Home of the Bluestocking Belles

Mr. Clemens will be pleased!

On August 4, 2018

Lady Abigail Danvers tapped her sister’s arm with her fan before discreetely nodding toward the study door. This house party just got interesting.

Lady Prudence leaned forward. “Is that—”

The Ainslie Sisters by Thomas Stewardson 1808

“Yes,” Abigail replied. Snapping open her fan, she began waving it in front of her suddenly flushed face. Oh the implication of this tryst was too shocking for words.

“But did I not just see the Duke of Hartford—”

“Yes… he is in there as well,” Abigail said.

Prudence giggled. “Is it possible he is having an affair with his ex-mistress right in front of his new fiancé’s nose?”

Abigail shrugged but her eyes sparked at the thought. “I wonder what Mr. Clemens at the Teatime Tattler would pay for firsthand knowledge of this story?”

Laughter rumbled out of Prudence causing several heads to turn in their direction before she recovered herself. “Why Abigail Danvers, you sly thing you. Usually I am the one who comes up with these little schemes.”

Abigail peeked at her sister before a giggled escaped her. “You must be a bad influence on me,” she playfully scolded.

There was no further time for words between them because they were witnessing what was sure to make the front page of the paper. Prudence gasped, which surely must have been a first for her. Nothing ever seemed to shock her sister.

Abigail tugged on Prudence’s sleeve. “We best get home and write this up so we can deliver it to Mr. Clemens first thing in the morning. We do not wish someone to report such a juicy bit of gossip before us.”

This little piece of tittle-tattle comes to you from Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing, with her compliments. The Duke of Hartford’s story will be coming soon in One Moment In Time: A Family of Worth, Book Two. In the meantime, read about him as a secondary character in Nothing But Time: A Family of Worth, Book One. You can learn more about Sherry on the tab above or at the social media links listed below.

Nothing But Time:
A Family of Worth, Book One

They will risk everything for their forbidden love…

When Lady Gwendolyn Marie Worthington is forced to marry a man old enough to be her father, she concludes love will never enter her life. Her husband is a cruel man who blames her for his own failings. Then she meets her brother’s attractive business associate, and all those longings she had thought gone forever suddenly reappear.

A long-term romance holds no appeal for Neville Quinn, Earl of Drayton until an unexpected encounter with the sister of the Duke of Hartford. Still, he resists giving his heart to another woman, especially one who belongs to another man.

Chance encounters lead to intimate dinners, until Neville and Gwendolyn flee to Berwyck Castle at Scotland’s border hoping beyond reason their fragile love will survive the vindictive reach of Gwendolyn’s possessive husband. Before their journey is over, Gwendolyn will risk losing the only love she has ever known.

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LADY FARROW DETERMINED TO SEE HER DAUGHTER WED!

By Guest author

On August 1, 2018

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Dear Readers,

The Tattler has learned that Lady Farrow, the esteemed wife of the Duke of Farrow and mother of dear Isabelle Carlton, the Incomparable herself, is hatching quite the plan!

It is said that Lady Farrow has engaged the help of her friend Lady Balton, to host a house party, in the midst of the Season no less, in order to secure a noble husband for Lady Isabelle.

As all of our readers know, Isabelle Carlton needs no help in attracting suitors. But poor Lady Farrow is said to be at her wits’ end, for her daughter remains stubbornly single!

Lady Balton is indeed a good friend to offer help in this scheme. Though one has to wonder what her brooding, studious, and dare we say; rather bookish son, Mathew, the Duke of Balton will think of playing host to Lady Isabelle’s many beaux?

We cannot help but feel that these two Society matriarchs have their work cut out for them. For Lady Isabelle has never shown the slightest interest in marrying one of her many admirers, and her childhood friend the Duke of Balton has never shown the slightest interest in anything outside of his books!

We at the Tattler are most intrigued and simply cannot wait to see if Lady Farrow will return for

end of the Season, triumphant in getting her beautiful, wilful daughter engaged.

That is, of course, if the Duke of Balton manages not to throw everyone out before then!

We will be sure to bring you news of this scheme from our many reliable sources, as soon as we have it.

The Beauty and the Duke

Isabelle Carlton has loved the boy next door for as long as she can remember.
Now they’re both grown up, their lives could not be more different; Mathew is a studious, serious duke, and Isabelle a social butterfly and the darling of the ton.

