Bluestocking Belles

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Courtship rituals on WIP Wednesday

This is an excerpt from Maryanne and the Twelfth Knight, which is my story in the Bluestocking Belles seasonal collection A Christmas Quintet. Newsletter subscribers might remember this story–I’ve more than doubled it for this collection, but the essence remains the same. The father of the Versey family, who appear in various of my novels in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale, is not on the hunt for a bride.

***

“Are all of your gowns the colour of mud?” Dell, fell into step beside Miss Beckingham and frowned at the offensive garment. It was a robe a l’anglaise, well made, well fitted, and not too distant from the current fashion. But it was all in shades of brown—although he supposed he had to conceded the cream of the underskirt and trim.
Dell would take it out and burn it if he could. If he had the dressing of her, he would pick jewel tones—a luminous setting for her porcelain skin and her dark curls.
“I thought you were playing bowls,” Miss Beckingham said. Scolded, rather. Her tone was discouraging, but she had known where he was. That must be hopeful, must it not?
“Your grace! Yoo hoo, your grace!” Bother. It was the sister, arm in arm with one of the other debutantes, both hurrying to catch up with him and Miss Beckingham.
“Were you looking for me, your grace?” Miss Lucette cooed, her smug smile suggesting she was certain of his answer.
“I was not, Miss Lucette,” he informed her, his irritation making his voice curt. “I was attempting to hold a private conversation with your sister, in fact.”
The girl gaped at him and then laughed as if he had made a joke. “Silly,” she commented. “Never mind. Miss Tollworthy and I will amuse you.”
Miss Beckingham took a step to the side to allow her sister to grasp his arm and Miss Tollworthy boxed him in on the other side. “I shall leave you, then,” Miss Beckingham said, her face suitably grave but her eyes dancing as they met his.
“You shall not,” Dell demanded. “Your sister requires your chaperonage.”
“Not when I am with you,” Miss Lucette cooed. “I am certain, your grace, that my Papa would have no objection to me strolling with you. And with Sarah, of course.”
Sarah Tollworthy giggled, which was her usual response to everything. In London, he had taken it for a pleasant nature, had perhaps that was true. But he was depressingly certain that another week of her giggles would drive him to homicide.
“Miss Beckingham?” Dell said. “If you abandon me now, I shall be forced to ungentlemanly measures.” He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his head in the direction of the lake. She fell into step beside her sister, and he gave an internal sigh of relief. He was not quite certain where he was with Miss Beckingham.
“I suppose you can come too, Maryanne,” Miss Lucette said, unwillingly.
Maryanne, Miss Lucette called her. A pretty name, and it suited her. Miss Lucette prattled and Miss Tollworthy giggled. Dell paid only sufficient attention to keep from committing to something he did not want to do. No, he did not think Miss Beckingham should take Miss Tollworthy back to the house to fetch a better bonnet. There would be shade enough under the trees, or alternatively, they could all go back together.
Yes, Miss Lucette’s gown was a pretty shade of blue, but no, he had not noticed that it matched her eyes.
No, he would not demand all of Miss Lucette’s dances at this evening’s New Year’s Ball. He must leave some dances for the other gentlemen, and besides, Miss Lucette needed to make allowances for his extreme age.
Miss Lucette assured him that he was not to mind being old. She thought older gentlemen were more interesting, and besides he was very fit, even if he must be all of forty.
Miss Beckingham was struck by a fit of coughing and Dell stopped to wait for her to recover, but every time she caught his eye she collapsed again, stuffing both hands over her mouth and coughing until the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Really, Maryanne,” said Lucette. “I hope you are not unwell.”
“I must have accidentally swallowed something,” Miss Beckingham managed to say. “An elderly insect, perhaps.”
Minx.

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Spotlight on Knight of Chaos

Knight of Chaos:

The Knights of the Anarchy (Book Two)

By Sherry Ewing

Sir Theobald Norwood finds himself embroiled in a mission of loyalty and love as he stands by Empress Matilda in her pursuit of the throne. As he and her army head to Winchester, he stumbles upon a mysterious woman named Mistress Ingrid Seymour, hiding in the woods with her own quest in mind. What starts as a test of her worthiness quickly transforms into a profound connection.

