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Spotlight on A Duke at the Door

Who’s afraid of the wild duke?

Alwyn Ap Lewin, Duke of Llewellyn, swears he’ll never shift into his lion Shape for as long as he lives. He spent decades as a captive in a traveling menagerie, and he won’t risk being caged again. But the longer he denies his other half, the more his health declines, and the farther he hides himself away. The denizens of Lowell Close live in fear and suspicion of the mysterious duke—except for lady apothecary Tabitha Barrington.

After traveling the Continent for years, Tabitha is struggling to settle in Lowell Close and the prince regent’s insistence she care for the sullen duke only adds to the tension. By treating him as she would anyone else—and not as though he needs special attention—Tabitha begins to gain the duke’s very reluctant interest. And the more Alwyn sees both Tabitha’s gifts for helping everyone in the village as well as her kind and courageous heart, the more he realizes that he has something to live for after all.

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An excerpt from A DUKE AT THE DOOR

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Note: The word versipellian relates to versipellis, which is Latin for ‘two skins’; it is how the Shapeshifters refer to themselves.

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Lady apothecary Miss Tabitha Barrington sets out to search for healing herbs in the park of her new home, Lowell Hall. Who knows what else she might find…

Once she and Timothy settled in the cottage, Tabitha sent His Grace several notes via eager footmen, of which Lowell had an inordinate amount. She hesitated to knock upon the ducal door, as humble as it was, but if the part of the park she now wandered brought her near to Llewellyn’s sanctuary, then what of it? She had yet to investigate this particular grove—who knew what she would find?

Today, she found a duke.

A rustle in the shrubbery alerted Tabitha to his presence, and the rising sun cast just enough light through the trees to reveal Llewellyn’s shadow. “Your Grace.” Would she curtsy in the middle of a wood? No, she would not. “Good morning.”

His husky voice rumbled from the perimeter. “You ought not to wander without thought to what lurks on this land.”

That would be you, she thought. Lurking. “It is a paradox.” She set down her trug and took stock of the place. “For even though the beings here are dangerous to humans, this may be the safest place on earth. Or one of them. I do not know if this is typical of versipellian culture, to bring together a variety of species to live as one…” She trailed off at the sight of—was that—oh! Digitalis! She slid her shears out of a pocket and reached to stroke the bell of the nearest plant.

“Do not!” the duke very nearly shouted, his vocal cords not equal to the strain.

Tabitha snipped off a stalk of the foxglove before laying it in the trug. “It is only somewhat poisonous.”

“Under prolonged contact, it is more than somewhat.”

“I am taking only one. Two.” She hummed in consideration. “Three at the most.”

“You ought to wear gloves.” His eyesight was all it was vaunted to be if he could tell in this low light.

“They interfere with my perception.”

“Of what.” Another rustle, this time from her right side. Goodness, he was fast.

“The health of the plant, the state of the soil…” She balked at admitting the fanciful notion that she could feel effectiveness or otherwise from what she touched and chose two more blooms.

A rumble of disagreement issued from between the leaves. “Gloves made of lambskin would suit.”

“The porousness of kid would defeat the purpose.” Tabitha set one last stalk into her trug.

“A trowel, then, for the love of Palu.” His Grace moved fully into the glade, dressed this morning like a common laborer, in a formless coat and a muslin shirt hanging outside his trousers.

“A blunt instrument?”

“You may gauge the plant by eye and then touch the soil.”

“Why should I uproot it, if it is not useful?”

“You may return it to its place! With the trowel!”

Tabitha could not stop herself: she smiled at him. How masculine he sounded in that moment, how like a man, exasperated at what he surely thought was feminine obstreperousness. He looked incredulous and irritated and…alive. She’d pat him on the cheek if she didn’t think he’d snarl or run off. Or…or bite her. Instead, she asked, “Who is Palu?” and turned away; he appeared to be discomfited by prolonged observance.

“A Welsh cat of legend, a goddess attached to my homeplace who protects those in her care from danger. What are you going to do with that plant?”

She would ask Timothy if he knew anything about Welsh mythological cats. “It is, of course, helpful for congested hearts. But an Italian apothecary showed me that the merest pinch in chamomile tea is a gentle purgative.”

