Bluestocking Belles

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Tea with Lord Cuckoo

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire, had called into Haverford House to have tea with her son, the new Duke of Haverford and her daughter-in-law Charlotte–or Cherry, as the whole family had taken to calling her (at least in private).

“Anthony will be joining us shortly,” Cherry assured her, after they had greeted one another, commented on the weather, and shared the most pressing of the family news. “He had a meeting.”

Even as she spoke, the Duke entered the room, another young man trailing in his wake. Haverford greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek and gave another to Eleanor. “You are looking well, Mama. Marriage to His Grace of Winshire clearly suits you.”

It certainly did. Eleanor could not help a smug smile.

“But allow me to present my guest,” Haverford continued. “Lord Diomedes Finchley, Your Graces. Lord Dom is heading to York later this week, and has been kind enough to offer to carry out a commission for me while he is there. Dom, these wonderful ladies are my mother, the Duchess of Winshire, and my darling wife, the Duchess of Haverford.”

Lord Dom bowed, flushing a little as he looked at Eleanor. She knew what was troubling him and hastened to put him at ease. “Dom, how pleased I am to meet you. May I call you Dom? We are, after all, in some sort related, since you are half-brother to my sons and to my wards.”

He flushed still more. “Your husband did not acknowledge the connection, Your Grace,” he pointed out.

“My deceased husband did many things he should not, and left undone many things that were his duty, Dom. We do not need to perpetuate his errors.”

“Please sit down,” Cherry suggested. “Will you have tea? I know Anthony would prefer coffee.”

The young man sat, looking very uncomfortable at first. But Eleanor and Cherry exerted themselves to make him feel welcome, and soon they were talking about the charitable foundation the duchesses supported that found work and offered medical care to returned soldiers and sailors. Dom, who had been a captain in the Hussars during the recent wars, was very interested and offered to make a donation.

“And what is at York?” Eleanor asked, after a while. “If my question is not intrusive.”

“Not at all,” Dom told her. “My mother’s brother apparently died while I was overseas with the army. The solicitor’s letter has only just reached me. I have apparently inherited his estate, which is not far from York. I’m off to see whether it is a place I can make into my home. And I have promised Haverford to look into how people are feeling about the reform movement, while I am up there.”

“The York Season will be in full swing in a month or so,” Cherry commented. “I know my brother used to attend from time to time, mostly for the races, which are in early May.”

“I do not know if I will be there that long,” Dom said. “It depends how I find the estate.”

“Keep it in mind,” Eleanor advised. “Every single young man in possession of an estate, should be on the lookout for a wife.” She smiled again, thinking of her own recent remarriage. “And love. Love, I have discovered, is the best of all reasons to wed.”

Dom Finchley, alias Lord Cuckoo, is the hero of my “Lord Cuckoo Comes Home”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication.

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Spotlight on “The Four to One Fancy” in Desperate Daughters

The Four-to-One Fancy: By Elizabeth Ellen Carter

Fate has given twins Ivy and Iris Bigglesworth a season in York. They vow to marry only brothers so the sisters will never be apart. But what are the odds of finding and falling in love with  two eligible brothers? However, there are potential substitutes. Hearts race when they meet two handsome cousins who are betting their future on a risky racing venture. Soon the twins learn there are more than fortunes to be lost on a four-to-one fancy.

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

Silence fell between them for good long minutes before Ivy asked. “What kind of gentleman would you like to marry?”

Iris considered the question a moment before shrugging a shoulder.

“He must be kind. I’d like him to be handsome. Most of all, he must love family because I would want you to visit me often.”

“That worries me as much as not finding husbands,” Ivy confessed. “What if we do? We would marry and be apart for the first time in our lives.”

The notion caused Iris to stop. She turned to her sister.

“I… I can’t imagine not seeing you every day,” she said.

They remained there on the pavement, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Do you think there may be brothers in attendance?”

“There might,” said Iris, tilting her head. “We would need to see an invitation list to be sure. Why do you ask?”

Ivy raised her chin in firm resolve. “It is the only way forward. By marrying brothers, we would be sure to see each other more often than if we married anyone else. We have to marry brothers. It is the only way.”

The twins found the stationers. They sought out the most colorful paper in stock and tallied it up. It was slightly more than they could afford.

