Home of the Bluestocking Belles

Dateline Late 1813

Dear Readers,

It has been six long months since we promised to bring you a companion piece to our Interview with a Pirate by interviewing a hero of the Royal Navy for contrastive purposes. However, His Majesty’s Navy insisted that the only officer they would permit us to interview is Lieutenant Brandon Gilroy recently returned from duty in the Caribbean. An unidentified source at the office of the First Lord of the Admiralty implied that the Lieutenant may receive a promotion for his bravery in a battle with the Pirate Irish Red (whom you may recall from the aforementioned Interview with a Pirate). While no doubt exists that Lt. Gilroy’s rewards for bravery are well deserved, it should come as no surprise given the close relationship between Viscount Melville—First Lord of the Admiralty for those of you who perhaps do not keep track of political appointees—and the Duke of Cowal. Melville and Cowal, it is well known, met as young men at the University of Edinburgh. Lt. Gilroy has been at sea until very recently, thus the delay in this promised interview.

With Kind Regards

Samuel Clemens, Editor in Chief

INSERT BRANDON HEADSHOT: Tattler: Lieutenant Gilroy it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you.

Lt. Gilroy: I have little time for pleasantries, Sir. Let us proceed with this nonsense. I must be on my way to Portsmouth within the hour.

Tattler: My apologies Lieutenant for any delay, but all England is eager to read of your exploits—especially your encounter with the infamous Irish Red.

Lt. Gilroy: What specifically would you like to know?

Tattler: Let us begin by setting the scene for our readers. The battle between The Erie Mist (captained by Irish Red) and His Majesty’s Ship Hermoine (captained by the late Captain Lionel Guthrie) occurred somewhere off the coast of the Southern United States in August of this year. Is that correct?

Lt. Gilroy: Yes.

Tattler: What can you tell us of the Erie Mist

Lt. Gilroy sighing heavily: The Erie Mist is a four masted Baltimore Clipper, built by Thomas Kemp. She carries a schooner rig and is one of the most nimble ships afloat. The mist is easily recognized by her distinctive colors. Her gunn’es are painted a very bright red. Her shamrock decorated figurehead bears and even brighter coat of green paint. Until the Hermione’s encounter with the Mist, we could only guess at her armament, which was rumored to include more than 16 12 pounder cannon and a variety of carronades. I can personally attest that the rumor is true.

Tattler, readers have patience with the technical details. We include them because we wish to report this interview in its entirety: Is the armament the reason the Erie Mist was able to overcome the Hermione?”

Lt. Gilroy: It helped, but that coward Irish Red struck from hiding. She so surprised us that Hermione received three full broadsides before it even had a chance to return fire. By then we were taking on so much water that Hermione could not be maneuvered and we ran aground on a sandbar. To the credit of our gunners, they did their best to strike a blow at the Erie Mist. However, by the time our guns were able to fire, the Mist had put on all sail and was bearing down on us so quickly that all Hermione’s shots missed. We were boarded before a second round could be completely loaded.

Tattler: From what you tell me, Irish Red is an impressive strategist and highly skilled sailor. Did you know she is a woman?

Lt. Gilroy: Not until after her crew boarded Hermione and defeated our crew in hand-to-hand fighting.

Tattler: We’ll return to the subject of Irish Red in a moment. You say her crew defeated yours in a close quarter battle. Everyone knows how well-trained British seamen are. How was it possible your crew was defeated?

Lt. Gilroy: Hermoine’s crew fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered by at least 2 to 1. In addition, I was too occupied in defending myself against two attackers when Captain Guthrie fell. Without the captain’s direction even the best crew will fail in such a fight. As soon as possible, I attempted to restore order and provide direction in the captain’s place. However, I could not gain the quarter deck, where I could be seen.

Tattler: Readers, the lieutenant is actually blushing. “Why were you unable to reach the quarter deck?”

Lt. Gilroy: Irish Red herself, gained the high ground on that deck before I could get there. We fought on the ladder. I had nearly obtained the deck when my sword stroke, ah, tore open her shirt. She could have skewered me, I was so surprised to learn her gender. She should have skewered me. But she lost her temper. I could see the fury in those sea green eyes of hers. She drew her pistol and fired, missing my head by a hair’s breadth. That infuriated her further and she threw the pistol at me, striking me in the head. Unbalanced, I fell to the main deck where I lost consciousness. The crew surrendered, before I regained my senses.

Tattler: You must have been upset to be defeated and by a woman as well?

Lt. Gilroy: That, sir, is an understatement of the grandest proportions.

Tattler: It is unusual for ship’s captain to be a woman.

