Bluestocking Belles

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Spotlight on A Countess to Remember

A Countess to Remember

By Sherry Ewing

Patience, the young Dowager Countess of Seahaven has the weight of the world on her shoulders. With a bevy of stepdaughters under her care, a Season to find them all husbands is completely out of reach. But with the help of her family, they’ll scrap up enough money to see to a Season in York for the younger eligible daughters. Still… there’s been no chance at all for romance for Patience until fate intervenes. Will she allow herself time for love?

Richard, Viscount Cranfield has no desire to find a wife. He’s been perfectly content leading his carefree life until he’s charged with finding a suitable husband for his sister. He’ll travel to York for the Season only to become enchanted with a lovely young widow. Can he look past a ready-made family to possibly find love to fill his heart?

When several events have Patience and Richard crossing paths, she is hard pressed to forget her infatuation with the gentleman. Then there is the matter of her many responsibilities, along with Richard’s jealous ex-mistress who just may put an end to any sort of a relationship blossoming between Patience and Richard. Only time will tell if they can overlook their differences and allow love to conquer all.

Sometimes love finds you when you least expect it…

Released on 14 March: https://www.amazon.com/Countess-Remember-Sherry-Ewing-ebook/dp/B0BRK2DCS7

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Proposals in WIP Wednesday

Proposals are as individual as the people who make them. Here’s one from my next novella for the Bluestocking Belles.

For a moment, he remained still for her explorations, but all too soon, he put his hand on her wrist, not grasping but just halting her movement. “Enough, Gwen. I am holding on to my reason by a thread, but I’ve enough sense to realise that someone could come along at any moment, or your father could wake up.”

He had a point. She reluctantly let go. He gathered her close to him with his good arm and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to let you explore my body, and to explore yours in my turn. In private, though, my Gwen. Are you my Gwen?”

 She rested her head on his chest and put her arms around him as far as they would go. Her heart and her desire screamed Yes in unison. But what would become of Da? What of the business? She had kept it going not just so she had a roof over their heads and food to eat, but so that Evan would have something to come home to. Wouldn’t it be selfish to put her own wants and needs ahead of those of her family?

“How would it work, Jack? My home is here. My work is here. My father needs me.”

He kissed her hair again, his hand stroking her nape. “You have a home and a life. I don’t have a home, and I’ve lost the only life I know. If you were willing, Gwen, I would like to share yours. I don’t know exactly how that would work. We would have to decide that for ourselves. Together.”

It sounded too good to be true. “We are courting then?” she asked. 

“If that’s what you need,” he confirmed. “Courting, and then, when you are ready, betrothed.”

“If we can decide,” she cautioned. “If we are both happy to go ahead.”

“I will be happy with whatever makes you happy,” he assured her. “But shall I tell you what I have been thinking our life might be like?”

She nodded. This was probably a dream or a mistake, and tomorrow or the next day it would all fall apart. In the meantime, she would enjoy it.

“I’d like you not to have to work so hard,” he said. “Is it like this all the time, or is it the season? Have you thought of taking on another person?” 

Gwen shrugged. Thought of it over and over, and done her budgets to see if she could make it work. “The trouble is that I am a woman,” she pointed out. “Men do not want to work for a woman, but they might pretend just to get a job. Besides, would a stranger treat my father with respect? And if I choose the wrong person, might they take my customers and set up on their own? The work is there. We used to support three farriers—my father, Evan, and an apprentice, with me helping out when things were busy. We had a cook and a housemaid, too. But Evan left and the farrier across the river stole our apprentice, and Da…” she shrugged helplessly. “On my own and with Da to care for, it is all I can do to earn enough to pay our bills.”

“I can provide money to take a chance on an assistant,” Jack told her. “I’ve won a few prizes and found a bit of abandoned treasure over the years, and most of the money has been invested. We could afford to hire one man to start with and then take on an apprentice when business picks up. You’d have to interview the applicants, but I could sit there and look grim. You would be in charge, Gwen, never doubt it. But I can make sure they respect you and your father.

She twisted so she could look up into his eyes. That could actually work!