As they join forces on the battlefield, Theobald and Ingrid face not only the challenges of war but also the enemies lurking in the shadows. Ingrid’s identity is called into question, shaking the very foundation of her existence, while Theobald grapples with his own emotions. Amidst confusion, they must find a way to let love blossom and unite their hearts.

But with forces working against them, will Theobald and Ingrid be torn apart by the unpredictable tides of fate? Can they overcome their differences and trust one another, or will the mounting chaos consume their chances at happiness?

Join them on a captivating journey as their destinies intertwine, promises are tested, and a love that could defy the odds hangs in the balance.

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First Kiss Scene:

Oswin gave a short bow and left leaving an awkward silence in his dwelling. ’Twas clear Oswin wished to claim the lady whereas Theobald had the same notion. But she told Oswin that her heart may have been claimed and this was a promising sign giving Theobald hope. When he gave Ingrid his full attention, he noticed her steadying herself whilst leaning on their table. A basket sat upon it and he lifted the linen covering over the wicker hamper. The remains of a meal were inside. He flicked the fabric closed and noticed a small book. Apparently, Oswin was not the only one who had visited Ingrid this day.

“You have had company,” he complained bitterly.

“But not the company I desired. At least until now,” she answered with a bright smile.

He went to Ingrid, placing his hand at her waist. She stepped closer, reaching up to wind her own hand around his neck. Her fingers massaged his neck. He pulled her closer.

“Who else besides Oswin has been visiting you this day?” he asked as morbid curiosity ran amuck inside his head.

“Must we talk about them? They are your friends and now mine, I suppose.”

“Friends?”

“Aye. They have no hold over me beyond friendship. They only came to see to how I fared. Can I assume you were also concerned, and this is what took you away from the battlefield?” Her voice held a silky tone that went straight to his pounding heart. “Also… did I not see flowers being thrust into your brother’s hands when you thought you were interrupting something that to me was of no import? I assume they were for me.” Her hazel eyes twinkled mischievously.

The flowers! He had forgotten all about them when jealousy had overtaken him seeing Oswin on bended knee. Theobald tried to turn to fetch them, but she held firm. “I should retrieve them from my brother. I thought you might like them.”

“I love them, but please wait to fetch them later…” Pressure from her hand had him bending forward until his lips were but inches from her own.

“Are you certain you wish for this, Ingrid?” God help him if she suddenly changed his mind.

“Aye. Now kiss me, Theobald, and give me what I have been missing my entire life.”

’Twas as though the heavens shined down upon them at her words. He brushed his lips over hers giving her small kisses and allowing her the last chance to change her mind before things went any further. But far from pulling away, she pulled him closer until their chests rose as one. The breaths mingled together until Theobald could stand this sweet torture no longer.

His lips overtook hers in a hungry possession. His tongue swept into her mouth to dance with her own until he lost all common sense. His heart beat fiercely, consumed by the sensations of finally holding this woman against his body. A soft moan escaped her, and Theobald held back one of his own. As much as he wished to stay with Ingrid and finish what they started, he was still needed to fight for their cause.

“Theo…” She whispered his name as if her soul was reaching out to his own. It was almost enough to cause him to change his mind about returning to the battlefield. Almost…

Reluctantly, he pulled back from her. Desire sparkled in her eyes like the brightest star in the sky. “Ingrid, we cannot continue what we have started just now,” he said, placing a quick kiss upon her forehead.

“But I thought…”

“’Tis not that I do not wish for this to continue but I am needed,” he began and at her quizzical look he continued, “to return to the fighting, my dear.”

“Oh… aye… of course, the battle. How silly of me to forget,” she said turning her back to him.

