Dear gentle reader, your Tattler came across a missive containing news of the most shocking and titillating nature we fear it is too juicy to be true. We will of course keep our sources secret.
Dear_____
I just spoke to an exceptionally reliable source that Lord,
Winthrop (Winn as his contemporaries call him), Burton may be soon off the
marriage mart.
I know this to be the shocking bit of my news, since it is
common knowledge, because of his family’s curse he had sworn to never marry and
have heirs, however that was before the esteemed Zoe Chase, daughter of Lord
Chase the diplomat appointed to Rome, returned to English soil to find a
husband.
We know the best place to find a suitable husband is within
the ton and this is proven of late because of the diplomat debutantes returning
for that reason. It would be more sporting, however if they waited to pluck the
juiciest of the fruit before the season took off in earnest. However, I
digress.
Our poor Winn was pre-occupied and therefore taken off guard
by the beautiful Miss Chase. They were once childhood friends you know. It is
said he began to question the validity of the curse when precarious events
began plaguing her only after it was rumored the two were spending time
together above what would be customary of a house guest and the Lord of the
manner. Ahem.
I was also informed that a rather public scene ensued during
the very house party to find Miss Chase a suitor. After which Miss Chase returned
to London with her father and Lord Burton’s sister Cyn (short for Cynthia). It
was reported directly to me, that Miss Chase was not overly enthusiastic about
the decision. I also believe it was the infamous courtesan Lady Sarrafinna who
put an end to the loud scene. Can you imagine, a courtesan at a respectable
house party? Of course her family have been close to the Burton’s.
Always the daredevil, Lord Burton will need to find a grand
gesture to prove to this young lady he is ready to settle down. Perhaps proving
the curse to be a fabrication may in fact bend the odds to his favor, but he
must act quickly. My sources tell me, Miss Chase is a delight and with her
knowledge of world politics she would be a catch for any up and coming lord
looking to make his mark on Parliament.
We shall see. I look forward to seeing this young lord take
the fall into matrimony, it will go a long way to making this a fantastic
season!
Oh, and please do not forget this information was shared in
the strictest of confidence and secrecy my dear. The strictest.
About the Book: Winn’s Fall
Lord, Winthrop (Winn) Burton will
die on his own terms. A family curse says he will die by the time he turns
thirty years old. He will not leave a young wife and a child behind like his
father did to him.
When childhood friend Miss Zoe Chase returns to stay with his sister and find a husband Winn’s plans are thrown into chaos. Not only is the once gangly, awkward girl he remembers, now everything that tempts him, the accidents that once plagued his life are happening to her.
He must keep her safe, but how
can he do that when ravaging her is all he can consider? Or perhaps the curse
isn’t a curse after all.
Author of 5 Historical romances, including the Improper Wives for Proper Lords series, Clair Brett lives in NH with her ever emptying nest which includes her children when they visit, two cats, one willful dog, and a mean Pitbull mix, that will lick you to death and run into her kennel when you speak loudly, and an ever harassed husband who takes it all in stride. A lover of all things Regency Clair, was hooked when she first read Jane Austen. She is a firm believer that a reader finds a piece of who they are or learns something about the world with every book they read. She wants her readers to be empowered and to have a refreshed belief in the goodness of people and the power of love after reading her work.
Aldridge looked around the unfamiliar room of a club
patronised by the son and heir of the Duke of Sudbury. He soon spotted the
distinctive white-blonde head of hair. Glenaire was dining alone at a table set
apart from the others. Aldridge strolled over, catching up a chair on his way.
“Good evening, Glenaire. Would company go amiss?”
It was a comedy they enacted for the audience. Glenaire had offered this as a
meeting place when Aldridge asked for a private conversation.
Glenaire looked up from the pamphlet on which he focused to
the neglect of his plate. “It would be my pleasure.” He hooked a
finger at a passing footman. “A place setting for Lord Aldridge.”
As the footman hurried away, Glenaire went straight to the
point. “Forgive if I’m assuming, Aldridge, but I gather this is about your
family matter.”
Aldridge grimaced. “In a sense, Glenaire, though it touches on your particular interests. Let me be blunt. My ‘family matter’ as you call it is out of my hands and into those of men like your esteemed father. I shall need to trust they make the right decision, for what else can I do? Meanwhile, I am doing my best to contain the mischief my own progenitor can cause, as quietly as possible, for my mother’s sake and the sake of the duchy.”
