The Duchess of Haverford, renowned for her progressive views and enlightened mindset, epitomizes a refreshing departure from society expectations. Unlike many of her peers who cling to rigid social positions, she possesses the ability to discern a person’s true worth beyond their title or wealth. Growing up, she was undoubtedly a spirited child, characterized by her openness to embrace people from all walks of life.
Recently, the Duchess found herself drawn to the vibrant atmosphere of a London circulating library. It was there that she had the pleasure of attending an event featuring two distinguished literary figures: Lady Alicia Hartley, celebrated for her captivating prose in “The Lost Dowry,” and J. C. Melrose, whose poignant narrative, “In My Brother’s Shadow,” left a lasting impression on the audience.
The reading, a blend of eloquence and emotion, stirred the Duchess’s admiration for both authors. Impelled by her genuine appreciation for their literary talents, she extended a gracious invitation to join her today for tea, a gesture reflective of her innate inclination to forge connections beyond the confines of societal conventions.
Lady Alicia, with her pen dipped in the ink of romance, wove a tale of love and passion, but with a distinctive twist: her heroines were not damsels in distress awaiting rescue, but formidable figures in their own right, possessing agency and independence rarely seen in the literary landscape of the time.
C. Melrose’s narratives ventured into the realms of war and adventure, where heroes were forged amidst the crucible of conflict and adversity with protagonists, imbued with courage and fortitude, navigated treacherous terrains and faced formidable foes, embodying the timeless virtues of honor and resilience.
“More tea?” Eleanor asked with the pot in her hand.
“You can warm mine.” Alicia smiled brightly and lifted her cup.
“Justin,” Eleanor said as she warmed Alicia’s cup, “you’ve teased me long enough. I still find it difficult to believe that Alicia didn’t know you were a male. I mean, when your work was compared to hers, she assumed you were a woman using initials to hide her identity.”
“He did use initials to veil his identity.” Alicia put down her teacup and placed her hand on the arm of Justin’s chair. “It resulted in a significant misunderstanding that nearly extinguished the spark of attraction between us before it had a chance to ignite.”
Eleanor could see why Alicia is hailed as an exceptional romantic author. The eloquence and emotion in her prose attested to her mastery of the craft.
“I fell in love with her when she bowled me over fleeing my uncle’s office.” Justin’s glaze shifted between his wife and Eleanor. “A scathing review had been published and singled out my book in comparison.”
“Justin was my anchor when I needed one.” Alicia pulled her gaze away from her husband and focused on Eleanor.
“Though I must admit, the brink of disaster was partly of my own making.”
Eleanor, intrigued, placed her teacup on its saucer. “Of your making?”
“Indeed.” Justin’s smile carried a hint of mischief. “You, my dear Alicia, made it quite a challenge. Your incessant harping about J.C. Melrose hardly helped matters.”
Eleanor’s brows creased, puzzled. “What does J.C. Melrose have to do with any of this?”
Justin hesitated for a moment, exchanging a knowing glance with Alicia. “J.C. stands for Justin Caulfield. Melrose was my mother’s maiden name. My editor chose the pen name to avoid any undue influence from my uncle, Isaac Caulfield—”
“The Isaac Caulfield of Caulfield Publishing?” Eleanor’s mouth was agape, her surprise palpable.
“Yes, indeed. Isaac is my uncle,” Justin confirmed. “He actually published my debut story without my knowledge. For me, all that mattered was writing the stories about the men I served with and the situations we were in. It was an opportunity to…” Justin paused.
“Justin’s honored those with whom he served. He had a driving need to tell their story in his way.” Alicia’s eyes shimmered with pride as she looked at her husband.
Eleanor, touched by the revelation, couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Justin’s predicament. “Would you care for something stronger than tea?”
“You are most kind, but no thank you. The success of my first book left me with little choice but to continue using my pen name.”
“Are you either of you writing any new stories? I read a story that reminded me of Lady Alicia’s writing, but it was penned by Ruth A. Casie.” Regretfully, military war stories were not her cup of tea.
“You must be speaking of The Lady and the Flame. When Justin came to do a reading where I live, Sommer-by-the-Sea, I told him the story of Margret’s Miracle. We were touring Sommer Castle at the time. There were two other people who listened to folk tale. Miss Casie contacted me about the story. In the end, I suggested she write the story. She did quite a good job of if.
