A Holly and

Hopeful Hearts

Teatime Tattler

Companion

By the Bluestocking Belles

Amy Rose Bennett

Jessica Cale

Susana Ellis

Sherry Ewing

Jude Knight

Caroline Warfield

Nicole Zoltack

www.BluestockingBelles.net

Copyright © 2016 to individual authors as named.

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Dear and most respected readers

Your editor, as is well known, is proof against the arrows of the mischievous son of Aphrodite, but sympathetic to those who fall subject to the god’s shafts. Especially when their love seems doomed to disappointment, for who does not like a happy ending against the odds? Today, on behalf of the proprietors, The Teatime Tattler is publishing a special edition to celebrate the release of a new book from the Bluestocking Belles; one in which no fewer than eight couples are surprised by Cupid’s attentions.

Without further ado, allow your humble servant, Mr. Samuel Clemens, Editor, to present:

Holly and Hopeful Hearts

When the Duchess of Haverford sends out invitations to a Yuletide house party and a New Year’s Eve ball at her country estate, Hollystone Hall, those who respond know that Her Grace intends to raise money for her favorite cause and promote whatever marriages she can. Eight assorted heroes and heroines set out with their pocketbooks firmly clutched and hearts in protective custody. Or are they?

With sincere wishes for your reading pleasure

S Clemens

Read about all eight novellas, and find buy links, at the end of this ebook.

Wedding Night Jitters

By Sherry Ewing

G

race, Lady de Courtenay gazed around the room at their wedding guests. Everyone was having a marvelous time and Grace had never been happier. One man, in particular, drew her attention. How could he not? She could hardly believe she was married, let alone to her second cousin. Relation or not, she had always held an affection for him and obviously the feelings had been reciprocated considering they were now man and wife. Her father may have protested that she was too young to wed when Adrian first offered for her, but both her parents knew that the marriage would be advantageous to both families.

Adrian must have felt her stare for he turned from the gentleman he had been speaking with and gave her a smile that spoke a thousand words and more. Her heart fluttered within her chest wondering what was in store for her this evening when the night would finally allow them the privacy of their bedchamber. Her mother had prepared her for the inevitable, but that did not help the nervous knots that formed in the pit of her belly. He is just so handsome, Grace thought, before she became lost in the memory of when his lips touched hers for the very first time. She had known, in that instant, she would be forever lost. Her fate had been sealed the day she happily accepted his offer of marriage.

Grace watched when her husband excused himself and began making his way across the crowded room. He was a gentleman that any lady would be glad to call her own. Tall, broad shouldered, with hair as dark as the midnight skies, along with piercing blue eyes that could rival a clear summer day. This was no idle gentleman of leisure, as his physical appearance would attest, and he was all hers. Grace snapped her fan open and began to wave it before her flushed face. Did the temperature of the room increase the closer he came to her side? Her knees began to buckle with each step he took. She reached for the settee directly behind her until she was able to sit. She could not miss his eyes twinkling mischievously as though he knew her inner most thoughts. The rogue, she pondered, hiding her own grin behind her fan when he at last stood before her.

Adrian leaned over to pull out one of the pristine white roses in a nearby vase before sitting down next to her. He traced the petals of the flower across her cheek. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with being chilled. No, far from it. She was burning with a need that only her husband could satisfy. His lips replaced the rose and she wished with all her might that their wedding supper was at an end so her husband could put her out of her misery.

“I missed you,” he whispered huskily in her ear.

She gave a light laugh, snapped her fan shut, and playfully tapped his arm with it. “I was hardly far, my love.”

“You were much too far for my liking, my dearest. If I could, I would keep you ever close to my side.”

“That would certainly give society something to talk about in the morning,” she replied wishing for nothing more than to be alone with him, especially when he began nibbling at her ear. “Adrian, you must stop. What will people think?”

“They will think that I am madly in love with my beautiful young bride, which, of course, I am,” he declared handing her the flower.

She peered around him to watch several gentlemen frown in their direction. “We are being watched,  and it appears they are not pleased with our public display of affection, darling.”

“I do not care what they think. Besides, we are celebrating our union. Maybe they will remember when they were also in a state of wedded bliss,” he answered and then proceeded to kiss her cheek. The sound of louder than average laughter caused Adrian to turn to stare at the crowd, which began to disperse after having been caught staring rudely at the bride and groom. “Why am I suddenly under the impression that people are sniggering behind our backs?”

Several people continued whispering to one another and Grace could only imagine what their conversation entailed. She tugged on her husband’s sleeve and he leaned over to hear her whispered words. “Do not give them the satisfaction of letting them know you are cross.”

“I am not cross.”

“You are frowning.” Grace giggled.

“At least I have you smiling and that is what matters most,” he stated with another warm smile. “You have honored me this day by becoming my wife, Grace.”

He kissed her parted lips, apparently not caring that all of society was watching their every move. Grace sighed in pleasure. “I am the one who is honored, Adrian, but if we can find a way to remain out of the latest edition of the Teatime Tattler it will be a miracle.”

“That gossip rag that is taking all of London by storm? What could they possibly find interesting in the news that we are married, my dear?” Adrian stood to watch their guests again then pulled her to stand beside him. He placed his arm around her for support.

Grace leaned into his embrace taking comfort when his arm tightened around her. “We are the talk of the town, darling. How you do not know this is beyond me. It is not every day that a woman marries a man with exactly the same given and family name as her brother, never mind that he is her second cousin. Let us not even go into the confusion of your title being the same as our family name, so that all that changes with our wedding is that I become Lady de Courtenay instead of Lady Grace de Courtenay.”

Adrian chuckled, apparently amused by the whole situation. “Is that all?”

Grace looked up at his face and laughed. “Well if you do not care that we are being talked about then neither will I. I am sure half the people here already doubt your sanity in marrying an educated woman.”

Adrian’s brow rose at her implication. “They might just learn a thing or two about the advantages of having a woman who speaks her mind as a wife.” He perused the crowd again until a truly wicked gleam entered his eyes.

“I am afraid to ask what you are thinking,” Grace said. He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow.

Adrian only took a few steps before he swooped her up into his arms. “Since we will most likely be in tomorrow’s edition anyway, we might as well give them something to talk about.”

He began carrying her from the wedding reception. Before they left, he turned around at the entryway to the ballroom to face their startled guests. He somehow managed a short bow. “Please enjoy the rest of the festivities. Grace and I are in need of…”

Grace muffled a laugh as Adrian left his words lingering in the air. She heard gasps of shock from the ballroom as her husband took the stairs two at a time. Reaching their room, he closed the door to their wedding suite. As Adrian set her down upon her feet, Grace looked forward to finally becoming Adrian’s wife in every sense of the word. In the months to come, she would relive and treasure each and every moment with her husband, after an unforeseen tragedy destroys her world.

A Woman’s Tears

By Sherry Ewing

L

ord Nicholas Lacy waited but an instant in his bedroom until he decided it was in his best interests to follow his wife. Juliette had wasted little time making her way down into the foyer. From the top of the stairs, he watched whilst she linked arms with her sister, Genevieve, and their mother and began ushering them to the door with a hasty comment of joining them shortly in their carriage.

She turned back towards the servant and reached for her gloves, practically snapping them into place in her frustration. She must have sensed his presence on the stairway for her head rose, along with one delicate arched brow. She was miffed at him and he deserved it. This was not the first time that business had taken him away from their plans.

Nicholas descended the stairs and held out a hand to the maid who gladly turned his wife’s pelisse over to him. He placed the garment over her shoulders before turning her to face him. She refused to look at him but it took only a gentle touch of his fingers skimming her cheek until she raised her eyes, brimming with unshed tears. They had always been his downfall.

Placing a kiss upon her forehead, he pulled her into his embrace and held her. Her resolve weakened with a heavy sigh as she, too, wrapped her arms around his waist. “Please come with us, Nicholas,” she begged, resting her head upon his chest.

“I will be just two days behind, my dearest. Surely you can enjoy your sister’s and mother’s company until we are reunited? Such a parting will not be that long,” he murmured breathing in the heavenly scent of roses that lingered in her hair. Since the foyer had become empty, with the exception of the two of them, he began nibbling at her neck. If only he were able to reconsider.

Juliette lifted her head to stare upon him. “You promised…” she whispered, and it tore at his heart to see his beautiful wife so miserable. Rising on the tips of her toes, she kissed him before he could find a way to answer her when all he really wished to do was carry her back upstairs.

He heard her quiet moan and broke off their kiss before he forgot himself. “Juliette…” Her name passed his lips like a soft caress whilst his heart flipped within his chest.

“Je t’aime, Nicholas.” Her soft French accent rushed across his soul causing him to shiver in delight to hear his own name and words of love pour from her delectable mouth like the sweetest of wines.

“And I love you, ma chère,” he responded, pressing another kiss upon her parted lips. He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and began escorting her towards the door. “You shall have two days of shopping to your heart’s content without me getting in the way. Surely, that will make you happy?”

“Shopping is not what makes me happy, Nicolas, and you know it. I would rather an hour in your company than two days spent purchasing a bunch of things that truly hold no meaning.”

“Do not be cross with me, Juliette. Before you know it, I will be right by your side so you may once more enjoy my sparkling wit and conversation.”

Juliette pulled on his arm to halt their progress before she thrust two fingers towards his face. “Two days, Nicolas, and not a day more, or I will return here to the countryside and retrieve you myself.”

Nicholas chuckled. “Of course, my dear,” he agreed.

They made their way outside whilst their daughter, Blanche, climbed down from the carriage after giving her aunt and grandmother hugs. After Juliette made herself comfortable in the carriage, Nicholas and his daughter wished them all safe travels and waved goodbye. The vision of his wife blowing them a kiss through the window would haunt Nicholas for many years to come. Regret was a terrible thing to have to live with.

Fathers and Daughters

By Susana Ellis

12 January 1812

Park Street, Mayfair, London

“N

umber 14,” announced the hackney driver, pulling up outside a row of neat, brick townhouses, all trimmed in white, fronted in black wrought iron and darkly lit by a handful of lamp posts. George was accustomed to returning home in darkness, but he’d left the office more than an hour earlier than usual and it was already dark. London winters were always dark. There were days when the only light he saw was when he went to the windowed waiting area to greet a client.

George tossed a coin to the driver and strode toward the door of his sister’s home, wondering what Eliza needed to discuss with him so urgently. It had to be something to do with Louise, he conjectured. Although he had the impression that his daughter was quite happily settled with her aunt’s family by now. He knew she had bonded with her much-younger cousins and Eliza declared her a delightful addition to the household. So what could have gone wrong?

“Good evening, Mr. Durand. Mrs. Childers is expecting you.”

The butler led him upstairs to Eliza’s sitting room, where he found her at her writing desk. She put down her pen when she saw him and rose to greet him with a fond embrace.