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Spotlight on The Raven’s Last Bet and a bonus book

The Raven’s Last Bet
By Cerise DeLand

She won’t be sold into marriage.
He won’t wed her for any amount of money. Only love.
If he can just figure out a way!

Harry Seymour arrives home from years of fighting abroad to learn he must clean up the family mess. His father demands Harry honor a deal he made with his best friend for Harry to marry the man’s daughter…for money.
Harry, who’s loved Sara Fleming since she was four, has no problem marrying her. He never did, even when she was denied him because she was the Whiskey King’s daughter.
But he won’t wed her for money.
Sara cannot accept the bargain her father made. She’s already left two men at the altar because she didn’t love either one. And if she can’t wed Harry for love, she’ll marry no one. But she wagers she’ll walk away a spinster…and happy if Harry will do her the favor of ruining her.
It’s a bet Harry can’t refuse.
Can he?
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Bonus Book!

LORD STANTON’S SHOCKING SEASIDE HONEYMOON

She is so wrong for him.
Miss Josephine Meadows is so young. In love with life. His accountant in his work for Whitehall. Her father’s heir to his trading company—and his espionage network.
Lord Stanton cannot resist marrying her. But to ensure Wellington defeats Napoleon, they must save one of Josephine’s agents.
Far from home, amidst a horrific storm, Stanton discovers that his new bride loves him dearly.
Can he truly be so right for her?
And she for him?

 

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Setting the scene in WIP Wednesday

This week’s excerpt is the start of Love in Its Season, my novella for this year’s Bluestocking Belles with Friends collection.

The farrier plied his business from a barn on the outskirts of the lower town. It was not a particularly defensable position, Jack noted as he led the two horses through the open gate. Too open, with access not only from the road, but from the lane that ran beside the neat cottage where the farrier presumably lived, and across the fields behind the barn.

But Jack was in peaceful England, not Spain or France or Mauritius or the Indies or any of the other far flung lands to which King George has sent his soldiers. Of which Jack was no longer one, and if he wasn’t Captain Jack Wrath of His Majesties 12th Lancers, who was he?

One of the horses took advantage of Jack’s inattention to pull sharply away to the right, towards a tub planted with peppermint and chamomile. Jack jerked on the lead rein, and received a hurt look from the other beast, Paul Gibson’s patient mount. However, his own recalcitrant gelding fell back into line.

Jack led them past the dusty curricle that stood outside the barn, its shaft empty, then slowed his steps as raised voices in the barn hinted at an altercation. He sped up again when he caught the words.

“I’ll have the constable on him. The man is mad. Locked up, that’s what he should be.” A man’s voice in the crisp accent of the aristocracy, the nasal tones shrill with anger.

“I’ll be giving you locked up!” That voice was deeper and rougher, with hints of a Welsh lilt overlaying the Cheshire vowels.

Jack hesitated. What was he getting himself into?

“Father, no!” A woman’s voice, sharp with fear.

“Keep him back,” the aristocrat sneered, “or I’ll shoot him like the mad dog he is.”

“He was only coming to my aid, my lord,” the woman protested. “You cannot blame a father for defending his daughter.”

Jack reached the open doors as the aristocrat hissed, “You need to learn your place, woman.”

“What is going on here?” Jack demanded, crisping his own pronunciation into a counterfeit of his so called betters.

What he saw had him dropping the reins and moving forward. This part of the barn had been divided off as a farrier’s workshop. The space was occupied by three people and two horses, the latter a pair of bays that Jack immediately characterised as more showy than sound.

The aristocrat was much as expected: tall, but with too much flesh for his height. Overdressed for the occasion, with lace at his neck and cuffs, and a coat the colour of squashed strawberries over a maroon waistcoat heavily embroidered in gold. Gold tassels on his boots, too, and gems glinting from his cravat, his fobs, and his rings.

It was the gun that had Jack moving. It was wavering between the two other people in the barn, and the hand that held it was shaking. The pompous lord was scared out of his mind.

The woman stood at bay, her hands held out palms backward as if to hold back the man behind her. She was nearly as tall as the lordling—nearly as tall as Jack himself. Muscular, too, with powerful shoulders. Her dark hair, curled like a crown on her head, proudly proclaimed she was a woman. He would have known anyway. Even in an old shapeless coat, men’s trousers, and a leather apron was so exquisitely female that Jack’s mouth dried. Her gaze met Jack’s, her dark eyes full of defiance, fear and anger.