While the clerk looked at them expectantly, Iris and Ivy exchanged a glance. Each knew what the other was thinking—they had a few coppers they’d intended to spend on new paint brushes. If they reused the ones they brought with them, they could afford it.

Ivy pushed the paint brushes aside on the counter and handed over the coins for the paper.

Now the basket was exceedingly heavy. Each twin took the handle, carrying the load between them. It was awkward, but it was the only way it could be done.

Iris returned to her contemplation.

Brothers.

Yes! That was the only solution. She and Ivy would simply have to find brothers to marry.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Tea with Doro

The Hampton Hotel, Harrogate

September, 1815

Doro Bigglesworth was rather startled when her employer, Horace Crowley, stopped by her office. Office may be too grand a word. Doro managed the kitchen and catering service bookkeeping from a windowless room no bigger than a linen closet.

“A guest wishes to see me?” Doro asked.

“Aye. One of the posh guests in the Grand Duchess Suite.” Crowley started to laugh. “Full fancy duchess she is with an entourage. She must think we’re all upper folk here. She called you Lady Dorothea. It was all I could do not to laugh! You best go see what the grand dame wants. Try to act a posh lady when you do.” He left chuckling.

Doro’s heart sank. She kept her title to herself here. Socially prominent guests would be horrified at an earl’s daughter working for wages. Worse, Crowley and the other staff would treat her as an oddity. She’d lose their comradery or, worse, find herself unemployed.

A young woman, wearing a plain but well-made afternoon dress, opened the door to Doro’s knock.

“I’m, ah, Dorothea Bigglesworth. Someone wishes to see me?” she asked, hoping it was a mistake.

“Thank you for coming, my lady. Her Grace will be pleased.” Before Doro could think, deny, or react, the woman showed her into a sitting room, and she was confronted by one of the most powerful women in Britain. The Duchess of Haverford smiled across at her.

The duchess appeared much as she had six years before when they had met at a house party. She had the inherent dignity of a duchess and the profound beauty of a woman whose character and bone structure combined to allow her to age well. Their encounter had been brief, and Doro couldn’t imagine what this august person might want with her.

“It is you, Dorothea! I was certain I recognized you working in the dining room this morning, but I feared my memory might be faulty.”

Doro sighed. Most people saw what they expected to see and would have seen only a hotel employee. Her Grace was sharper than most.

“Please come and sit with me for a while. I suspect you have a story to tell, and I’d like to hear it.” The duchess glanced at her companion, who bowed out and promised tea. Doro doubted she would be there long enough for it to come up from the kitchens, but she sat across from Her Grace as requested.

“This hotel is charming, but it must be fine indeed if it can manage to include an earl’s daughter among its employees,” the duchess said, sympathy and curiosity radiating from her expression in equal measure.

“They don’t know about my status, Your Grace. My employer didn’t believe the message. He assumed you were mistaken, and I would prefer to keep it that way,” Doro said. “I know what I’m doing isn’t the done thing, but I want neither pity nor scorn, and most people—”

“I am not most people, and I have no doubt you have your reasons. Dare I ask you to share them with me?” the older woman asked.

Tea appeared miraculously from somewhere in the suite, along with some rather lovely biscuits. If Doro hadn’t been so distressed, she might have asked the source and the recipe.

“I’m not the dragon many call me, Dorothea. If you are in distress, perhaps I could help.”

The sympathy, the tea, and some magic all the duchess’s own, soon had Doro spilling out her heart. The entire haut ton must know about her father’s death, his lack of an heir, his five wives in succession, and his overabundance of daughters. The rest, too embarrassing to bandy about, had been less well known. She explained about the lack of provision in her father’s will, her distant cousin’s rapid seizing of her childhood home, and his vile wife’s treatment of Patience, her stepmother and good friend.

“All of you? Living in a tiny cottage in Starbrook?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Patience has a toddler and two half-grown stepdaughters to raise. Most of my sisters live there still, but we have all tried to fend for ourselves, and, where possible, send her money to help with expenses.” Doro leaned forward urgently. “Please know that I don’t mind it. I board here, freeing board and space. I rather like working. It gives me pride, and I love Patience. We’re all doing what we can.”

“You never wished for a come-out? Marriage? A home of your own?” The duchess asked.

