Dear Readers!
You, we are certain, are guided by reason and common sense.
Sadly, this is untrue of one of our noble peers. We refer, alas, to Lord N, who is labeled by the caricaturists as the Carpentry Earl.
Lord N‘s marquetry and inlay work is superb. No one denies that. But why did he enter into partnership with a man of low estate and indulge in (shudder) trade? This was deplorable enough when he was a mere second son, but after succeeding unexpectedly to the title, Lord N continues to eschew the ton in favor of laboring in his London shop.
We at the Tattler wonder if perhaps his diligence has something to do with avoiding marriage—or, to put it more plainly, the inevitability of an unfaithful wife. Why, you ask, would his wife be unfaithful? Lord N is a good-looking man, and physical labor renders him quite delightfully brawny.
But brawniness is no proof against the supposed Infidelity Curse laid upon his noble line by the Lady N of two centuries ago. Ever since, every Lady N has been unfaithful to her lord. No wonder his lordship would rather avoid marriage.
But if so, why did he commit the folly of entangling himself with the excessively beautiful Lady T, who (it is whispered) betrayed her elderly husband and then poisoned him? Does she have her clutches firmly into Lord N? If so, which fate will assail him first: poison or the dreaded curse? https://books2read.com/infidelity-curse
Here’s an excerpt from The Infidelity Curse:
Setup: At the reading of Sir Matthew Tifton’s will, all is going well except for the unpleasant presence of Sir Matthew’s nephew, Mr. Welton, who has already disrupted the proceedings twice. And then…
“There remains the question of guardianship, which is somewhat unusual,” Mr. Briggs, the solicitor, said.
Oh, God. Lucretia hadn’t thought of that.
“Sir Matthew appointed the Earl of Netherbroke as guardian of his child.” He paused. “Also as trustee, jointly with myself.”
“What the devil? I am meant to be the guardian!” Mr. Welton sprang up. “And the sole trustee, damn you!”
“Mr. Welton, if you cannot restrain yourself,” Mr. Briggs said, “Lady Tifton will be obliged to ask her footman to remove you.”
“Pah! She wouldn’t dare,” Welton said, “not with what I know about her.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Lucretia.
She shrank away. What could he possibly know? She’d never done anything wrong, except . . .
“Who is the Earl of Netherbroke?” demanded Lucretia’s niece, Noelle.
“He is an elderly peer who lives in Gloucestershire,” Lucretia said. “Sir Matthew and the Earl of Netherbroke were enthusiastic medal collectors. They met once at an auction and corresponded for a short while well over a year ago. Sir Matthew’s passion for marquetry was due to the Earl’s influence. I suppose my husband decided, judging by a brief acquaintance and some expensive furniture from the shop the Earl recommended, that the Earl would make a suitable guardian.” Fury swelled within her, but she strove to keep it from her voice. Surely a doddering earl was better than horrid Mr. Welton.
Mr. Briggs nodded. “Most likely due to his position in society.”
“Society be damned. My uncle feared for his life and the safety of his child.” Welton’s spittle flew. “He knew his precious wife had cuckolded him over and over, and then she tried to poison him with her noxious brews. What sort of mother would she be?”
Aghast, Lucretia clapped a hand to her breast. “No, no! I made him tisanes of healing herbs.” Her voice trembled. “He was ill. I tried to cure him!”
“Hah! You would claim that, wouldn’t you—but you don’t deny that you cuckolded him.”
Before Lucretia could gain control of her voice, he turned to Jellicoe, the valet. “You know all about this, don’t you? Sir Matthew valued you. He confided in you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, sir, he did,” Jellicoe said. “He believed Lady Tifton was trying to kill him. He feared the consequences to the child’s immortal soul if it was left to its mother’s care.”
Welton shook his fist at Lucretia. “You killed him because he was going to change his will. No. More likely he had already changed it, using the services of a more competent solicitor than this fellow. And then you burned it so no one would ever know.”
Lucretia quailed, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true.”
“You’re a whore and a murderess,” he shouted. “You may try to cozen the Earl of Whatshisname, but you won’t succeed. I’ll do whatever it takes to see that he takes the child away from you. You’ll be lucky if you don’t hang!”
A dark cloud swept over Lucretia. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came, and she fainted dead away.
I’m writing to tell you our papa has overcome the Fever he suffered. You don’t need to travel home, the roads being unpleasant this time of year, and you so far up north. My Edward continues to managing the drapery with the old man ill. While I shudder to be blunt, the business prospers under his care, no matter what you might have heard from Papa who, as I’ve written is becoming queer in his old age.
Mia Selwyn lives in the shadows, an unwanted poor relation in the house of her viscount uncle. When her cousin’s hoydenish attempt to meet the supposed heir sees her drenched, ill, and in need of nursing, Mia is sent to care for her. Though warned to stay clear of the despised Kendrick, she is drawn into the dark undercurrents among the mismatched collection of residents and enthralled by the enigmatic Mr. Kendrick.
And where is the duke? Find out in Duke in Name Only 
Recently, one Seth Caulfield, boldly bearing the earl’s surname, appeared in London wearing the uniform of a naval officer of sorts. One gathered he bore the rank of surgeon, a warranted rank, not one of a gentleman to be sure. He had the look of a Caulfield about him, however, and no sooner than he had appeared than he was welcomed to the earl’s table and given full support. It appeared that another one of the, if you’ll pardon our language, Clarion Bastards has appeared on the scene. (I apologize if ladies take offense but we do like to speak the truth, and the man is well, not legitimate at all.)
About the Story
Dearest Mr. Clemens, thank you for the delightful Tea you arranged for my sister and I before we left London. As you predicted, there is much delicious information to be had at Sir Peter and Lady Somerville’s house party in the lovely Sussex countryside. My sister Prudence will have already alerted you to the goings on of the night rider Captain Midnight. There will be more on that subject!