“I cannot believe even the smallest amount of poison is safe.”

“Neither did I, until I witnessed how effective it was.”

“Witnessed.”

“Yes. Saw the results of its efficacy.”

“Tried it yourself, I wager.” This was delivered in a tone that had a lightness to it, perhaps of laughter?

“I cannot ask anyone to ingest something I would not.” Tabitha was staunch in this viewpoint. “It was enough work earning the trust of others thanks to perceptions of the weakness of my gender.”

“Others.” His voice came from the opposite side of the grove. His nimbleness was truly astonishing. How swift would he be at full strength? “Men.”

“Men, yes. And certain women. Some ladies preferred my counsel to that of a male physician, but many more would hear my advice and then allow a man to negate it. It was a waste of everyone’s time, mine and theirs.”

“The healing goddesses of the Celts are fierce. One does not call upon them for aid unless one is willing to be transformed utterly.” The duke had moved again, swifter than thought, and stepped farther into the light. “Ceridwen is one such, and we felines also call upon the Egyptian pantheon, and thus, Sekhmet.”

“How fascinating. So many gods and goddesses to invoke.”

“Gods and goddesses, indifferent to my dilemma—” He cut himself off, visibly appalled at what he had almost admitted.

She would lose him if she pursued that line of thought. “The wolves follow the Romans, whom my brother Timothy says borrowed their pantheon and the terms for the pack hierarchy from the Greeks.”

“Stole them, more like. Although, in truth, many on this island descend from ancient Rome. The wolves will do anything to hold sway.”

“And by the Duke of Lowell doing so, many are safe under his aegis.”

“As you and your brother are safe.” The duke canted his head, assessing her. “You do not strike me as one who seeks safety.”

“Who does not seek safety?”

“One who casually imbibes poison,” he mumbled.

Meet Susanna Allen

Susanna’s latest series, The Shapeshifters of the Beau Monde, also includes A Wolf in Duke’s Clothing, first in the series and A Most Unusual Duke, the beloved middle child.

Writing as Susan Conley, she is the author of two contemporary novels with Irish interest: Drama Queen and The Fidelity Project, both published by Headline UK; That Magic Mischief, a contemporary paranormal romance originally published by Crimson Romance, relaunched with Ally Press in September 2021.

Her memoir, Many Brave Fools: A Story of Addiction, Dysfunction, Codependency… and Horses is published by Trafalgar Square Books and recounts the growth and insights she acquired after having taken up horse riding as an adult, post-divorce.

She was born in New Jersey and is currently resident in Ireland.

Susanna Tweets and Instas and TikToks @SusannaAWriter, Facebooks at https://www.facebook.com/SusannaAWriter, and maintains a presence on BookBub and Goodreads. Follow her, if you are so inclined!

 

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A little medieval history to go with Promises Made at Midnight

Step back in time with Sherry Ewing

Thank you to Jude for featuring a little bit of research that occurred for my latest release, Promises Made at Midnight. This medieval/time travel romance is in my Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time series although it can easily be read as a standalone novel.

How about a little history for the times?

Eleanor of Aquitaine and her younger sons

Early on in this book, we catch a glimpse of Ulrick’s confusion when Bridgette mentioned she was one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting. While she was thinking of the fair she had been attending and the Tudor Queen, Ulrick’s natural assumption was that of Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. To get the full picture we need to go back a few years to the spring of 1173 when Henry II’s son by the same name was upset with his lack of power and encouraged to do something about it by his father’s enemies. The younger Henry then launched the Revolt of 1173-1174. He fled to Paris, devising evil against his father from every angle at the advice of the French King. He then secretly went into Aquitaine where his two brothers, Richard and Geoffrey, were currently living with their mother. He incited them to join him in his quest for power. Some say the queen may have sent her younger sons to France “to join with him against their father the king.”

Between the end of March and the beginning of May, Eleanor left Poitiers, but was arrested and sent to the king at Rouen. Her arrest wasn’t announced publicly. On July 8, 1174, Henry and Eleanor took a ship for England from Barfleur and as soon as they disembarked at Southampton, Eleanor was taken either to Winchester Castle or Sarum Castle and held there. For the next sixteen years she was imprisoned at various locations in England.