Glenaire’s somber expression deepened. Unlike Aldridge,
Glenaire had withdrawn from affairs of the Sudbury duchy and thrown himself
into government, becoming highly influential in foreign affairs. His sharp
disagreement with the duke his father made working together impossible and,
unlike Haverford, the Duke of Sudbury remained very much in control. He
understood, however, the frustration of watching his family heritage poorly
managed while lacking power to intervene.
The footman arrived to serve a bowl of rich oyster soup.
Aldridge thanked him with a smile, and took his first sip while waiting for the
man to leave. “With your sister supporting this event my mother is
sponsoring, I take it we shall be seeing you at the auction?”
“Of course,” Glenaire agreed. “Chadbourn and I have
been working on similar issues for a few years. I will support the ladies’
efforts any way I can.”
“I was somewhat surprised to see your sister at
Haverford House and joining in the committee’s activities. My impression has
been she prefers to remain in Oxfordshire.”
Glenaire shook his head. “Georgiana is much too much a
recluse. One worries. I urged her to come down for a few weeks while our
parents are not in town.” A small movement at the corner of his lips hinted at
amusement. “Your mother recruited her rather quickly. Now she has moved to
Chadbourn House. She and the earl’s sister Lady Flora are partners in this
cause.”
Aldridge grinned. “Chadbourn already has a special
interest in the Society’s cause. The Chadbourn House servants are an
interesting lot.” (Chadbourn
recruited many of his servants from among disabled veterans and war widows.)
The footman finished pouring the wine to go with the soup course, and left. Aldridge leant forward and lowered his voice. “Glenaire, I’ll get straight to the point. It has come to my attention that a certain crime lord in the London slums has smuggling interests, and that the implications may touch on the security of the King’s realm. If… and I pose the question hypothetically… if a prominent Devon landowner gave safe haven to such criminals, and someone presented the government with information about the places and times of meeting, could the landowner’s name be kept out of it? The family would, of course, guarantee to deal with the matter in their own way. Indeed, steps are already being taken.”
Glenaire nodded. “Ah, but the government would have a strong interest in assisting the family in this matter. Confidentially, Aldridge we both know there are smugglers one winks at (your boyhood shows that) and ones that mean us harm. I assume these are the latter and can ensure the full force of the border enforcement—riding officers and military aid if it came to that. Unless, of course, you prefer I keep them out of it.”
Aldridge frowned. “It’s a tricky matter, Glenaire. It needs to be handled by someone with a bit of discretion. Yes, running with the smugglers in Devon is almost a rite of passage for Haverford sons. My brother and I both did it when we were schoolboys, and I still know some of the men I met then. They wouldn’t touch these London thugs with an extremely long barge pole.”
He looked down at his soup spoon, but it was clear his mind was far away. “I can’t stand by and let a man’s second childhood, and his resentment of a romantic rivalry from before I was born, put England at risk. But I don’t want — can I be blunt? — I don’t want the fool attained for treason, either.”
“Are we back to a “family” matter?”
Glenaire asked.
Aldridge nodded, cautiously. “Hypothetical, again?
Imagine a man whose excesses have rotted his brain, and who has always thought
he was one step up from God. If he needed to pay a villain for an assassination
attempt, and the payment demanded was free use of smuggler sanctuaries, would
his conscience bother him, do you think?”
Glenaire leaned forward. “I think it would not bother him
one whit.” He bit his lip, choosing words cautiously. “Let’s assume,
hypothetically, a prominent individual has so taken leave of his senses as to
put his duchy, locale or indeed England at risk. Dear God! He must be stopped.”
“Agreed.” Aldridge spread his lips in a travesty of a grin, as if Glenaire had said something amusing. “At any cost, Glenaire. Any cost. But I’m selfish enough to wish to limit the cost to something I can afford to pay.”
“Care for the impact of such a thing on a mother and her wards — not to mention the wellbeing of the duchy — is not selfish. No one gains by the scandal of a trial for treason. With the cooperation of close individuals — his heir for example — the man in question might be dealt with quietly. Some sort of confinement could be arranged. Do you anticipate difficulty from his peers? A duke for example, hypothetically?”
Another nod. This one more emphatic. “Indeed. A duke
whose own heir might be very close to you.”