“George! How good of you to come so soon! I hope my scribbled note did not alarm you unnecessarily. Nothing dreadful has occurred, after all. It’s just that I have so many things to do now. My mind is scattered in so many directions since William told me the news.”

“News?” George’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to imagine what sort of news would have sent his generally level-headed sister into such a tizzy.

Eliza twisted her wedding ring on her finger. “William has accepted a new post, George. Quite an honor, really. We are all very proud of him, of course. But to move the entire household to St. Petersburg—if only we had more time. I hardly know where to start!”

George blinked. “You are moving to St. Petersburg?”

“Yes. In a month’s time. Lord Cathcart chose William personally to serve with his staff. He is wanted straight away, but thankfully, William said he would not go on ahead and leave me to make the journey unaccompanied.” She brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “There is so much to do, George. Decisions to make about packing and servants and—”

“—Louise,” finished George. “You needn’t worry about my daughter, Eliza. I shall take her back to St. Albans with me tonight, and her belongings can be sent later.”

“Oh!” Eliza’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to imply that Louise is a burden, George. Not at all. The children love her—we all do—and we would be pleased to take her with us, as part of our family.”

George blinked. They wanted to take his daughter to Russia? Where he wouldn’t see her for years?

“You can’t be serious.”

Eliza took his arm. “But I am, George. We are. And Louise is eager to go. Aux anges, in fact. It will be so good for her, you know, to meet new people, experience other cultures. We will be on the invitation list for the most exclusive balls and receptions—just think how thrilling it will be for her to socialize with dukes and princes!”

George pulled away from his sister. “Have you lost your mind? She’s only fifteen, Eliza! She won’t come out for at least two more years, and besides, I don’t want her to be encouraged to see herself as part of the European aristocracy. Her grandfather’s title was lost at the guillotine, and if it were not for all the false hope instilled in her head by her mother and grandmother, she’d be content with her situation as the daughter of a solicitor.” He began pacing in front of the fireplace.

Eliza sighed. “I know that was a bone of contention between you and Genny for years before she died, but George, Louise is happy with us. We will love and protect her as though she were our own daughter. What will you—a man alone—do for her if she remains? Especially when you spend nearly all waking hours at your place of business?”

What indeed? He hadn’t been much of a father to her, even before the carriage accident that took her mother nearly two years ago. He’d left all that to Genny, and then, to Eliza. But he’d never meant it to be a permanent placement. It was simply a temporary solution that had continued primarily because of his own indecision.

Which ended now. He stopped pacing and straightened his spine. “No.”

He’d hire a governess. Perhaps find a gentlewoman who could be more of a companion of sorts, who would take over the tasks of the mother she no longer had. Louise did have a father, though, and he determined then and there that he would start behaving like a father from that point on.

Because Louise was all he had. Without her, he was alone, and he didn’t really want to be alone.

“She won’t be happy,” warned Eliza.

“Well, well,” said George, unmoved. “I daresay she’ll get over it.”

Vanessa’s Dilemma

By Susana Ellis

April 1810, Piccadilly Street, London

“V

anessa! So this is where you’ve got to! Mama is beyond vexed with you for slipping away during my fitting!”

Vanessa’s head jerked back as she slammed the book shut with a definitive smack and gaped at her younger sister, whose pixie-like appearance was contradicted by the sharp tone of her voice.

“I’m so sorry. I only meant to find a new book. What time is it? Surely I haven’t been here more than ten minutes or so.”

Eugenia rolled her emerald green eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. “We’ve been searching for you more than half an hour. Mama had to reschedule your fitting since Madame LaFleur had another appointment.”

She dropped her arms and reached into her reticule for a handkerchief. “Really, Vanessa, I know it must be difficult for you to look forward to my wedding in view of the fact that you are my older sister, but can you not at least make the effort to avoid antagonizing our mother? You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. The entire house will be in an uproar and there will be no peace for anyone.”

She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, and Vanessa, overcome with contrition for her behavior and compassion for her sister, rose to embrace her, the book carefully laid on the bench.

“I am so sorry, Genie. I don’t mean to be so ungenerous. Of course I am delighted at the news of your betrothal. You and Reese are perfect for each other, and you deserve a magnificent wedding. Please forgive me for being so thoughtless! It’s just that—you and Mama were busy with the modiste and I thought I could just slip out for a moment to see if Hatchard’s had any new novels.” She swallowed. “The time got away from me.”

Eugenia stroked her hair gently. “I know this can’t be easy for you, my dear. Not after what happened in the past. I almost feel guilty for finding my own happiness so quickly and unexpectedly when you have had to endure so much.” She stepped back and grasped Vanessa’s shoulders, looking at her directly. “Wedding aside, it’s time for you to move ahead with your life. Find some worthwhile occupation… a charity, perhaps. Something to get you out of the house before Mother’s constant carping makes you fit for Bedlam.”

Vanessa wanted to argue that she was doing well enough without her sister’s advice, but the lie just wouldn’t fall off her tongue. Slinking off to her bedchamber at every opportune moment to bury herself in books and write bad poetry was not really much of a life. Especially not with having to endure her mother’s constant nagging about her appearance, her unmarried state, and her bluestocking tendencies. Eugenia and their mother’s obsessive devotion to her had made life at Sedgely House bearable; once Eugenia was whisked off to Hertfordshire with her gentleman-farmer husband, Mrs. Sedgely’s attention would be focused entirely on remaking her disappointing older daughter.

She leaned in and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You constantly amaze me, little sister. Just seventeen and not only are you about to become a bride, but you have the maturity and wisdom to offer your spinster sister some excellent advice. If I involve myself in some worthwhile charity, perhaps Mama will give up pestering me to find a husband.”

Eugenia threw back her head and laughed. “I assure you she will never give up that particular pleasure. But at least you will have the opportunity to escape the house and her badgering, and at the same time do some good for the unfortunate.” She chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “No doubt you will meet a great deal of interesting ladies—and gentlemen—and who knows what will happen from there?”

Vanessa grinned, aiming a playful swat at Eugenia’s upper arm. “You mustn’t hold your breath. No doubt any gentlemen involved in such schemes are stout, white-haired solicitors old enough to be my father.”

“But they may have eligible sons,” her sister suggested with a smile. “In any case, you will make the acquaintance of many worthy individuals that you might never have encountered in the ballrooms of the ton. People who value more in life than simply wealth and titles.”

“Mother will hate that. You know she has always aspired to have lofty connections.”

“My Reese is a squire’s son, a gentleman farmer. No title. No more than moderately well-to-do. Besides, she can’t but recall the mess that occurred with your betrothal to a baron’s son.” Seeing Vanessa’s face whiten, she grasped a hand and squeezed it. “Now don’t keep berating yourself over it, Vanessa. It was years ago, and it wasn’t your fault he ran off to Scotland with a milkmaid. You didn’t love each other. You agreed to the betrothal only to please Mama.”

Vanessa drew a deep, calming breath and smiled shakily. “True. I’m so glad that you were able to find and fight for your true love, Genie. Your Reese is a fortunate man to have won so wise a wife.”

Eugenia flushed. “Just between you and me, I haven’t the faintest idea how to be a wife. I shouldn’t want Reese to become disappointed with me.”

Vanessa shook her head. “That man loves you, Genie. I’m sure he worships every part of you, right down to your toenails.”

“My toenails?” Eugenia’s giggles reverberated through the shop, and the slender gentleman behind the counter sent them a stern look.

“Along with the other parts of you he hasn’t seen yet,” Vanessa continued. “He hasn’t, has he?”

Eugenia tilted her head as she reflected on it. “No, I don’t think so. Not my toenails, at any rate.” She bit her lip. “But seriously, Vanessa, I do have some concerns. Not about Reese, but about a childhood friend of his, the earl’s daughter from a neighboring estate. When we went to call upon her the other day, I could see that the news of our engagement was a devastating blow to her.”

“Ah yes, Lady Theresa Granville. She had her presentation the year before mine. I heard about her, but she’s been absent from the social scene since.”

“That’s because she’s completely fixated on farming, maybe even more so than Reese is. They’re constantly together talking about agricultural nonsense, and the truth is, I’ve done nothing more than arrange cut flowers from the garden. I could study farming every day and never have as much knowledge as she has in her little finger.”

“Ah, but Reese chose you. He’s had years to propose to her and chose not to do so. I’m quite sure he doesn’t expect you to turn into Lady Theresa.”

Eugenia smiled shakily. “I hope you’re right. I know he loves me. I just hope I can persuade Lady Theresa to accept me as Reese’s wife. Her friendship is important to him—to both of them, really—and I should really dislike to be the reason it came to an end.”

Vanessa squeezed her sister’s hand. “She’ll learn to love you, my dear. Everyone does, when they get to know you.”

The shop door opened noisily, and a scowling gentleman peered in.

“Excuse me, ladies, but is that your carriage holding up traffic in the street? The lady inside has been waving her umbrella out the window for quite some time.”

“Mama!”

Both girls stared at each other in horror before they raced to the door of the bookshop and shakily boarded the carriage, mumbling apologies that went unheard as Mrs. Sedgely railed at them relentlessly.

Vanessa leaned her head against the squabs and closed her eyes.

Genie is right. I need to take charge of my life. Now… how shall I go on from here?

An interview with Miss Kate Woodville

By Amy Rose Bennett

T

oday I have the pleasure of chatting with Miss Kate Woodville, the bluestocking heroine of my latest novella Dashing Through the Snow as we take tea at Miss Clemens’s Oxford Street Book Palace and Tearooms. Her story appears within the Bluestocking Belles’ recently released holiday anthology Holly and Hopeful Hearts.

Amy: Thank you so much for your time, Miss Woodville. I know how busy you are.

Kate: No, thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Bennett. I am very happy to share my story with readers.

Amy: Please, call me Amy.

Kate: And I would be delighted if you called me Kate.

Amy: Now then, perhaps you could tell readers a little bit more about yourself, Kate. They may have already heard that you are a bluestocking and a teacher at Mrs. Brookes’ Academy for Young Ladies in Kensington, but is there anything else in particular you would like them to know…

Kate: Why yes, there is, Amy. Readers may not know that I am a keen supporter of the London-based charity, The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel. My dear friend and fellow bluestocking, Miss Tessa Penrose (whom I know you are well acquainted with too, Amy) introduced me to the charity about a year ago.

Amy: A most worthy cause. And I believe you have been invited to a certain Yuletide house party hosted by the most gracious Duchess of Haverford. At Hollystone Hall in Buckinghamshire. It’s sure to be a wonderful occasion, especially considering the event will culminate in a New Year’s Eve charity ball!

Kate: Yes… I have been invited… [Kate pauses to sip her tea] Of course, it would be a marvellous opportunity to promote White Church House, the charity lodging house provided by The Benevolent Society and St Mary Matfelon Church. So many destitute women and their children rely on their support. Tessa and I were hoping we could secure funds for repairs to the house andemploy a teacher for the children on a permanent basis; at the moment, Tessa and I, and a few other ladies provide lessons when we can…

Amy: If you don’t mind me remarking, you seem a little hesitant about attending the house party.