Lt. Gilroy: Unusual yes but not unheard of. However, history records more than nine women who distinguished themselves as ship’s Captains. Anne Bonny and Mary Read are prominent figures in that group.

Tattler: Interesting. That is almost word for word what Irish Red said when asked the same question almost six months ago.

Lt. Gilroy: You have spoken with that jade? Why did you not report her and have her arrested?

Tattler: We are a newspaper, sir, not representatives of Bow Street.

Lt. Gilroy: Balderdash. You have demonstrated the highest irresponsibility and disregard for the security of your nation and your fellow British citizens. You should be drawn and quartered for what amounts to treason.

Tattler: We have done nothing illegal and have conducted ourselves responsibly to our readership. (Readers, he is almost sneering.)

Lt. Gilroy: Do you know how many British sailors have lost their lives to Irish Red and her ilk? I should have you arrested for failing to take action to protect Britain. Nearly half the Hermione’s crew fell during the battle with the Erie Mist. Our Captain and several good officers are dead. All because your sensationalist rag could not do the right thing. I refuse to continue this interview and will suggest that the Admiralty never grant you another interview.

Readers, despite my protests, Lieutenant Gilroy left without saying another word. We deeply regret causing him any offense, but he offered no opportunity for us to apologize. We do so now in print. The Teatime Tattler sincerely regrets any offense offered to Lieutenant Gilroy, the Admiralty, and Britain. We will remind all that we have no control over the movements and actions of Irish Red and her crew. Indeed, had we attempted to have her arrested, it is likely that Britain would have less information on which to base strategic decisions than it has since our interview with a pirate. While the Tattler regrets the loss of any life, we cannot be held responsible for actions of previous interviewees after the date of their interview. Despite Lieutenant Gilroy’s threats, we hope our relationship with the Admiralty continues under fair winds and following seas.

About The Pirate Duchess: They met during a brawl.

Esmeralda Crobbin first encounters Brandon Gilroy during a street fight. Afterward, Esme admires the man’s skill with his fists, his intelligence, and a number of other attributes until she learns that he is a British Naval Officer. He would be eager to see her hang, if he knew she was the American privateer, Irish Red.

The Pirate Duchess will launch in early 2023, and is now available at a discounted price for Pre-Order at Amazon only.

About Rue Allyn: Author of historical and contemporary romances, Rue Allyn fell in love with happily ever after the day she heard her first story. (She claims she was a precocious little brat who read at the age of two but could hear much earlier than that.) She studied literature for far too many years before discovering that writing stories was much more fun than writing about them. One of her greatest pleasures as an author is being able to read the story before anyone else. Rue is happily married to her sweetheart of many, many years. Insatiably curious, an avid reader and traveler, she loves to hear from readers about their favorite books and real-life adventures. Crazy Cat stories are especially welcome. You can contact her at Rue@RueAllyn.com. She can’t wait to hear from you.

Find Rue Online:

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News and Appeal for Aid from a Rival Publisher!

By Cerise DeLand

On July 13, 2022

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

My dear Mr. Clemens,

Though in the usual course of things we are rival publishers, I come to you today on bended knee. My printing press has broken down and I am unable to issue the latest edition of Hither and Yon, Tales of the Beau Monde. On any other day I would simply set aside the articles meant to go to print today. However, Mr. Clemens, this is no ordinary day and the news I have to impart cannot—nay, should not—be held back. It regards a certain raven-haired duke. Would you, kind sir, be amenable to printing this article of mine? I am open to negotiating the financials.

I await your reply,

A. Ripley, proprietor—Ripley and Sons Printing

Dear Mr. Ripley,

Send the article to me with all due haste. I will share the profits of today’s edition at a 70/30 split.

S. Clemens

Sir,

I appreciate your efficiency and sense of business, however I do think 60/40 would be more appropriate. The article should read as follows:

It appears that a certain bachelor duke, of the house of T—, has at last decided to cast his eye upon the marriage mart. He not only attended a ball at Northfield House, he spoke with a number of eligible young ladies. The shock of the evening came with His Grace’s first dance. Did he escort a marquess’s daughter or an earl’s sister to the dance floor? No, dear reader, he most assuredly did not. He offered his arm to a young lady so undistinguished this author does not even know her name. The only remarkable thing about her was the monstrously hideous gown she wore. His Grace, ever the gentleman, seemed to take no notice. He did laugh, though, an achievement the young lady should take to heart forevermore, especially since she has no chance to land the illustrious duke. Oh indeed, this should be an interesting Season!

Ever grateful,

A. Ripley

Mr. Ripley,

Considering the content of your article, my final offer is 65/35.