He came and turned her around. He placed his forehead against her own whilst her hands wrapped around his waist. “I will also not dishonor you by taking what has begun between us too far without the blessings of a priest. We have time to continue to get to know one another to ensure we might wish to wed,” he proclaimed, coming to the conclusion that she would take him for her husband when the time was right.

“Are you declaring your intentions, Sir Theobald?” she asked with what appeared like hope filling her eyes.

“When the time is right,” he repeated. Placing a soft kiss upon her lips as though sealing his vow, he turned to leave. “Reynard will be outside if you have need of anything.”

“Theobald,” she called out after he opened the flap of the tent.

He peered over his shoulder. “Aye?”

“Be safe,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile.

He nodded and left. His brief reprieve from the battle over, he would thrust himself back into the fighting as though to finish this once and for all—with the hopes of gaining lands and monies in return for his valor. Only then could he court the fair Ingrid as she so deserved.

Meet Sherry Ewing

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

 

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Tea with Mrs Grant

“Your grace, I am grateful you are taking the time to see me today” The new bride seated across the table, Mrs. Grant, blushed furiously. “Lady Wallenford sends her deepest regrets that she could not join you today.”

Lady Wallenford had requested this opportunity to meet and to introduce one of her protégés, Mrs. Myra Grant. Before her marriage, Mrs. Grant had been a teacher at the charity home sponsored by Lady Wallenford and two other peeresses, and was the perfect person to answer any questions the duchess might have.

“As she explained to me in her note this morning. I think it is commendable of any mother to consider the health of the children more important than socializing. I do hope the twins recover soon from their fever.”

“As do I.”

“Though this is not really a social call, I’m given to understand.”

“Oh.” The young lady—she was indeed both young and a lady—turned a deeper shade of red.

Eleanor patted her hand. “I’m teasing you. I know you are here to seek my sponsorship of the children’s home. I’m told that Lady Wallenford resided and worked there, and that you took her place after her marriage.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“As a widow with a child to care for and no family, that must have been a great blessing.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Eleanor suppressed a chuckle. Instinct told her that Mrs. Grant was a very good sort of girl who’d had to overcome great obstacles. She had a deep admiration for women like that, as well as a deep curiosity to know more.

She was asking the wrong sorts of questions.

“I want to know more about the children’s home, Mrs. Grant, but first, tell me more about yourself. Where did you grow up, what happened to your baby’s father, and how did you land at the children’s home?”

Mrs. Grant cast her gaze upon the teacup held in now trembling hands and then sighed. “I am blessed in my marriage to Mr. Grant. He knows the truth, all of it, as do all of our lady sponsors and I daresay their husbands, as well. Lady Wallenford assures me the truth will not discourage your patronage.”

Eleanor refilled the younger woman’s cup. “To be lucky in love is no small thing, my dear. What came before such luck, well, it is a tale as old as time, is it not? But do tell me the story of this romance with Mr. Grant. I heard that it might not have taken place except that this was a Leap Year.”

Mrs. Grant smiled and then laughed. “Very well, your grace. Once upon a time, in a small village in Sussex…”

A Leap Into Love

Can a gentleman be too charming? The ladies of Upper Upton think so.

And it’s almost Leap Day, when a man who refuses a lady’s proposal of marriage must offer a forfeit.

When the single ladies of the village conspire to teach their charmer a lesson that might bankrupt him, the town’s loveliest young widow steps up to warn him.

His secrets and hers make them a perfect match—and she’s the lady he wants. But she won’t accept his proposal, not even to rescue him.

As Leap Day approaches, the clock is ticking. Can he convince her in time to say yes to his offer and take a leap into love?

 

An Excerpt for A Leap Into Love

They stepped out of the inn yard and onto the road. Arthur settled himself on his shoulder and snuffled his neck.

He should offer the lady his arm, but she’d put some distance between them, walking in the other wheel rut. “And so what is the verdict on the worsted?”

