Bluestocking Belles

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Spotlight on ‘Falling Into You’ in Love’s Perilous Road

Lord Milton Sutton, Earl of Langley has one regret in life… that he left behind a lady that owned his heart in order to take over his father’s businesses to prevent bankruptcy. One year later, he has a second chance to win her back but is he too late?

Lady Josephine Cranfield is determined to move on with her life after her heart was broken by the love of her life. But her feelings for Milton awaken upon his return and his eagerness to pick up where they left off only makes her resolved to forget him.

Can Milton and Josephine find a way back to one another or will someone else find his way into Josephine’s heart?

Buy Love’s Perilous Road. Preorder price 99c. Published October 31st

Meet Josephine

Lady Josephine Cranfield is determined to move on with her life after her heart was broken by the love of her life. But her feelings for Milton awaken upon his return and his eagerness to pick up where they left off only makes her resolved to forget him.

Meet Milton

Lord Milton Sutton, Earl of Langley has one regret in life… that he left behind a lady that owned his heart in order to take over his father’s businesses to prevent bankruptcy. One year later, he has a second chance to win her back but is he too late?

Excerpt from Falling Into You

“You’re very early, Philip. Is something wrong?” she declared before she came to a sudden halt. She took hold of the doorframe to steady herself, afraid that her knees might buckle when she witnessed the gentleman standing near the window.

He turned to face her with the sun streaming through the glass to make him appear almost angelic. She drank in the sight of him as though she was dying of thirst. The cut of his suit and waistcoat was immaculate. His dark brown hair streaked with lighter shades was neatly combed into place and touched the edges of his coat. His skin appeared tanned from time spent in the sun and he appeared far more muscular than she remembered. His linen shirt seemed to stretch across his muscled chest while his blue eyes seemingly danced in delight to see her. She just might swoon.

“Hello, Josephine” he said giving her a bow. The old memory of his husky baritone branded her heart with sorrow as all the old hurt came rushing back to the surface.

“Milton…” she began, attempting to find her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know this is highly irregular but I had to see you,” he said stepping forward.

“Why?” she gasped out as her knees began to shake and she had the overwhelming need to sit down.

The sound of the tea trolley being rolled through the hallway gave her the moment she needed to clear her head and compose herself. She went into the room and sat in a chair near the hearth knowing to sit on the couch would allow him to be far too close. Once the servant put the trolley near at hand, she poured tea into two cups and offered him one as he took the opposite chair. He reached for the one she held out for him, and when their fingers touched, a zing of emotion overcame her. It wasn’t fair that he could still have such an effect on her after all this time. It wasn’t fair at all!

He continued to stare at her, searching her face for some sign of… what? That she was still in love with him? She couldn’t be certain but what did it matter if she still cared for this man? He was her past, and Philip was her future.

“You were one of the first people I wanted to see upon my return,” he confessed, setting down his tea without taking a sip.

“Oh? And who was the first?” she said in a snippy tone.

A slight chuckle left those lips she remembered all too well, having kissed them a dozen times or more. “Your brother,” he finally answered.

“I see. Considering your friendship all your lives, I can see how you might have missed him.”

“And you.”

She raised a brow at his admission. “I don’t see why you’d have missed me, Milton. After all, it was you who ended our association.”

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Spotlight on Sir Westcott Steals a Heart from Love’s Perilous Road

Alina K. Field with Sir Westcott Steals a Heart:

Sir Westcott Twisden didn’t know he wanted to marry until the tallest lady he’d ever met crossed his path. Curious when a local smuggler shows up to visit her, Wes follows her into trouble.

Sybil Dunsford lives to protect her brothers and their home. And so, one night she disguises herself as a boy to help shift contraband. But when the night goes array, Sir Westcott appears, and they’re locked in together. Will romance follow?

Love’s Perilous Road

(in Love’s Perilous Road)

Coming Autumn 2025

Travellers, a house party, smugglers, spies—and a mysterious highwayman. Who is the infamous Captain Moonlight? And how many lives will he change–for good or for ill?

Preorder now: https://books2read.com/u/mqx0W6

An extract from Sir Westcott Steals a Heart

She murmured an unladylike curse and continued to work.

It was shocking for a lady to curse, wasn’t it? He chuckled, thinking of his stepmother and grandmother. Once or twice when they thought he wasn’t around, he’d heard them swear.

Sybil must have removed the gloves she’d been wearing. The cold fingers touching his wrists unaccountably sent warmth up his arms and to other parts of his body.