“Precisely. I have little influence with my father,”
Glenaire acknowledged, “but this… no, I don’t suppose you want him to know
about this.”
Aldridge inclined his head. “I am grateful for your understanding. He is not the only man on the panel for the Competence Hearing, so I do not despair of an appropriate outcome. If not — I have servants loyal to me. Something will be contrived.”
“A positive outcome there would make all this easier. You
may be sure the Regent will agree with a finding in favour of the truth,”
Glenaire assured his fellow heir, then his brows shot up. “One thing, Aldridge.
You said, ‘an assassination attempt…’ but you don’t name the victim. Surely
not the Regent! A high ranking official? We’ll need to organize protection.”
Aldridge responded with a wry quirk of the eyebrows. “The man in question has his own very efficient protection. You will have heard of the footpad attack more than a year back on the town carriage of a certain duke? Five of twelve scoundrels left dead in the streets? The next two attempts have been kept quiet, but have resulted in a similar body count.”
“Ah,” Glenaire said knowingly. “A man with a private army
perhaps?”
A small smile. “No noble is permitted a private army, Glenaire. This personage has only the number of retainers permitted by law. That they are unusually skilled, men and women alike, is to their advantage in this case. I am not concerned for their safety and wellbeing. Though for all their prowess, if this Devil’s Acre fellow is allowed to continue, he might get lucky.”
Aldridge opened his jacket and pulled a slim package from an
inside pocket. “A report from David Wakefield, the investigator. Use it as
you need to, Glenaire.”
Glenaire accepted it and put it away in his own jacket. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll send the support the hypothetical heir needs, alert certain influential individuals. Ah yes, and speak to you again at the ladies’ auction. Our sisters will insist on it.”
Aldridge laughed. “I expect it to cost me a
pretty penny, one way and another. My mother tells me it is my duty to purchase
the baskets of any lady who may be left behind. I trust I can content myself
with driving up the bids of others.”
Glenaire allowed himself a slightly broader smile. “I fear I
lack your patience for the latter but I’ll try to do my duty by the first.”
“One must have patience to be a success with the ladies, Glenaire.” Aldridge smiled warmly at the footman who replaced his soup bowl with a plate of roasted beef and finely cooked vegetables. “Thank you. Will you see the doorman and fetch the bottle I left with him? Glenaire? May I treat you to a fine Italian red?”
***
The event the Duchess of Haverford is organising, and some of the other matters touched on in this discussion between Jude’s Marquis of Aldridge and Caroline’s Marquess of Glenaire, are featured in Fire & Frost, due for publication on 4 February. Click on the link to find out more about five wonderful stories, set in the winter of 1813-14, when the weather was so cold the Thames froze over, and all five stories converge at the Frost Fair. And come back to check out the tour around the Belles’ blogs on release day your own personal guided tour of five Frost Fair booths, with a large helping of scandal and five micro stories written just for the blog tour. (The link will be added when the tour opens.)
No one in London can be unfamiliar with the circumstances of the death of one of our most beloved and renowned citizens, the elephant Chunee, who Wednesday last met his fatal end at the Exeter Change in such a barbarous manner that many were moved to write letters on his behalf. The Tattler has learned the identity of one lady of quality, whose letter we reprint here. While we must applaud the lady’s sentiments on behalf of this noble creature, we must also wonder if so outspoken a young woman as Lady Emily Radstock will ever find a husband among the gentry and nobility of England. Rumor has it that she is one of the financial backers of Sir Arthur Broome’s Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Sir Arthur currently resides in Marshalsea Prison for debt.
Sir:
The facts in the death of Chunee are so well known as to
need no recounting. Thousands in London have seen the prints of his cruel
slaughter. His agony at the hands of those on whom he long depended for his
sustenance and whose pockets were lined with the proceeds of exhibiting him to
the public is indefensible.
His handlers’ inability to consider his needs and to
foresee a time when distress of body and spirit would render him a danger to
himself and others and to plan accordingly for his care and ultimately for his
end brings into question the fitness of human persons for keeping any wild
animals in captivity, confined against their nature in cages, to be stared at
by the masses with no freedom to act in accord with the promptings of their
natures.