She bit her lip. “The worsted.” She sighed and squinted at Wills who was ranging far ahead. “We shall buy some of it. Depending upon your price, of course. Mrs. McClintock will be along tomorrow to examine it and talk to you. But in truth…” She stopped, bit down on her lip again and raised her eyes to him. “There is a plot, Mr. Grant. I feel honor-bound to tell you. You must…” Her gaze skittered along the bushes hedging the lane as if someone lurked there eavesdropping. “You must leave town on twenty-nine February. There is a plot.”

Twenty-nine February. “A plot.”

“Yes.”

Twenty-nine February was Leap Day.

The fog lifted. He’d heard of the tradition but never seen it practiced: on Leap Day a lass could propose marriage to a lad. Miss Gurnwood wanted Mrs. Smith to propose to her brother. The stringy young vicar needed a wife. And what had that to do with a plot against himself?

“They mean to conspire, all the unmarried ladies in town. They mean to ask you to marry them.”

He swallowed a chuckle. He’d drawn ladies to his handsome self since he’d begun sprouting whiskers. It was good to know he still had the knack. “And why would they do that?”

Her chest rose with a quick breath. “Why? You’re a widower, they say, and in need of a mother for your children.”

“Is that all?”

She pressed her lips together. “A man who is…well-spoken, reasonably young, and well-established is rare in a village like this.”

“And braw and handsome.”

“Yes, and a…a…well, I must say it: a man friendly with all the ladies. They mean to take you to task. They mean to ask you to marry them, and when you say no, they mean to ask as a forfeit the silk and muslin cloth you purchased at auction today.”

Artie squirmed and looked to his mother, sensing her disquiet.

He patted the plump bottom, and the babe settled. “If I say no. And of course I’ll have to since I’m not some eastern potentate setting up a harem. It’s a diabolical plan. Not too far ahead, Wills,” he called.

“So you see, you must leave.”

“I’m not one to run from trouble, Mrs. Smith.”

Not any kind of trouble. As an officer of the 42nd Foot, he’d fought every skirmish he came across with nary a scratch. It had been an act of charity, taking food to a sick family in Lisbon, that had felled him with a dire case of the mumps and sent him home on half pay.

In the distance Will swung his lantern, well out of earshot.

And Wills was more proof that Alexander Grant didn’t run, not even if the problem was not his own.

He’d set his mind to what was right, so he might as well go ahead with it, and directly too. She’d not go away thinking he was anything but dead serious.

He touched her arm.

“Mrs. Smith, there is another way to thwart them.”

Meet Alina K. Field

USA Today Bestselling and Award-winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with her husband and her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier.

She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!

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Spotlight on Christmastide Kisses

A Bluestocking Belles With Friends collection

After the rush of Christmas day or whatever other festivities you celebrate, reward yourself with a glass or mug of your favourite beverage and six charming holiday season historical romances from award-winning and best-selling authors.

The Bluestocking Belles and Friends brighten your holidays with:

  • A beleaguered uncle whose wards have run off every governess–what he needs is a wife, if only he can persuade the latest applicant
  • A country solicitor who becomes an earl and then finds a secret that changes everything
  • A very proper clergyman battles very improper urges when he and a lady with a murky past find themselves snowbound
  • A viscount whose search to unearth generations-old family secrets kindles the fire of love for his lovely search partner
  • A former army captain wonders if the best friend of his ex-fiancee is the woman he should have married
  • A vicar with a misspent youth and the duke’s daughter who brings out the best in him

Six gentlemen and the ladies with whom they discover the power of a Christmastide Kiss.

Preorder now for delivery on December 26th.

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Spotlight on You Made Me Love You

You Made Me Love You

Matrimony! Book 3

By Cerise DeLand

Love does not advertise.
Love extracts no price.

When a young widow wishes to marry again, will the man she grows to love ask more than she can give?

Mrs. Tynley Wallingford yearns for a quiet, comforting marriage to a man whom she can respect. She’ll go to any lengths to find the best candidate who can respect her, in turn. Even correspond with one fellow at length before she agrees that Kendryck Hollens is the man whose words awaken her desire for a husband she might grow to love.