Jumping ahead to the year 1183 and we find young King Henry tried again to force his father to hand over some of his patrimony. In debt and refused control of Normandy, he tried to ambush his father at Limoges. He was joined by troops sent by his brother Geoffrey and Philip II of France. But Henry II’s troops besieged the town, forcing his son to flee. After wandering aimlessly through Aquitaine, Henry the Younger caught dysentery. On Saturday, June 11, 1183, the young king realized he was dying and was overcome with remorse for his sins. When his father’s ring was sent to him, he begged his father to show mercy to his mother, and all his companions would plead with Henry to set her free.

I thought it would be interesting to add this little bit of history into the story and having Dristan and his men being sent to France. Of course, I must admit, any time I can bring my characters back to Bamburgh Castle is always a joy to my heart. I do have a fondness for the place and can only hope that one day I may actually be able to stand in its shadows or walk its grounds!

The legend of King Arthur

And thinking of my modern heroine and what story she might tell a child from twelfth century England had me researching the legendary King Arthur. I had to ensure this would have been something a child from this time period would have heard about. The historical basis for this king has been debated but I learned that an actual person had been talked about since the late 5th and 6th centuries. Legend or a real person… I always found this story fascinating and hope you enjoyed this tiny glimpse of it.

My castles are real places

The original medieval keep as it is today

As for Dunster Castle that became Ulrick’s home, I can’t begin to tell you why I chose this location. Let’s just say that Google Earth is this author’s best friend! The castle was a former motte and bailey castle, now a country house, located in the village of Dunster, Somerset, England. The castle lies on the top of a steep hill called the Tor, and has been fortified since the late Anglo-Saxon period. After the Norman conquest of England in the 11th century, William de Mohun constructed a timber castle on the site as part of the pacification of Somerset. A stone shell keep was built on the motte by the start of the 12th century, and the castle survived a siege during the early years of the Anarchy. At the end of the 14th century the de Mohuns sold the castle to the Luttrell family, who continued to occupy the property until the late 20th century. During the early medieval period the sea reached the base of the hill, close to the mouth of the River Avill, offering a natural defense and making the village an inland port.

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

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Spotlight on Promises Made At Midnight

Promises Made At Midnight:

The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Six)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Buy Links:

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/36NpNrv

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3C1muIK

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3voNJvw

Nook: https://bit.ly/3M34Hpb

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

My review: Another of Sherry Ewing’s delectable knights

Follow Bridgette through time to meet Ulrick. She falls for his looks when she sees him carved in stone. How much more when she lands in his arms? He is everything she had never been able to find in real life. Honourable, kind, protective. Ewing’s knights are amazing, and Ulrick is one of the best.

Of course, the course of true love cannot run smooth, and time travel in Ewing’s books can be two way when the couple are not truly in love. Even when Bridgette and Ulrick make up their minds they’re meant to be together and overcome that obstacle, there’s a murderer out there who has it in for them.  A wonderful adventure. I enjoyed every exciting twist and turn.

First Kiss Excerpt

“You came,” she whispered in a breathy tone and she at once realized how fast her heart was hammering away inside her chest. She was excited and scared all at the same time while she tilted her head back to see his face. She felt so tiny next to this giant of a man, who must be well over six feet tall.

“Aye.”

Bridgette searched his face, waiting for more of a reply but he appeared unsure of himself and that was entirely out of character of the man she had come to know.

“You didn’t want to?” she couldn’t help herself from asking.

“I am uncertain if this is wise, Lady Bridgette. Lord Dristan…”

She placed her fingertips on his mouth. “Let me worry about Lord Dristan,” she replied, stepping closer.

His brow rose at her statement. “You have no idea what you are asking of me when I defy my liege lord by being alone here with you.”

“I just wanted some time with just the two of us, Ulrick. Is that too much to ask?” She took hold of his arms, and he placed his hands gently on her waist. “I promise I won’t bite… much.”

She gave him what she hoped was a wicked wink. A deep chuckle erupted from him, and his smile brightened her whole mood.