“Other than that, we haven’t written in some time.” Eleanor focused on Justin. “Uncle Isacc retired and passed the company to us.”
Justin glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. it’s time for us to bid you farewell.”
Eleanor stood. “I’m glad you found each other. Your story is a breathtaking adventure. I am honored and want to thank you for sharing so much with me.”
“Eleanor.” Alicia left her husband’s side and embraced Eleanor. “Thank you for your invitation. We have a long journey ahead of us to Sommer-by-the-Sea.”
Eleanor walked her guests to the door. “I wish you both safe travels. The lesson I learned from your story is a very profound one, the transformative power of understanding, respect, and collaboration.” She hugged Alicia. “Please, you must visit me again.”
The Lady and Her Quill
Lady Alicia Hartley’s head kept telling her to stop loving him, but her heart couldn’t let him go.
“It’s very easy to get involved with [the] character’s feelings in this historical romance. Both are right and wrong, and when they realize that’s when the excitement and adventure really starts.” [Petula, Goodreads, 5 Stars]
Renowned author Lady Alicia Hartley has lost her muse after a bad review. She blames it all on the author JC Melrose. A chance encounter with a handsome, witty Justin Caulfield has her heart racing, and her muse seemingly back. Is he her savior or her worst nightmare?
The recently retired Captain Justin Caulfield is facing his own demons. As gifted author JC Melrose, his stories honor men who died at the hand of one man. His only focus is to avenge their deaths, that is, until he meets and falls in love with Lady Alicia.
The two authors take on a writing challenge based on a story of stolen gold taken from the newspaper headlines all to determine the better writer. While researching the story, Lady Alicia is captured by the thieves’ ringleader. Can Lady Alicia turn this mystery into an award-winning story? Can Justin save his real-life heroine? Can they both overcome their own challenges for a happily ever after?
Buy Link: Kindle Unlimited
An Excerpt from The Lady and Her Quill
A visit to Lady Alicia’s London publisher brings her unpleasant news.
“Lady Alicia.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “You’re early. What a pleasant surprise. Please, be seated.”
“I apologize for my early arrival, but I am eager to speak with you.”
“Are you here alone?” He came to her side and glanced out the door.
“Yes.” She winced at the trace of defiance in her voice. Another social blunder. Beatrice warned her London propriety was different from that at home in Sommer-by-the-Sea. It amazed her that a different world existed three hundred miles south of the village.
A chaperone.
The idea made her teeth itch. Today, Beatrice was otherwise engaged and in truth, Alicia’s patience ran thin waiting for her.
She stepped inside. The office was cramped not because it was small, but because it was in disarray. Everywhere she looked, there were books and papers. Dark walnut bookcases stuffed with unorderly books lined the left side of the room. Light filtered through bedraggled curtains on the large windows to her right. Several stacks of papers filled Mr. Caulfield’s desk, which was positioned in front of the window. Similar bookshelves were on either side of the fireplace on the far wall – but were hidden behind a pile of papers on a second desk across from Caulfield’s. The clutter of papers and books rendered that desk unusable. A modest fire burned in the grate to take off the chill.
She was surprised the entire place didn’t go up in flames.
She stepped with care around crates that littered the floor, removed the London Gazette laying on the chair, and settled into the seat.
“My sister was unavailable to join us. She and her husband are preparing the family for a trip north to join our parents for the village’s Harvest Festival. I wanted to speak to you before we left.”
Had he heard her? She followed his stare. He was focused on the Gazette in her hand. She glanced at his desk, the chair next to her, but there was no place to put it.
“I’m leaving with the family for Sommer-by-the-Sea. I look forward to reading at Mrs. Miller’s Circulating Library. I wanted to thank you for seeing that my books were delivered.”
“You’re most welcome. I’m sure reading small segments of your story will encourage people to either borrow or buy your book. I am glad you’re here. I wanted to speak to you today on another subject. I too, will be leaving London.” He reached for the Gazette. “Here. Let me have the newspaper, if you please.”
Alicia took a quick look at the headline: Missing Walmer Castle Chest Found – Empty?
She glanced at Caulfield’s extended hand. She was about to give the newspaper to him when she spotted a corner of the paper was turned down, exposing the book review page. She opened the paper and stopped.
One review was circled: The Lost Dowry.
She read the article out loud.