S. Clemens

Book title: His Duchess, first in the His & Hers series

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WPRFTL4

Other retailers: https://books2read.com/u/49lEd0

Blurb:

Victoria Foster needs a husband. Orphaned, nearly penniless, saddled with an indifferent guardian plus a cousin intent on sabotaging her matrimonial hopes, she cannot afford to be a wallflower. Unfortunately for her, the only man in her path is a stuffy, well-above-her-touch duke. But with every fateful encounter, she glimpses more and more of the lonely, kindred soul behind the duke’s decorous demeanor.

Charles Danforth, Duke of Taviston, is seeking a wife. Nothing if not methodical, he determines a set of qualities his future bride must possess—neither love nor passion makes the list. Above all, she must be free of scandal so as not to tarnish the family legacy. Soon enough though, Taviston’s well-ordered life, impeccable social standing, and not-so-impenetrable heart are in jeopardy.

What’s an exceedingly proper duke to do when he finds himself embroiled in a scandal of his own making?

Excerpt:

“Miss Foster, would you favor me with this dance?” He stepped forward and offered his hand. Her blue eyes fixated on it as if he had six fingers.

“She would be delighted,” Louisa replied brightly as she shoved her cousin in the small of the back, propelling the lady straight into Taviston.

He pressed his lips into a thin line to keep from bringing the uncouth woman down a peg. When Miss Foster placed her small hand in his, he steered the two of them away from their intimate assembly with more haste than was proper.

Taviston was none too fond of dancing, especially these lengthy contra dances, but right now he would have gladly participated in three or four just to escape Louisa Browne. He glanced down at Miss Foster, who had not spoken so much as a word since their departure from the group. An odd despondency shrouded her face as they lined up for the dance.

For heaven’s sakes, he had never seen a young lady so reluctant to dance with him. As the music whistled around their heads and the other couples gracefully glided down the floor, he watched a rigid paralysis overtake his partner’s body, from head to toe. What was the matter with her?

When the couple beside them finally proceeded past, Taviston reached out and lightly grasped her hand. After a brief second, he instinctively tightened his grip, not wishing to ever let her go. She must not have felt the same for she bowed her head as if concentrating on her feet. He began moving to the rhythm of the music; Miss Foster moved as well, although unfortunately nothing remotely resembling rhythm was involved on her part.

By the time they were halfway down the line she had already stepped on his toes three times. Not that this was painful, as her feet were as small and dainty as the rest of her. But in the next instant those tiny feet became tangled amongst themselves, and Miss Foster fell into a headlong trip. Taviston snaked his arm out to prevent her fall and caught her around the waist. Soft breasts on his forearm and aromatic waves of lavender caused a certain unruly part of his body to tense. He was damn lucky he didn’t drop her from the shock of it all. Instead, he effortlessly swung her back into an upright position and settled her on her feet once again. Mercifully, they reached their position in the line within a few more steps.

Taviston stared across at Miss Foster, who eyed her feet as if she wished to chop them off. Two reddening ovals outlined her cheekbones.

“Miss Foster.”

She ever so slowly lifted her head, misery, but thankfully no tears, filling her eyes. “I am so sorry.”

He shook off her apology. “Try something simpler, like a skip.”

Her eyebrows marched upward, as if to say how is that simpler? But she nodded affirmatively anyway. They promenaded around the other couples and then the dancers began moving through the line again.

Awkwardly, they made it through with only one small stumble on her part, which alas only required that he lift her hand up to help her regain her balance. He would have gladly caught her again and again, if only to touch her and experience the heady pleasure enveloping his body when he did so.

As they took their places again, he attempted to lighten her mood with conversation. “That’s an interesting gown.”

She glanced down and then back up. “I’m not sure ‘interesting’ is the word I would have chosen. I have lived in fear all evening that the staff would mistake me for a fowl to be served up at the midnight supper.”

Taviston couldn’t help it, he laughed. Exactly what he had envisioned, some rustic bird. For a brief moment she looked startled by his laughter, but then flashed him the most brilliant smile. Something tightened in his chest. Her smile gave her face beauty and passion that hadn’t been there before.

They were required to make one more pass down the line of dancers. This they did without Miss Foster tripping even once, though she did bump her hip into Taviston’s thigh three different times. He didn’t mind in the least.

Bio:

Charlotte Russell didn’t always know she wanted to be a writer. At one point she had grand plans to be an architect, until she realized she couldn’t draw anything more complicated than a stick figure. So, she enrolled at Notre Dame and studied her first love—history. Now she writes historical and contemporary romances. When not pounding on the keyboard or tending to her family, she serves the people of her community at the local public library. She’s resided in numerous locales, including Indiana, Mexico City, Phoenix, and Seattle but currently lives in the middle of the US.

Find Charlotte:

Look what I found!