“Once. Mourning followed by poverty made a Season impossible. That time has passed, however, and I am content.” She was. Doro sincerely meant it. Mostly. Except walking out with Mr. Clarke on her half days had allowed hope to creep in to her lonely heart. She saw no reason to share that bit of information.

The Duchess of Haverford appeared skeptical but was too generous to voice her doubts. She put down her teacup. “Thank you for sharing your situation. I’m not sure what I can do to help you or your stepmother, but know that I will keep you all in mind should an idea occur.” She raised a brow as a thought occurred. “Lady Patience is the cousin of Lady Rose St Aubyn is she not?”

Doro agreed that was true, but could see no way it mattered. The duchess brushed it aside.

“I regret I may have complicated your life, Dorothea. What will you tell your employer?”

Doro grinned. “I’ll tell him you discovered that The Hampton’s famous current buns were my doing and you wanted my recipe. I’ll tell him I refused. We can’t have Hampton’s treasures bandied about.”

The duchess laughed gleefully. “I admire your backbone, Dorothea Bigglesworth. You are a woman of strength and courage.”

Doro returned to her little cupboard with a song in her heart. The office may not be much, but it was her domain and she, Doro Bigglesworth, was a woman of strength.

Doro Bigglesworth is the heroine of Caroline Warfield’s  “Lady Dorothea’s Curate”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication.

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Spotlight on “The Butler and the Bluestocking” in Desperate Daughters

The Butler and the Bluestocking: By Rue Allyn

The last thing Bess expects to find at their borrowed townhouse in York is a stranger claiming to be a butler. She has every reason to disbelieve him, but her family is in desperate need, so she squelches common sense and offers him a job on the spot. Pray heaven, she won’t regret her decision.

On arriving in York to visit his godmother, the honorable Malcolm K. Marr did not expect to find her house locked and empty. Nor did he expect to have to break in to the house to find shelter. Least of all did he expect to be awakened at mid-day after the break in to find a woman with the bearing of an Egyptian goddess demanding to know what he was doing in her house.

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

“Unhand her, you cur.”

Bess ceased her struggles.

Mrs. Crewe had arrived, and from the clatter of footsteps, she had the watch with her. 

“Of course.” He set Bess away from him, but his gaze never left her face.

Bess shifted to take in the entire scene. Yes, there stood Mrs. Crewe, a fire poker in her raised hand. Behind her framed in the doorway, stood two watchmen, one just arriving behind and to the right of the other.

“Cor Bill, who’s the toff?” queried the newest arrival. “And who’s the lady toff with him?”

“I dunno, Jim. He could be the butler for all I know. When Mrs. St. Aubyn sent word she was leaving, she said nothing about if her servants would stay or not.”

The remarks drew her attention and the stranger’s.

Bess managed to stifle into a snicker the irresistible urge to laugh.

The stranger’s tawny eyes gleamed, and all his teeth showed.

No doubt about it. Those strong white teeth prove he is smiling.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” demanded Mrs. Crewe.

The stranger looked a question at Bess.

Bess turned to her housekeeper and the curious faces of the watchmen behind her. “Mrs. Crewe, I believe we’ve had a misunderstanding. Would you be so kind as to show the watchmen out?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Crewe. Here are vails for their trouble.” The supposed butler stepped forward, coins in hand to give to the housekeeper, who gave the stranger a narrow-eyed look. 

“Are you certain, my lady?”

Bess nodded. “Quite.”

The stranger, his hand still outstretched, looked back over his shoulder at her, that smile doing very odd things to her stomach.

“There is no danger here.” Bess assured her housekeeper and the watch. Why she now believed the stranger represented no hazard to her or her family, she could not have said. The important thing was to get the watch out of the house before anything else could happen.

“Hmpfh,” uttered Mrs. Crewe. In taking the coins, she was forced to lower the poker, but she did not release it. “I’ll be back instantly, my lady.” With that she turned and ushered the watchmen before her toward the front of the house.

“I think you’d best explain yourself, Mr. . . .” She wondered what concoction of bouncers the man might create to explain his presence here. One thing she knew for certain, he was no butler.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Tea with the Duke of Bourne

The Duke of Bourne had the usual arrogance of his rank—bred in the bone and trained from the cradle, but he also had excellent manners. When they chanced upon one another in Miss Clemens bookstore, Eleanor invited him to take tea with her so that she could ask after his aunt and his sister. He agreed immediately and without any visible signs of racking his brains to think of an urgent engagement elsewhere.