“This is the fifth little story by Lady Alicia Hartley. While her other stories held promise, this book does not reach the standards the author established in her previous publications. Perhaps the author’s muse has gone astray. The characters and conflicts in The Lost Dowry had potential but only the heroine, who is quite good, shines. It is unfortunate that the others appear to have lost their way. They are forced, mechanical, and obstruct the story. In a word, they are disappointing. In this story…”
Skipping the summary of the plot, she went to the final paragraph.
“She should read J. C. Melrose’s In My Brother’s Shadow or any of the other eight stories in that series. There is an author who evokes a man’s emotion, albeit the author could use some assistance with the female point of view. Can you imagine if these authors combined their skills? They would lay out a plot with characters that would keep you reading until the last page or the last flicker of your candle.”
The newspaper trembled in her hand. She went back to the beginning of the article to find the name of the reviewer. Anonymous.
The coward.
Her eyes focused on the review. The small quakes and quivers of the paper she held attested to the state of her nerves.
“How did an appraisal of my story turn into a review for…” Her words clipped, her tone chilly, she spoke with as reasonable a voice as she could manage and scanned the article. “J. C. Melrose?”
She lowered the paper. Mr. Caulfield’s lips moved as the empty feeling in her stomach built into a furious storm. She wasn’t aware of anything he said, until his words filtered through at last.
“Lady Hartley, are you listening? Reviews like this are…not unusual. Keep in mind, you can’t please every reader. I’m glad to publish your little stories.”
“Little stories.” Her heart galloped like a horse in the steeple chase. Her hand touched her pendant. Remain calm.
But soothing herself was getting more difficult by the moment. Even rubbing her stone didn’t help now.
People were buying her novels, all of them. Alicia thrust the offensive paper at him.
“Perhaps we should give the readers some time. We plan to publish your next story in the summer. I want to speak to you about my plans for the company. I’ve bought a new press—”
“The plan was for my new story to be published in February. Now you want a delay? Or do you mean to cancel our agreement?”
His face closed, as if guarding a secret. Her heart sank. He accepted this review. He may be tolerating her tirade, but he agreed with Anonymous.
Unable to remain calm a moment longer, she shot him a penetrating glare as she rose, her parcel in hand.
“Not at all.” He sprang to his feet, his chair scraping the floor behind him. “Being an author is not easy, Lady Alicia. I warned you before we began you would be at the mercy of the reading public, a capricious lot. I knew you were persistent and had promise.” He studied her over the rim of his glasses. “I believe you still do, but with the new press I have plans to—”
But.
How often had she heard that insignificant word in front of every variation of the word no, a weapon men used to deny a woman her due?
“This is one review.” Alicia paced the small space in front of his desk. “Caulfield Publishing has published five of my,” she turned and faced him, “‘little stories’ to your financial advantage.”
He gave her a sheepish glance.
“Before I let you read this…” She paused and held up her parcel. “I’ll give your suggestion to delay publishing more thought, then send you my decision.”
As disappointment and despair dimmed her enthusiasm, she questioned what happened to yesterday’s excitement and celebration. The Lost Dowry was in the circulating library. Congratulatory notes from friends were piled on the salver on the foyer table.
And there was the letter.
She couldn’t believe her good fortune when she read William Lane’s message, although Elkington believed it. She had never seen her brother-in-law so excited. He took out the sherry and they all toasted the occasion. But now…her dream was dissolving in front of her eyes.
How could one awful review ruin everything? Mr. Lane would not want to read her manuscript now, and Mr. Caulfield questioned publishing her next story. Remaining calm was out of the question.
Her secret was out. She had done a good job and convinced herself and everyone else Lady Alicia Hartley was an author.
Everyone but one reviewer. Her breath came in small bursts. She stared at the Gazette on his desk and wanted to tear it to pieces.
“Lady Alicia, please sit down. We’ll discuss this and come to a decision that is satisfactory to us both.”
She glanced at the man, remained motionless, and held her words behind her teeth, not trusting herself to speak. Afraid she’d say something she would regret, Alicia turned and marched to the door with as much dignity as possible.
“My ‘little stories,’ as you like to refer to them, are all the rage.”
She grabbed the latch and hoped he didn’t observe her trembling hand or her watery eyes. At the moment, her single thought was to escape.
“Please, come sit and we can discuss our course of action without any—”
“Womanly emotions?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“No, not at all. I’ve been trying to tell you about some changes.”