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Spotlight on A Curio for the Count

A Curio for the Count

By Elizabeth Ellen Carter

Raised as an Englishman, Armand Danger, Comte de Ytres, is troubled by a dream from his childhood that leaves him speculating on his French past.

He is convinced an elaborate clock belonging to his late father, executed in the French Revolution, holds the answers he seeks.

Miss Jade Bridges works as a valuer in her family’s London antiques shop and auction house. One day she receives mysterious letter from an anonymous client willing to pay any price for a very specific statue clock.

While in pursuit of the clock, Jade and Armand meet and there’s immediate attraction. But how can it amount to anything when they are rivals for the very same object?

As the couple grow closer and attraction deepens, they agree to join forces to find the timepiece together.

Then an antiques dealer is killed. It appears someone else is willing to extract a fatal price to possess the clock for themselves.

What is it about this curio for the count that someone is willing to commit murder for it?

Release date 19th January: https://www.amazon.com/Curio-Count-Gems-London-Book-ebook/dp/B0BQ4C6DHK

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First look at a character on WIP Wednesday

This is an excerpt from Zara’s Locket, my story in Belles & Beaux, which is being published tomorrow. It squeaks in as a work-in-progress on a technicality, being finished but not yet distributed to readers. But meet my heroine, anyway.

Someone had trashed the small windowless room the Strickland household provided for the comfort of their governesses.

At first, Zahrah was inclined to blame her charges. The three children currently consigned to her care were hell-spawn—encouraged in their defiant disobedience by parents who chose to believe them angels, and to ignore any evidence to the contrary.

However, even their most strenuous efforts to chase her away had resulted in nothing worse than frogs in her shoes, mud puddles in her bed, and a bucket of slops balanced on a door. And their behavior had improved since she began telling them stories at bedtime on any day in which they had all three attended their lessons and displayed the manners they had formerly trotted out only with their parents and their older brothers and sisters.

At the moment, with Christmas approaching, she had an extra carrot to offer them. The Strickland family did not decorate for Christmas, but Zahrah had asked and received permission to decorate the nursery and schoolroom, and the children were looking forward to it, and so was Zahrah. It would make up for not being with those she loved for the festival.

Zahrah sorted her way through the mess. Her mirror broken. Ink thrown onto a watercolor she had tacked to the wall. Her clothes not just tossed around, but ripped apart. Worse still, pages torn from her few personal books and other pages defaced with splotches of ink.

This was not the children. They lacked the strength for such destruction. And they didn’t, she was certain, hide this degree of spite.

It could have been a servant, she supposed. They were stand-offish and unpleasant, but none hated her, or had cause to.

The wooden box her brother had made to give her on her last birthday lay in pieces, its contents gone, or hidden in the clutter, perhaps. The bits and pieces were mostly worthless to someone else. Cheap pieces of jeweler suitable for a governess, most of them with happy memories of the person who gave them to her, or the occasion on which she bought them. The latest letter from her mother, set aside for a rereading. A button that she had not yet had time to sew on a cuff.

And her locket. That was the one item she hated to lose. Her father had commissioned it for her sixteenth birthday, and she had worn it daily ever since. She had only taken it off because the catch had been broken in the scuffle with Gerard Strickland.

The oldest Strickland son had been brooding for the past two weeks, ever since his ambush on her had resulted in a threat to his person, backed up by the knife she always carried. Yes, and he had been muttering threats when none of the other Stricklands were around to hear.

She had taken no notice. What could he do, after all?

Well. Now she knew.

For more about the stories in Belles & Beaux, and for preorder links, see the project page on the Bluestocking Belles website.

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Tea with Simon

Simon Marshall was nervous. He had drawn several designs to show the Duke and Duchess of Winshire, and now he was to present them. They were ordering a signet ring to mark the sixteenth birthday of the duke’s nephew, and Simon had made hundreds, perhaps thousands, or rings, many of them signets. The status of the clients, however, made this one of his most important jobs ever.