It is time to close the Exeter Change and all similar
institutions whose indifference to the well-being of their charges is a stain
on the honor of our city.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
E. Radstock
About the Book: The Spy’s Guide to Seduction
Weeks from her twenty-ninth birthday, Lady Emily Radstock receives from her mother a little blue book, The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London.Outraged at her mother’s attempt to push her out of the nest, Emily declares she’ll marry the first imbecile she meets. Overhearing the beautiful heiress, Baronet Sir Ajax Lynley, newest gentleman spy in the Pantheon Club, takes her at her word. From the moment their engagement begins, Emily finds herself intrigued by her fiancé, a man who encourages her daring and who offers a most seductive partnership in spy-catching. When mounting danger and an uncanny echo of his painful past lead Lynley to abandon the partnership, Emily has to put aside the hurt and humiliation of a missing fiancé to save her partner in spying and seduction. A 2019 Library Journal Top Pick in Romance.
Kate Moore taught English lit to generations of high school students, who are now her Facebook friends, while she not-so-secretly penned Romances. In Kate’s stories an undeniable mutual attraction brings honorable, edgy loners and warm, practical women into a circle of love in Regency England or contemporary California. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best award winner and three-time RITA finalist, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her surfer husband, their yellow Lab, toys for visiting grandkids, and miles of crowded bookshelves.
What propriety is possible with women whose heads are filled with nothing but men? Can charity improve flawed character?
Dear Mr. Clemens,
I have it on very good authority that the reputations of some
of the supposed ladies, who are members of the The Ladies’ Society for the Care of the Widows and
Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans would not bear close scrutiny.
Her Grace of H, whose generosity is well known is being taken advantage of by
females as scandalous as that jade, Miss M. P. C. It is all well and good for
Her Grace to sponsor the woman’s employment as almoner at the Benevolent Paupers
of the Apostles Hospital, where Miss C will only encounter persons of as low an
order as herself. But to foist her upon society as part of the group organizing
Her Grace’s latest charity ball is by far too much. Bad enough that the good
folk of the ton must tolerate, those sisters, Misses M. and J. G. because of
their relationship to the M of A. Now Her Grace is elevating a woman of Miss
C.’s repute to the heights of society by association with the likes of Lady T. M., sister to the reculsive Duke of E ,
who is involved in this charitable effort. Her ladyship is young and can be
forgiven a small error in judgement. However, Her Grace cannot have considered
the impact that associating with such dubious women will have on an impressionable
and high-spirited young lady such as the Duke of E’s sister. Since Her Grace is
always most kind and generous, her continued support of the likes of Miss C can
only be a detriment to any charitable effort. What will come of those efforts
of Her Grace when Miss C shows her true colors and steals every penny, like the
dishonorable strumpet she is. I beg of you sir, and your good readers,
encourage Her Grace of H. not to tolerate any association with Miss C. on the
part of any members of the The Ladies’ Society for the Care of the Widows
and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans.
With
kind regards and concern for the welfare of our young ladies,
D.
Cummins.
Dear
Readers,
We
publish this letter in the interests of fair play and welcome any epistles
countering the concerns of its author. We cannot help but wonder if the
concerned “D. Cummins.” might be a relative of the Miss C. mentioned
in the letter. Perhaps a relative who has benefitted from the young woman’s
difficulties and would prefer to see her banished from society rather than
reformed. We are well acquainted with Her Grace of H’s kindness and wisdom. She
is an unlikely dupe, so we welcome any response either in support or in
opposition to the concerns noted in the letter above.
Sincerely
S.
Clemens, Editor and Publisher
Learn more about the ‘scandalous’ Miss C. and other protege’s of the Duchess of Haverford in the Bluestocking Belles’ boxset Fire & Frost.
The ladies of London, led by the indomitable Duchess of Haverford plot a campaign to feed the hungry, care for the fallen—and bring the neglectful Parliament to heel. Their campaign involves strategy, persuasion, and a wee bit of fun. Pamphlets are all well and good, but auctioning a lady’s company along with her basket of delicious treats is bound to get more attention. When the Thames freezes over, the ladies take to the ice at the Frost Fair. With handsome gentlemen at hand, what could be better for their purposes than a little Fire & Frost?
Your Teatime Tattler once again has the pleasure of receiving scandalous news from afar, this about a notorious Pinkerton agent.