Kate: Yes. I am concerned that a certain dowager viscountess, her daughter (who is quite delightful, a former student of mine in fact) and her stepson will also be guests. I’m afraid the viscountess and her stepson do not think much of me.

Amy: And this stepson would be Lord Stanton (I think readers might be aware of his name so I hope you don’t mind me sharing it)?

Kate: [Blushes] Yes. Our interactions to date have not been all that amicable. You see, my brother, Freddie Woodville, has developed a rather strong tendre for Lord Stanton’s younger sister, Violet Lockhart. And unfortunately, both Lord Stanton and his step-mother believe a match between them would be most unsuitable. They believe Freddie to be a scoundrel and a fortune hunter. Of course, he is neither of those things.

Amy: For the enlightenment of our readers, I will add that Freddie is a war hero and the heir to a barony in Cumberland.

Kate: He is indeed. But it seems Lord and Lady Stanton have taken it upon themselves to delve into my family’s background. I am worried they will both go to great lengths to stop Freddie’s pursuit of Violet… even if that means ruining my reputation as well.

Amy: I understand your upbringing and family history is a delicate subject so perhaps I should steer the conversation to safer waters for now…. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind me asking, what are you most proud of about your life?

Kate: [Smiles brightly] My charity work of course. And—I hope this doesn’t sound too boastful—my skill as a pianist. My dearly departed mother, even though we could ill-afford it at the time, purchased a pianoforte when I was twelve and I fell in love with playing it. Now that I work at Mrs. Brookes’ exclusive ladies’ academy, I have no need for it so I have donated it to White Church House. There’s nothing more enjoyable than seeing the children’s faces light up when I play songs for them at the end of their music lessons. Music brings such joy into people’s lives, don’t you think?

Amy: I agree wholeheartedly. And I’m sure your mother would be very proud of you, Kate.

Kate: I like to think so too.

Amy: Changing tack again, is there anything about yourself that you would like to change?

Kate: [Laughs] Apart from my unruly red hair and the freckles on my nose? I think  my temper can be a little too quick. I sometimes speak my mind when perhaps I shouldn’t and that gets me into trouble.

Amy: Now, I hope you don’t mind if I venture another personal question or two. You are five-and-twenty and many young women about your age, or indeed younger, aspire to marry. Is that one of your aspirations? And if so, what is your idea of a good marriage? Do you think that will happen in your life?

Kate: Oh no. Marriage is not for me. Although I am reluctant to share details, I will say my parents’ union was not a happy one. And, I like my independence. I have a teaching career, and my charity work is most fulfilling. I do not feel that anything is missing from my life. Freddie may believe he has found a love-match with Violet Lockhart, but I do not put much store in such things.

Amy: Yet you blushed when I mentioned Lord Stanton earlier…

Kate: [Blushes again and frowns at the same time] I’m sure it was a flush of anger. That man can be most… vexing. Perhaps you would like more tea, Ms. Bennett. Shall I order a fresh pot? And some of those little ginger cakes and macaroons that were on display?

Amy: That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Kate for taking the time to talk with me. I’m sure the readers of the Teatime Tattler will appreciate how candid you’ve been. And like me, they will wish you all the best with promoting your charity at the Duchess of Haverford’s house party.

Kate: [Nods and smiles] No, thank you, Amy. And all the best with Holly and Hopeful Hearts. The Bluestocking Belles have created a delightful collection of stories.

Only Foolish Servants Gossip

By Caroline Warfield

H

onoredReaders,

Mrs. Mulligan of Pudding Lane came to our offices this very morning with a most intriguing document. Knowing our readers’ avid interest in the activities of the Grenford family, we agreed to her rather ambitious price to obtain the missive. We hereby print the document in its entirety (with some discrete corrections to spelling and grammar, which were greatly needed) and sincerely hope Miss Maud Mulligan, upstairs maid for the Duchess of Haverford at Hollystone Hall, doesn’t find her career as a servant cut short by her willingness to report on the doings her betters, at least until another such missive may come into our possession.

S. Clemens

Dearest Mother,

You said as how you wanted to know how I got on in this big house and what the toffs and their ladies get up to for three weeks running. It would take more time than that the Stanley woman might give me and more paper than I can afford to tell you all I’ve seen and heard. Most of my stories will have to wait until I see you, if I’m ever free to visit.

Right off I was assigned as maid to Miss Dinah Baumann, a spinster lady of some years. I worried, me not knowing anything about hair and clothes and such, but turns out the lady mostly kept to her bed and had me fetching and carrying for her and the little grey kitten that wiggled its way into her bed one afternoon.

Besides getting up early, starting the fire, fetching the lady’s chocolate, and general cleaning, I go up and down the servants’ stairs once or twice an hour, between Miss Baumann’s demands, the cat making disagreeable messes, and Mrs. Stanley sending me off on one errand and another every time she claps eyes on me, there being so many guests and so few maids. The house fairly buzzes with stories, I can tell you.

Miss Baumann—Miss Esther, the young one, not the old lady—is ever so kind. She brought her own maid and told Reba—that’s the maid—to look after me a bit so I don’t get behind. I wouldn’t say an unkind word about the Misses Baumann for all some in this house, ignorant all, think a Jewish Banker’s daughter ought not to be here. A perfect lady is Miss Esther Baumann, dressed as smart as they come and refined as need be. I won’t hear a word against her and so I said over servants’ tea to the ruffian who tends the spit. Young is no excuse for stupid. That’s what Mr. Fournier, (he be the French cook) said. No excuse for stupid. I know better. Remember Mr. Cohn the baker? Most honest baker in the city and his cakes are heavenly.

I was ever so surprised though when that gentleman of Miss Esther arrived with no invitation and still dirty from the road on Christmas morning. Some said as how it showed disrespect, but the duchess didn’t mind. I heard she welcomed him like a long lost friend. When I helped fetch hot water up to the room he shared with Lord Elfingham—beggars not being choosers—he seemed gentleman enough to me. He put me in mind of Mr. Cohn’s son Havel.

I should say I believe Mr. Halevy is Miss Esther’s gentlemen, but I’m not sure. She certainly follows him with her eyes when he’s around, or, so a footman told me, but she told her aunt that she never wanted to talk to him. Ever.

But that isn’t the end of it. This is why I took pen to paper tonight. The servant’s hall went all abuzz when the duchess asked Miss Esther and Mr. Halevy to say their Sabbath blessings with the company. I know I shouldn’t have, but I slipped upstairs and into the room where they had set up the table. No one saw me back by the draperies, but I watched it all. I heard that crab, Lady Stanton whisper some horrid things, but most of them looked so interested I think they prayed along. The look on Mr. Halevy’s face when he said the last blessing and she said “Amen,” would have melted any woman’s heart. Maybe the rumor I heard later about Miss Esther going out to the barn with Lord Jonathon Grenford wasn’t true.

Oh my! I’ve gone on too long. The house is in an uproar about the costume ball, and I should be working. Maybe costumes and candlelight and such will make magic for Miss Esther and her gent. I hope so.

Your daughter,

Maud

PS When you go for bread, tell Havel Cohn I asked after him.

Biscuits and Tea with a Side of Questions

By Nicole Zoltack

S

age gathered some biscuit and tea for the guests. Using her shoulder, she nudged the door open. She smiled at her lady, the strange but kind Katia who did not seem to quite belong to this day and time.

Trying not to be overly intrusive, she couldn’t help but listen to the conversation her lady and her friends were having.

Lady Theodosia pointed to the page. “As always, Aunt Augusta has wonderful advice. Love can be hard sometimes, but if it is meant to be, it will find a way.”

Lady Anna smiled. “And have you found love?”

Lady Theodosia brought her cup to her mouth, but Sage spied her now-pink cheeks.

“Does anyone have a guess as to who Aunt Augusta is?” Katia asked. She murmured her appreciation to Sage for the tea.

Sage was curious herself. Katia had been teaching her how to read, and Sage enjoyed reading the column herself. As to who was the one dispensing the advice, Sage had no idea.

Neither, as it turned out, did any of the ladies gathered.

“She has to be old,” Miss Eliza put forth. “She seems rather knowledge.”

“Yes. And someone who must have experienced a great love,” Lady Vanessa said with a faraway look in her eyes.

“Why else would she be such a proponent for love? I do agree.” Lady Theodosia nodded and helped herself to a biscuit.

“Married then,” Katia said.

“Or else a widow,” Sage commented without thinking.

“True,” Katia mused, as always seemingly unmindful of today’s customs. Sage knew she shouldn’t have spoken; Katia never cared. “Although that is a tragic thought, so hopefully she is still with her love.”

For a time, the ladies conversed and even ventured names, but not one of them could figure out the mystery. Perhaps one day it would be resolved, but until then…

Sage brought forth some parchment and quills and had to smile when she saw each lady surreptitiously fetch one. I wager that Aunt Augusta will be getting a letter from each soon enough.

Will I ever have cause to send one myself?

Our Society Correspondent

By Jude Knight

D

ear Mr. Clemens,

I have arrived at Hollystone Hall, and, as I suggested to you, the cream of Society is gathering for the Duchess of H.’s house party. The invitations for this event were much sought after and cherished. (Of course they are. It is always so with Her Grace’s entertainments.) Yet I wonder, too, if recipients have not felt a soupcon of trepidation?

For those of your readers not familiar with this great lady, let me explain.

She is, of course, the wife of the Duke of H., and his opposite in every way. Where he is profligate in his private life, reactionary in his politics, and rigidly committed to the existing social order, she is a lady of great probity, and staunchly reformist. Witness this particular event: the lady intends to raise money for a new charity set up to fund education for women! Her Grace will undoubtedly be looking for contributions throughout the fortnight of the house party, as well as at the charity ball at the end.

Not only that, but the duchess is well known for her belief that even marriages at the highest level of Society can be love matches, despite what are undoubtedly her personal experiences.

Can we doubt that those attending will be keeping a careful eye on both their pocketbooks and their hearts?

I shall report further. I am confident that the coming weeks will present many morsels of interest to your readers.

With grateful thanks for the opportunity to be your correspondent, I remain,

A Lady.

Dear Mr. Clemens

We were greatly excited today when the reclusive, elusive Earl of S. arrived to join the house party, bringing with him the notorious actress, C.H., whom he introduced as his intended!

You can imagine the buzz of gossip that ensued amongst the mothers of hopeful would-be countesses, and who can blame the young ladies for their disappointment? Lord. S. proved to be an ethereally handsome young man with impeccable manners and an air of sad distance that tempts a susceptible maiden to offer a comforting shoulder, or lap.

Miss H. is widely known not to be a maiden, but is she susceptible? I have seen her eyes following the earl, and suspect that she is by no means the gold-digger she is being painted.