He was also very happy to talk about his women folk. “Lady Philidia is well, Your Grace. She is staying with friends in the country at the  moment. We both miss Clarissa while she is away at school in Yorkshire, but my aunt most of all, perhaps. They are very close.”

“My regards to her when you next speak, Bourne. And how is Lady Clarissa?”

“My sister seems to be enjoying her school, at least as far as I can tell from her letters. I plan to open our estate up there for Christmastide, so we can enjoy the holiday together. I shall tell her you ask after her.”

“Do that, Bourne. And let her know that Frances is still talking about the fortnight they spent together at the Chirburys in the summer.” Eleanor chuckled. “Seven girls, all on the verge of putting away their childhood and beginning to explore stepping into their future role as young ladies! I quite understand my niece’s motivations in suggesting the house party, for they will already have friends when they face their first season, but I imagine keeping their feet on the ground and their high spirits under control was quite a challenge.”

“Clarissa will have friends from school, too,” Bourne agreed. “Not that I wish to think of her on the marriage mart, ma’am. To me, she is still my sweet little sister.”

“And so she always will be,” Eleanor told him. Her eyes twinkled. “Perhaps you should think of marrying, Bourne. A wife would be a huge boon when it comes to your sister’s debut. You would be able to leave her and Lady Philidia to be her guard dogs while you retire to the card room with the rest of the gentlemen.”

Bourne actually paled. “An interesting idea, Your Grace,” he managed to say. Which, interpreted, meant, “Over my dead body, you interfering old biddy.”

Eleanor smiled and offered him another cup of tea.

The Duke of Bourne is the hero of Meara Platt’s  “A Duke for Josefina”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication.

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Spotlight on “Concerto” in Desperate Daughters

Concerto: By Mary Lancaster

At the age of seven and twenty, Lady Barbara has long accepted her position on the shelf. She is thrilled to put aside her music-teaching in order to help her beautiful young sisters find eligible husbands.

But then, a chance encounter with an unconventional and mysterious young piano tuner has her heart in a spin. When she encounters him again at a York assembly, playing the violin, it seems he has too many names. Can she trust such a man with the family secrets, let alone with her heart? And can she save him from the lethal threat hanging over him?

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

Oddly, Barbara was conscious of a desire not to return to York. To let her sisters go on without her, just for a few days. But even if Jack wished it, she could not stay here.

So, after tea they said goodbye to Mrs. Weeks. Jack even hugged the housekeeper, which made her cry, and then they walked around to the stables.

“What did you think?” Jack asked casually on the way.

“I think it is a beautiful house which you can make your own. I think you can make it ring with music and fun, and compose to your heart’s content. In between seeing to the land and your tenants. You could have the music and Allbury Court.”

“That is what I have begun to think.” He paused, catching her arm and turning her to face him in the shade of a spreading chestnut tree. A smile played on his lips. With his free hand he tucked a stray strand of hair beneath her bonnet, and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what? Telling you what you already know?”

“For making me see what I already know,” he corrected. “Barbara?”

“Yes?”

The smile flared and died again. “Nothing. Just this.”

He bent his head and her heart seemed to lurch downward into her suddenly tingling stomach. She could have avoided it, but the truth was, in that moment, she wanted his kiss more than anything in the world.

His lips paused above hers, giving her time to object, perhaps, or maybe just drawing out the anticipation. She parted her lips, raising them to his, and he smiled as he kissed her. A firm, yet tender kiss, slow, exploratory, tasting.

He raised his head, searching her face. “Again?” he whispered.

For answer, she cupped his cheek and took back his mouth and with this longer, deeper kiss, she was lost.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Spotlight on “Lady Dorothea’s Curate” in Desperate Daughters

Lady Dorothea’s Curate: by Caroline Warfield

There was a mystery about Doro Bigglesworth; the truth would shock him.

Doro Bigglesworth works at a hotel, and she’s proud of what she does. Besides, her family—the ten unmarried daughters of the late earl of Seahaven—needs her income. She has no use for her title and less for the scorn and pity of society.

Scarred by the death of a boy, Ben Clarke dedicated his life to helping others. Delighted with Doro’s help at his mission, he doesn’t bother with the courtesy title due the son of a viscount.