Dear Mr. Clemens,
You may not be able to print this
scandalous story. I am reporting to you an event that has horrified my friends
and me! Miss Lydia Wood was seen in the company of a man, Mr. Jake Hunter, in a
saloon for commoners. To make matters more appalling, she wore a scandalous
dress that exposed her ankles and a bit of her… appendages. His dress presented
him as a riverboat gambler. This was not to a costume ball, Mr. Clemens, but a
night on the town. She even sang in the saloon!
Miss Woods said she and Mr. Hunter are agents of the Pinkerton Detective Agency’s Denver, Colorado, office. I hesitate to call her remarks into question. Nevertheless, have you ever heard of a woman Pinkerton detective? You can understand why I am dismayed beyond words!
Pinkerton Agency Reward Poster
The two rushed off to some ridiculous
place called Hole-in-the-Wall, Wyoming, to chase after robbers. Don’t you agree
that a woman going to a place where robbers congregate is outrageous? Miss Wood
is from a prominent Kansas family and knows society’s rules. I am surprised she
would act so boldly in public. I pity her poor parents, who must be distressed
at their daughter’s choices. You may remember Miss Wood was left at the altar
two years ago by this same Mr. Hunter. She said
they are now in a marriage of convenience for this assignment. If that is true,
her parents know nothing of the arrangement.
As I learn more of this distressing affair, kind sir, I shall keep you informed further.
Miss Lilith Black
About the Book
AN AGENT FOR LYDIA, Pinkerton Matchmaker Series #56
When Lydia Wood is left at the altar, she
believes something beyond her groom’s control has happened. Two years with no
word have hardened her heart. She has to get away from her parents’ constant
urging her to choose an acceptable husband and wed. Becoming a Pinkerton agent
suits her plans.
Pinkerton Agent Jake Hunter has recovered
from injuries that put him in a coma and a long convalescence. He realizes
Lydia would have been injured had she been with him. To protect her, he vows to
distance himself from the one person who means the world to him.
When they are paired for an investigation of robbers they must follow the trail to a dangerous hangout of men on the run. Can the two successfully pull off their charade and capture the robbers and their stor will this trip confirm Jake’s worst fears?
An Excerpt
Lydia gazed out the train window at Wyoming’s desert landscape, recalling how terrified she’d been last night in the saloon. The man who’d wanted to take her upstairs was huge and smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in months. He carried a bottle of whiskey in one hand, some of which he had spilled on his shirt.
Thank
goodness she had her gun and her knife. Would her little gun have stopped such
a large man? With any luck she’d never have to learn the answer.
Forcing
herself not to snuggle up to Jake for comfort had been almost impossible. His
presence reassured her. He’d had several years experience at Pinkerton’s and
knew how to deflect and defeat combatants.
An
older couple sat in the seats facing theirs. Lydia avoided eye contact with the
prune-faced woman across from her. The woman had snubbed her and Jake as if
they carried leprosy.
Prune-face
ceased staring long enough to tug on her husband’s sleeve and whisper, “Horace,
doesn’t he look like the man on that wanted poster we saw in Cheyenne?”
Horace
frowned at her. “Hush, Mattie.”
Did
those two think she and Jake couldn’t hear them?
Lydia
gestured to the window. “I’ve never seen so much sand and scrubby bushes.
Barren as it is, it emanates a serene beauty.”
“Wait until you see where we’re headed. I’ve
heard it’s picturesque as well.” Jake flashed his bone-melting grin.
No,
thank you, she couldn’t weaken now. She’d had the vaccination for that grin’s
affect. Too bad the inoculation hadn’t proven very effective.
About the Author
Through a crazy
twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not
born on a Texas ranch. To compensate for this illogical error, she writes about
handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains in a tiny office
her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas
cowboy country where they ride herd on their dog and three rescued indoor cats
as well as providing nourishment outdoors for squirrels, birds, and other
critters.
The over fifty titles she has created in her pink cave have made her an Amazon bestselling author and won several awards. She writes sweet to sensual romances about the West, both historical and contemporary as well as time travel and mystery. Her series include The Kincaids, McClintocks, Stone Mountain Texas, Bride Brigade, Texas Time Travel, Texas Caprock Tales, Loving A Rancher, and Pearson Grove as well as numerous single titles and contributions to multi-author sets. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, reading her friends’ books, lunching with friends, browsing antique malls, checking Facebook, and taking the occasional nap.
