Bluestocking Belles

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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/

Help Caroline promote this book and be entered to win a prize package.

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.

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Sunday Spotlight on Before I Found You

A quest for a title. An encounter with a stranger. Will she choose love?

 

Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady. But when a handsome stranger crosses her path at a Valentine’s Day ball, her obsession with titles dims. Might love be enough?

Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball. He has a new ship to run, passengers to book, and cargo to deliver. But one look into a young lady’s beautiful hazel eyes, and he becomes lost. Does love at first sight really exist?

Their paths continue to cross until they are both stranded in Fenwick on Sea. Their growing connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s childish quest for a title at all cost. But what if the cost includes love?

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4XDrva

Excerpt

She was not sure what to expect. Being outside alone with a man she did not know was a bold move. If she needed reinforcements, she could easily call out for help, but that would hardly do her reputation any good. It had barely recovered from her last scheme. Society’s memory was short, remembering scandals only until something new came along for them to gossip about—or until something happened to remind them. She couldn’t afford to give them new fodder to chew on.

She could not resist. Miranda took the remaining few steps until she stood next to him, and he rose to his full height, his hair tousled by the evening breeze. She suppressed the urge to push back the lock of hair across his brow that refused to stay in place. Oh my, but the man was tall!

Miranda did not even realize she offered him her hand until he leaned down and kissed the air between her knuckles. His fingers were warm even through the silk of her gloves. How would they feel if her hand was bare? Good heavens! What was coming over her?

“Mademoiselle,” he whispered in a husky French accent, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. His voice was utterly divine!

“Miranda,” she said offering only her first name. It was hardly appropriate, but she did not wish to see his disinterest when he learned she was a “Miss” and not a “Lady”.

Although it might not matter. Many gentlemen present this evening were on the lookout for a well-dowered heiress to enrich their estate. The man before her could be one of them. Even though she could not attach “lady” to her name, she was still wealthy in her own right… or would be when she finally wed.

Love had nothing to do with what really mattered in life—marriage to a husband within the nobility, one with enough wealth to keep her and her children in luxury. Not for her a boring life as a country matron, with nothing to do or to talk about beyond counting sheets and breeding children. She wanted a glittering life as a Society hostess! It would be an adventure. Or so she had always thought, and she would not allow her heart to rule her head.

She bit her bottom lip before she realized she had done so. The man before her could not know it was an automatic reaction when she was worried. She watched his brow arch in surprise before a grin turned up at the corner of his lips.

“Jasper,” he finally replied in return, examining her reaction to his touch. “The evening has become brighter now that you have joined me for a breath of fresh air. Look how the stars above beam in approval that they may gaze down upon you.”

Miranda’s lips twitched at the compliment. Very nice, though she sensed that he used this phrase often. She realized he still held her fingertips and she reluctantly pulled them away before waving her hand towards the crowd inside.

Meet Sherry Ewing:

 

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A 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 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!

Website & Books: www.SherryEwing.com

Bluestocking Belles: http://bluestockingbelles.net/

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Animal companions on WIP Wednesday

This week’s excerpt from Lord Cuckoo Comes Home could also be called “courting with monkey”. It’s from my next novella for the Bluestocking Belles. If you have an animal companion in one of your stories, please add an excerpt in the comments.

Chloe took his hand and allowed him to aid her balance as she climbed up to the seat. “I hope you don’t mind, Lord Dom. I had to leave Rosario at home this morning while I was at Lady Seahaven’s writing thank-you letters, since the schoolroom party were not home to entertain her. Aunt Swithin promised to take her out and let her play in the garden, but she forgot, so the poor beast was shut in her cage from the time I left until I got home.”

Lord Dom went around to his side of the curricle, took his own seat, and held out his hand for Rosario to shake, distracting the monkey from her focus on the boy with the horses. “You are very welcome, Sister Rosario.” He grinned at Chloe. “She adds a certain air of adventure to our outings, do you not think?”

Chloe blushed at the sly reference to Rosario’s escapades. Earlier in the week, she had climbed a tree in Tower Gardens and refused to come down until Lord Dom had borrowed a ladder from the gardeners’ shed, whereupon she had climbed down the other side of the tree. If Emma and Merry had not cornered her, she would have been up another before Chloe could have reached her.

Two days ago, she had stolen an ice from a passing waiter, tasted it, then thrown it with unerring accuracy at the back of the waiter’s retreating head. Lord Dom had soothed the man’s irritation with a large gratuity.