Tynley takes a risk and sails to Wales with the best intentions. She finds in Kendryck a man with a noble ambition—and a family filled with age-old conflict and despair.

Kendryck Hollens returns home to Wales after fifteen years abroad, a stranger to his cantankerous family. He assumes his rightful title as baron of the legendary house of Strade and attempts to change the dastardly reputation of his ancestors, and put his siblings on the right path to a purposeful life.

Thrilled that Tynley has come to his home, he notices that her presence creates challenges among those in his family. But he feels assured she can help him obtain what he wants most in this world.

When a tragedy threatens to ruin his ambition and his family, he fears the price of endurance will ruin Tynley’s personal objective too—and drive her from him.

How much can one ask of one whom they love? Are any prices too high?

Buy now, or read free in Kindle Unlimited! https://www.amazon.com/You-Made-Love-Matrimony-Book-ebook/dp/B0CKY5R3HF/

Matrimony!
If I Love You
Because of You
You Do Something to Me

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Tea at a most unusual farriery

“Would your grace care for a cup of tea while you wait for your horses to be shod?” asked the farrier’s husband. Eleanor, Duchess of Winshire, smiled at the man. “Thank you. That would be very pleasant,” she said.

He ushered her and her companion around the corner of the farrier’s shed and to a spreading tree, whose shade would be much appreciated on this hot summer day. Apparently, he had anticipated her agreement, for a tea tray sat on a table flanked by several chairs. 

“Scones, Mr Hughes?” she asked. “You spoil us.”

“And raspberry jam, your grace. I hope it is to your liking.” He bowed, and made to walk away.

Eleanor was burning with curiosity about the couple. “Mr Worth, can you spare me a moment?” Eleanor asked.

“Certainly, your grace. Or I could return in a moment, after I have fetched ale for your men, if it pleases you.”

He was a conundrum, was Mr Hughes. The carriage of a soldier, the manners and language of a gentleman. One arm lashed to his body as if it was useless. He treated her with courtesy and respect, but without losing any of his own dignity. She was eager to know more about him. “Of course, Mr Hughes. Please carry on.”

She poured the tea, thinking about what had brought them here. One of the horses had cast a shoe, some five miles from this little town. They had proceeded at a slow walk, and stopped at the first farriery they passed. When the driver realised that the farrier was a woman, and an obviously pregnant woman at that, he had wanted to move on. However, Eleanor had insisted of giving her their custom. It was, after all, a single shoe and a few nails.

Were female farriers common? Eleanor would not have thought so.

The scone was delicious. Eleanor was preparing a second and her companion was eyeing a third when the farrier’s husband returned. This time, he had another man with him, an elderly gentleman who was even taller than Mr Hughes, but bent with age.

“Your grace, Miss Grenford, may I present Mr Evan Hughes, my wife’s father. Evan, the fine lady is the Duchess of Winshire, and this is Miss Grenford, her companion.”

The older man nodded, his vague eyes shifting from one of them to the other. He apparently did not find them to be of interest, for he strode past them and sat down on the ground, where he proceeded to stroke a cat that appeared from under the bushes to present itself for his caresses.

Mystery upon mystery. Was the farrier’s husband a cousin, perhaps, to have the same name?

“Evan does not mean any disrespect, your grace,” Mr Hughes explained. “He is in his second childhood, but quite harmless.”

“You are related?” Eleanor asked? 

“Only by marriage,” Mr Hughes said, cheerfully. “I took my wife’s name when we wed to keep the family name attached to the forge. With luck, one of our children will want to follow my wife into the business. By the way, my wife is checking all four horses, so that this doesn’t happen to you again. Your driver says you are bound for Liverpool.”

“Yes. My husband is expected to dock there within the next few days,” Eleanor explained. And she could not wait patiently at Windsgate, their country home, to see him again when a three or four days journey would reunite them so much more quickly.

“I am curious, Mr Hughes,” she admitted. “Please do not feel you have to indulge me, but I would love to know the story of how you came to settle in Cheshire, and how you met your wife.”