Separated before either could mention titles to the other, they are stunned when they are formally introduced in a ballroom in York. Explanations are needed. Quickly.

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

Hired assembly rooms have no garden but they do, apparently, have a terrace overlooking the square below. Or so Doro—Lady Dorothea—told him when he demanded to know. She seemed to know the place well. Can this night get any stranger? Ben doubted it.

Halfway across the room, she let go of his arm, and he had to skip to catch up with her as she reached the door. He grabbed her hand, half fearing she meant to bolt.

The terrace wasn’t large, but neither was it crowded. A few people mingled near the railing. A couple engaged in intimate familiarity in the corner to the far left of the glass doors, shadowed rather less than they obviously hoped by the gloom.

When Doro stopped in the middle, Ben, who still had her by the hand, dragged her to the similarly darkened corner to the right. It provided inadequate privacy, but it would have to do.

One hard yank on her arm swung Doro into the corner, around his front, to a hard stop against his chest. His other arm anchored her fast against his body and his mouth came down on hers. No tender salute this. Passion driven by anger and frustrated desire drove him. He plundered. He invaded. He…

He felt like a cad, but he didn’t care. Besides, she kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders like she might drown if she let go. When the need to breathe forced him to pull back a fraction of an inch, Doro closed the distance and kissed him again. That’s when he realized she was crying.

“Enough.” He held both her arms and set her a bit away. Not so far that she could run off. Just enough to reassemble his scattered wits. “Do you want to explain to me what happened here?”

“You kissed me. Rather thoroughly.”

Shame over her tears warred with delight at her passionate response. “Not that! Who are you, and what game are you playing?” he demanded gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

“Lower your voice.” She hissed at him in the gloom. “I’ll answer your questions, but keep your voice down.” Apparently satisfied that he wasn’t going to shout her deception to the rooftops, she went on. “I am Doro Bigglesworth, Lady Dorothea Bigglesworth. In Harrogate the title didn’t seem to matter.”

“This isn’t Harrogate; it is York. Why the deception?”

She snorted. No ladylike cringing for his Doro. “You know what society thinks of those of us who are forced to work for a living. I didn’t lie to you about our situation. We needed my wages at the Hampton. My father was indeed the Earl of Seahaven, but when he died, we were left with nothing; Patience struggles to support the children. All of us had to scramble to help. If word got out here, it would ruin everything, destroy my sisters’ chances.”

“So, you’re deceiving all of York instead, so the Seahaven Diamonds can latch on to some wealthy fool and enrich all of you.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Tea with Cherry

“How was your trip to York, Cherry?” Eleanor, Her Grace of Winshire asked Charlotte,  Her Grace of Haverford, as she handed her daughter-in-law a cup of tea, made just the way she liked it, with a spoonful of cream and a small drizzle of honey.

“Delightful,” Cherry replied. “I understand why Anthony loves spending time on his yacht. The freedom, the sea air, the sense that we might be able to sail anywhere we please.” She laughed. “The knowledge that the door knocker won’t announce unexpected callers, and that a message will not arrive with an urgent summons to Clarence House.”

Eleanor nodded and agreed, though she privately thought that the kind of unexpected visitors who might invite themselves aboard at sea were somewhat more troublesome than a garrulous vicar or a gossip-seeking harridan. “I’m glad the weather stayed pleasant for you. And what of the wedding?”

Cherry laughed again. “That was fun, too. Lord Diomedes is a charming man and I found Lady Diomedes clever and delightful. Pretty, too, though not in the common way. The newlyweds are clearly deeply in love, and it was amusing to see Anthony competing with the Marquess of Pevenwood for most supportive half-brother. Apparently the Pevenwood side has only recently learned that it was their father who cut the connection, not Lord Diomedes himself. The two brothers came to York to find him, and then didn’t know how to approach him, so kept wandering in and out of social events for weeks, hoping to bump into him by accident.”

“Men can be duffers,” Eleanor remarked.

Cherry smiled and nodded. “So Pevenwood was anxious to make some magnificent gesture to show how pleased he was to have his brother back again, and Anthony was just as determined to show that the Haverford connection had an equal claim to flamboyant gestures. ”

Eleanor snorted. “Men,” she repeated.

“It all worked out in the end, and the bride and groom are very happy.”