Then there was the concert, where Rosario conceived a passion for the brooch on the hat of the dowager in the next row, and reached out to snatch it when Chloe became lost in the music. Had it not been for Lord Dom’s quick action—the monkey’s hand was within an inch of the target when he jerked her back by her leash—the ensuing apologies for Rosario’s complaints would have been for a much worse offence.

“I will keep tight hold of her today,” Chloe promised.

“Or I will,” Lord Dom agreed. His smile warmed away her embarrassment. “She does not mean to cause mischief, I know. We will endeavor to keep her out of trouble, you and I.”

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Brothers on WIP Wednesday

Or sisters. Sisters would be fine. Share an excerpt that features a brother or sister or similar age cousin to your hero or heroine. I’m just finishing my beta draft for the next Bluestocking Belles box set, and I have a rather lovely brother. Awkward, much? Yes, quite a bit. But he means well. In the excerpt below, he decides a family connection will do a better job of presenting his sister than he can.

Chloe changed the subject. “I am visiting Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters tomorrow morning. Aunt Swithin, will you come with me? I can go with my maid, if you prefer.”

Martin surprised her. “I will escort you, Chloe. I wish to pay my respects to Lady Seahaven, and I should visit our sisters.”

“They will be thrilled, Martin.” Mama had given her second husband, the Earl of Seahaven, two daughters, Emma and Merry. They had remained with the Earl of Seahaven when Mama died, and Uncle Swithin insisted on Chloe being returned to her brother’s household.

Chloe had kept in touch in the intervening years, but Martin had only met his half-sisters after Uncle Swithin’s death.

“Lady Dorothy was telling me about their ball, Chloe, and I had an idea. What do you think of us asking Lady Seahaven to include you as one of her protégées?”

“She has been very kind about including me in when she and her step-daughters make visits,” Chloe observed. Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters had started with some personal connections and a few recommendations from relatives, and had brokered them into introductions to most of York Society.

“Precisely,” Martin agreed. “They know many more people than we do, and their ball will be much better attended than any entertainment I could put on for you. But I would not wish you to be neglected in such a big crowd of sisters.”

Aunt Swithin cackled. “Only three sisters that count, Martin. Lady Seahaven is giving the ball for the Seahaven Diamonds, and quite right, too. Next to them, no one will notice that our Chloe, nor any other female, either.”

“Aunt Swithin,” Martin protested, “Chloe would make a fine match for any gentleman of discernment.”

“Josepha and the twins can only marry one man apiece,” Chloe pointed out, though privately she agreed with Aunt Swithin’s assessment. Short and dumpy as she was, she suffered by comparison to the four Bigglesworth sisters who were her age and older, but the three younger girls would have been reigning beauties even in a London Season.

They had been dubbed the Seahaven Diamonds after their first public appearance in York, and the sooner they selected from among their swarming suitors, the better all the other marriageable ladies in York would like it.

“Besides, Aunt Swithin, it isn’t just about the ball. If Lady Seahaven agrees to sponsor me, hostesses who are inviting the Seahavens will include me in their invitations. I will have many more opportunities to meet eligible gentlemen.” And much good it might do me, for I shall still be unfashionably plump, two years past twenty, and far too opinionated for most gentlemen.

Martin nodded. “That is what I thought. I shall ask Lady Seahaven, then, shall I? I will, of course, offer her the money I planned to spend on a party of some kind. Do you think that would be the right thing to do?”

Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”

After dinner, he showed Chloe some books and trinkets he had brought for the little girls, including some for Lady Seahaven’s little Jane, who was only three. “If I am giving gifts to our sisters, I can’t leave the baby out,” he said.

Sometimes, Chloe was quite hopeful that, out from under Uncle Swithin’s shadow, Martin was becoming almost human.

When they saw her the next day, Lady Seahaven was delighted to take Chloe under her wing, “Though it seems silly for me to be your sponsor, Miss Tavistock, when you and I are the same age. At the very least, you must call me Patience, as your step-sisters do. When they are not calling me ‘Mama’ to tease me.”

She objected when Martin offered to help finance the ball, “and any other expenses you incurr by allowing Chloe to join you.”

“But, Lord Tavistock, your sister is part of the family. I cannot think it proper to charge you a fee.”