Mr Hughes’ smile was easy. “And I would love to tell you, your grace.”

To find out Mr Hughes’ story, read Love In Its Season, in Under the Harvest Moon, out on 10 October. 

Only 99c until 18 October.

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Grab Desperate Daughters and Under the Harvest Moon for only 99c

As part of our celebration of the new collection, the Bluestocking Belles are offering last year’s collection for only 99c for a short time only. Buy links here: https://books2read.com/u/bMwL17

The 99c presale price on Under the Harvest Moon will also go up to $5.99 after publication. Buy links here: https://books2read.com/UnderHarvestMoon

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Tea with England’s Newest Duchess

Her Grace of Haverford watched her guest enter the room. What a stunning young lady.

England’s newest duchess was dressed in a peach-colored gown of the first stare. It fit her to perfection. She carried a reticule that matched the pattern of the dress, and wore short gloves in a slightly paler shade. Discreet diamonds sparkled at her ears and a delicate pearl and diamond pendant lay on her chest suspended by a chain of what looked to be white gold.

However, Eleanor was used to such displays. What caught her attention was the woman’s eyes. Dark, nearly ebon eyes possessed of a penetrating depth that could have frightened, had the expression they held not been so openly curious. She had raven wing hair, a cream and honey complexion, and deep rose-hued lips. A delicate slope of nose sat between two symmetrical and classically high cheeks. Her slim figure moved with a thoughtless grace that the most practiced diamond of the season would never be able to match. Stunning yes, but all paled beneath that depthless stare.

Eleanor knew next to nothing about the wife Margris had chosen, but she needed only to see the woman to know she was formidable.

“Welcome to Haverford House, Your Grace.”

An impish smile formed, lighting up those eyes. “I am not certain I will ever become accustomed to having a title, Your Grace.”

“I suspect you will do very well with it.” Smiling back, she gestured to a chair that faced her own. “Please sit. And please address me as Aunt Eleanor, as your husband and many of my younger friends do.”

“Thank you, Aunt Eleanor.” A very slight quaver in the lady’s voice revealed that she suffered some uneasiness. Possibly she’d been told the Duchess of Haverford was a powerful woman who could make or break a young woman’s hopes and dreams with a single word. “My full name is Celestine, but my intimates call me Celie. Of course, you may be more comfortable calling me niece.” The new Duchess of Margris settled herself. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

“As I am pleased to meet you. It is fortunate that we could both be available this afternoon. I understand from my son that between shopping and your husband you are being kept quite busy. How do you take your tea?”

“Just lemon, if you please.”

Eleanor filled a cup and handed it over.

Celie added two small biscuits to the edge of the saucer and placed the beverage and all on a tiny pie crust table beside her chair.

“Caleb—my husband—is occupied nearly all of every day with business at the home office. He says that even though Britain is now officially at peace with the United States there is much work to be done to ensure the treaty of Ghent remains strong.”

“Aldridge, too, is very occupied with what is happening in Europe. Too many lives have been lost or changed forever, and not usually for the better. We must pray that the next encounter with Napoleon will settle matters for once and for all.” Her Grace paused to sip her tea. “Do I understand correctly,” Eleanor continued. “That while you lived in New Orleans, you helped enslaved people escape to freedom.”

“I was one of many.”

“But you are here and others are not. You must have been in danger much of the time.”

Celie looked down at her tea. “Helping the enslaved to escape is against the law in New Orleans. Had I been caught; I could have been enslaved myself.”

“Oh heavens. Would that happen to anyone who helped escapees, or just…” Her Grace of Haverford let her words trail off. She blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually make such gaffs.”

Celie laughed. “Yes, I have one quarter negro blood in my veins. However, I do not trade on it. I prefer to make my way by my merits. Just as I prefer people who ask questions instead of leaping to unwarranted conclusions.”

Eleanor accepted the reassurance that Her Grace of Magris had taken no offense. “You are wise for one so young.”