By Sherry Ewing

On July 9, 2022

In Sherry Ewing, Teatime Tattler

Zoe hurried to her apartment door. The person on the other side must have some kind of an emergency, given the frantic pounding on her door. She undid the multiple locks and swung open the door to find her friend Meagan. She waved a bunch of papers in front of Zoe’s face before handing her the documents.

“You’ll never believe what I found searching the library,” Meagan exclaimed barging into the apartment and plopping down on the couch.

“Sure… come on in,” Zoe said shutting the door and taking a seat next to her friend.

“Sorry. But I was just so excited I had to show you the proof that she made it,” Meagan said with a wide grin. “Go on. Read it. I made a copy so we could have it.”

Zoe sighed. “Have what?”

Meagan laughed. “Proof!”

“Can you catch me up here, dear?”

Meagan reached over to take the paperwork from Zoe. She flipped through several pages until she found what she was looking for. “It’s all right here. You can read it for yourself. But this is proof that Bridgette traveled back in time. We don’t need to keep looking for her because we won’t find her here.”

Zoe’s brow rose and she attempted to hide her own smile of satisfaction. Her ability of seeing future events were a gift from her grandmother, several generations removed, but a gift all the same. She peered down at the paperwork and began to read:

Gentle Readers:

It is with great amusement that I give you this latest bit of tiddle tattle coming from the twelfth century. Yes, you read that right. The twelfth century! I do so love a good story with magical developments that will ask yourself this… do you believe in time travel? One of our ever-efficient reporters just learned that the current owners at Dunster Castle found an old metal chest when a portion of a wall from the old keep fell. Inside the box was a letter on old parchment. The writer of this letter was none other than a lady named Bridgette, the Countess of Somerset who eluded that she came from another place in time. Whoever her friends Zoe and Meagan are, they can rest knowing she was safe. There were other treasures inside that were a puzzle to the reporter: a pen made of an odd material along with a slim rectangular box with an apple on it. No one seemed to know what the purpose of second item was, but it must have been important to the countess to conceal it inside the wall. So, I ask again, dearest readers… do you believe that time travel is possible?

S Clemons
Editor in Chief of the Teatime Tattler

Zoe looked up from the documents and handed them back to Meagan. “Very interesting,” she murmured.

“You knew!” Meagan all but shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zoe stood, went into the kitchen, and returned with a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses. She popped the cork and proceeded to pour them a glass of the bubbly nectar. “It’s that whole messing with the fabric of time issue. I needed to let it play out and let you learn Bridgette’s fate for yourself.”

“Do you suppose she was happy?” Meagan asked holding out her hand for the glass.

“She was,” Zoe said with a laugh. “To Ulrick and Bridgette! May we one day all be reunited again.”

Meagan gave her a quizzical look before she raised her glass in a toast. As the two friends began tot chat about what was going on in their boring daily lives, Zoe could only wonder when they, too, would slip through time to find the other half of themselves that had been missing. She hoped the wait wouldn’t be too long.

This is an original piece by Belle Sherry Ewing who is celebrating the latest release of her medieval time travel Promises Made at Midnight: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book 6). Although this novel is part of a series, it can be read as a standalone. Read on to learn more about Sherry’s latest book!

Excerpt:

Ulrick escorted the Lady Bridgette back toward the festivities. He tried not to stare but ’twas difficult when the woman next to him was one of the most beautiful women he had ever encountered. High cheekbones with a straight nose framed a face with clear skin and a neck as graceful as a swan. Her dark green eyes rivaled the brilliance of the leaves of a forest after the rain and her face was so beautiful it must make the angels weep in heaven.

He dared not look lower, and yet how could he not when he could see the creamy soft mounds of her breasts pushed up so the fabric of her dress barely covered her nipples. A jeweled necklace, surely costly, hung from her neck with the largest bauble nestled in her cleavage, tempting him even further. Her purple gown must be in the height of fashion somewhere abroad for, although similar to others he had seen women wearing at court, ’twas still… different… Not that he was an expert on what frippery women wore these days. Generally, Ulrick was more concerned about the treasure that awaited him beneath their gowns than anything else.

They approached the center of the village when Lady Bridgette came to a sudden halt. Her hand trembled whilst her fingertips clutched roughly to the fabric of his tunic.

“I don’t remember this part of the fair,” she whispered in concern, “and I was paying close attention to the orientation speaker.”

“What speaker?” he asked, confused not only by the pattern of her speech but also what she thought was so unusual about what was before her.

She ignored his question but looked up at him with a frown. “It looks so… real.”