“The fact is, Lady Seahaven, that I am at a standstill,” Martin explained. “Patience and I were tutored at home, as you know, and our guardian was not a warm man. Nor were those social connections he did maintain at the right social level for a viscount’s sister. Aunt Swithin is as much out of here depth as I am, and besides, grows more peculiar by the day.” As Patience could see for herself, since Aunt Swithin had barely said good morning to her hostess before announcing that she would go and find Bess, who did not have cotton wool between her ears.

Martin leaned forward in his seat, gifting Patience with a winning smile. “If you will treat Chloe as one of your own flock, I am persuaded she will fare much better than my aunt and I could have managed on our own. I would not think of putting a monetary value on the advantage to Chloe of your sponsorship, compared to the poor launch I would have made of it. You are doing me an enormous favour, and all I can say is thank you. But I have budgeted for a season for Chloe, and it is only fair that the money I was going to spend doing a poor job should be given to you to help you do a far better one.”

Chloe was impressed by the speech, and so was Doro, who commented, “That is reasonable, Patience. Lord Tavistock’s money added to ours will allow us to make more of an impression than either of us could manage on our own.”

That settled, Martin was carried off to the schoolroom by an ecstatic pair of schoolgirls. At twelve and ten, and used to a house full of women, Emma and Merry were awed and fascinated by their adult brother.

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Rescues, Fights, and Other Action Scenes

Action scenes make reading interesting, as long as they make sense. I tend to act things out to see if they would work, which must be hilarious to any invisible bystanders. This week’s excerpt is from the novella I have to have done within the next week. My hero notices a woman being accosted and realises that it is someone he knows. If you have an action scene to share, please pop it in the comments.

He broke into a run. He would intervene to help any woman, but he’d seen that redingote before. Some primitive part of him had no doubt of the identification. Mine! it growled, and when one of the insolent tormenters dared to put a hand on Miss Tavistock’s arm, grinning at his companions, Dom had to fight back a red fog of rage.

Fighting eight men might feed the possessive beast, and he was confident they’d all walk away bleeding. But he couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t overwhelm him in the end, and then what would happen to Miss Tavistock?

He nudged one of the men out of his way and stepped into the circle, already talking, waving the pin he’d just pulled from his cravat. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not think it would take me so long. I found it, though.” He waved the pin with one hand and knocked the offensive hand from Miss Tavistock’s arm with the other, making it look purely incidental to taking her hand inside his elbow.

“When I suggested you stroll ahead, my dear lady, I did not intend you to take the shortcut to your brother’s home. Though I suppose we must hurry. Lord Tavistock will be sending out the servants to find you, and he may never let me escort you again if he finds I allowed you to step ahead of me.”

Several of the men stepped backward when he called Miss Tavistock ‘lady’, which is why he had done it. They fell further back when he mentioned Lord Tavistock. Dom could deal with the rest. Grooms, by the look of them. He raised a single brow as he pretended to notice them for the first time?

“Do you know these persons, my lady?” he asked, allowing his voice to drip doubt as thick as treacle.

“No, Lord Finchley, I do not,” Chloe replied. “I was just declaring my disinterest in any acquaintance.” Clever girl. Dropping his first name to give him a spurious title had several more of the grooms slinking back into their mews.

Dom allowed the other eyebrow to drift upwards as he fixed the ringleader with a glare. “You made a mistake,” he told the man. “Don’t compound it.”

But there’s alway at least one idiot. The man took a swing at him, just as one of the other grooms exclaimed, “Here, that’s Cap’n Cuckoo. Leave ’im be, Ted. That’s Do-or-Die Cuckoo, that is!”

The warning came too late for the idiot, whose blow had missed its target when Dom swayed to one side. The fist came in handy for tugging said idiot away from a collision with Miss Tolliver, which would have been a piece of impertinence too far.

Idiot stumbled a few feet away, propelled by the force of his missed swing, and then roared as he caught himself and turned back towards his tormentor. Oh dear. A bull-brain. The man who had recognised Dom was shouting further warnings at Idiot, who ignored him.

“Would you be kind enough to step to the side of the lane?” Dom murmured to Miss Tavistock, who further showed her intelligence by immediate compliance. She was out of the way just in time. Bull Idiot charged, both fist swinging. Again, Dom shifted out of the way, but this time, he stuck out a booted foot, so Bull Idiot hurtled into the dust of the alley.