But Isabelle still wants Mathew, and she has no intention of letting him go. So all she has to do is make him fall desperately in love with her. And who better to help than the man himself?

Mathew Rourke hates everything about the shallow world of the ton, and the people who play its foolish game. And none of them play it more than Isabelle Carlton.

When Isabelle enlists Mathew’s help to catch herself a husband, he reluctantly agrees. After all, when has he ever been able to tell her no?

But helping Isabelle is getting increasingly more difficult. For one thing, he can’t help but wonder why she needs any help. And for another, he can’t seem to want to let her go.

Do opposites really attract? And can this beauty catch the duke next door?

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Meet Nadine Millard

Nadine Millard is a bestselling writer hailing from Dublin, Ireland.

When she’s not writing historical romance, she’s managing her chaotic household of three children, a husband and a very spoiled dog!

She’s a big fan of coffee and wine with a good book and will often be found at her laptop at 2am when a book idea strikes.

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BlueStocking Belles Accused of Salacious Seduction

By Rue Allyn

On July 28, 2018

In Teatime Tattler

Dear Mr. Clemens,*

I wish to warn you and your readers that those shameless hussies known as The Bluestocking Belles are at it again. Once more they plan to produce a connected set of scandalous stories which include salacious scenes of seduction. Heavens, they even intend to celebrate the production and release of this terrible titilating tome with parties and other social events. (I have good information that the first event, involving the revelation of some sort of artwork, will be held at their salon on September 8^th.) They are already sending out invitations, as several of my acquaintances have received them. I have counseled these acquaintances not to attend. These erotically erudite women know better than to send me an invitation, for they know I would reply with a scathing refusal. I am certain these purveyors of prurience would be completely shunned, were it not for the D’ of H’s sponsorship. I admire that great lady’s many charitable efforts, but she has sadly misplaced her trust in sponsoring these Bluestocking Belles. I beg you sir, do all you can in your very useful periodical to warn the public not to purchase or support these women in their efforts to undermine decency.

Respectfully,

A concerned society matron.

*A note to our readers. We at the Tattler were astonished to receive the above correspondence. Our fondness for The Bluestocking Belles is well known and we cannot imagine what the author of this letter was thinking when she wrote it let alone addressed it to us. We can only speculate that she must be aware of our war on censorship. It is in that spirit that we have chosen to publish her letter of tripe and vitriol. The Tattler in no way endorses this supposed matron’s opinions or advice. In fact we encourage all of our readers to attend every event and read every publication by the Bluestocking Belles. In addition and as is our policy of fairness, we invite the Bluestocking Belles to rebut this matron’s nonsense.

Lord Parkington Speaks Out

By Bluestocking Belles

On July 25, 2018

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

You’d think that all would be well, what with Napoleon now exiled to the distant tropical island of St. Helena, but Paris in July 1815 is a deuce of a mess. So now I must assist Lord Forgall, Wellington’s most secret spymaster, to quell any resistance while we get King Louis XVIII’s fat old backside firmly re-settled on the French throne.

“Of course, always glad to do my duty,” I told Lord Forgall (Forgall the Wily, as we diplomats call him). But under my breath, I added, “though we’d be a damned sight better off without that Irish fellow.”

The Irish fellow in question is Captain Stephen Killian. One of the Inniskilling Dragoons – they did their job at Waterloo, I’m not saying they did not, but like any other soldier, he’s only suited for rough and brutal tasks. So why on earth would he want to be a spy? Killian is a devil of a fighter in battle, they say, even though he’s not one of your huge, hulking types. He’s just of middling height, rather lean, and not even that good-looking. Average at best, easily lost in a crowd. Yet women fawn over him. Of course, they go completely giddy over any man with a strong jaw and a thick head of hair – let him cut a fine figure, and nothing else matters. Utterly frivolous!

Not that I would object to a touch of frivolousness in the lovely Miss Emma Forgall. Her inky black tresses and jade green eyes are fetching indeed, and her figure is perfection. She’s got that cold and regal air, but her father likes me. Given time, she’ll warm up to me, too. One would naturally prefer that such a beautiful young lady not be aware of State Secrets—you know how the ladies love to chatter, bless them!—but her father insists that she is the most skilled cryptographer he has ever taught. Still, there will be no more of that, once she’s married to me.

I don’t deny I was dismayed when Wellington made such a fuss over Captain Killian’s “heroism” for standing his ground on that Parisian bridge that General Blucher was trying to blow up. Wellington took such a shine to him, he ordered Lord Forgall to teach the Irishman spycraft and code-breaking. Naturally, the particulars of that task would fall to his daughter, Miss Emma.