Ulrick was unsure how to answer her and began to wonder if perchance she sustained a bump to her head that had addled her wits when she fell. Mayhap he should seek out Kenna, Berwyck’s healer, and see if she could find out what was ailing the Lady Bridgette.

Before he could mention assisting her to the castle, she began tugging on his arm and pointing in the direction of a cleared field. A raised platform had been constructed for Dristan, Amiria, and those within their party so they might take their ease beneath the shade of an awning. Dristan’s standard, depicting a fire-breathing dragon, flew high above upon towering poles.

“Jousting? I don’t remember that on the program. Can we go watch?” Bridgette exclaimed, with renewed excitement, “that is, if you’d like to go with me. You may have other plans for the day.”

“I cannot in all good conscience leave a woman unattended. I will accompany you, my lady, until you are reunited with those in your party,” Ulrick answered, knowing he must needs perform his duty to the woman.

“Awesome!” she exclaimed rather loudly, before covering her mouth. “Damn… sorry about that. I’ll try to get myself back into character, I promise.”

Ulrick shook his head, more concerned than ever the longer he heard her strange speech. There was surely something wrong with Lady Bridgette. He peered at her an instant before they began to make their way across the field. Her eyes were lit with excitement at the sight of the tourney, clearly proving the woman was of a normal mind. He ignored the small nagging voice in his head and the odd premonition that another one of those future women had landed in his arms but a short while ago.

Promises Made at Midnight:
The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time
By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

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Learn more at https://sherryewing.com/books/promises-made-at-midnight/

Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

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News Expressly for The Teatime Tattler

By Cerise DeLand

On July 6, 2022

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

The Teatime Tattler has just confirmed that Lady Katherine Thornton has laid her uncle, Bennett Sutton to rest in the family mausoleum. It is with a great deal of hunting and pecking that this reporter has found some shocking information. Bennett Sutton was murdered in the most dreadful manner. He was poisoned with snake venom, a venom that has no antidote.

It has also come to my attention that before his demise, Mr. Sutton made his business partner, the very eligible and handsome Lord Ian Wallace, the 4^th Duke of Blackhall, vow to marry his niece, Lady Katherine, not once, but twice. I also have reliable information from Mr. Hawkins, the editor of the Sommer Sentinel that he’s been contacted by the London Gazette regarding a statement in that was published in said publication regarding His Grace’s vow. It seems, London is abuzz with gossip and mothers and their debutante daughters are in mourning.

I wonder if that is why Lord Ryder Whitaker has been seen in town. You remember the young rogue. Five years ago, when Lady Katherine had her first (and only) Season in London, he was her constant companion. The queen’s Diamond, everyone thought Lord Whitaker had won her heart until one day she got up and returned to Sommer-by-the-Sea. Has the rake renewed his interest knowing Lord Wallace will take her for his wife? The young cad is outranked in so many ways. I understand he is not welcome in any home of good standing, nor the gambling hells.

My sources have not rested. To add to this mix, I have it on very good authority that prior to the duel gone wrong that took her uncle’s life, Sutton lost the deed to Thornton Abbey to His Grace in a card game. I can only imagine what will happen when the very outspoken Lady Katherine finds out she’s lost her home and her independence to His Grace, a man she’s never met, all in one fell swoop.

Can all this get sorted out to a happily ever after? Read on my friends. I hear there are swords and kidnappings involved as well.

The Lady and Her Duke

Could she use her skills as a lockpick to crack open the secrets to the murder as well as unlock his heart?

Lady Katherine Thornton has no interest in men after an indiscretion at her disastrous Season in London. No man can be trusted. Instead, she indulges in her fascination for gears and all things mechanical. Her unique drafting skill is an asset to her uncle Bennett Sutton, who is automating his textile factory. She doesn’t need anything else.

Lord Ian Wallace, the 4th Duke of Blackhall, is a retired military officer. An accidental duke after the deaths of his father and brother, he retreats from society and the clawing mothers and debutantes who stalk him. He’s focused all his energy on his partnership with Sutton. He’s satisfied and needs nothing else.

An oath to marry, a family legend to preserve, an uprising of the factory workers, and Sutton’s murder, throw Katherine and Wallace together to find a blackmailer and murderer. They also will find two things neither knew they were missing… each other and their happily ever after.

Now on Pre-Order – Release July 7 Amazon Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt from Chapter One

June 20, 1815
Royston Mills, Baycliff Woods

The blast of a pistol shattered the quiet afternoon. Shouts and screams rose, their sound carrying into the surrounding area. In a clearing by the lake where the wood bordered the village, the shock and chaos subsided into a deafening silence.

Lord Ian Wallace knelt next to his business partner, Bennett Sutton. His bruised and bloody face was a mess of soot and gunpowder. Wallace glanced over his shoulder, signaling his valet.