She slid a finger under his cuff and his heart jolted. If she kept that up, he might find himself leg-shackled, and not unwillingly.

Perhaps before the night was over, he’d have a chance to warm her hands. And more. This godforsaken place was dark enough to have his thoughts embracing the notion of a tryst and a special license.

“Stop moving,” she said. “These knots are the devil.”

The scold shook him out of his lustful thoughts and brought to mind his stepmother’s treatment by a neighbor and friend of his father who’d followed her to York in the spring and tried to importune her one afternoon while Wes was out.

Stepmama had absolutely forbade him from challenging the fellow because he was, she said, no worse than other friends of Wes’s late father.

His father. The late Sir Twisden’s passions had all been for his hounds and his hunting, not his duties as the local squire, not his wife, nor even his son. It had been Wes’s stepmother raising Wes to be a gentleman.

The marriage had been a mismatch for her, an impoverished young lady who hadn’t known his father at all before marrying him.

What did Wes know about Sybil Dunsford? He’d do well to slow down and not rush his fences with her.

But… what did Crofton say… You won’t be so stiff-rumped about marrying me then.

Crofton wanted to marry her?

A stubborn determination rose in him. Crofton wouldn’t have Sybil.

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Proposal under pressure on WIP Wednesday

Here’s an excerpt from my novella in next month’s Bluestocking Belles’ collection, Love’s Perilous Road. My heroine has come to warn my hero of the villain’s plans, but he has other things on his mind.

***

“Was that Grant I saw leaving?” she demanded, as he drew her inside and shut the door to protect her from the eyes of scandalmongers. “What did he want?”

“To tell me I wasn’t good enough for you,” he blurted.

She raised her eyebrows and gave an unamused chuckle. “At least there is something the two of you agree about.”

I hurt her. Justin supposed he must have known it before, but seeing her use humor to deflect possible hurt brought it home to him.

“I told him we are betrothed,” he blurted. “I shouldn’t have. Not when I haven’t even asked you. I love you, Lady Felicity Belvoir. I have loved you since I first met you. For the past two years, even while I kept telling myself that it was hopeless, and that I was an arrogant bumptious fool for ever thinking I was fit to touch the toe of your shoe, I have loved you. Will you forgive this poor fool for running away without talking to you?”

Somewhere in that impassioned speech, he had caught up her two hands. He lifted them to his lips, and then said, “Will you marry me, and join me in a partnership to make our dreams come true? Will you, Felicity?”

Felicity lifted her lovely face and touched her sweet lips to his. “Yes, Justin. Yes, I will.”

During the kiss, Justin lost his wits for a while, allowing Felicity to instead fill his senses, sinking into the web of desire even as he wove it. He was not ready when she drew back after several glorious minutes, but he immediately loosened his grip so that she did not feel confined.

She had an urgent matter on her mind.

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Toil and trouble on WIP Wednesday

I’m adding to my Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, and turning it into a Christmas story, for the Bluestocking Belles Christmas Collection. Here’s one of the new additions.

***

The hope of soon being reunited with Will, or at least reaching his mother, had kept Maggie moving along the winding roads from Portsmouth to the first village of Ashton. When that proved to be the wrong place, she changed her strategy. Winter was coming. Even now, the heat was gone from the long evenings as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. If she had to find lodgings for herself and the children during the winter, then she must make more than the few coins she had picked up on her way north.

Having made the decision between one village and the next, she put it into practice at the first opportunity, asking at both inns and the three major houses if there was any work available.

One of the inns took her on to clean rooms and empty slop pails. For one week, she told them. After that, she said, she must be off once more on her search. With Eva on her back and Billy tagging behind, she managed the heavy work with ease, and a week later set off the next Ashton with several more shillings in her purse and a warmer coat for each child to keep them comfortable in the sometimes cold wind.

The second Ashton was as disappointing as the first, but Maggie got two night’s work at the inn, and on the strength of that was offered temporary work at the great house, where they needed extra servants during a house party. At first, she thought she’d have to turn the job down, though the wages were excellent. But another woman overheard her telling the hiring steward about her children.

“I reckon they could stay with me Ma,” she said. “She’s looking after me own young uns, while I earn a few coins, so two more wouldn’t matter to her none, and she could do with the pennies.” The woman introduced herself as Frannie, and offered to take her to visit her mother immediately.

“If she could put you up for at night,” said the steward, “I shall add two shillings a day to the wages, for where I could find you a bed, I do not know. Mind you, you’ll have to be at your post by five in the morning, and will not be home until after the guests have had their dinner.”