“I hardly know what to reply after such a comment. You are a feisty one, to be sure, Lady Bridgette.”

“I just know what I want,” she replied with a sincere heart.

“And what is that exactly?” he asked pulling her fully into his body.

“You have to ask?” She moved her palms to rest on his chest. One hand continued upward until she fingers brushed over the back of his head feeling the softness of his hair before settling on his neck. She began a gentle message with small circular motions and heard a soft moan escape him.

“Aye,” came a strained reply.

“You are a man of little words sometimes. Do you know that?”

“If I am going to be damned for my actions, then I must needs know your mind. What do you want, Bridgette?” He asked, again ignoring her comment, but she could tell that whatever control he was briefly holding onto where she was concerned, it was about to break.

“What do I want? You… I want you, Ulrick” She let her answer linger in the space between them, but she didn’t have to wait long for his nonverbal reply.

His arms tighten around her waist, lifting her up and bringing them chest to chest. And in that one brief moment, their heartbeats fused as one. As she stared up into those mesmerizing blue-grey eyes, the reflection from the stars above were twinkling in their depths. Her gaze was drawn to the sensual chiseled lines of his mouth. His lips turned up with a slow roguish grin before swooping down to take full possession of her. A gasp of surprise gave him what he wanted when his tongue dipped inside her mouth to dance with her own while their bodies all but melted together as one. She lost all thought of anything else but this man who claimed her. Bridgette had released Ulrick from whatever restraints he had been holding onto and she was delighted he was equally moved to finally share their first kiss.

A hushed moan escaped her when his lips moved from her mouth to place a trail of soft kisses as he went from her cheek to her neck. His teeth nibbled at the lobe of her ear and the warmth of his breath was almost her undoing.

Taking hold of his cheeks, she all but demanded another kiss in her attempts to take back control of their moment together. But who was she kidding? She lost any attempt of self-control the moment Ulrick stepped through the turret portal.

Their kiss continued for several more minutes—an exploration of two missing souls who had finally found one another. It was as binding as if they had already promised themselves an eternity together… at least in Bridgette’s mind.

About the Author:

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 at www.SherryEwing.com.

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Tea with Ulrick

Sir Ulrick de Mohan made his way from the training field and took the steps two at a time to reach the door leading into the keep of Berwyck Castle. The day had been fulfilling and he was eager to change out of his chainmail and enjoy a good cup of ale after a hard day’s work. The door opened before him and as he went through the portal, he skidded to a halt. He pulled his sword from his scabbard and held it before him. This was not Berwyck!

A man in uniform held out his arm as if Ulrick had been expected. “This way, sir.”

Ulrick took in his surroundings from the costly items in the foyer to the images of paintings hanging on walls that were surely not of his time. God’s Blood! Had he somehow found himself in the future where some of the women who came to Berwyck were from?

He had no answers other than his confusion when he was taken down the corridor into the interior of the castle. Mayhap the woman to whom he was taken would know. She sat in a room of such magnificence he pondered if mayhap he was sitting before a future Queen of England.

“Oh dear,” the woman murmured, once she saw him standing in her doorway. “I haven’t had one of your kind in quite a while. Come in, dear boy, and stop your gawking.”

He scoffed at the dear boy remark, came to stand before her, and bowed. “My lady.”

Her brow rose as she looked him over. “And you are?” she asked lifting a dainty cup to her lips.

He straightened. “Sir Ulrick de Mohan.”

“Welcome to my home, Sir Ulrick. I am the Duchess of Haverford,” she replied. “Tea?”

A sound escaped him. What was this tea? “Where am I?’ he asked instead, whilst his gaze continued to look around the room in disbelief.

“Maybe something stronger would be fitting to calm your nerves,” she replied, waving to what he assumed was another servant standing near the door. A clear glass with an amber liquid was pressed into his hands and he sniffed the contents.

The Duchess said, “I understand time traveling can take a bit out of you.”

He was about to take a sip, when her words penetrated his head. “Is that what I have done? Traveled through time like one of those future women who find themselves at Berwyck’s gates?”

“Well, you’re obviously still not in… the twelfth century was it?  Are you?”