“Water. Quick. His eyes need to be flushed.” Wallace wavered between restraint and rage as he ministered to Sutton. “Stay calm and whatever you do, keep your eyes closed.” His hands ran over Sutton’s torso checking for injuries. He found none, other than the small tremors he assumed were from shock.

“I’m dying.” Sutton spoke not in disbelief, but in resignation, as if his dying was an undisputed conclusion.

Wallace’s chest tightened at the sound of those words. He had heard them before from the injured men he commanded in Spain. For a moment he was back on the battlefield going from man to man comforting them, waiting for medical attention and, in too many cases, saying good-bye.

“Swear to me.” Sutton, agitated and breathing hard, reached up and grabbed his lapel. “Swear to me you’ll marry my niece, Ivy-Rose.”

What niece? Sutton had a niece?

“Swear it!”

“Yes, yes. I swear.” In a fit of rage, he’d say anything to escape from the madman. It was luck that Sutton’s gun misfired. He gazed at his friend and partner in disbelief. From the moment his valet pulled him to the ground he found it difficult to comprehend why his friend and partner tried to kill him, tried to shoot him in the back.

Sutton tugged on his lapels. “No, on your honor as a gentleman. Swear it.” Another tug. Bennett’s strength was waning.

Wallace’s anger softened. The man had to be kept calm. Roddy, his foreman, and Lord Ryder Whitaker had gone to fetch Dr. Price. The doctor had left the clearing when Sutton called off the duel.

“Swear it.” The man sounded as if it was his last breath.

“As a gentleman, I, Lord Ian Wallace, 4th Duke of Blackhall, promise to marry your Ivy-Rose.” He bent closer to him. “Is that better?”

Sutton released his lapels and slumped onto the ground, his breath coming in spurts.

Lenard returned carrying a basin of warm water.

Wallace stood aside and gave his valet room. They had been together a long time. Lenard was his personal attendant at Cambridge as well as in Spain during the war. Together they had seen worse. Now he flushed the gunpowder and soot out from Sutton’s eyes. It would serve Sutton right if the pain was unbearable.

“Much better.” Sutton’s voice faded to a calm stillness.

Wallace wasn’t sure if his partner referred to the oath he gave or the warm water.

“Your Grace. I cannot find any wound.” Lenard kept streaming water over the man’s face.

The battlefield images flashed in his head. Some had outcomes that were more severe than others. But that was war, not a card game gone wrong.

“God’s blood, where is that doctor?” He glanced about.

Sutton raised his face to Lenard as the man ran more water over him and, with a gentle touch, wiped him dry.

“You have my thanks.” Quiet at last, Sutton winced when he tried to lay down on the ground.

“Over here, Dr. Price.” Whitaker and Roddy led the doctor to the injured man.

“I thought Sutton had the good sense to call off the duel.” Dr. Price pushed his way in front of Wallace. “Where did your bullet hit him?”

“I never fired my weapon.” Wallace stood back to let the doctor do his job.

“His pistol misfired when he aimed at Wallace’s back.” Whitaker stepped forward. “I stood in shock when he raised his pistol and took aim.”

The doctor, on his knees, paused and glanced up at him.

“That’s not at all like Sutton. Wallace, what did you say to him?” The doctor resumed examining Sutton’s head.

“Not a thing. I convinced him to call off this ridiculous duel. I thought to give him time and hoped he’d have more sense in the morning. I was leaving the clearing, not far behind you when the shot went off.”

“There are some abrasions from the powder blast and irritation from the gunpowder, but no wound.” Price examined Sutton’s hands. Scrapes, a bit of a burn in places, but nothing fatal. “Sutton’s a lucky man.”

The doctor stood up cleaning his hands with a cloth from his bag.

“Help me bring him to my carriage. We’ll take him to the inn. I want to watch him until tomorrow rather than have him brought back to Sommer-by-the-Sea now.”

Roddy and Lenard lifted Sutton, made their way through the gathered onlookers, and laid him in the back of the doctor’s carriage.

“There’s room enough for you and me up here.” Roddy tapped Lenard and pointed next to the driver.

“I can go with them if you prefer.” Whitaker stood next to him. “I know you’re the man’s partner, but no one would blame you for washing your hands of him.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll go with him. I’m staying at the inn.” Wallace got in the carriage still thinking through the events. He agreed with Dr. Price: this wasn’t at all like Sutton.

The door closed, Whitaker signaled the driver, and the carriage pulled away.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Wallace stared at Sutton propped up on the seat across from him.

“I’ve known that man since he was a boy and agree this is out of character for him. But don’t you worry, Your Grace. We’ll have him all to rights soon enough.”