His lordship’s cousin, who is also at the party, says Lord S. won’t go through with the scandalous match, but the couple smell of April and May. I rather believe that the cousin’s hopes for the succession are to be frustrated.

Yours sincerely,

A Lady

Dear Mr. Clemens

We have been joined by the Dowager Countess of E. and her daughter, Lady A.W., who appears to have not one but two suitors! The Polite World has long watched with interest as Lady A. attempted to hide her regard for the Duke of B.. The scoundrel paid her no more attention than all the other delicate buds — and more mature blooms — around whose petals he buzzed.

One would assume all this would change with the duke’s recent (and somewhat scandalous) betrothal. The lady, indeed, appears to have had a change of heart, looking with favour upon the morose Earl of P., and one cannot miss that the earl’s rare smiles are saved only for this one lady.

Unaccountably, the duke seems to have forgotten his betrothed, and his eyes follow Lady A. around the room. We can only wait and see whether the fair damsel is to be a countess, a duchess, or free to explore the options in another Season.

With cheerful anticipation, I remain,

A Lady

Dear Mr. Clemens,

Her Grace can take no credit for the romance between Miss V.S. and Mr. G.D., which has been a settled thing between the couple for some time. A betrothal has not yet been announced, and some ill-natured people have suggested that Miss S. is reluctant to commit to a marriage that would make her the mother of a daughter only a few years younger than herself.

Having seen the lady with her prospective groom and his daughter, I wish to assure your public that such calumnies are unfounded. Miss S. is a charming lady, much admired in right-thinking circles for her practical work in educating orphans. Mr. D. likewise has an interest in that worthy cause, so they have much in common.

Besides, the way they look at one another makes me almost regret my own resolve to stay fancy free.

Sighing, but unreformed, I remain

A Lady.

Dear Mr. Clemens,

The duchess’s goal for her companion is no secret to those at the houseparty. Has Her Grace not, for many years, taken in one distant relation after another and seen them placed in an advantageous marriage or some other occupation that better suits them?

Indeed, Miss C.G. has not minced words. The duchess has advised her to search the house party for ‘a suitable husband’.

Although several men have taken an interest in the shy, attractive, competent young lady, she will not believe this to be the case. However, I believe that her attention has been fixed, and in a most unlikely direction.

The duchess is known for her surprisingly egalitarian views, but what will she make of her companion’s choice? Will Miss G.’s venture below the salt lead to marriage, to scandal, or to a retreat into the safety of life as a poor relation?

I will hope to report a happy outcome in time, but scarcely know what it might be.

A Lady

Dear Mr. Clemens

Were it not clearly distressing those most closely concerned, the tension between Lady de C. and Lord N.L. would be most amusing. And now I learn that Lord N. has made a fundamental and ridiculous mistake about the lady’s marital state.

He has been looking daggers at her for the past few days, and leaving the room whenever she enters it? Surely such strong feelings betoken more than a passing fancy?

On her part, the lady is offended that the gentleman will not listen to her, and who can blame her. What can possibly break the stalemate between these two proud and stubborn people?

One hopes that Her Grace has an idea.

I remain your bewildered correspondent,

A Lady

Dear Mr. Clemens

We have had some unexpected late arrivals. First was Viscount E., the grandson of the Duke of W.

If any of your readers have been foolish enough to risk their blunt in the betting book at White’s on who V.E. will choose as his bride, I suggest they prepare to lose their money. His presence here is evidence enough that he will not obey his grandfather and wed his cousin, Lady C.W., who is not at the house party. Why would he risk entering the house of his father’s greatest enemy, if not for the sake of the woman he loves.

And I can assure you he is not pursuing Lady F.B., the other lady named in the impertinent bet. Far from it. His own cousin, Mr. W.W., is a guest at the house party, and is spouting nonsense, but your correspondent is not in the least taken in by the common opinion. Lord E.’s attention to a certain lady cannot be doubted. Her brother frowns, concerned about the suitor’s uncertain status while the House of Lord’s deliberates on the validity of his parent’s marriage. But the lady herself is not, I venture to hint, unmoved.

As to the identity of the fair charmer, my lips are sealed.

Later in the day, Her Grace’s sons arrived to make her Christmas complete. And certainly the presence of two rakes must make the party more entertaining for those who watch.

Cautiously,

A Lady

Dear Mr. Clemens,

We have enjoyed the company of Miss E.B., a perfectly lovely young lady, educated in the best schools, and an invited guest of the duchess. Yes, her father is in trade, and she is of the Hebrew race and faith. But what of that? She is a fine person, and I am proud to call her friend.

On Christmas Day, the household welcomed the arrival of Mr. A.H. It was very romantic. He has been on a mission for the government, carrying some unnamed supplies to our hero in Spain, the Duke of Wellington himself, and rode through the night directly from London to be here.

When one sees him watching Miss B., one cannot doubt his reasons, though the lady herself seems resistant. Will he have the reward he deserves?

In hope, I remain,

A Lady

Dear Mr. Clemens,

The Dowager Viscountess S. is very loud in her comments on others. But will the houseparty ever find out why she arrived alone at the party, without her daughter and her step-son? Perhaps her constant barrage of criticism is a smokescreen for scandal in her own family.

Certainly, one can ignore her unpleasant hints about Mr. and Miss W. Mr. W. is a war hero, and his sister a woman of excellent character, and a confirmed spinster.

Perhaps the Viscountess’s viputeration arises from the marked interest that Mr. W. showed in Miss S. earlier in the year, but they have not been seen together for several months, and we are given to understand that he has been in the north learning his duties as his uncle’s heir.

But the house party finishes after tomorrow’s ball, so perhaps we shall never find out the truth of it.

Yours sincerely,

A Lady

Monday for Tea

T

he Teatime Tattler sees all and knows all. A source in the house of the Duchess of Haverford has sent the following interviews. Not a servant, of course. Everyone knows that the Haverford servants are incorruptible.

Tea with Lady Anne

By Nicole Zoltack

L

ady Anna Wycliff follows the servant into the parlor. The lovely Duchess of Haverford is standing by a table, already laid out with tea and biscuits.

“Do come join me,” the duchess says warmly. “I am so glad you could join me for tea.”

“Of course.” Anna smiles.

“How is your mother?”

“Good. Good. She sends her regards.”

The duchess picks up her bluebell patterned teacup but did not drink. “She mentioned to me that you enjoy to write stories.”

Anna’s smile grows even wider until her cheeks almost pain her. “Oh, yes! There’re just silly little stories. I mostly write for myself and share some with the children at orphanages. It makes them happy, which makes me happy.”

The duchess leans forward. “I would love to hear more about your stories. Perhaps you could read me one some day.”

“Oh, I would like that very much!”

Tea with Vanessa

By Susanna Ellis

“W

elcome, Miss Sedgely! I am so pleased you could take tea with me today.”

The Duchess of Haverford was sitting at the far end of two rows of elegant chairs and settees facing each other, looking regal in her own chair of scarlet and gold as she waved Vanessa to the chair at her right. Vanessa swallowed nervously as she made a small curtsey before complying with her hostess’s wishes.

“On the contrary, Your Grace. It was kind of you to extend me an invitation.”

It was true. The Sedgelys’ tended to socialize on the fringes of the ton, not in its upper circles. Vanessa had met a duchess or two before, but never this particular one, who had a reputation for being both astute and compassionate at the same time. No doubt her purpose in inviting Vanessa to tea was to learn more about her work with the Foundling Hospital in order to determine if it was indeed a worthy charity to promote at her New Year’s ball.

The duchess smiled. “It was gratifying to see so many serious young ladies taking an interest in charitable endeavors at the meeting at Miss Clemens’s Book Palace last week. It’s not the usual thing for unmarried ladies, is it?”

Vanessa took a deep breath before answering what was to her a loaded question.

“I’m sure many would agree with you that unmarried ladies would be better occupied in searching for a husband, Your Grace. However, for ladies who choose not to marry, or who have not yet found a suitable match, I cannot think their concern for the less fortunate should be denied. If I am able to help even a few abandoned children live to be respectable and worthy citizens—”

“Which are you, Miss Sedgley?”

Vanessa stared at her blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

The duchess tilted her head to the side. “A lady who has chosen not to marry or one who has not yet found a suitable match.”

A flush crept across Vanessa’s cheeks. Until recently, she would have easily confessed to the former, but since meeting a certain widowed solicitor, she had begun to believe the married state might be for her after all.

“I-uh…”

At that point the tea trolley was wheeled in, and Her Grace favored Vanessa with a request to pour the tea.

Fortunately, she was able to manage that small task without trembling, and for a short time, there was silence as the two ladies sipped their tea and bit into the delicious lemon biscuits.

“I found it exceedingly interesting that Mr. Durand remained for the entire meeting, although he was the only gentleman to do so.”

Her Grace set her cup down on its saucer on the small table between them.

Vanessa’s face felt impossibly hot.

“Er, yes,” she said, taking another sip of tea.

The duchess’s eyebrows furrowed and released. “I find it commendable that he seems so determined to raise his daughter himself,” she said casually as she reached for another biscuit. “I understand he could have left her indefinitely with his sister.”

Vanessa poured herself another cup of tea. Her Grace’s tea service was exquisite, but the cups were tiny and the conversation was making Vanessa’s mouth feel dry.

“Indeed.”

“A girl of that age needs a mother, of course.”

“I’m sure that Mr. Durand will do what is necessary for his daughter,” Vanessa defended. “Now, perhaps we might discuss the needs of the Foundling Hospital?”

Her Grace burst out laughing. “I really must stop teasing you, my dear. It’s rather a dreadful habit of mine. Along with matchmaking, of course. But what happens between you and Mr. Durand is really not my concern.” She shrugged. “Although I do think you could be of great help to that worthy gentleman.”

Vanessa gave her a weak smile, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her.

The duchess rang for the tea trolley to be removed.

“Now,” she said. “Do tell me more about your work with the foundlings. We have an orphanage at our Hollystone Hall estate. I’m sure Miss Grenford will organize a visit for us during the house party.”

Gratified at the turn of conversation, Vanessa took a deep breath to give her time to organize her thoughts. Now this was a topic she could handle. Speculating on her matrimonial prospects with George Durand was quite definitely not.

Tea with Nicholas

By Sherry Ewing

L

ord Nicholas Lacey hesitated at the threshold to Her Grace’s salon. The appointed hour had at last arrived when his hostess agreed to meet with him. However, Nicholas felt like a misbehaving school boy about to be reprimanded for some silly childhood prank. His cravat, of a sudden, seemed entirely too tight about his neck giving him reason to have a word later with his valet about learning the technique of tying a proper knot.

He gave the cloth a slight tug and raised his hand to the door before him, only for it to open as though the servant on the other side knew he was present.

“Lord Nicholas, you are right on time I see. I do so appreciate punctuality,” the Duchess of Haverford declared from her place before the fireplace.