Not as important as the locket the duke’s dearest friend had commissioned for another sixteenth birthday some eight years ago. That locket, rescued from a thief, had reunited him with Zara, his darling wife of just a few months.

Zara stood somewhat in the relation of a godchild to the duke, and had assured him that the august couple were very nice. He knew that. He had met them at his wedding and again when they summoned him to Winshire House to commission the ring.

She also said his designs were magnificent. She was prejudiced in his favour, and thought everything he made to be beautiful. They were acceptable. Any one of them would work to make both an attractive ring and a clear and identifiable impression in wax—a mark that signified Elias, Lord Bentham, the youth who would receive the ring.

He held the courtesy title of viscount, as heir to the Earl of Lechton, would one day succeed to his father’s title and wear the ring that now graced the earl’s finger. “Long may that day be in coming,” the duchess had said. “In the meanwhile, my husband’s family has formed the habit of gifting their sons a signet ring when they turn sixteen.”

“A tradition,” the duke added, giving his wife a look full of affection, “that we will in future extend to daughters, at my duchess’s behest.”

Simon had asked a few questions about the Lechton coat of arms and the young recipient’s interests.

Dozens of drawings had been narrowed down to three designs. One contained the elements of the Lechton heraldic symbols that came from the Bentham title: a sword and a stylised fish. One was a representation of a star cluster, since Bentham had a passion for astrology. And one combined the two: a star crossed by a sword.

As the butler announced him, he took a deep breath and stepped into a pretty parlour, tastefully furnished, where the duke and duchess greeted him with warm smiles.

The duchess invited him to sit. The duke asked after his wife. The duchess poured him a cup of tea. Simon found himself relaxing.

Then the duke gestured to the folder Simon had put on the table before him. “Your designs?” His Grace asked. “Would you like to explain them to us, Mr Marshall?”

“No, Your Grace,” Simon said, then blushed at the look of surprise on the duke’s face and explained. “I believe, Your Grace, that if they need to be explained, they are not good enough.”

The duke nodded, and the duchess smiled. “That makes perfect sense, Mr Marshall. My husband and I shall look at what you have brought us, then, while you serve yourself one of Fournier’s little cakes and enjoy it with your tea.”

Simon Marshall is the hero of Zara’s Locket, my story in the new Bluestocking Belles collection, Belles & Beaux. Belles & Beaux is on preorder at the sale price of 99c, and is published next week. Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles website.

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Spotlight on Room at the Inn and Zara’s Locket in Belles & Beaux

Room at the Inn: By Caroline Warfield

A fatherless child requires a village to care for it, provided they have room in their hearts. When a cold-hearted baroness makes it impossible for the tenants of Little Hocking to care for one little boy, the Honorable Declan Alworth steps up to make room in his heart and his home for the little treasure. How can the vicar’s niece, Maera Willis, resist either one of them?

My comments: I certainly couldn’t resist them. I have never read a story by Caroline where I didn’t love both the heroine and the hero. This hero is a particularly lovely one. Caroline has a deft touch with a thoroughly satisfying short story, and Room at the Inn is a gem.

Zara’s Locket: By Jude Knight

A run-in with the adult son of the household leads to dismissal for governess Zahrah ibnit Yousef, or Zara MacLaren as the household knows her. Turned out on a Christmas Eve, her circumstances go from bad to worse when she is robbed and then arrested.

Goldsmith and jeweler Simon Marshall recognizes the locket a young aristocrat tries to sell, and it leads him on a hunt for Zara, the friend of his childhood. He finds her. He finds trouble, too, and joins her in her incarceration.

They need a Christmas miracle. It will take a pair of charitable gaolers, a little Christmas cheer, and the timely intervention of family to bring this story to a happy ending.

No comment on this one. You’ll have to read it and decide for yourself.

Find out more

Read all about the set on the Bluestocking Belles website, and preorder at the special prerelease price.

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Spotlight on Flowers for His Lady and An Angel’s Promise in Belles & Beaux

Flowers for His Lady: By Alina K. Field

Shamed into spinsterhood by a fall from grace years earlier, Eleanor Gurnwood has found a home for herself in the tiny village of Upper Upton, and a quirky, sometimes annoying family in the villagers she’s been serving as her vicar-brother’s minion. Now, with his rising career, she’s faced with a choice: succumb to his pressure to keep house for him elsewhere or stay on in genteel poverty with her new “family”.