He pondered her words, took a sip of the contents of his cup, and then unstuck the words from his throat in order to answer her. “Aye. I suppose I am not. Whatever am I doing here with you then?”

The duchess sat back in her chair. “What is it you need in your life, good sir, to make you content?”

“Need? I have everything I want in life. There is nothing I need,” he said, setting the cup down after downing its contents.

“It has been my experience that, when a knight happens to cross time and come before me, it is generally because he is missing something in his life. Usually that something is a woman… or a wife. In either case, a lady may just fall into your life whether you are ready for her or not,” she answered, and Ulrick could swear he saw her eyes twinkling mischievously. “The question remains… what will you do with her once she is in your arms?”

“Not one of those future women!” he fumed picking up his glass and then remembering he had already drunk the contents. The duchess saw his dilemma and nodded to the servant, who refilled the glass.

“Who is to say? You are the master of your own happily-ever-after. I am but a slight diversion in your life to give you something to think about when you return to your own time.”

“And will I return? To my own time, that is?” She nodded instead of answering him. Ulrick once more downed his drink and began to feel the pull of the twelfth century calling to him to return.

“Remember my words, Sir Ulrick. What is it you really need in your life to make you happy and complete? You may not be looking for a wife, but do not easily dismiss the gift you will be given.”

One moment he was sitting with the duchess in a world not his own and the next he was back entering the keep at Berwyck Castle. He could only ponder if what had just happened to him really occurred or if he had imagined the whole damn thing!

 

Promises Made At Midnight:

The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Six)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Buy Links:

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/36NpNrv

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3C1muIK

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3voNJvw

Nook: https://bit.ly/3M34Hpb

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

 

 

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Tea with Delia

Delia Fitzwallace watched the sumptuous traveling carriage, accompanied by liveried footmen and outriders and festooned with a ducal crest, pull up to Seascape, her brother’s elegant manor. She stood in one of the landward windows. Hurrying to the hall she informed Clifford, Jeffrey’s butler, that she would receive her guest in the Shoreward Room. “And tea outside, please.” The room opened onto a terrace that commanded spectacular views of the Bristol Channel as it opened to the sea.

Delia peered into a massive mirror, one with an ornate bronze frame that her father had brought from India on one of his voyages. Her gown, lavender silk from the Graham warehouses softened by touches of grey lace, didn’t particularly flatter her coloring, but it was attractive enough and perfectly appropriate for the end stages of mourning. Still, her nerves were frayed. The visitor was expected, but Delia had not quite recovered from the surprise that shook her when word came that the duchess would call.

What is the woman doing in Bristol?

Approaching footsteps paused by the door and Delia heard hushed conversation taking place, the duchess no doubt requesting courtesy to her entourage. The door opened on silent hinges and Clifford intoned, “The Duchess of Winshire.”

Delia dropped to a deep curtsey. “Your Grace, how kind of you to call.”

“A condolence call is simple courtesy my dear, and mine, I’m afraid, is tardy. Unless I’m mistaken, your formal mourning is almost over.” Her Grace took Delia’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “How are you bearing up?”

“Well, Your Grace. You are so kind to check in on me,” Delia said.

“Lady Fitzwallace, your Vincent called me ‘Aunt Eleanor.’ Can’t you do the same?”

Delia couldn’t resist the woman’s genuine warmth. “It would be an honor. Could you call me Delia as well? Shall we visit on the terrace?”

“I would be disappointed if we didn’t. Seascape is famous for its panoramic views,” The duchess said linking arms and letting Delia lead her out.

Soon enough tea arrived and they sipped while her visitor exclaimed over the view of shipping in the channel and the hills of Wales across the way. This house is a wonder!”

“It is indeed. My brother likes to use this room to entertain Graham Shipping business partners. It never fails to impress,” Delia said.

“Why, then, do you plan to leave?” Aunt Eleanor raise an enquiring eyebrow.

It was almost an ambush. How on earth did she know? Vincent, Delia’s late husband, always said the Duchess of Haverford—now Winshire—was a witch or at very least that she had the sight.

“As magnificent as this place is, it is a museum and not a home for children,” Delia replied.

