakness-1818/
https://www.pinterest.com/warfieldcaro/dangerous-secrets-1820/

3covers

The Housekeeper’s Fears

By Guest author

On March 23, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

From the diary of Beatrice Mellor, housekeeper at Blackheath Manor:

I worry about him, my boy.

He’s changed and I’m afraid I know the reason why.

lady Thomas James Worsley is the son of my late employer. So he’s not really my son — my husband and I were never so blessed, but nonetheless I nursed him.

I nursed him when he was as helpless as a babe returned to Blackheath after the war with Napoleon.

He was near death; the pneumonia had a strong hold on him. Each breath rattled through his lungs and I feared it would be his last.

I nursed him. I fed him when he was too weak to feed himself. I stayed with him night after night even when the doctor all but pronounced him dead.

I encouraged him when it seemed there was no hope. But I knew him. He was a fighter. Even when he got into scraps with his brothers, he would always been the last to yield. That fighting spirit helped him to live to another Christmas and then another.

I hadn’t realised he was blind at first, not when he was so ill and he spend more time in fever than not. And his leg! So many breaks in those bones and so many scars that he cannot straighten it for any length of time without pain…

My dear boy…

The way his brother treated him was shameful, but it’s not my place to question the Earl’s decision, mine is to do my duty and care for the people under my charge. And that is what brings me to this dilemma.

There’s a new addition to the household, a governess for the little misses.

Her name is Ella Montgomery and she knows.

She has seen Thomas and he seemed enraptured by her. I haven’t seen him this happy since the spring of 1815 – six years ago.

This can only end badly. I fear for him. His body has been broken, but what of his heart?

About the Book

In her first posting as governess, Ella Montgomery discovers beautiful Blackheath Manor hides family secrets and suppressed passions. Mysterious piano music in the darkness of night draws Ella to the talented Thomas Worsley, the brother of her employer, the Earl of Renthorpe. Grievously wounded in the Napoleonic Wars, Thomas is held prisoner at Blackheath by more than his blindness and scars. Driven by bitter jealousy, the Earl has ensured Thomas is only a memory, his name etched on a marble memorial in the Bedfordshire village graveyard. Drawn together by their love of music, Ella and Thomas begin a clandestine affair, but how far will the Earl go to keep his family’s secret?

~Excerpt~

Ella crossed to the small window and looked out over the dales where she caught a glimpse of the village through the grove of trees and farmlands beyond, all wearing a blanket of snow.

Turning back to the room, Ella unpacked her precious few belongings. Before hanging them in the wardrobe, she laid her dresses on the bed to smooth them out – a winter Sunday dress of felt, the color of ripe raspberries, a forest green walking dress, and a Sunday dress for summer in soft buttery yellow linen, along with her slate grey day dress. The first three were all gifts from the Bishop’s wife. They were hand-me-downs, but still of the finest quality and not too out of fashion.

As she hung the dresses up, she reflected that Mrs. Stanton’s generosity had more than doubled her wardrobe. Before that she had owned only the grey day dress in addition to the black one she wore now.

Ella placed her most valued possession on the bed – her father’s Bible. She stroked the black leather cover, rubbed soft with age, and opened it. Inside were her father’s commentaries. Seeing his handwriting made her feel as though he were alive once more. Ella closed her eyes. The sharpness of his loss had barely lessened over the year.

She had never felt more miserable in her life.

The chimes from the grandfather clock echoed up the stairwell, registering the fourth hour of the afternoon. No one had yet brought the promised meal to her room – not that she was hungry, anyway.

She straightened her back, suddenly struck with the resolve to at least do something.

Although Mrs. Mellor had set a timetable, Ella was the girls’ governess, and therefore they were her responsibility. She would see them now and introduce herself before they were to be presented to their parents at bedtime.

Ella took a tentative step or two toward the staircase and looked up to the top floor. She could hear no sounds there. If she listened hard, she could hear maids downstairs preparing the dining table. Then she looked to the left and the right. If the school room was on this floor, perhaps the nursery was as well.

She knocked on several closed doors and received no response. The house was a jumble of passages and Ella soon found herself at the last door before a narrow stone spiral staircase. The sounds of kitchen activity below confirmed her belief these were the servants’ stairs.

She heard movement from behind the door – the scrape of a chair and a softly grunted curse. A moment’s indecision, then her hand was raised to knock on the door when Mrs. Mellor startled her for the second time today.

“Are you looking for something, Miss Montgomery?” she asked sharply.

Ella turned and found the woman’s expression as cold as the day outside.

“I’m seeking the nursery, Mrs. Mellor.”

“You won’t find it here.”

“Then if you would kindly direct me–”

“On the second floor. It is the room above yours. Use the main staircase, not the servants’. You do not want to give the wrong impression when you are new here.”

Mrs. Mellor extended her arms, drawing attention to a tray of food which Ella, so focused on Mrs. Mellor’s stern expression, had not noticed. The tray bore an elaborate silver savory dish warmed underneath by two small votive candles. Beside it was a platter of fresh fruit, a wedge of cheese and a sweetmeat dish filled with nuts.

“Oh,” said Ella, “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble on my account.”

The woman frowned a moment, then saw Ella’s gaze upon the tray and her look became glacial.