Cherry is reporting on the wedding of Dom Finchley and Chloe Tavistock, from my story Lord Cuckoo Comes Home, out in the anthology Desperate Daughters on 8th May. The anthology has nine stories, all centred around the York Season and the daughters and other family connections of the dowager Countess of Seahaven.

See more about Lord Cuckoo Comes Home

See more about Desperate Daughters

Order Desperate Daughters at the preorder price of only 99c

 

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Spotlight on Lady Be Wanton

The lady wants to be good.

Lady Imogen has reformed! She’s witty, from an old Irish family, in pursuit of a fine man to marry—and she swears she’ll never indulge in her little…um…peccadilloes again!

She’s arrived in Brighton with her two sisters and her cousin for the Season—and she’ll ignore anyone who gossips about Grandpapa’s notorious odd talents—or her own tiny scandal. After all, a lady can change.

The gentleman wants revenge. 

Returning home after the wars, Lex Rowlandson, the Earl of Martindale, vows to find the cur who sold him and his father into the hell of Napoleon’s dungeons.

With a few clues to the identity of the creature who stole years from his life and caused the death of his father, Lex seeks out suspects at a Brighton ball. But he’s captured by the effervescent woman whose smiles light the dark corners of his heart.

He should not be distracted from his cause. Yet he cannot resist the lure of Imogen’s charm. When he witnesses her plight at the hands of one fellow who threatens her reputation, Lex saves it—and marries her.

Falling in love with her husband, Imogen sees that the best way to thank him for saving her is to commit the very crime she vowed never to repeat.

But can a man whose life was stolen from him love a wife whose skill is taking from others what is not hers?

Release Date: March 8 

Order now on: https://amzn.to/3Hfcm0G

First kiss excerpt

“You are a rare woman. And I applaud you.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “Will you come see me to the door?”

His sweetness and his sorrow filled her with relief. “If you tell me when I’ll see you again.”

He tossed his head back and forth as if he considered the possibility. Then he threw her a lop-sided grin. “I will if you kiss me goodbye.”

“Now?” She feigned horror, a hand to her throat.

“The best time.”

She threw back her head to laugh. “Such bribery.”

“Larceny with good purpose. To see you laugh is worth every crime.”

She clutched the superfine of his frock coat. Such endearments lifted her to heaven. “Be careful, sir. You turn my head.”

“I mean to.” He caught her against him, mid-chuckle. His body was made of iron, rippling massive heat that zipped through her like shards of desire. “Though I never planned it. I find that you call to me. Irresistible Imogen. I want to make you laugh each day.”

“And each night, too?”

“Do, but give me the chance,” he murmured as he threaded his fingers up into her hair and cupped her throat. He kissed her with a bright hot promise of delight. His lips eager and searching, hard with need. And oh, such delicious madness, pressing her flesh to his.

He broke away with a start and steadied her on her feet. “Oh, Imogen, tonight, any night, I want to kiss you again.” He stepped away, his brown eyes bright, his countenance tight with control. Then he grinned. And winked at her. And spun off down the stairs.

Meet Cerise DeLand

Cerise DeLand loves to write about dashing heroes and the sassy women they adore.

But I bet you knew that!

Did you know that she’s known for her poetic elegance and accuracy of detail?

That she’s an award-winning author of more than 40 novels and was first published in 1991 by Kensington, then Pocket Books, later by St. Martin’s Press and independent presses?

That her books have been monthly selections of the Doubleday Book Club and the Mystery Guild? Right. And she’s won awards. Lots of them. Need details? Write to her. She’ll send you the list!

https://cerisedeland.com/contact/

 

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Tea with the Earl of Clarion

[Editor’s note: By 1818, when this scene takes place, Eleanor–last seen in my books as the widowed Duchess of Haverford–has married James and become the Duchess of Winshire]

The Earl of Clarion didn’t have to wait long. The Duchess of Winshire’s current assistant went to notify Her Grace that he had arrived. He had been greeted by a butler dressed as fine as a royal duke, and just as pompous as one, at the entrance to the cavernous Winshire House and handed to a footman who conducted him to the duchess’s apartments. The assistant, one of the succession of Grenford relatives to serve in the role, greeted him cheerfully. She followed other young women related to the duchess’s first husband, most of whom found themselves advantageous marriages while in Her Grace’s service. Care for family was one of the things David admired about the woman—one of the things they had in common.