“Does it not have a nursery?” The duchess appeared puzzled.

“Of course! But they aren’t able to roam freely. The house is meant to impress, not to entertain busy boys and a curious girl. There is no real garden, and, perched as it is on a cliff, it isn’t safe to let them wander on their own. As beautiful as it is, it just isn’t a comfortable family home.”

“What happened to your townhouse in London?” the duchess asked. Delia paused to formulate a diplomatic reply, and the duchess eyed her shrewdly. “Let me guess. It belongs to Awbury.”

The Duke of Awbury was Delia’s father-in-law. Vincent, Delia’s late husband, and been Awbury’s fourth son. She bit her lip and nodded. “He… That is, he has been quite generous about urging us to stay there but—”

“On his terms and under his watchful eye, am I correct?”

Delia nodded. “The truth is, I long for a place of my own. I have the funds. My personal fortune is substantial, and I plan to get what I want.” She raised a stubborn chin. Let the woman make of that what she wished.

If the duchess wondered how Delia’s fortune had been protected from that scapegrace Lord Vincent Fitzwallace, she was too polite to ask. She could probably guess that a shrewd merchant like Peter Graham would protect his daughter’s funds in the marriage settlements. Her next words surprised Delia. Surprised and pleased.

“Good for you, my dear!” she said. “I applaud your decision. Where do you plan to go?”

“I have an agent looking for a place. Somewhere quiet. In the country, where children are free to ramble. With flowers. I particularly want flowers,” Delia sighed. “A cottage of my own, is it too much to ask?”

“I may know of one. It isn’t a thatched cottage, mind. It is a dower house on a large estate—solid, substantial, and I’ve been given to understand, surrounded by flowers. The last I heard they were looking to rent it not sell it.”

Delia’s heart sped up. It sounded ideal, but rent? “I suppose renting first might be wise. It would give me a chance to find my way.”

“It would indeed.” The duchess pulled a small notebook and pencil from her reticule. “Contact this man,” she said. “Eli Benson. He is the land steward for the Earl of Clarion.”

Delia stared at the name. “I will write to him today. Where is this house located?”

“On the coaching road from Nottingham to Shrewsbury. It is called Ashmead.”

Soon enough the time for a polite condolence call passed the Aunt Eleanor took her leave. Delia glanced at the name and the man’s direction and sat down to write.

About The Upright Son

Book 4 of The Ashmead Heirs

A notorious will left David, the very proper Earl of Clarion, with a crippled estate and dependents. He’s the one left to pick up the pieces while caring for others—his children, his tenants, and the people of Ashmead. He cares for England, too. Now that the estate has been put to right, he is free to pursue his political ambitions. His family even encourages him to host a house party. But loneliness weighs him down. Then he meets his new neighbor.

Her uninhibited behavior shocks him. Why can’t he get her out of his mind?

Happily widowed Lady Delia Fitzwallace revels in her newly rented cottage, surrounded by flowers and the wonder of nature, thrilled to free her three rambunctious children from the city of Bristol and let them enjoy the countryside to the fullest. If only she can avoid offending her very proper neighbor, the earl, when their children keep pulling her into scrapes.

She has none of the qualities he needs in a countess. Is she exactly what he needs as a man?

Released 28 June: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B4FCXDX2/

An excerpt

“Stop it, Percy! You’re roiling up the water and chasing away the frogs,” Alf said.

Delia reached for Percy. She managed to grab one arm when Penny piped up. “There are riders coming, Mama.”

Delia glanced back over her shoulder to see a man and a boy approach. She and the children rented the Clarion dower house. In the four months since they took up residence, she had never seen the earl, having been told he preferred London, particularly when Parliament was in session. The rider’s haughty expression, distinguished bearing, and thick auburn hair left her in little doubt that she saw him now.

Caught at her least dignified, embarrassment distracted her. She wasn’t prepared when Percival yanked on her arm and overturned her balance. Flail her arms though she did, she could do nothing to prevent her tumble into the water.

“Hogswallop!” she grumbled and immediately prayed the earl didn’t hear her. She rose, striving for as much grace as she could muster, with weeds clinging to her sodden gown and a squirming toddler pulling on her arm.