“Another time, perhaps. My family is traveling north, and I mustn’t delay.” By all that was holy, she needed to get away from the man.
“I understand. My regards to your sister and brother-in-law.” He called to her as she pulled open the door and collided into a solid obstacle. Startled and thrown off balance, Alicia lost her grip on her parcel and sent the bundle tumbling to the floor.
Strong hands grasped her shoulders to steady her. Alicia’s head snapped up. She stared into concerned gray, silver-streaked eyes. She took a deep breath and was surprised by the scent of lavender and citrus.
“I… I… forgive me, sir.” She lowered her gaze to the gloved hand on her right shoulder and back to his penetrating stare. “Release me, please. I assure you I have recovered.”
The man’s concerned expression vanished, replaced with a humorous glint. He removed his hands and stepped away.
His great coat flowed around him as he bent and retrieved her parcel from the floor. Her shoulders felt the ghost of his strong yet gentle grasp. As he stood, she looked away eager to leave.
“There is nothing to forgive.” He bent his head toward her and handed her the bundle. “I, too, would want to make a fast escape from Mr. Caulfield.”
“Thank you,” she said without any humor, pulling the parcel close.
“My pleasure, I assure you.” The gentleman tipped the brim of his hat.
Alicia turned and rushed down the stairs.
Can a gentleman be too charming? The ladies of Upper Upton think so.
He shivered at her touch for ’twas most unexpected. He was even more surprised when she leaned toward him. She hesitated but an instant before she placed a chaste kiss upon his lips. She must have realized the inappropriateness of her impulsive gesture for just as suddenly as her kiss had occurred, she jumped from his lap and began to leave the river’s side.
Rebeka Tyler, a distinguished expert in medieval and Renaissance studies and a casual martial arts enthusiast, never envisioned herself as a warrior. However, thrust into the 17th century, she finds herself caught in the conflict between two powerful druid masters. While deciphering ancient runes and unraveling a family secret to secure her return, Rebeka engages in battles for survival against in a society she knows well from her studies, as well as against the malevolent druid, Bran.
New Orleans Creole, Miss Celestine St. Cyr-Duval refuses to live under the thumb of some man chosen by her parents. Celie will do everything to keep freedom of choice for herself and others. But fate interferes in the form of a duke disguised as British businessman, Caleb Elmond. A relationship with Caleb would find approval with her mother, but both Celie and Caleb have secrets that put them on opposite sides of a great conflict and could destroy them both.
About Rue Allyn: Author of historical and contemporary romances, Rue Allyn fell in love with happily ever after the day she heard her first story. (She claims she was a precocious little brat who read at the age of two but could hear much earlier than that.) She studied literature for far too many years before discovering that writing stories was much more fun than writing about them. One of her greatest pleasures as an author is being able to read the story before anyone else. Rue is happily married to her sweetheart of many, many years. Insatiably curious, an avid reader and traveler, she loves to hear from readers about their favorite books and real-life adventures. Crazy Cat stories are especially welcome. You can contact her at 
Gwen came through a dark swirling tunnel into what looked like the kind of historic townhouse that has public tours, except that it was polished to the nth degree and many of the items looked new. A man was waiting for her, and if he wasn’t a butler she was a marshmallow. He conducted her through a pair of double doors and onto a terrace where a woman of mature years was seated on a cane chair beside a table laden with cakes and tea. Tea – something she’d sorely missed in the Dark Ages.
“You met Arthur in the fifth century and married him. Or is that just a legend?”
Gwen chuckled. “Talk about unreconstructed and totally out of touch with his feminine side (as we’d say back in my old world but probably not in yours). Do you know what the first thing (not quite but pretty nearly) he said to me was? You have good childbearing hips. Not the way to a girl’s heart. I nearly gave him a slap, only I thought it might get me into trouble.”
The younger man reached for the sword with reluctance, his stubbly cheeks tear-stained, eyes anguished. Filthy fingers closed around the hilt. “My Lord, I will not rest until this sword lies in the hands of your wife.” His head bowed in supplication.
Twelve years ago, 21st-century librarian Gwen decided to remain in the Dark Ages with the man she loves above all else – a man around whom endless well-known tales of legend and magic have been spun. King Arthur. Over the years, she’s carved a life for herself by her husband’s side, gently steering him in the direction she wants him to go, but always with an awareness that he’s a Dark Age king with a Dark Age view of the world.