Frannie’s mother proved to be a kind woman whom Eva took to straight away, and the other children were twins of Billy’s age, so Maggie went off to work the following morning with a light heart. If she saw out the week of the house party, she would earn the princely sum of twelve shillings! Two shillings of that would go Frannie’s mother, but ten shillings would feed her little family for weeks, if she was careful.

It was hard work and long hours, but in some ways, it was also a holiday. No walking for hours with Eva on her back and the wheelbarrow before her. No need to find dry spaces through the day to feed the children or to change a wet clout. And she enjoyed the walks with Frannie in the pre-dawn quiet and the velvet dark of the late evening.

After the first three days of the house party, the servants settled into a routine—those who belonged to the house, the temporary hires, and servants of guests all learning what they could expect from one another. Hearing how some of the guests behaved toward the servants, Maggie was pleased to be working where she didn’t see them.

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Journeying in WIP Wednesday

I’m rewriting Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, a newsletter subscriber short story, into a Christmas tale for the next Bluestocking Belles Christmas collection. Here’s a snippet with Maggie and her children, poor as church mice, trying to make their way through England to find Maggie’s mother-in-law.

Maggie shook her head. Ma and Pa had been all the family she had. Both were orphans and both were gone, Ma of a fever in Portugal four years ago and Pa at Salamanca the following year. She and Will had been courting when Pa died, but he’d not received permission to marry. With Pa’s death, they went ahead without permission.

“If Will’s family don’t want me, at least I’ll know,” she said, more to herself than to the other woman. “I can make a life for myself and the children, but I need to know what happened to their Daddy.”

The baker stood up. “Wait here.” She bustled off along the street and disappeared into another shop. A few minutes later, she came back, smiling. “You and the children will sleep here tonight, Mrs. Parker. You can have my brother’s room.” Her eyes filled with tears, which she blinked away. “He died at Talavera, he did, and I know he’d want me to help a fellow soldier’s wife.”

She gave a decisive nod. “And then, in the morning, the carter will take you on your journey. He is not going far, but he’ll save a days walking, I reckon.”

Maggie accepted, and tried to offer money for bed and board, but the baker said that Will had fought to save England, and the least she could do was help out his little family. The carter said the same. “I was in the Peninsula, ma’am. If I cannot help the family of one of our own, what is the world coming to?”

Furthermore, when their ways parted, he left her with an innkeeper’s son who had been in his company in the army, and the son insisted that his family would be glad to have her and the two little ones to stay for the night.

In the morning, a friend of his drove her north, but he proved to be not quite so charitable, and in the end Maggie had to produce the pistol that her father had given her long ago. It was not loaded, of course. Loaded guns could not be carried in pockets and were, in any case, not safe around children. Maggie judged that the man would not know the difference, and she was right. He unloaded her wheelbarrow and her possessions from his cart, called her some unpleasant names, and went on his way.

And so it went through the following weeks. Maggie and her children found safe refuge some nights and on others slept outside under the stars. Sometimes they were offered lifts and sometimes they walked. Twice more, Maggie had to use her pistol to discourage someone with quite the wrong idea about camp followers.

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Unwanted Suitors in WIP Wednesday

Here’s a passage from my story in the Bluestocking Belles With Friends collection Love’s Perilous Road.

Apparently, Captain Grant could not bring himself to believe that Felicity meant the firm ‘no’ with which she had greeted his proposals in Paris in 1815 and again in 1816, and the proposal that followed in London. He showed every sign that he was going to try a fourth during this house party. What a nuisance the man was!

He must have shared his intentions with Penelope Somerville, for he was assigned to take Felicity in to dinner two nights in a row, and when they travelled into the village to patronize the local shops, Penelope sent Felicity to ride in a curricle driven by Captain Grant.

He also followed her around, partnering her in every two-person activity if she had not been quick enough to find another partner, joining any group she was in, sitting next to her at tea, and constantly speaking to and about her as if they were an established couple.

She managed to deflect any attempts on his part to turn the conversation in a personal direction, and truly, if it came to the point, she would simply refuse him again. But it was exhausting.

Also annoying, for she had had no opportunity to make another visit to the schoolhouse, and Justin had not tried to see her. Robin, too, was playing least in sight, so she could not even recruit him to either carry a message to Justin or run interference with Captain Grant so she could be her own messenger.

