Home of the Bluestocking Belles

Dear Mr. Clemens,

I wish to make  your readers aware of the unsavory details surrounding the recently formed engagement between Miss Helena K and the Earl of W. It is incumbent upon the ladies of the ton to maintain the standards of behavior and propriety, which are so critical to the functioning of Polite Society. I shudder to contemplate the many ways that these individuals, in spite of their birth and breeding, have flouted of the standards governing polite behavior.

I am sure that no one who reads this excellent journal is unaware of the fact that Miss K was found kissing Lord Denby in a secluded anteroom at Montagu House during her Season four years since. Not only was she engaged in this abandoned behavior, but when the gentleman quite properly offered her his hand and the protection of his name, this hurly burly hoyden refused him! Naturally, this brassy minx was no longer welcomed at the best houses, and I know that at least one Patroness of Almack’s gave her the cut direct when they encountered each other in the Park during the hour of the promenade. Mercifully to all, she returned to the countryside of Kent before the end of the Season, her reputation in tatters!

And, if Miss K’s history does not bear close examination, why that of the Earl of W is even less savory! This rascal fled England for the Continent some 15 years ago, under suspicion of murdering another gentleman over the Pearl of Sirsi. While it is true that he was not guilty of the murder, no real gentleman exposes himself to even the possibility of being accused of such a thing! As a young man he was ever to be found at mills and in gaming hells, and would wager on anything. All that however, is nothing compared to what one hears about his time on the Continent, and how he operated a fencing school, a gaming hell, and even taught at the Riding School in Vienna! Who knows, he may have been a caper merchant to boot. Furthermore, he is said to have had any number of mistresses during his absence. Is this the kind of low adventurer we countenance in today’s Society?

Admittedly, his sister and brother-in law, the Earl and Countess of Brayleigh are arbiters of taste. However, even Brayleigh’s dealings with the fair sex do not bear close examination to be sure, as any number of barques of frailty enjoyed a connection with him prior to his marriage to Lady Rowena Arlingby, the sister of the disgraced Earl!

So, even though some may call me high in the instep dear readers, I urge the discerning among you to think carefully before lending countenance to either the Earl of W or his affianced bride lest responsibility for the creeping lowering of standards be placed at your doorstep!

Lady Whingingley

About the Book

Malcolm Arlingby, Rowena’s headstrong brother from Alicia Quigley’s A Collector’s Item, settles into his new life as the Earl of Wroxton. Content to while away his time in the decadence he missed during his exile from England, Malcolm hasn’t been paying attention to the duties that come with the title. A letter from the mistress of a neighboring estate warns of smugglers using Malcolm’s lands for their dastardly deeds and he must finally put aside his entertainments to handle the business of being an Earl.

Helena, the one who sent the letter, is not the sour spinster Malcolm was expecting, however. She is a beautiful, vibrant and equally headstrong woman who is more than ready to take Malcolm to task for ignoring his duties. As the pair becomes embroiled in solving the problem of the smugglers, a strong attraction develops. The smugglers aren’t going without a fight, though.

Will a chance encounter with his new neighbor bring Malcolm all the things he never knew he wanted? Or, will the smugglers destroy it all? Find out in The Contraband Courtship.

~excerpt~
“Well, it is not only about Ms. Lacey,” said Rowena, looking a bit embarrassed. “But, certainly, I have my concerns about her. She is married, Malcolm, and unlikely to be free to wed you any time soon.”

“Wed me?” Malcolm gave a hoot of laughter. “I should say not!”

“You see?” said Rowena. “I know that you wish to enjoy yourself, and I would never say you did not deserve to, but surely you are aware of the duty you owe your family.”

“Rowena, I have years ahead of me to sire a pack of children, if that’s what I decide needs to be done,” said Malcolm. “But for now, I have no interest in leg shackling myself to one woman. I’ve spent twelve years on the Continent living by my wits, and damn, I want to enjoy myself now. One of Estella’s principal charms—outside of the most obvious ones—is that she cannot importune me to marry her!”

“You are being very vexing,” said Rowena. “It is not that I wish to deny you your pleasures, Malcolm—”

“I should say not! And, sister dear, should you even know about Estella?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Rowena crossly. “All the world knows about the two of you. I’m hardly an innocent. The gossips are only too happy to inform me that half the ladies in London have either succumbed to you since your return or to Alaric prior to our marriage.”

“Only half? Well, you might have taken Brayleigh out of circulation, Rowena, but you can’t force me into such a staid existence.” Malcolm gave his sister a shrewd glance. “There’s more here than you’re telling me. You might as well come out with it.”

Rowena exchanged a glance with Alaric. “Well, if you must know, I have received a letter from Helena Keighley.”

“Who?” asked Malcolm.

“Helena Keighley. The daughter of Sir Douglas.” At Malcolm’s blank look, Rowena sighed. “Really, Malcolm, this is why you must go to Wroxton. Sir Douglas Keighley’s estate marches with Wroxton to the west. You must have met him, and Helena, dozens of times when you were a child.”

“Oh yes, Keighley, I remember the name,” said Malcolm. “Sir Douglas, you say? As I recall, Father said he was a bruising rider to hounds.”

“Yes, Malcolm, I’m sure he was,” said Rowena impatiently. “But this has nothing to do with fox hunting. “

“A pity, I might almost be tempted to leave London for that,” said Malcolm. “What does this Miss Keighley want?”

“I received a letter from Helena a few days ago,” she said, producing a folded piece of paper and waving it at Malcolm. “She would have written to you, but had no idea where to find you, and we are acquainted. She is a year or two older than I am, but we did spend some time together as children, and of course I have met her at assemblies and house parties. Surely you remember her.”

“I can’t be bothered to remember your childhood friends, Rowena,” said Malcolm. “I had other things to attend to. What does this mysterious letter say?” asked Malcolm.

Rowena unfolded the letter and perused it quickly. “Here it is,” she said. “It seems that French brandy is being smuggled in through Kent, and the lack of interest of the Earl of Wroxton in his estate has been taken as a sign that his lands are free to be used for this purpose. While Felix Arlingby was not a strong-minded gentleman, he cared enough to prevent such nonsense, but now landings occur almost nightly. I have no doubt that some of the servants have been bribed to allow this. The whole affair is unsettling; I have no desire to see Keighley lands overrun by ruffians because Wroxton is poorly managed. It is imperative that your brother cease his wastrel ways and take up the responsibilities that come with his birthright. He was ever an irresponsible young man, but surely the circumstances of the past years must have brought him some wisdom, no matter how slight. Please inform him that he is needed immediately at Wroxton.”

“What a termagant!” said Malcolm. “She doesn’t even know me, and she’s calling me a wastrel!”

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About the Author

Alicia Quigley is a lifelong lover of romance novels, who fell in love with Jane Austen in grade school, and Georgette Heyer in junior high. She made up games with playing cards using the face cards for Heyer characters, and sewed regency gowns (walking dresses, riding habits and bonnets that even Lydia Bennett wouldn’t have touched) for her Barbie. In spite of her terrible science and engineering addiction, she remains a devotee of the romance, and enjoys turning her hand to their production as well as their consumption.

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