Nicholas stepped into the room as the servant closed the door leaving him alone with his hostess. “You are kind to see me at such short notice, especially with your home full of other guests.”

“Do come in and join me for a cup of tea,” Her Grace bid with a wave of her hand to the empty seat across from her, “or will we need something stronger to fortify us for the conversation ahead?”

Nicholas might, indeed, need something stronger than tea but he refrained from her suggestion. He needed to keep his wits together. “I have a most unusual request that involves another here at Hollystone.”

The duchess perused him most thoroughly before a hint of a smile escaped her. “And which one of the lovely ladies present is this regarding, Lord Nicholas?” she asked pouring a cup of tea and handing it to him.

“Grace… Lady de Courtenay,” he answered taking a sip.

She watched him carefully over the rim of her own cup before she set the china back down upon the trolley. “Your intentions are honorable, are they not?” she inquired in a tone that implied much.

“Yes, of course, Your Grace. I have only the utmost respect for Lady de Courtenay.”

The duchess picked up her tea again and took another sip. “Good. Then tell me how you met your lady and why you have asked for this meeting. I do so enjoy a good love story.”

Nicholas relaxed into his chair as memories of Grace ran across his mind. “It all began with a kiss…”

Tea with Charlotte

By Jessica Cale

As the Duchess of Haverford topped up their tea from a fresh pot, Charlotte helped herself to her fifth petit four. Though she had been nervous to meet Her Grace on her own, there were advantages to having tea with a Duchess. Monsieur Fournier’s little cakes were at the top of that list, with the delicious orange pekoe coming in at a close second.

Her Grace smiled indulgently. “Marvelous, aren’t they?”

Charlotte’s eyes rolled in ecstasy as she bit into the smooth pink icing. “I can’t get enough of them. I have dreams about them. The baby already has expensive tastes, God help me.” She idly stroked her enormous belly. “I eat them as fast as Cedrica brings them.”

“Do you see her often?” She lit up at the mention of her relation.

“As often as she can get away. She has been occupied with Fournier’s, of course, but stops by for tea perhaps once a week.” She finished the cake with a sip of her tea. “Mrs. Phillips says I ought to cultivate more ‘advantageous’ friendships to ease my way into the ton, but who could be better than the wife of a French chef?” She laughed. “Cedrica is my dearest friend and I so look forward to our talks.”

Her Grace looked up from her tea with gentle concern. “How has the ton been treating you? Have you had many invitations?”

Charlotte sighed. She had been a countess for all of six months, a change she had embraced with rather more enthusiasm than society had accepted her. Actresses did not marry earls, after all. London’s shopkeepers, on the other hand, had embraced her with open arms. “I have had some,” she said carefully. “Apollo’s friends, mainly. Aldridge has been lovely.”

“I would certainly hope so.” There was pride in her voice as she spoke of her son. “He and Apollo have been friends for years. They used to spar in the parlour.”

“Now they spar in ours!” Charlotte laughed.

“More tea?”

“Please.”

“Apollo is a dear boy. I wanted to thank you both for your generous donation to the girls’ school.” Her Grace stirred a drop of cream into her tea.

“Of course! I was hoping to speak to you about the school, actually.”

Her Grace smiled. “I would be delighted to talk about the school. It’s one of my favorite subjects.”

“As you know we have the orphanage in Southwark. We have more children than we have space to keep them, and so many of them are little girls. We were wondering if perhaps we might be able to sponsor a number of them to have places at the school. They’re bright enough, and I know if they have the right education, they might be able improve their situation–”

“Say no more.”

Charlotte stiffened, unsure of how the Duchess would react. Would she object to admitting working class orphans into her beloved school?

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Charlotte sighed in relief. The orphans were fast becoming a crusade of hers; just the thought of helping them brought tears to her eyes. She could not be happier that she was now in a position to help them. “I’m so pleased.”

“What shall we call it?”

“Call it?”

“Scholarships often have names, sometimes in memory of the person leaving it. As you and Somerton are thankfully in good health, is there someone else you might name it for?”

Charlotte grinned as it came to her, her heart so full of joy she thought it could burst. “Might we call it the Artemis Rothschild Fund? In memory of Apollo’s late sister.”

Her Grace smiled indulgently, and Charlotte wondered how much she knew of Apollo’s family history. “Of course.”

Tea with Esther

By Caroline Warfield

E

sther Baumann squeezed her fingers together in a futile effort to control her nerves when Miss Cedrica Grenford approached her in the anteroom to the Duchess of Haverford’s drawing room. The woman’s kind eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles reassured her, however. She took a deep breath.

“Her Grace is so pleased you came,” Miss Grenford told her.

Esther rose to her feet, hoping she did it as gracefully as she intended. This caused Reba, her ever present companion, to do so as well.

“Would you care for refreshments, miss?” the duchess’s companion asked Reba.

Esther put her hand on the woman’s arm. “I’ll be fine Reba. Do let Miss Grenford see to your comfort.”

A moment later the door closed softly behind her, and she found herself alone with the Duchess of Haverford.

“Miss Baumann, how lovely of you to come. Your message requesting an interview pleased me.” The duchess gestured to the seat next to her with a graceful hand. Afte pouring tea, offering biscuits, and making sure of Esther’s comfort she went on, “How may I help you?”

“Oh, you already have, Your Grace. I asked to see you to thank you for your invitation to the Hollystone Hall house party and to give you my acceptance in person.” Esther handed a sweetly scented missive to the woman she admired so greatly.

“I’m delighted you will come! May I hope this means your parents have accepted my invitation as well?” the duchess asked turning the little missive over in her hand.

“I fear not, Your Grace. That is the reason I wished to speak to you face to face. My mother is not well.” Esther felt tears well up. When the duchess reached over an put a sympathetic hand on her arm they spilled over, earning her the use of a lace trimmed linen handkerchief.

After a moment to gather her emotions, Esther went on. “She worries about me attending a house party without her, and I’m loathe to worry her. Still, I want badly to come; my father has arranged for my Aunt Dinah to attend come with me.”

“Please assure your mother I will happily stand in her place while you are my guest, Miss Baumann. Will your father accompany you?”

Esther shook her head. “He tells me the demands of business forbid it.” She stiffened at that and watched for the other woman’s reaction. Many looked down on bankers like Nathaniel Baumann, and Esther would not hesitate to defend him if she had to. She didn’t.

“Men like your father are much needed in these difficult times,” the duchess replied.

Esther had a surge of pride, even greater than her relief at the woman’s sensitivity. “Yes! Even the government—” She snapped her mouth shut, aware she had almost revealed things she should not.

The duchess laughed, leaned closer, and whispered. “Yes I understand your father’s young assistant has accompanied Viscount Rochlin to Spain. Such delicate matters must weigh on Mr. Baumann.”

“How do you know that?” Esther gasped. “Adam left only last week!”

“I fear there is little my son Aldridge doesn’t know, at least a it applies to the country. Adam is it? Well, well.” The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “I will look forward to meeting this courageous young man. Shall I invite him as well?”

“He won’t come,” Esther responded morosely. “Adam… that is, Mr. Halevy, has very traditional views and a narrow circle of friends.”

“Oh dear. That must be difficult for one as outgoing as you,” the duchess replied sympathetically.

Her mood had turned gloomy, an unfamiliar situation for Esther. She took a deep breath and reached into her reticule and retrieved a heavy vellum packet, eager to change the subject. “My father asked me to deliver this to you in person as well.”

The duchess glanced over at Esther once or twice while she opened Baumann’s message. At the sight of the enclosed cheque her eyes grew wide. “My goodness, this is extremely generous.”

Esther grinned broadly. “My father is always happy to contribute. He believes very strongly in education.”

“Does he know our charity supports education for women and girls?”

“Certainly. He is…”

“Learning?” the duchess asked with a laugh.

“Conflicted,” Esther replied. “He will also contribute directly to Mr. Montefiore’s project to build a Hebrew school in London.”

“One that won’t admit girls.”

“No. It won’t.” Esther couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice.

“You sound unhappy about that. Did you wish for that sort of education?”

“I would have liked to study the Torah at the feet of the rabbis, but I know of no girls who do. ”

The duchess sighed. “Perhaps some do and we don’t know about it yet. She raised her chin and went on, suddenly radiating the power of her position. “It is the same for all girls. We will change that. Maybe not overnight, but it will change.”

The fire in her eyes softened when she looked at Esther. “I will send my gratitude to your father and assure him he is welcome at the house party, even if he can only come for the ball.”

Esther smiled back. The duchess and the banker’s daughter’s eyes met in perfect accord.

Tea with Cedrica

By Jude Knight

C

edrica stared out of the window, but she saw nothing of the scene before her: the rectory garden, bounded by a low wall, and beyond it the village lane; the gray church through a small gate to her left, and on the right another gate leading to the rectory orchard.

The view was as familiar to her as the shape of her hand—she had known both her whole life. But she sat and looked into the future, and which was unfamiliar and had no shape at all.

Whatever was she to do?

At least here, the villagers knew what to expect from Papa when he wandered off, visiting from cottage to cottage all over the district, bewildered that the parishioners of his youth were not there to greet him; that his beloved Hannah, Cedrica's mother, was nowhere to be found.

The children and grandchildren of those parishioners would bring Papa back home, where---until today---he recognised his daughter and came back at least a little to himself.

Today, he had stared at her blankly, and become angry when she insisted that she was Cedrica. "This is a cruel joke," he told her, with great dignity. "I must insist you leave before you upset my wife by taunting her with her childless state."

In the end, cook had taken him upstairs and put him to bed, and Cedrica had come to the study, filled with memories of the kindest father in the world. Her long-awaited birth had killed her mother, but her Papa made sure she never wanted for affection. How many evenings had she played on this very hearth rug while he wrote his sermon? Here, he told her stories, taught her to read, helped her with her first stumbling letters. Here, as she grew older, they worked side by side, Cedrica proud to help her father with his careful little monographs on English wild flowers, and his letters to other botanists all of Europe.

Where were they now, all those friends with whom he had corresponded? She had written to them and to everyone else she could think of when she and the good people of the village could no longer hide their dear rector's increasing confusion. Few had replied. Those who did sent only good wishes.

Good wishes would not save Papa from the bishop's plans to put them out from the only home Cedrica had ever known. Oh, his letter was polite enough. The new rector would require the rectory. Mr Cedric Grenford would be better off in a place where people of failing minds were cared for. The bishop would be happy to write Miss Grenford a recommendation for a position. Perhaps as a companion to someone elderly?

In desperation, Cedrica had written to the last person her father would wish help from---the distant cousin whose great grandfather had banished his son, her own grandfather, for the unpardonable crime of falling in love outside of his class and station.

But that had been a month ago and the Duke of Haverford, head of the Grenford family, had not replied.