The carriage pulled up to Weaver’s Inn. News of the incident traveled faster than he imagined. More onlookers buzzed about them like a swarm of angry bees. Wallace led the way for Lenard and Roddy to bring Sutton up the stairs to his room.

“I’ll stay with him for a while. Head injuries can be nasty.” Dr. Price stood over his patient and checked Sutton’s breathing again.

“Ale for you both and watered ale for Mr. Sutton.” Lenard put the tankards on the table. “Your Grace, I have the papers you gave me earlier. I’ll put them in your room.”

“I’ll take them. I can review the documents while I sit with him.” Wallace nodded toward Sutton.

“If that will be all, I’ll be in the tavern if you need me.” Lenard put the folio on the table.

“I’ll go with you.” Roddy looked at the patient lying in the bed and shook his head. The two men left and closed the door behind them.

Dr. Price sat at the table and took a tankard of ale. “How did this start?”

Wallace sat next to the doctor and reached for the second tankard.

“I found him troubled over several issues when I came up from London. He was in a fit over worker demands. He also expected a sizeable amount of fleece, but instead received a smaller delivery than promised.

“I had an issue to discuss with him, but in his state I knew it would be impossible. I thought to divert his attention, a game of cards to take his mind off everything. Once he was himself, we could address the business problems and go over my visit to Cambridge. But Sutton drank too much, took risks no man in his right mind would take, and lost miserably.”

“And his mood went from bad to worse.” Dr. Price glanced at his patient, shook his head, and took a draw on the tankard.

“Yes, it did. I was at a loss what to do. Sutton wouldn’t stop playing despite losing one game after another. I couldn’t imagine the situation getting any worse, but it did.

“I dealt the cards. How Sutton preened like a peacock, so sure the winning hand was his. He drank and taunted me. He drained his flask dry and had Mr. Jackson fill it to the top. I was astounded when the deed to his home landed on the table.”

“His cards…” The doctor closed his eyes and moaned.

“A beginner would know better than to bet on the cards Sutton held. He had no chance of winning.” Wallace let out a strained laugh. “I conceded defeat and laid my cards face down, but Sutton demanded to see them. I refused. He reached across the table and turned them over. Then he went mad. Sutton grabbed a pen from the bar, sat down, and started writing. I stayed his hand. I didn’t want his home. I thought to entice him with the best two out of three games, but he refused. I pay my debts.”

“Sutton is a proud man and a man of his word. But I’ve never known him to be this reckless.” Price sat back, his legs out in front of him, staring at the tankard in his hand.

“Man of his word. We wouldn’t be here if our workers believed him. I told them over and over the new mechanicals would not replace them. But fear does strange things to people. If things go as Sutton and I plan, there will be more work for more people and more money, not less.

“I offered to speak with the workers and explain the plan. That’s when Sutton exploded. I tried my best to calm him, but now I understand. Sutton didn’t calm down during the game. If anything, his card playing was more intense, more erratic, more irrational.” He stared at his partner. “My strategy to calm him with the card game did the opposite. It pushed him over the edge.”

“Don’t blame yourself. From what you’ve told me, Sutton was already agitated. It wasn’t one thing. It was everything.”

“My partner accused me of siding with the workers and called me out in front of everyone demanding satisfaction. A duel.” Wallace glanced at the doctor. The incident still beyond belief. “I refused. I told him I had enough of weapons in Spain. Businessmen didn’t settle disputes with weapons. To everyone’s horror, he slapped my face. I remember his odd smirk, daring me to ignore the affront.

“Choose your weapon. I refused. Pistols. You didn’t think I’d want to be near you with a blade. At least with a pistol I have a fighting chance.

“I still didn’t give up.

“All the way to the field and even when we arrived, I tried to dissuade him. I would have gladly shot myself to put an end to his stupidity. At last, the fight went out of him. You witnessed how we called off the duel, shook hands, and sent everyone home. Sutton was still holding his loaded pistol. I told him to take his anger out on the red maple tree, the one by the lake.” He paused and glanced at Sutton. “I thought he came to his senses.”

“That is how I remember the morning.” Dr. Price nodded.

“I turned to leave with the others, only to hear Sutton’s pistol discharge. Lenard pulled me to the ground. When we got to our feet, it was Sutton who was down.

* * * *

The Lady and Her Duke is book 3 of the regency series, The Ladies of Sommer-by-the-Sea

The Lady and Her Quill
The Lady and the Spy
The Lady and her Duke.

About the Author

Ruth A Casie is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes historical adventures from the shores of medieval Scotland to the cobblestone streets of Regency London. Her stories embrace strong women and the men who deserve them. Within the pages you’ll discover ‘edge-of-your-seat’ suspense, mind boggling drama, and heart melting emotions. Grab your favorite cup of tea, or an ale if you prefer, and join her heroes and heroines as they race across the pages to find their happily ever after.

She lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at an international bank where she was a product/ marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now—writing romance. Ruth hopes her stories become your favorite adventures.

Where You Can Find Ruth:

At her website: https://ruthacasie.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ruthacasie/

Facebook at Casie Café: https://www.facebook.com/groups/963711677128537/

Facebook Author Page: https://amazon.com/author/ruthacasie

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4792909.Ruth_A_Casie

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ruth-a-casie

Retrieving A Truant Husband? Or Falling Into Sin?

By Bluestocking Belles

On July 2, 2022

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

Sam, I have a doozy of a story for you this time. You told me the other day that the Truant Earl is back in England, and that you hoped he wasn’t ready to settle down. That man has been good copy for at least decade, even though he hasn’t set foot in the country for almost half as long again. But his lovers, his fights, and all his other adventures have kept your readers entertained ever since we started to write about him.

Well, you’ll be pleased to know that–for from settling down–he has taken himself off to a house party. And not just any house party. His lordship has left for a week in the country with none other than Lord S.! That’s right. Lord S. whose house parties are a byword for sin and debauchery. Apparently the two of them were at school together.

The thing is, Sam, that isn’t the story. The Truant Earl’s countess is in London, too. Or she was. Came to collect her husband, found out that he had gone to S.’s party, and took off after him.

Will Lady C. retrieve her husband? How will she know? She hasn’t seen him since their wedding, when they were both all but children. What if she chooses the wrong man? This is, after all, one of S.’s parties! Anything could happen.

Perhaps Lady C. can turn her husband to the paths of righteousness. Or perhaps, just perhaps, she is about to fall down the slippery paths of sinful delight.

I’m getting myself off to the nearby village in the hopes that I can find a few loose tongued servants. More in my next letter.

The Truant Lord Clairmont by Jude Knight

Lady Clairmont goes to a scandalous house party to retrieve her truant husband after his return to England from a nine-year absence. What she discovers is unexpected.

A short story in Sunflower Season a fundraiser collection for Ukraine

SUNFLOWER SEASON is a charity collection featuring stories (some never-been-published and some old favorites) by over 70 — that’s right — SEVENTY of your favorite Historical Romance authors. ALL royalties will be donated to humanitarian relief in Ukraine. This set was released on June 7, 2022 and will only be available for a limited time. Preorder now and enjoy a summer of historical romance!

Featuring novellas, stories and novels by Sabrina Jeffries, Christi Caldwell, Amalie Howard, Virginia Heath, Caroline Lee, Golden Angel, Bree Wolf, Lori Ann Bailey, Nicole Locke, Natasha Blackthorne, Royaline Sing, Lenora Bell, Sabrina Jeffries, Amy Quinton, Janna MacGregor, Annabelle Anders, Rachel Ann Smith, Eva Devon, Sandra Sookoo, Tabetha Waite, Diana Bold, Sadie Bosque, Cheryl Bolen, Erica Monroe, Kate Bateman, Cara Maxwell, Tracy Sumner, Jenna Jaxon, Jane Charles, Eliza Knight, Mariah Stone, Robyn DeHart, Wendy LaCapra, Hildie McQueen, Madeline Martin, Amy Rose Bennett, Ava Bond, Kristin Vayden, Piper Huguley, Fenna Edgewood, Kathryn Le Veque, Caroline Linden, Nancy Yeager, Dawn Brower, Celeste Barclay, Lauren Royal, Michele Pollock Dalton, Glynnis Campbell, Rose Pearson, Erica Ridley, Sydney Jane Baily, Deb Marlowe, Rebecca Paula, Amanda Mariel, Christine Sterling, Ava Stone, Lauren Smith, Sawyer Quinn, Caroline Warfield, Jessica A Clements, Jude Knight, Anna St. Claire, Tamara Gill, Gina Conkle, Charlie Lane, Terri Brisbin, Bronwen Evans, Emmanuelle de Maupassant, Merry Farmer, Tammy Andresen, Cecelia Mecca, Meredith Bond, Christine Donovan, Lana Williams, Carrie Lomax, Eve Pendle, Bethany Bennett, Bianca Blythe, Maggie Dallen, Samara Parish, Anna Campbell and more????

Again, ALL proceeds will be donated to Ukrainian relief efforts. We are not affiliated with any charities but are only doing what we can to provide help for the innocent people who’ve lost so much as a result of this senseless tragedy.

Buy now at your favourite retailer. https://books2read.com/Sunflower-Season-For-Ukraine