However, old Forgall told me that his plan is to pretend to take Captain Killian under his wing while ensuring that the fellow is an utter failure at the job. I’ve heard Killian’s a wild man in battle – so he hasn’t got the self-control to be a spy. With any luck, he’ll be killed by that devilish Prussian assassin Wolfgang. I’ve seen Wolfgang dangling after Miss Emma, too, blast the big blonde brute’s eyes.

Maybe the two of them can slaughter each other, and leave Miss Forgall to me – now there’s a happy prospect!

One day, she will be mine. Until then, I’ll just have to keep my eye on her…

HER WILD IRISH ROGUE-coming October 2018

~an excerpt~

Miss Emma Forgall waved her fan lazily. “Where in Ireland are you from?”

“I’m from Macha’s Brooch,” Captain Killian replied, hands clasped behind his back and feet set sturdily apart. Somewhere in the back of the elegant Parisian ballroom, the orchestra struck up a tune.

Lord Parkington snorted. “Impossible. Macha’s Brooch isn’t a place.”

It’s a riddle, you fool, Emma wanted to say. Why wouldn’t Lord Parkington go away? Just because Emma’s father approved of him, that didn’t give him permission to act like he was her keeper.

She ignored him and thought about the riddle. In Celtic legend, the goddess Macha used the point of her brooch-pin to scratch the boundaries of the city of Ulster into the ground and made her vanquished enemies dig its fortifications for her.

Macha’s Brooch meant Ulster.

“Ulster is a great distance from Paris,” Emma remarked casually, watching Captain Killian’s face for signs that she’d gotten it right. “Where did you stop along the way, when you traveled here?”

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “We stopped in the home of the man who herds the cattle on the plain of Tethra.”

“The what?” demanded Lord Parkington, who still hadn’t gone away. The man simply never could take a hint. “What are you talking about?”

Another riddle. She was beginning to enjoy herself. Good thing she knew her myths – Tethra was an ancient guardian deity ruling over the waters, and the “plain of Tethra” was the sea. Therefore, the cattle of the sea were…fish. Captain Killian had stayed at the home of a fisherman.

“So your host was a fisherman,” she said coolly. “No doubt you had excellent fish for dinner?”

He grinned at her. “Most excellent fish.”

Right, again! Emma’s heart gave a little hop of excitement. She smiled back at him and asked, “And where did your travels take you then?”

“Simple enough,” replied Captain Killian. “We went over the Great Secret of the men of Dea, down the Great Crime, across to the Land of the Red Dragon, to the Ford of Oxen, and then to Caer-Lud. Then on to Lutetia.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Lord Parkington howled. “Surely you can’t pretend that you understand him, Miss Forgall!”

Emma waved a dismissive hand. She knew her Celtic mythology and her ancient Roman history. Besides, it was worth it just to see Lord Parkington’s purple-faced frustration.

“So, down the Boyne, over the River Delvin, across the sea to Wales, and then through Oxford to London. And here you are in Lutetia—or, as we call it, Paris.”

“Exactly.” Captain Killian nodded. “Now tell me about yourself.”

About the Author

Saralee Etter is the author of three traditional Regency romances. Her next book, coming October 2018, will be HER WILD IRISH ROGUE. It is part of the LEGENDS TO LOVE Regency romance series, with a protagonist based on the legendary Irish hero Cuchulain. She is working on A SHORT SHARP SHOCK, the first book in a Victorian-set mystery series featuring sleuth Lucy Turner and her friends, William S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan

You can visit her on the web at www.saraleeetter.com

Artwork:

Portrait of William Cathcart, 1st Earl Cathcart, by Thomas Gainsborough,

Duchess of Richmond’s Ball, by Robert Alexander Hillingford

Both in the public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Musings of a Motley Meddler: Men Who Do Not Listen

By Aunt Augusta

On July 22, 2018

In Amy Quinton, Teatime Tattler

A Stolen Kiss by Marcus Stone

Christmastide 1814
Bath, England

Dear Interested Parties or Women the World Wide,

Today I’d like to discuss men who do not listen: the bane of every woman’s existence.

But first, a little background. The following is a record of my recent conversation with a certain prodigal duke at my home in London:

“Forgive an old lady for not standing, lad. My doctor says I have poor humours in my toe. What a load of shite, I say, but the left one does ache a’ times.”