Movement on the lane caught her attention; a magnificent coach, pulled by four black horses, perfectly matched down to the one white fetlock. The equipage was slowing, stopping, one of the two footmen up behind leaping down to open the door with its ornate crest, and put down the carriage steps.

First through the door was a tall man immacutely dressed in a coat that hugged his broad shoulders and pantaloons that hugged... Cedrica schooled her eyes to turn back to the door, as the man himself did, holding out his hand to assist a lady to ascend. A very fashionable lady. A great lady, as Cedrica would have known by her wise eyes and her kind face, even without her escort, the carriage, and the servants.

The footman opening the gate, and the gentleman gave his arm to the lady and led her towards the rectory door.

Cedrica shook herself. The door. With cook upstairs and the maid on her half day, Cedrica must answer the door, and there. That was the knocker.

Refusing to speculate; refusing to hope; Cedrica hurried into the hall and checked her appearance in the tiny mirror. Reddened eyes. Old fashioned dowdy clothes. She could smooth her hair back under her cap, and she did, but she could do nothing about the rest.

With a sigh, she answered the door.

"Please tell Miss Grenford that the Duchess of Haverford has come to call," said the man, barely glancing away from the duchess.

"I will... That is, I am..." Cedrica trailed off. She was sure the duchess had never in her life opened her own door. Despite her embarrassment, she could not take her eyes off her illustrious visitor. The duchess was shorter than her, and elegant in a redingote of a deep wine red that matched the silk flowers inside the brim of her straw bonnet. Yes. Cedrica had been correct. The lady's eyes were kind, her mouth curving in a gentle smile.

"I think, Aldridge, that this is Miss Grenford. Miss Grenford, allow me to present your cousin, my son, the Marquis of Aldridge."

Startled, Cedrica turned to look at the man that most of England called the Merry Marquis. He did not look like a dissolute rake. Although, to her knowledge, she had not before met a member of that tribe.

He bowed, a graceful gesture at odds with his dancing hazel eyes. "Miss Grenford, your humble servant."

Servant. What must two such aristocrats think of her opening her own door? Cedrica blurted, "It is the maid's day off, and cook is sitting with Papa." She could feel her own blush, heating her all the way from the roots of her hair to her- her chest.

"Aldridge, find the kitchen, dear, and put on the kettle," Her Grace ordered. "Miss Grenford---or may I call you Cedrica? Cedrica, come and sit down, my dear, and you and I shall have a cup of tea and discuss the safest place for your Papa, and the best place for you. You have family, Cedrica, and we will not let you down."

Cedrica, following her new sponsor blindly into the shabby parlour, could not stop the tears, and in moments she was in the duchess's arms, crying on her shoulder.

"There, there, Cedrica. You have been very brave, but you are not alone any more," the duchess assured her.

It was a great deal to take in, but the situation was too strange not to be believed. A duchess was sitting in her parlour, the shoulder of her gown damp with Cedrica's tears. And in her kitchen, a marquis was making the tea. Cedrica's sobs stopped on a shaky laugh.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace."

"Call me Aunt Eleanor, Cedrica. For we shall become very close, you and I. I have what I think you need, my dear. And you are just the person that I need."

First Kisses

Dashing Through the Snow by Amy Rose Bennett

T

he heavy silence extended between them until Kate scraped up the courage to murmur, “Forgive me, my lord. Perhaps I have been too frank. It seems the wassail has loosened my tongue.” And made me fanciful.

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Lord Stanton. He gifted her with a warm smile that made her pulse dance oddly. “Thank you. For confiding in me. It cannot be easy to share such private matters.”

“No...” The moment stretched and Kate found that her gaze was trapped with Lord Stanton’s. The mood had shifted again, had become even more intimate. Tender yet also taut. Filled with expectation. It was too much to take in. If she stayed too much longer, she might begin to believe Lord Stanton cared for her which was utterly ridiculous.

She needed to go.

Kate stood and was taken aback to find she was a little light-headed from all the wassail and wine she’d drunk; she put a hand against the brocade covered back of the settee to steady herself. “I think I should retire.” She glanced at the mahogany longcase clock beside the door leading to the Great Hall and the stairs. It was almost midnight. “It is quite late.”

“Yes.” Lord Stanton rose also, a frown of concern creasing his brow as he regarded her. Perhaps he’d noticed she was slightly unsteady as he said, “Let me escort you.”

However Kate shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Good night, my lord.” She crossed the room to the open doorway but as she took a step over the threshold, her slipper caught on the edge of the hall runner and she tripped. Gasping, she clutched at the doorframe but then strong male arms caught her and she found herself pulled up against Lord Stanton’s tall muscular frame, her back to his front.

“Careful now,” he murmured against her hair. His breath teased the hair at her temple, the curve of her ear, raising pleasurable goose-bumps along the exposed flesh of her neck.

“I... I’m not usually so clumsy.” She turned in his arms and attempted to take a step back so she could thank him eye to eye but Lord Stanton’s hold about her waist firmed.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice as rich and potent as the wassail punch they’d just been drinking. “Look where we are, Miss Woodville.” He glanced above their heads before his eyes met hers again. “Or may I call you Kate?”

“Whatever do you—?” Kate tilted her head up and then swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Oh, no. A large garland of mistletoe—a kissing bough—hung from the carved wooden lintel right above them. “We don’t have to hold to tradition,” she whispered, her gaze returning to Lord Stanton’s.

“Oh, I think we most definitely do.” He pushed one of her curls behind her ear. “It’s Christmas Eve. It would be most remiss of us not to.” His gaze, as soft as moonlight on water caressed her face. Her lips. “May I kiss you?”

Oh, my goodness. I must be dreaming. Kate’s pulse thrummed with anticipation and her heart swelled with unexpected pleasure. Lord Stanton wants to kiss me. Before she’d even thought through the consequences her wassail-addled brain formulated a response and she whispered, “Yes.”

Lord Stanton’s mouth tipped into a devastating smile just as the longcase clock began to chime the hour of midnight. “Merry Christmas, sweet Kate.”

He raised a large hand and cupped her cheek as if he were touching something as delicate as a Christmas rose. Holding her breath, her gaze dropped to his mouth as he tilted his head then oh, so slowly lowered it. And then she stopped thinking as overwhelming sensation swept her away. The slick brush of warm yet firm lips over hers, the sliding caress of Lord Stanton’s other hand up her back to her nape, the push of his fingers into her hair as he angled her head slightly and claimed her whole mouth, the intoxicating scent of his cologne wrapping round her, the rush of tingling heat through her whole body, all of these things sent her spiraling high, so high until she felt like she was flying.

When the tip of Lord Stanton’s tongue swiped boldly across her lower lip, she gasped at the decadent sensation, the unexpected, wicked, earthly pleasure of it. Her lips now parted, he took the opportunity to explore her further, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, stroking and tasting her until she was moaning, gripping his wide shoulders, pushing herself shamelessly against his hot, hard chest, seeking more, wanting something else from him. She hardly knew what that was until Lord Stanton’s skated his hand from her neck down to her shoulder then his fingers slid beneath her spencer and gently covered her breast. Desire flared hotter, brighter. All these years she’d been a spinster she’d never known that this was what she’d been missing. Never dreamed a kiss could be like this. Her first kiss—

“What the bloody hell are you doing with my sister, Stanton? Unhand her this instant.”

Artemis by Jessica Cale

“C

harlotte?” Apollo’s voice was a temperate breeze in the chill of the night. He had been so kind to her. She wanted to be his countess, wanted to be the kind of wife she believed he deserved, but knew in her heart she couldn’t. She hated to prevent him from finding such a paragon, but she couldn’t cheat her child of the chance at a good life, either. She could not protect them both. When she turned to face Apollo, there were tears of frustration in her eyes.

He gathered her in his arms and held her close without a word, and a pathetic-sounding sob broke free from her throat at the surprise. Aside from dancing, he’d barely touched her. She surrendered to it, cautiously wrapping her arms around his long, lean waist. His shirt was stiff with starch beneath her cheek and the delicious smell of him drove all thought from her mind. His cologne was light and vaguely herbal, like elderflowers and lemon in brandy. Masculine, but not overtly so. It mixed with his own chemistry and became something more, the smell of desire itself. It would be so easy to love him, but she knew she would be doing him a disservice.

He loosed his hold on her only enough to seek her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes blue as medicine bottles.  “What troubles you?”

She glanced over his shoulder to be sure they were alone. “I don’t belong here.”

“You belong with me.” His assurance was heady as laudanum and twice as tempting. She longed to drink his words and forget.

“You deserve better,” she said, looking away. “I can’t be everything you need.” She pulled out of his arms reluctantly and sunk onto a bench overlooking a fallow field.

He sat beside her without a sound. “You already are.”

Her laugh was defensive and more than a little morose. “The things I’ve done, Apollo…”

He took her hand, offering her his strength. “I don’t care, Charlotte.”

“You ought to,” she fired back, but did not withdraw her hand from his grasp. “It wasn’t just Marksby. Perhaps you’ve heard the rumors. If you haven’t, you will. Byron, Coleridge, Kean, dozens of others. Opium, laudanum, absinthe, women.” Her voice cracked.

His eyebrows shot up at her confession. “Women?”

She cringed inwardly. Her past had succeeded in shocking him where her behavior had failed. “Many,” she confessed. “So many. What must you think of me?”

He wrenched his gaze away, appearing to consider something. Having second thoughts, like as not. She couldn’t blame him.

Her hands shook as she tried to explain herself. He had been lovely to her and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him. “If I may be candid, I’ve come to care for you a great deal and that is the reason I cannot let you marry someone like me. You ought to find yourself a real lady with whom to acquire a child or two.”

“And you?” His face looked stricken as he turned to her, his high cheeks streaked with red. “You will miss your lovers?” he asked without a hint of judgement or scorn.

Her chest shook with unshed tears in time with the shaking of her hands. “I do not want you to think for a moment my reluctance stems from any defect on your part. It is rather the contrary. We will never be equals, and I cannot allow myself to believe you could ever truly return the feelings I have for you.”

He opened his mouth to speak, clearly miffed.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you embarrassment,” she said. “What I am failing to articulate is this: you need a lady deserving of your kindness, someone from your world. I do not belong here.”

“I daresay I know a thing or two about not belonging.” He let out a long breath. “Charlotte, I adore you. I don’t want someone from this world, I want you. You have brought a light into my life I thought was extinguished forever. Don’t leave me.”

As if she could. The moonlight in his eyes inspired a kind of madness in her, and her gaze dropped again to his lips as he implored her, “Don’t go.”

If his eyes were the ocean, his voice was the undertow, drawing her into the unknown.  She drifted into him like a ship lost at sea, helpless against his pull, until she felt his face against hers. Her cheek connected with his lean jaw and she could smell the elderflower on his throat. His pulse echoed in her ear, or perhaps it was her own.

Because she might never get another chance, she touched her lips to his.

He let her.