“Penelope,” Felicity said to her hostess after breakfast on the third morning of the house party, “Please stop pairing me with Captain Grant. I do not wish him to think I might be amenable to his courtship.”

“But darling,” Penelope replied, “Captain Grant has done me the courtesy of discussing his intentions towards you, and they are everything honorable. He is a gentleman of means, and while his father’s family is nothing to speak of, his mother’s people are mostly highly connected. Most highly indeed.”

“Captain Grant has already proposed several times, Penelope. I have refused and will continue to do so.”

Penelope could not understand it. “But Felicity, you cannot have thought. He is most eligible, I assure you, and so elegant in his manner. I cannot see any objection. Indeed, I am certain the Earl of Hythe and your sister Sophia would be most distressed if I failed to urge you to reconsider.”

Penelope was quite out, there. Hythe disliked Grant, though he had declined to discuss why, which left Felicity with the impression it was to do with the secret work Hythe sometimes did under cover of his diplomatic positions. And Grant was not popular with Sophia, either.

“I have nothing personal against the man, Felicity,” Sophia had said. “But I cannot warm to him. And His Grace has warned both me and James against becoming too familiar with Captain Grant, so I daresay he knows something to the man’s discredit.” His Grace was the Duke of Winshire, father to Sophia’s husband James, the Earl of Sutton.

Even if Felicity had been partial to Captain Grant, she must have questioned her inclination once she discovered he had come to the attention, and not in a good way, of her brother and her sister’s father-in-law, both of whom were active in His Majesty’s service.

She could not tell Penelope any of that. It was probably some sort of top secret, and she did not have details, in any case.

“Neither my brother nor my sister would want me to marry where I felt no affection, Penelope. Indeed, and I know I can rely upon your discretion—I cannot like the man. No doubt a fault in me, but there it is. I am certain you would not wish me to pursue an acquaintance with a person I dislike, for you are so very fond of Sir Peter, and he of you.”

Penelope frowned, wrinkling her nose as if she might be about to cry. “Oh dear. Are you certain? Only, he seemed so certain you were merely showing maidenly reserve, and that his persistence would win you.” She sighed. “I did think it romantic he would try and try again.”

I find it disturbing. “I am certain. And truly, Penelope? Maidenly reserve? You have known me since I was eleven!”

Penelope giggled like the girl she had been when she first became friends with Sophia. “I suppose you are right, darling. You have always been very confident.”

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Choices on WIP Wednesday

In my story for Love’s Perilous Road, my heroine is accosted by the villain.

***

All Felicity wanted was a couple of hours sleep, which was surely not too much to ask. But apparently it was. She had talked to Robin for a few minutes and then gone upstairs to find Victor Grant waiting in the hall outside of her bedchamber.

“I trust your patient has not died in the night,” he said, in a tone that implied the opposite.

The best form of defense was attack. “Were you spying on me, Mr. Grant?”

“Let us say, rather, I was looking out for the lady I mean to make my bride.”

“I have already refused your proposal, Mr. Grant. I will not marry you.”

Grant smiled. “I think you will. I hold your reputation in the palm of my hand, Lady Felicity. One word from me, and the whole of England will know you spent the night in the schoolhouse with Weatherall. And what is he, after all? A penniless schoolmaster. Distantly related to an earl, it is true. But by no means a match for a Belvoir, one of the great families of England.”

“Of the United Kingdom, Mr. Grant,” Felicity informed him, lifting her chin proudly. And yes, she was proud. The Belvoirs had served king and country since there was a country, and all without scandal staining their name. Grant was mistaken if he thought his threat would work on her, however. That very pristine reputation would protect her, and if it did not? Then better retirement to the country alone than marriage to a yellow-bellied cur.

“The answer is still no,” she said.

The man had not expected that. His smile slipped, and he snarled. “Then I will have no choice but to tell that Bow Street Runner who is here looking for our highwayman that Weatherall is Captain Moonlight,” he said.

Felicity absorbed the blow, schooling her face to show no expression. He could not know for certain, and even if he had witnessed something incriminating, it would be his word against Justin’s. And her word. She would give Justin an alibi even if she had to perjure herself. “What utter nonsense,” she said.

“I am going to Brighton today, Lady Felicity. I shall call on your brother and tell him what you have been up to. He, at least, will have a care to your reputation.”

Felicity managed to say, quietly, “I am of age, Mr. Grant. I will make my own choices.”

“Be sure that you make the right one,” Grant insisted and swaggered off, leaving Felicity far more disturbed than she would allow him to see.