“Wisdom is not exclusive to the elderly” the younger woman chided gently. “It is the purview of any who learn from experience. I was fortunate to have not only my own experiences to learn from but also those of my mother.”

“Tell me about her.”

Celie seemed eager to do so. “She is what is known as a ‘free woman of color.’ Meaning she is not enslaved. She possesses documents that prevent her ever being enslaved. However, that did not make her life easy, just easier than most people of color. She was born and raised in St. Domingue where she met my father. Because laws and custom forbid the marriage of white and colored, she became his ménagère, and moved to New Orleans where he had his sugar plantation.”

“Ménagère? That is a contractual relationship between a man and woman much like a marriage but there is no marriage involved.”

“You are very well informed, Your Grace.”

“I’ve had cause to study marriage law and contracts and ran across the term in my research.”

Celie raised an enquiring brow, but Eleanor’s marriage and the other problems her family suffered because of that institution were not for discussion, even with women she’d known for years. Time for a change of subject.  “Being Duchess of Haverford affords me a number of advantages few women possess.” One must always focus on the positives. “One of the advantages is the ability to support a number of charities. Last February, when the Thames froze over, the merchants of London held a Frost Fair on the frozen river. My friends and I took advantage of the opportunity to host a ball with the intent of raising funds to help returning soldiers and their families also the families of our deceased heroes.”

“I would love to help if there are charitable organizations that assist the men returning from war.” Celie spoke with an enthusiasm Eleanor could not doubt.

Eleanor smiled, and set her tea aside. “In that case. Let me tell you about the Ladies’ Society For The Care of the Widows and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans.”

Celie’s response to the ridiculous name was diplomatic. “That’s a very long name.”

“And we do some very difficult work. At last year’s ball and other events during the year, we raised several tens of thousands of pounds and have put it to very good use. However, treating the wounded in body and spirit, helping to support families, to house, feed, clothe and school orphans is a tremendous undertaking. We’ve almost exhausted the funds we raised last year.”

“We are, if I understand correctly, in the height of the London season,” Celie observed. “I’m sure I could persuade Caleb to allow me to hold a charitable ball or reception for your organization.”

“That is very kind of you my dear, but what if I, and the other committee members hold a reception to welcome you into the ton,” Eleanor suggested. “We could have a number of English artists create paintings and sculptures for auction during the reception.”

“I like that idea, Aunt Eleanor, “but only if we hold the reception for a large number of returning veterans. They deserve public recognition for the great work they’ve done. You could still introduce me to the ton, but I would not like to be the center of attention when those men need it so much more that I.”

“Your modesty does you credit. Since you are agreeable, let me ring for my secretary and we can start planning immediately. The Ladies Society will meet next week. I’d like you to attend the meeting so I may introduce you. Then you and I can present our plans and seek the aid of the other members of the Society.”

“That is an excellent idea. May I use one of your footmen to send a note round to my husband at the home office explaining that I am delayed. We had dinner plans that may need to change.”

“Certainly. I’ll instruct my secretary to bring pen and paper for you. Now here is what I think we should do first….”

Celie is the heroine of the third book in my Duchess series, here’s a little more information about the book.

About The Creole Duchess: A duke in disguise, a creole miss determined to get her own way, a curse, and two nations at war, is love even possible?

New Orleans Creole, Miss Celestine St. Cyr-Duval refuses to live under the thumb of some man chosen by her parents. Celie will do everything to keep freedom of choice for herself and others. But fate interferes in the form of a duke disguised as British businessman, Caleb Elmond. A relationship with Caleb would find approval with her mother, but both Celie and Caleb have secrets that put them on opposite sides of a great conflict and could destroy them both.

With the Battle of New Orleans looming, can these two strangers from warring countries compromise and protect each other, or will fear and betrayal end both their lives?

The Creole Duchess, Duchess Series Book Three is expected to launch in late 2023. The pre-order price of $0.99 for this long-awaited conclusion to the Duchess Series ends on release day.

Available for Pre-order at .99 cents until October 30, launch day. Amazon   Other Retailers.

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

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