He bowed to his hostess, formally, only mildly curious as to why he had been summoned. He’d known her since he was a boy, though she had been the Duchess of Haverford, then. His father had a sycophantic friend of Haverford, one of many hangers on in the man’s orbit, puffed up with his own consequence and eager to feed off the duke’s. David had always admired the duchess, however.

They chatted about family, a daughter at last for her second son, Jonathan, whose wife had presented a trio of sons, his sister Madelyn’s recent marriage and the successes of his half-brother Sir Robert Benson. She surprised him then. “I understand another heir has turned up on your doorstep,” she said.

The woman’s intelligence network far surpassed Wellington’s. “You are correct that another young woman has come to my attention. Fanny Hancock is not an heir, alas, but we are trying to do our best for her.”

Ducal eyebrows rose. “Not an heir? I understand she came with, to put this delicately, the family butter stamp.”

David’s father left a scandalous will. He left bequests to a long list of bastards and little to his two legitimate children. All of London knew it. Worse, most of them shared striking red hair, green eyes, and good looks. Fanny was no exception. He had no doubt she was his previously unknown half-sister.

“She was not mentioned in the will. Her claim on the Clarion estate is moral not legal.”

“Well done of you!” The duchess’s warm approval meant the world to Clarion. He’d had little enough of it from his parents. “Bring her to visit sometime.”

“If we can get her to London, I will try. She’s a determined young woman with a mind of her own.” He smiled ruefully. “She wishes to be an author of romance. My steward is attempting to locate suitable lodging for her—a cottage with an office of her own, she has declared, is all she needs.”

“Ah, the very effective Eli Benson. I have no doubt he will succeed.”

David sipped his tea and waited. The duchess appeared to be gathering words. He didn’t have to wait long.

“What do you make of the situation up north? What we hear makes us uneasy,” she said. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well it should, Your Grace. The industrial cities seethe with unrest. The talk is of suffrage—which should be addressed, but carefully in due time—but the underlying issues are economic. Wages have been cut. Again. When a man can’t feed his family, he’s easy prey for the radicals. Liverpool and the cabinet alternately ignore the problem and threaten heavy handed oppression. They—” David looked up and saw her nodding. She knew it all. Of course, she did.

“And you, David? You are an influential member of the ruling party. I’ve read the speeches you give. Have you any interest in the cabinet? Danbury would have you for Home Secretary. He’s an important ally.”

Now she had startled him. “We’ve spoken…” he said tentatively.

“I presume he’s urged you to become more socially active. The way into office has as much to do with the ballroom as the halls of parliament, as you well know. You have to swallow the nonsense if you want the power.”

His heart sank. He heard it before, and he loathed it. “I’ll give it some thought, Your Grace.”

He took his leave moments later. She caught him off guard just as he reached the door. “One more thing, David. A political hostess is what you need most. You must think about remarrying.”

He suppressed his groan until the door closed behind him.

About the Series The Ashmead Heirs

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead.

One sleepy village

One scandalous will

Four tormented heirs

One grew up believing he was the innkeeper’s son. He’s The Wayward Son.

One was left nothing even though she was a legitimate one. She’s The Defiant Daughter

One was left out entirely. She’s the Forgotten Daughter.

One should have inherited it all. Instead he got a bankrupted estate and an empty title. He’s The Upright Son.

 David is The Upright Son. His story comes out in May. Fanny Hancock’s story is The Forgotten Daughter, out just now.

About the Book, The Forgotten Daughter

Frances Hancock always knew she was a bastard. She didn’t know her father was an earl until her mother died. The information came just in time. She and her mother’s younger children were about to be homeless. She needs help. Fast. What she wants is a hero.

Eli Benson, the Earl of Clarion’s steward, took great pride in cleaning up the mess left behind by the old earl’s will. When a dainty but ferocious young woman with the earl’s hair and eyes comes demanding help, his heart sinks. She isn’t in the will. She was forgotten entirely. And the estate is just getting its finances back in order. But he knows a moral obligation when he sees one. He may not be her idea of a hero, but people count on him to fix things. He’s good at it. Falling in love with her will only complicate things.

Eli will solve her problems or die trying. You should never underestimate a quiet hero.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09PGSYJ3Q/

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About the Author

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Website:   http://www.carolinewarfield.com/

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