It was strange and marvelous, kissing someone for the first time. The surprise at the new sensation gave way to a restless eagerness to taste and know through touch. The greater significance of the moment was lost to details like the way his nose touched her cheek and the feel of his breath on her lips.

He cradled her face in his hand as he returned her kiss, his mouth remarkably soft for something that looked so sculpted. Like the man himself, his kiss was achingly sensual; there was nothing Charlotte could do but submit. Emboldened by her involuntary moan, he deepened the kiss, tasting her so thoroughly she felt dizzy.

Coming up for air, he rested his forehead against hers. She took his face in her hands, caressing the blade of his cheeks and the plane of his jaw. His eyelashes tickled her face as he closed his eyes, relaxing into her hands.

In all her years, she had never been kissed like that. A heady mix of desire, devotion, and natural skill, it was more than a kiss, it was love itself.

Valuing Vanessa by Susana Ellis

I

t was a warm evening for September, but the breeze was refreshing, and soon Vanessa was feeling more herself. Rows and rows of Chinese lanterns were strung around the terrace and the garden area, not only illuminating the Herringtons’ fine plants and statuary, but also deterring the sort of dalliance that dark corners seemed to invite.

“Tell me about your wife,” she invited. A risky move, perhaps, since he’d seemed reluctant to speak of her that night at Vauxhall, but if she and George were indeed headed for matrimony, she needed to know about his first marriage.

They stood arm-in-arm at the balustrade, admiring the lush beauty of the garden against the dark backdrop of the night sky. She felt his body tense at the question, and briefly wondered if she had gone too far. “You needn’t speak of her, if you would rather not.”

“No, no, it’s been two years now, and I suppose I should be able to speak about it by now.”

And so he told her the story of his youthful marriage, how it had begun with such promise, and then, over time, began to fade when his wife’s longings to live like the aristocrat she was caused a rift between them.

“Genny had great hopes of someday regaining the title and estates that were lost in the revolution, but each year that the war went on without resolution, her bitterness grew, until it began to spread to my daughter. It was no use reasoning with Genny or her mother, the displaced countess.” His voice cracked. “There was nothing I could do to make her happy, not even when there was more money to spend, for gowns, for redecorating, and such. It didn’t help that her younger sister wed the brother of a duke and socialized in the highest circles.”

“Ah, Lord Nicholas. He lost his wife in the same accident, did he not?”

“He did, yes. He and Juliette were a true love match. Juliette never showed any signs of discontent with her situation, but then, she married into a ducal family—Lord Nicholas is still the presumed heir, as his brother has only daughters—and being the younger sister, she couldn’t aspire to the hereditary title, even if it still existed.”

Vanessa squeezed his hand, wishing she knew how to help him. As an unmarried woman, she was hardly qualified to give marital advice. But she was old enough to have learned that marriages begun happily could still go wrong, particularly when one or both parties were very young.

“Marriage is always a risk,” she began, “for the woman, since she gives herself to her husband and loses the limited rights she had as an independent woman. And ‘till death do us part’ can be a disaster if the parties grow and change and find they no longer care for one another.” She cleared her throat. “I confess I had doubts when my sister wished to wed at barely seventeen. But she was adamant, and I have come to believe that Reese sincerely loves Genie and their son and would never choose to destroy that.”

“Seventeen,” George murmured. “Only two years older than Louise.” Then he turned to Vanessa. “Have you never wished to marry, Miss Sedgely? I have no wish to be impertinent, but I have found myself wondering if you have forsworn the institution for yourself, or whether it is a matter of not finding the right gentleman. Because I cannot believe that a lovely, intelligent young lady as yourself should be lacking suitors.”

Vanessa grinned. “Why Mr. Durand, you will have me blushing,” she teased. “No, in all seriousness, I have not had a serious suitor since I was eighteen—that was six years ago, mind you—and my esteemed fiancé deserted me to flee to Gretna Green with a milkmaid.”

Mr. Durand’s eyes looked to pop out of their sockets. “No, really? A milkmaid?”

“I’m told she was rather pretty.”

“I suppose you were heartbroken. What a ramshackle fellow he must have been!”

Vanessa shrugged. “Humiliated, more like. It was an arranged marriage, you see. My parents—my mother really—have always wished to work their way into the lower aristocracy, and he was a baron. And at the time, I would have done anything to win their approval.” She sighed deeply. “I had a brother a year younger than I who died of a fever when he was two. I had it as well, but survived. I’ve always felt my parents blamed me for that. When Eugenia came along, it was as though I didn’t exist.”

She put her hands on his upper arms and smiled up at him. “But that is all water under the bridge. Eugenia is a lovely person and I love her dearly. My mother—well, she is who she is. While I have learned to deal with her, I should not be at all reluctant to marry some kind and trustworthy gentleman and manage my own household. And I shouldn’t be at all put off if he were to have a daughter of his own.”

For a moment George looked dazed, and then his eyes filled with tenderness and he bent down to take her chin in his hand and touch her lips with his. Vanessa hooked her arms around his neck in attempt to get closer. His lips were firm and persistent, and she trembled with a desire she had never felt before. His hands slid to her waist, and he pulled her closer to him, so that she could feel the strength of his hard body. Vanessa lost all rational thought, her only desire being to never have to let go of this dear man ever again.

“Vanessa!”

It was Mrs. Sedgely and she was enraged.

“Mrs. Sedgely—” George began.

“You!” she cried. “Do not even speak to me—I am so angry I shan’t be able to contain myself.”

Cotter, Vanessa’s abigail, ventured forward hesitantly. “Mr. Durand, sir. There is a message for you. The Herringtons’ servants have been searching for you for quite some time. I believe it is urgent.”

George’s hand flew to his chest. “Louise! It must be Louise!” He looked at Vanessa apologetically. “I beg your pardon, my dear. I must leave you now, but I will call on you tomorrow if I can.”

He bowed his head to both ladies and rushed through the door.

Vanessa’s eyes followed him, feeling disoriented. “Louise! What can have happened to her?”

Her mother’s lips formed into a fine line. “Do not be a fool! You have much more to worry about than a silly chit. Do you not realize that your scandalous rendezvous with that-that scoundrel was witnessed by at least half of the guests in the ballroom?” She pointed to the pair of double doors that had been propped open for the purpose of drawing air into the ballroom. “You have made our family the laughingstock of the ton!”

Vanessa looked through the open doors at the throng of disapproving faces staring at her.

Bloody hell!

A Kiss for Charity by Sherry Ewing

“M

ay I have the pleasure of this dance?” he inquired politely, already knowing her answer.

Her gloved hand slipped into his and he felt as though he had waited his entire life for her to say yes. Yes to the dance. Yes to anything else he might propose, be it for one night or something they might both wish to be a longer commitment.

She was an accomplished dancer. He had already witnessed her talent, yet it was far more pleasurable to watch her when she was now his partner instead of another. He wished to know who she was, but the fast paced dance was hardly a place to carry on a meaningful conversation about getting to know one another.

Was it two dances later or maybe three? Nicholas lost track of time but finally, he placed his hand about the lady’s waist to expertly guide her out into the garden. It had been some time since he had allowed himself the pleasure of enjoying a woman’s company, especially in the moonlight.

The evening was cool, and when he saw her shiver, he shrugged out of his jacket since he had left his cape behind in the supper box. He placed the garment about her shoulders. She took ahold of the lapels and brought it closer. He swore he could hear her sniff the edges as if she were going to commit to her memory the smell of his cologne once he was gone.

Nicholas reached out to remove her mask so he could finally see all of her features.

“No.” She held out her hand to stop his efforts. “The domino stays in place if you wish me to remain here with you.”

“If that is your wish, so be it.”

“It is,” she answered quietly.

Nicholas did not remember it being this difficult to kiss a lady in the moonlight, but she must desire to be with him, too, else she would not be standing outside with him now. He could no longer stand the distance between them. Surely some form of spell had been cast upon him to be acting so rashly.

“Who are you?” he asked, taking ahold of both her arms and bringing her closer.

“Does it matter?”

“How else am I to call upon you tomorrow if I know not your name tonight, my lady?”

This unknown woman who teased his senses gave a careless shrug but took a step closer. She placed her hand upon his chest. “Let it be enough that for tonight I am free to do as I please.”

He grinned at her response. One moment Nicholas was staring into her mask and brown eyes, and the next he was lowering his mouth to meet her lips.

Grace was unsure if it was the moonlight that drove her to such reckless behavior or the thought of having just one moment in time to treasure with a man who wanted to be with a mysterious, and perhaps, desirable woman. In either case, nothing prepared her for the instant their lips met. She supposed that since she did not protest going down the garden path with him that this would be the natural course of what would happen next. But still… surely she was slipping at the very brink of tasting heaven itself from their first kiss.

Such a kiss was at first like an introduction when his mouth slowly slid over hers as though he were searching for some hidden meaning to their attraction to one another. There was nothing demanding or urgent in seeing the matter over and done with. No, the kiss was a mingling of breaths. It was two souls connecting in the night. A simple kiss, yet there was nothing simple about it. He stopped as quickly as he started then stared into her eyes, yet she knew the domino hid her features well enough that he would be unable to identify her in the light of day.

Adrian would be mortified if he had any idea what she was up to with a complete stranger. Thinking of her brother conjured an image of her deceased husband. Although his kisses had been pleasurable, they could not compare to what this stranger made her feel.

“Tell me who you are,” he urged again. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear that had fallen from her coiffure and then cupped her cheek. “You must tell me.”

She leaned into his palm. The sensation of his thumb tracing her skin had her resolve weakening but not enough to reveal her identity. “I cannot, for I will not have you think less of me from my actions here this night. I am not what I seem.”

“I see a desirable woman I wish to get to know better,” he declared with a grin and an appreciative glance at her heaving bosom. There was no way she could mistake his meaning given the proximity of their bodies and the bold glare he gave her down the length of her body.

A Suitable Husband by Jude Knight

M

arcel fell silent. The moon would set soon. They would need to go in while it still gave enough light to find their way without falling into one of the moats or ponds. He did not want the dream to end.

Mademoiselle echoed his thoughts. “We need to go. It will be full dark when the moon goes down.”

Marcel stood reluctantly, and she stood with him, still in the warmth of his coat.

“It is cold, Monsieur,” she said. “Keep the robe around us both until we are inside.”

So he put his arm around her to help them walk in harmony, and—oh, magical night—she put her arm around him. Marcel said nothing as they walked slowly back to the house. He was soaking up the warmth of her, the curves of her, the way she fitted neatly under his arm.

He could not resist. Even one of God’s saints would have done it, and Heaven knew, Marcel was no saint. As they rounded the corner that concealed the door, he stopped and used his other hand to turn her toward him. Naturally, she looked up.

Her lips were as sweet as he had imagined, and she did not draw back and slap his impertinent face. Far from it. She pressed herself into the kiss, and though she was untutored in the art, she learned quickly. Marcel was left reeling when at last a burst of noise from inside the ballroom intruded, and they parted.