For now, she has only one goal in sight: to make this year’s Christmas service beautiful for the parishioners of St. Tancred’s. Until the Christmas eve when a man from her past rides in on a white horse.

Major Sir Bramwell Huxley, late of his Majesty’s 95th Foot, has ventured on one last mission, a quest for a Christmas miracle: finding the lady he abandoned before leaving for Waterloo.

My comments:

I love second-chance love stories, and Alina has given us a delightful one. The device of an interfering family member who secretly intercepts messages is managed here with a deft hand. No long drawn-out disbelief once the machinations are disclosed. And the romantic gesture that Bram makes to win his loved one warmed my heart. I’m sure it will warm yours.

An Angel’s Promise: By Rue Allyn

Artis MacKai might be only a little girl, but she is not going to let a blizzard, wolves, or a deadly enemy stop her from rescuing the stolen mare and foal who are the hope of her family. It will take the spirits of her parents, a determined boy, and her desperate brother to save her.

My comments:

True love never dies in this little story by Rue Allyn. The love story of Artis’s parents doesn’t end when they are foully murdered. Nor does their love for their children. Artis and the boy she finds in the blizzard engaged my sympathy from the first. This story was unexpected, since the heroine was only eight, but it truly deserves its place in this set. It is a heartwarming tale of love, courage, and determination. And just long enough to read with a cup of coffee and a piece of Christmas cake.

Find out more

Read all about the set on the Bluestocking Belles website, and preorder at the special prerelease price.

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Tea with Zahrah

The Duchess of Winshire brought the bride a cup of tea. The various ladies of the family, the dresser who attended Sophia, her daughter-in-law, and her own dresser, had been hovering over the poor dear for hours, and she must be parched.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Zahrah said, gratefully.

“Aunt Eleanor to you, my dear,” the duchess insisted. Zahrah was the daughter of James’s personal steward and best friend, Yousef ibn Achmed, who was like a brother to him. Yousef’s wife, Patience, had raised the duke’s younger children after the death of his wife, and was like a sister to him. It seemed to Eleanor that Zahrah was a niece, or as good as.

Ruth, James’s third daughter and the eldest of the two who had accompanied him to England, hurried over with a towel and placed it over Zahrah’s elegant silk undergarments, tucking it into the top of the corset. “In case you drip,” she said.

Eleanor’s dear girls, Matilda, Jessica, and Frances, chorused, “Ladies do not drip.”

Sophia sent Eleanor a twinkling smile, recognising the phrase as one Eleanor had often used when her little charges had come to take teas with her. Sophia had been part of some of those lessons. She had been Eleanor’s goddaughter long before she married James’s eldest son, also called James.

Rosemary, James’s fourth daughter, carried over a plate with a couple of biscuits. “We cannot have you fainting at the church,” she said.

With the bride temporarily disengaged from preparations, everyone took the opportunity to pause for refreshments. The next step was the gown, which was hanging on the dressing screen, ready to go over the bride’s head and be fastened in place.

“The gown is beautiful, and you shall look lovely in it, Zahrah,” Eleanor told the bride, and the bride’s mother beamed, as if the complement was addressed to her.

“Even better,” Patience said, ever the governess, “she is marrying a good man.” Everyone in the room nodded. Simon Marshall was a fine jeweller, a successful businessman, and a gentleman in his demeanour and behaviour. But most of all, he was a good man.

Eleanor clasped her hands together and beamed around the room. The marriage had all the signs of being an excellent one. Eleanor did love a happy ending.

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This is a short scene that belongs with Zara’s Locket, my contribution to Belles & Beaux, the new Bluestocking Belles collection that is out next month. I say with, not in. It would be a step out of the story if it had been included there. Besides, I only wrote it a minute ago. But such is the way the imagination works. My characters have lives outside of the words that actually reach the page. If you’d like to know more about this story and the other seven delightful tales that make up the new collection, take a look at: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/belles-beaux/