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Tea with Belinda Westcott

The Duchess of Haverford’s waiting salon might intimidate any young lady. Bel Westcott was terrified. After the fiasco at the duchess’s venetian breakfast two years ago caused by food prepared by her own hands, she had good reason.

“Calm down, Bel. She is both wise and kind. She knows it wasn’t your fault.” Bel’s best friend Merrilyn Finchwater, ever loyal, had been there when half the ton was sickened by food prepared in Bel’s kitchen.

Bel had her doubts.

Just then, the rather stern young woman who was Her Grace’s current secretary returned. “She will see you now.” It didn’t help that she cast Bel a sympathetic glance.

Regal and dignified, in subdued silk and simple pearls, the duchess yet radiated warmth and welcome from her high-backed chair. A fine porcelain tea set, bright white with delicate lavender flowers sat on the table at her side.

“Come sit with me ladies. It is good of you to join me.”

Bel murmured thanks. Her Grace requested their preferences and made certain to satisfy the polite requirements of tea service.

“I’ve quite looked forward to speaking with you for some time, Miss Westcott. What is it that troubles you?” the duchess said.

Bel’s head jerked up from her absorption in her own slippers to gaze directly at the duchess. “I— The venetian breakfast so humiliated me. All those people ill, and your fete ruined. I can barely face you.”

“My dear! That was two years ago. And I have reason to believe it was not your fault,” Her Grace said.

“Quite right, Your Grace. Bel would never,” Merrilyn said. “Her cousin—””

“Yes, yes, Lady Finchwater, I know. The not so Honorable Cecil Hartwell had his grubby hands all over it. My son Aldridge assured me that was the case and that the miscreant was dealt with,” the duchess said.

Bel stiffened her spine. “But I bear the stigma even now.”

Her Grace studied Bel carefully. “So you do. And that ridiculous nickname follows you. Westcott Menace. What nonsense. It has recently risen again among the gossips.”

“Untruths are spreading again, Your Grace,” Merrilyninterjected. “Lady Arncastle attended the house party at Hartwell Hall and has piled story on story.”

Both women looked to Bel. She nodded firmly. “Most of the stories Lady Arncastle spreads are untrue.”

“Most.” The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “But not all?”

Heat crept up Bel’s neck and burned her cheeks. “There was one thing. I…”

“Poisoned Lady Sophie Gilray?” The duchess asked, brow raised imperiously.

“Never!” Bel exclaimed. “That is, I may have tainted the cocoa but it wasn’t meant for my cousin Sophie. And John, well I was mistaken in him, and I thought—”

“You thought to get your own back for what happened two years ago.” The duchess completed the thought.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess leaned forward and whispered “Good for you,” startling Bel right out of her attack of remorse. She sat back. “And I have reason to suspect things turned out well in the end.”

Merrily beamed and nudged Bel. “They certainly did. Tell her, Bel.”

Bel did better. She reached in her reticule and pulled out a card printed in formal letters, and invitation. She handed it to the duchess.

“Marriage to John Conlyn, Earl of Ridgemont! Oh well done, my dear. You may be certain I will attend.

Bel smiled then, confidently. Things truly had turned out well in the end.

Snowed by the Wallflower

By Caroline Warfield

Belinda Westcott doesn’t want to injure the Earl of Ridgemont. She merely wants to humiliate him. After all, one good prank deserves a payback. How could she anticipate that it would go so terribly wrong, or that he would turn out to be nothing like she expected?

Skilled in both chemistry and cooking, Belinda happily hides in her aunt’s kitchen rather than risk embarrassment at the ongoing house party. The unexpected appearance of the earl and a skating party present the perfect opportunity to embarrass him in front of some snooty society miss. Unfortunately, his partner is Belinda’s own cousin, and even worse, the cousin drinks the hot chocolate—laced with emetics—meant for the earl.

As plain Major John Conlyn, John had sunk into a morose of dissipation when first released from the army. Neither his actions nor his companions make him proud. The death of a beloved cousin shocked him back to sense. It also made him an earl and the heir to his grandfather, a duke. He’s been ordered to find a wife and settle down. He wouldn’t mind, but now he’s surrounded by flighty debutantes and their grasping mothers. The one woman who interests him avoids him. She acts as if she despises him. Is it possible he did something when out of control that he ought to apologize for, something he can’t recall?

https://books2read.com/snowedbywallflower

What happened at the Duchess of Haverford’s venetian breakfast? Be sure to read Jude Knight’s The Blossoming of the Wallflower to find out.