“Mademoiselle—” he began.

“Don’t.” Mademoiselle put up a hand to stop his mouth, and he kissed her fingers. “Don’t spoil it by apologizing.” She stood within his arms, but he could feel she was poised to flee, and he had no idea what to say or do.

A moment, and it was too late. She stretched up, gave him a swift peck on the lips, and slipped away from under his robe. Marcel watched, his hand touching the lips she had so favoured as she opened the door and returned to the party.

It is over, then, but more, so much more than I ever imagined.

He would not go back inside. He would find his way to his kitchen and become a chef once more. And this night would be forever a jewel to carry in his heart.

The Bluestocking and the Barbarian by Jude Knight

“V

ery well, Lord Elfingham, I will put you to work.” She put one hand on his shoulder to help herself from the ladder. “Bring the ladder, please. I have more garlands to hang.”

James lifted the ladder and followed obediently in her wake. “What are we doing, pray tell?”

“We are having a costume party tonight. You heard?”

James nodded. His wardrobe was limited to what he could carry in his saddlebags, but the duchess had ordered chests of costumes and fabric brought down from the attics, and he had found the means to replicate his festival clothes as a mountain prince, or at least close enough for the audience.

If they wanted a barbarian, he would give them a barbarian.

“We did not decorate in here on Christmas Eve, since we had so much else to do, so I am putting up Christmas decorations. See? The evergreen is a symbol of life in this most holy season. And the holly, have you heard the song about the holly?”

Sophia sang for him, in a light alto, all the verses his father had taught them when he was a tiny child. This European holly was not precisely the same as the holly he had grown up with, but it was similar. For the pleasure of hearing her voice, he kept his counsel.

She went on to explain the other Christmas customs, not just the foliage and ribbons and other materials used in the decorations, but the pudding that had been served at Christmas dinner, the Yule logs burning in various fireplaces around the house, and the boxes that the duchess had delivered the previous day to poor families around the district.

“Cedrica and I, and several of the other ladies, were her deputies,” Sophia explained. “It was wonderful to see the happy little faces of the children, James.”

James had stayed back from the hunt organized for the men in the hopes of spending time with Sophia, and had found out about the charity expedition too late to offer his services. “I am sorry that I missed it,” he said sincerely.

He noted one glaring omission in her descriptions. “Just a decoration,” she had told him, mendaciously, when he asked about the kissing boughs.

And now pretending to be ignorant of these English Christmas customs was about to pay off. One day, when she was safely his wife, he might admit to Sophia that he and the whole gala had hung on his father’s tales of an English Christmas, that his mother and her maids had decorated high and low, and his father had led the troops out to find a fitting Yule log to carry home in triumph on Christmas Eve. A harder job in his dry mountains than in this green land.

But this was not the time for that story. Not when Sophia was relaxed and about to pass under a kissing bough that retained its full complement of mistletoe berries.

James suppressed a grin. “Look,” he said, at the opportune time, pointing up. “My kaka—my Papa—told me about these.”

She stopped, as he had intended. With a single stride he reached her, wrapped her in his arms, and captured the lips that had been haunting his dreams this past eight months.

And she kissed him back. For a moment—for one long glorious moment, while time stood still and the world ceased to exist—Sophia Belvoir kissed him back.

An Open Heart by Caroline Warfield

“W

ill you walk with me, my lady?” the man asked in a familiar voice.

Adam’s voice. He had come.

When she put her hand in his, he held it high in a courtly manner and began to promenade around the room, nodding as a gracious king might do to the curious and amused onlookers. He promenaded past the grinning Grenford brothers, Hythe in his Tudor tights, and the duchess dressed as Catherine the Great. He promenaded past the entire company and walked her out the door, down the hall, and into a small withdrawing room. Esther moved along beside him, stunned into inaction.

Before she could register that he had closed them in alone, he tore the false beard from his face—wincing a bit when the adhesive stuck to his skin—tossed it aside, and took her in his arms with a predatory gleam in his eyes. She couldn’t move while his mouth descended toward hers. She wondered distantly if she ought to refuse his kiss, but no power on earth could make her do so. The moment she had dreamed about, longed for, and denied since the moment he came to work for her father three years before had arrived.

She leaned into it, and curiosity gave way to wonder. His mouth felt warm and firm against hers. He began to move, and warmth filled her too, fire bursting forth deep inside her. Then his tongue touched her lips, and her knees gave so that he had to pull her against his body until they touched, shoulder to knees, and she thought she might melt. What could she do? She responded in kind, tongue to tongue, and gripped him in return.

They both were panting when he pulled his mouth away and cradled her head against his shoulder. “Will you listen to me now, Esther?”

Christmas Kisses by Nicole Zoltack

A

nna didn’t know what to think. For so long, she had wanted Benjamin to look at her as he was staring at her right now, had wanted to hear what he was saying, had wanted him to kiss her.

But now that he was kissing her, she wanted to kiss someone else.

She put a hand to his chest and shifted back. “I am sorry, Benjamin, that things did not work out for you and Florentina—”

He captured her hand and held it there against him. “If you are willing—”

“I—”

His smile died. “It’s Pershore, isn’t it.” His nostrils flared. “I see how he looks at you. You would rather have him than me? I thought…”

“I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then this conversation is over.” Tight-lipped, Benjamin walked off.

Only then did Anna come back to reality and realized how many others were in the parlor, and she flushed. So many prying eyes, so many wagging tongues. Why, someone might send in a bit about her and the duke to The Teatime Tattler!

And if one of the gossipers were to find Jasper…

About Holly and Hopeful Hearts

W

hen the Duchess of Haverford sends out invitations to a Yuletide house party and a New Year’s Eve ball at her country estate, Hollystone Hall, those who respond know that Her Grace intends to raise money for her favorite cause and promote whatever marriages she can. Eight assorted heroes and heroines set out with their pocketbooks firmly clutched and hearts in protective custody. Or are they?

A Suitable Husband, by Jude Knight

As the Duchess of Haverford’s companion, Cedrica Grenford is not treated as a poor relation and is encouraged to mingle with Her Grace’s guests. Surely she can find a suitable husband amongst the gentlemen gathered for the duchess’s house party. Above stairs or possibly below.

Valuing Vanessa, by Susana Ellis

Facing a dim future as a spinster under her mother’s thumb, Vanessa Sedgely makes a practical decision to attach an amiable gentleman who will not try to rule her life.

A Kiss for Charity, by Sherry Ewing

Young widow Grace, Lady de Courtenay, has no idea how a close encounter with a rake at a masquerade ball would make her yearn for love again. Can she learn to forgive Lord Nicholas Lacey and set aside their differences to let love into her heart?

Artemis, by Jessica Cale

Actress Charlotte Halfpenny is in trouble. Pregnant, abandoned by her lover, and out of a job, Charlotte faces eviction two weeks before Christmas. When the reclusive Earl of Somerton makes her an outrageous offer, she has no choice but to accept. Could he be the man of her dreams, or is the nightmare just beginning?

The Bluestocking and the Barbarian, by Jude Knight

James must marry to please his grandfather, the duke, and to win social acceptance for himself and his father’s other foreign-born children. But only Lady Sophia Belvoir makes his heart sing, and to win her he must invite himself to spend Christmas at the home of his father’s greatest enemy.

Christmas Kisses, by Nicole Zoltack

Louisa Wycliff, Dowager Countess of Exeter wants only for her darling daughter, Anna, to find a man she can love and marry. Appallingly, Anna has her sights on a scoundrel of a duke who chases after every skirt he sees. Anna truly thinks the dashing duke cares for her, but her mother has her doubts.

An Open Heart, by Caroline Warfield

Esther Baumann longs for a loving husband who will help her create a home where they will teach their children to value the traditions of their people, but she wants a man who is also open to new ideas and happy to make friends outside their narrow circle. Is it so unreasonable to ask for toe curling passion as well?

Dashing Through the Snow, by Amy Rose Bennett

Headstrong bluestocking, Miss Kate Woodville, never thought her Christmas would be spent racing across England with a viscount hell-bent on vengeance. She certainly never expected to find love...

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Meet the Bluestocking Belles

T

he Bluestocking Belles (the “BellesInBlue”) are seven very different writers united by a love of history and a history of writing about love. From sweet to steamy, from light-hearted fun to dark tortured tales full of angst, from London ballrooms to country cottages to the sultan’s seraglio, one or more of us will have a tale to suit your tastes and mood.

You’ll find our popular online Regency scandal rag, The Teatime Tattler, at:

bluestockingbelles.net/category/teatime-tattler/

The website also tells you more about each of us and our books.

http://bluestockingbelles.net/

You’ll find a sign-up link for our quarterly newsletter, for news updates on each of the Belles plus more, on the right menu of the website.

Find the Bluestocking Belles online:

www.BluestockingBelles.net/

Friend us on Facebook:

www.facebook.com/BellesinBlue

Follow us on Twitter:

@BellesInBlue

Follow us on Pinterest:

https://www.pinterest.com/bellesinblue/

The Malala Fund

T

he Bluestocking Belles have chosen the Malala Fund as the charity they support, and to which they donate some of their royalties. Periodically, they take on projects intended to directly support this cause, which exemplifies their personal values and intentions: the right of girls and women to do whatever they choose with their lives.

Twenty-five percent of proceeds from Holly and Hopeful Hearts will be donated to the Malala Fund.

For more information about the Malala Fund and the founder, Malala Yousafzai, winner of the 2014 Nobel Peace Prize, go to http://www.Malala.org

Table of Contents

Holly and Hopeful Hearts

Wedding Night Jitters

A Woman’s Tears

Fathers and Daughters

Vanessa’s Dilemma

An interview with Miss Kate Woodville

Only Foolish Servants Gossip

Biscuits and Tea with a Side of Questions

Our Society Correspondent

Tea with Lady Anne

Tea with Vanessa

Tea with Nicholas

Tea with Charlotte

Tea with Esther

Tea with Cedrica

Dashing Through the Snow by Amy Rose Bennett

Artemis by Jessica Cale

Valuing Vanessa by Susana Ellis

A Kiss for Charity by Sherry Ewing

A Suitable Husband by Jude Knight

The Bluestocking and the Barbarian by Jude Knight

An Open Heart by Caroline Warfield

Christmas Kisses by Nicole Zoltack

About Holly and Hopeful Hearts

A Suitable Husband, by Jude Knight

Valuing Vanessa, by Susana Ellis

A Kiss for Charity, by Sherry Ewing

Artemis, by Jessica Cale

The Bluestocking and the Barbarian, by Jude Knight

Christmas Kisses, by Nicole Zoltack

An Open Heart, by Caroline Warfield

Dashing Through the Snow, by Amy Rose Bennett

Meet the Bluestocking Belles

The Malala Fund