He rose again, still roaring. In Dom’s peripheral vision, a few of the remaining bystanders clenched their fists and hunched forward. Those on one side halted at a few words from Miss Tavistock. On the other by the groom who’d called Dom by his old army nickname interposed himself between the would-be assailants and the battle.

Dom was, for a few moments, too busy to pay any more attention to those who were watching, as he allowed Bull Idiot a glancing blow so Dom could get close enough to finish the fight. A kick to the family jewels, a fist to the chin as Bull Idiot bent in half, the side of the hand to the back of the neck as he went down.

Dom stepped over the groaning man and offered his arm to Miss Tavistock. “Shall we continue our walk, my lady?”

 

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Relatives on WIP Wednesday

I do like writing about relationships within families. One can tell a lot about a character by looking at how they cope with the family they came from. This week’s WIP Wednesday is about relatives, and my excerpt is from the novella I’m writing for the next Bluestocking Belles’ box set.

Martin kept his scold till Doro had exclaimed her relief and left in their carriage, which Martin insisted on having prepared for her. Then Chloe had to listen to a long lecture on irresponsible behaviour, putting herself in danger, disobeying the head of her family whose responsibility it was to protect her, and (for good measure) keeping inappropriate pets.

She found it easy to promise to attend no more reform meetings. The one speaker she had heard had been disappointing, and while the riot had been an adventure, she did not need Martin to point out that she was lucky Lord Robin had been concerned enough to look for her. Indeed, his general and vague description of the harms that may have befallen her were nothing to the gruesome horrors she had imagined on her own.

He was still seething when they met for dinner, when Aunt Swithin distracted Martin’s attention by lamenting that she had missed the meeting. “I was so looking forward to it, dear Martin,” she told him, blissfully oblivious to his shocked horror, “but I suffered an upset to my digestion, so I told the girls to go ahead without me. Did you have an interesting time, Chloe?”

Chloe managed not to laugh, though after one glance at Martin’s face she had to keep her eyes on her plate. “I only heard the one speaker, Aunt Swithin. Mr Thomas, whose articles you liked so much when I read them to you. I’m afraid he writes much better than he speaks. After that the meeting broke up and Doro and I came home.”

Another swift glance at Martin almost overcame her gravity.

“Aunt Swithin? Are you telling me you approve of these revolutionaries? I cannot believe it. What would Uncle say?”

“Not revolutionaries, dear,” Aunt Swithin insisted. “I would never support revolution. Those poor dear children in France! But reform, yes. The government is trying to bully the people instead of listening, and it is not nice, dear. Nobody likes a bully.”

Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again. Chloe waited for him to scold Aunt Swithin as he had her, but instead, he changed the subject. “Chloe is expecting a gentleman caller tomorrow, Aunt Swithin. Lord Robert Finchley escorted Chloe home from the meeting, and asked to call again.”

“Finchley,” Aunt Swithin said, and then repeated it. “Finchley. Ah, yes. The Marquess of Pevenwood’s third son.” Aunt Swithin had taken her responsibilities as the female educator of a young viscount to include a devotion to memorising Debretts. She was also, even under the harsh rule of her husband, addicted to the gossip news sheets, entering into a conspiracy with Cook to read them in the kitchen when Uncle Swithin was out spreading gloom and virtue around the neighbourhood. She showed the fruits of that research in her next remark. “The one they call Lord Cuckoo, because everyone knows the Duke of Haverford laid him Pevenwood’s nest. A soldier, is he not? Does he wear a uniform? A man looks so delightful in a uniform. Does Lord Cuckoo have money, though, Chloe? One cannot imagine that Pevenwood left him any, under the circumstances.”

Poor Lord Robin. Chloe could do nothing about his tragic origins, but she could speak up for his to some degree. “Lord Robin—he prefers to be called Lord Robin, not Lord Robert,” and definitely not Lord Cuckoo, which sounded like a cruel schoolboy joke. “Lord Robin has left the army. I do not know what he plans for his future, nor do I know how much money he has. It is surely none of my business, Aunt Swithin.”

“Only if you wish to marry him, my dove. Money does not buy happiness, it is true. But one is able to be miserable in some degree of comfort. I always wished that Swithin had more money.”

“Aunt Swithin,” Martin protested. “Uncle Swithin was a very—” his pause for thought was telling. “Upright man,” he concluded.