“This is not for you. I have more important duties than to be scullery maid to a governess. Get out of my way.”

Mrs. Mellor set the tray on a side table opposite the door on which Ella had been about to knock. With cheeks flushed red, Ella turned and hurried back down the passageway. Behind her as she fled, she heard a male voice answer Mrs. Mellor’s authoritative knock on the door.

Ella found the main stairs and started climbing, mentally berating herself. She had been here a scant two hours and gotten off on the wrong foot with one of the most important people in the house.

Her first post had not started well – and she had a horrible feeling it was not going to get any better.

Available from Amazon and iBooks

Nocturne is a novella from Elizabeth Ellen Carter whose full-length titles include Warrior’s Surrender, Moonstone Obsession, and Moonstone Conspiracy.

Earl’s Ward Sets Fire to School

By Caroline Warfield

On March 19, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Caroline Warfield, Teatime Tattler

320px-Almeida_Júnior_-_Saudade_1899 News about one’s children received from strangers is rarely good. The Countess of Chadbourn stared at the missive in her lap grateful her own children still resided in the nursery. Responsibility for her teen-aged brothers had become the very devil.

“Worry fixes nothing,” she reminded herself picking up the unopened letter and tapping it on her desk. She had, after all, expected this message as soon as she prevailed upon Mrs. Bosworthy to check on the boys. She had only met the woman once, but knew she lived near Wembley, had boys in the school, and would have access to local gossip.

Spy might be a more accurate term since Catherine begged the woman to be discrete and let neither the boys, nor their tutors, nor the house-masters know of her interest. Rather more discomforting was the fact that she had requested it be kept from her husband.

Within a year of her marriage her new husband, the earl, had insisted that Freddy and Randy go to school along with his nephew Charles, who was also their cousin. Catherine resisted for a year, insisting they needed time to adjust to the change in circumstances. The earl—Will— remembered school fondly and expected all three boys to do well. Within months first one and then all three wrote to complain about conditions. It was, her husband informed her, normal. “Don’t be overprotective,” he said. “Boys need to grow tough.”

A year later when the complaints stopped, he seemed to be proven correct. Freddy at least appeared to be thriving, and the boys showed no signs of problems for three terms, until the younger two moved to a different house. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew something was wrong. Randy had become more and more withdrawn. During the most recent holidays he looked downright ill. When asked he shrugged. He said the oddest thing. “It is just how things are done.” She tried talking to Will who gave her the most provoking superior look and said, “Women don’t understand these things.”

What was she to do? She turned to another mother, one who lived close enough to snoop. She flipped the wax seal from the missive with more force than strictly necessary, unfolded it, and gasped. She was out of her chair and down the hall in minutes.

“Will, Will! You must listen to me,” she insisted, flying into his study. “You have to read—“ She stopped. Will raised his head from his hands and faced her with a bleak expression. Letters of his own lay open on his desk.

He swallowed hard. “What is it, Catherine?”

“It’s about Randy.” She hesitated when her husband blanched.

He waved a hand rather helplessly over his own letter.

Catherine sank into worn leather chair. “Bertha Bosworthy has heard that some upper form boys are using Randy for a whipping boy. She says they’ve told him he has to take his cousin’s share of punishments because Charles is a duke and they aren’t allowed to touch him. She says the local physician told her he has seen Randy three times and the last time—“ She looked down at the letter to make sure she got it right. “—he told her last time Randy may have been ‘violated.’ Do you know what that could mean?” She looked up and saw her husband, pale as death, a sick expression twisting his handsome face. Apparently he did know.

Will pushed himself to his feet slowly as if infinitely tired. “I’m going down there,” he said. “I’ve had a letter too. Freddy set fire to Randy’s house-master’s office. It almost took the whole place down. He’s been thrown out.”

“Good!” Catherine said. “He probably deserved it. The house-master I mean, not Freddy.”

“I have no doubt he did,” Will said with a nod at the letter in her hand. “I also had one from Fred. All it said was, ‘Randy had a problem. The three of us took care of it.’”

He walked around the desk and pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry Catherine. I misjudged the situation. I’ll get them out of there.” He kissed her soundly and started for the door.

“Do it quickly,” she said at his retreating back, “Before one of those horrid gossip rags like The Teatime Tattler gets wind of it and we have, ‘Earl’s ward sets fire to school’ screaming from every headline in London.
____________________________________________________

This bit of fiction has been enlarged and published as A Mother’s Work is Never Done, a short story that describes Will’s efforts to comfort Randy.

You can obtain a ***FREE*** copy of it on Smashwords.

Dangerous-Nativity-Cover-Front-900x1350 Catherine and Will’s love story can be found in A Dangerous Nativity, which also introduced the boys, Fred, Randy, and Charles. They, in turn, will find their own happiness as adults in my next series. The first, The Renegade Wife will tell Randy’s story. It is due out in October 2016, with the other two books to follow in 2017.

You can find more about A Dangerous Nativity and Caroline Warfield’s other books here.

Because history is fun and love is worth working for

Tag: Teatime Tattler Page 21 of 22

An Unexpected End to the Wincanton-Stuart Feud?

Tale of a Tattling Clergyman

Dispatches from Spain

The Housekeeper’s Fears

Earl’s Ward Sets Fire to School