He dipped his head and scarcely gave my propped foot a glance. “I need your help.”

“Indeed. I assume this is regarding Miss A— M— and her attentions, or lack thereof?”

I’ve blacked out her name from this transcript, for privacy’s sake, of course. As you well know, I am everything that is discreet.

At this point, I waived THE Umbrella about as many who talk with their hands might, but he took no notice. When I added a “Hmmmm?” and waved it again, I finally caught his eye.

He smiled. “May I hold It?”

“But of course.”

He took it gently, handling it with obvious care, and ran his hand down the length as if it were a treasured heirloom. “I’ve heard much about this Umbrella and your devious little exploits,” He raised a brow, but his lips held a smile. “and I think I might need this.”

So far so good, right? I like a man who knows what he wants. Still, I asked:

“Are you sure, young man? I must warn you,” I gestured towards the Umbrella. “That thing works.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Right then. What’s your plan?”

Now, he looked uncertain. Of course. Come on, ladies, let’s raise our eyes heavenward and say it together: Men.

“Plan?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, my daft boy. What? Were you just going to toss It at her and hope for the best? It doesn’t work quite like that. Especially with the right kind of woman, and Miss M— is the right kind of woman.”

The duke got that silly look on his face at the mention of Miss M— by name, the one all men get when they are thinking of their one true love, but I digress.

“Ahem, yes, well, fortunately, for you, I have a plan already written out for you to follow.” I handed him my list. “I must say I was quite surprised by your note, saying you would call today. But I’d hoped—and here you are, poised to make my little job quite a bit easier.”

By job, I was referring to my plans to play matchmaker to him and Miss M— regardless of either of their preferences on the matter.

At this point, he stopped to read my plan:

Make your intentions clear

Send her a cornucopia of her favorite flowers

Ensure everyone knows your intentions

Give her a special gift—one she cannot return.

Take her for a ride

His head jerked up, and a faint blush colored his cheeks. “Is take her for a ride a euphemism for…”

I shrugged and withheld a snort. “Time will tell.”

Waltz with her in private

Give her a taste of passion

Take her sailing

Bare your soul

Propose

Now ladies, pay particular attention to this point in our conversation. For when he finished, I immediately articulated my warning:

“Heed me, lad. You must follow this plan to the letter. No skipping steps. No combining steps. And no funny business.”

He didn’t even blink. “When do we begin?” he asked.

“December 22. The Ruthford’s Winter Solstice Ball. I know. They’re a touch pagan, but it’s the perfect segue into Christmastide, which we shall spend at my home near Bath, and we need every opportunity available to us if we hope to secure your engagement by Twelfth Night.”

“Twelfth Night,” he repeated in a bit of a daze.

“Too soon?” I asked.

The duke smiled. “Absolutely not. Just wondering if I can wait that long.”

“Good answer. You’ll do.”

“And if the weather thwarts our departure for Bath?”

“Harrumph. It wouldn’t dare.”

“Heaven forbid.” The duke bowed and turned to leave, a smile on his handsome face.

“Duke? Leave everything else to me.” I help up my finger in warning. “I mean it, lad. Everything. Else.”

The duke dipped his head. “Yes ma’am.”

Now, perhaps I should have added: “Repeat after me. No skipping steps. No combining steps. And no funny business.” A second time.

But alas.

And wouldn’t you know, it all began to unravel on Christmas Day when he botched Step Four completely.

Which required a new step: Step 4.5— Apologize in a grand way; grovel if necessary.

I must say he executed step 4.5 beautifully over Christmas dinner.

But then, His Graceless Idiot decided steps 8 and 9 weren’t truly necessary.

Weren’t. Truly. Necessary.

Now. One would think that when wooing a reluctant woman, a man would take and follow the advice he had received from a knowledgeable person who was/is, in fact, a woman.

But then again, he is only a man. Flawed and human, though beautiful in his way.

Fortunately for him, my Umbrella and I work magic.

Unfortunately for you, you will have to read the latest story in the Umbrella Chronicles by Amy Quinton to find out what happens next—release date, November 2018 and included in the 2018 Bluestocking Belles Holiday Boxed Set. Details to come!

Lady Harriett Ross,

Bloomfield Place
Bath, England

Self-proclaimed Motley Meddler * Mistress of Destiny * Wielder of the Infamous Umbrella

I’m just an old woman with opinions. On everything.