“He never wore a uniform though,” Aunt Swithin complained. “I do love a man in a uniform.”

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Pets on WIP Wednesday

Or perhaps animal companions is a better word, since if you want to share an excerpt in the comments, any animal is welcome. Mine is from the new story I’m writing for the next Bluestocking Belles collection.

The monkey did not want to stay in the basket. Chloe had to hold down the lid while pretending that nothing untoward was happening, and keeping an expression of polite interest on her face to convince those around her that she was listening to the speaker.

She didn’t dare look at Doro. Her friend had her eyes focused forward with a determination belied by her dancing eyes and the occasional tremble of her lips. If they met one another’s eyes, they would collapse into giggles as if they were twelve or thirteen again, and sharing a schoolroom.

Chloe needed to not think about Rosario the monkey or Doro’s amusement. Which meant, of course, that was all she could think about. The lecture might have helped, but the man currently currently droning on about the iniquities of the Habeas Corpus Act was too boring to actually make any sense.

The lid kicked under her hand. She bent over to rap it with her knuckles, just as the audience started clapping. The sudden roar of sound, of course, made Pepper even more desperate to get out of the basket.

Doro leaned closer and hissed out of the side of her mouth, “I did suggest the reform meeting might not be the best place for a monkey.”

“I couldn’t leave him behind,” Chloe protested. “Martin threatened to wring his neck when he caught him.”

Doro’s amusement bubbled out in a gurgle. “Rosario did steal Lord Tavistock’s cravat pin,” she pointed out.

It was true, but not the whole truth. In the two weeks since Chloe rescued Rosario from a mob of villagers, she had stolen several things a day, bringing them all to Chloe with every expectation of approval.

The villagers had told Martin, Chloe’s brother, the Viscount Tavistock, that the original owner was in prison awaiting trial for theft.

A cravat pin, two pair of cuff links, a cross belonging to cook, a pair of Chloe’s earrings, one jewelled buckle from a shoe, and a handful of other small objects witnessed to the thief’s small hairy accomplice.

“He will calm down by the time I am home,” Chloe assured Doro, hoping it was true.

The next speaker had risen, and someone behind demanded that the ladies be silent. Chloe looked around and winced an apology at the large man glaring from the next row of seats.

Two rows behind him, a fair-haired gentleman caught her gaze and winked one twinkling hazel eye.

The speaker, a little man with a bristling beard and burning eyes, began his oration. Boredom was not going to be an issue. A voice that was surely too large for the man’s body boomed through the room, calling for them to protest the iniquities under which the workers suffered. “I love the King as much as anyone,” he claimed, at full shout, “but his son plays at building pleasure palaces while his government oppresses his people and drives us into the workhouse.”

At the man’s rant, Rosario threw herself against the lid with renewed  determination, so that the basket rocked despite Chloe’s attempt to keep it still.

Behind them, someone booed. The speaker shouted him down, but a jeer came from another corner. Then the first missile flew, straight past Chloe’s head.

Chloe ducked and lost hold of the lid of the basket. Rosario shot out, into the crowd, yabbering her distress.

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Spotlight on Ravishing Camille

Pierce Hanniford returns to England after tripling his fortune in China. He’s come for business. Not pleasure. And definitely not for love.

Camille Bereston decided years ago that Pierce was not for her. He’s her step-brother, famous, restless, a savvy Shanghai taipan and a menace…to her heart.

She has ambitions to marry. Funny that none of her candidates seems good enough.

Yet Camille excites him as no woman ever has and he must have her, no matter the cost.

But should she take an older, experienced rogue as her lover…and should she claim him forever as her only love?

If you love swoon-worthy historical romance, starring endearing heroes, sassy heroines and a family of irresistible charmers, this book is for you!  Buy RAVISHING CAMILLE to begin your journey!

Amazon  – Amazon Affiliate  – KOBO – B&N  – iTunes: 

 

RAVISHING CAMILLE is the fifth book in THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS series but can also be read as a standalone novel.

Book 1: Wild Lily (Lily and Julian)

Book 2: Daring Widow (Marianne and Remy)

Book 3: Sweet Siren (Liv and Killian)

Book 4: Scandalous Heiress (Ada and Victor)

Book 5: Ravishing Camille (Camille and Pierce)

Book 6: If You Were the Only Girl in the World (Katrina and Nate)

Book 7: Let Me Call You Sweetheart (Giselle and Dylan)