Man and boy pulled to a stop. “Good afternoon,” she chirped before they could speak.

Clarion—for it must be he—blinked. The boy looked up at his father as if to ask how to behave.

“I don’t believe I know you,” the earl said, staring at her muddy hems.

“Do you know everyone?” she asked intrigued. She stepped up onto the bank and pulled Percy with her.

“Everyone who would freely do whatever it is you’re doing on the Clarion estate.” He waved a hand as if to encompass the entire scene. “May I ask your identity and your purpose here?”

“Of course. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Lady Delia Fitzwallace. We have the privilege of renting the Clarion dower house. We have a five-year lease.” She wasn’t sure why she added that last, except perhaps a fear this stern man might turn them out.

He appeared startled by her title, and Delia suspected he may have taken her for a tavern trollop of some sort, though the children might have given him a clue if he cared to consider it. As it was, she had failed to use her proper form of address as Lady Vincent Fitzwallace, stubbornly refusing to go by her late husband’s name.

He didn’t dismount. “I am Clarion,” he pronounced with a slight inclination of his head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He didn’t look pleased. Delia gave a proper curtsy, somewhat hindered by the state of her gown.

Does one introduce children by name to an earl? She couldn’t remember and rather thought not. “Children, make your obeisance to the earl, if you please.” They did. Alf and Penny had fine manners under normal circumstances. They managed. Even Percy produced a damp and rather dramatic bow. He returned to staring gape mouthed at the horses.

Clarion cleared his throat. “This is my son, Viscount Ashmead.”

The unsmiling boy, his expression uncannily like his father’s, inclined his head with all the hauteur of a prince of the realm. He looked to be Alf’s age, and yet he had the mien of an old man.

The silence stretched until Delia broke it. “As to what we are about, we are hunting frogs’ eggs. We thought to observe the transition from egg to tadpole to frog.”

“It is a scientific endeavor,” Alf added.

That broke through the little viscount’s stern expression. He gazed at Alf with interest.

The earl’s silence unleashed an imp in Delia. She made her eyes wide with faux innocence. “Oh dear. I hope the harvesting of frogs’ eggs isn’t some sort of poaching. I would hate to run afoul of the law so soon in our tenancy.”

“Of course, it isn’t!” the earl snapped. “The Clarion estate can spare a few frogs. I— I’ll leave you to it.” He moved his reins as if to turn, but thought better of it and looked back at her. “Do you generally allow your children to run free across the estate?” he asked.

“Do they appear to be unsupervised?” she retorted. Given her appearance she wouldn’t have blamed him if he said yes, but she was prepared to defend her mothering if she needed to.

His bewildered expression rewarded her. “Of course not,” he said.

“They have been instructed to stay clear of the main house. Their greater temptations are your stables and vicinity, but they have accepted the need to respect that area as well. They know not to touch the property of others. They know better than to ramble through plowed fields or growing crops. They—”

“Enough! I take your point. Good day, madam.” With an inclination of his head, he and his son turned, and Delia’s children watched them ride away.

“He’s not a happy man,” Penny said.

Understatement, that. One of her father’s dictates gave Delia a twinge of regret. He always said, “You never have a second chance to make a good first impression.”

You’ll never live this one down, Delia, and more’s the pity. For all his stern reserve the earl was an attractive man, and one who appeared to care for his son. She admired that in a man.

With a sigh she locked this regret away with the others she’d endured. She refused to let life’s disappointments weigh her down.

“Alf, there! I see an egg mass,” Penny crowed behind her. And so she had. Delia turned to share her children’s delight.

She put her stern landlord out of her thoughts.

by

Spotlight on Lady No More

Lady No More

By Cerise DeLand

She’s through with love.

Lady Laurel Devereaux prided herself on her sterling reputation, even as she overlooked her two younger sisters’ foibles and their ailing grandfather’s little peccadilloes. She always adored frolicking in fountains and dancing before breakfast. But those were innocent delights compared to the one night she left a ballroom to play the piano alone—and a charming man joined her to play a duet that became a mad love affair.

He quickly proposed and just as quickly jilted her. Now she’ll marry only for friendship or security or children.

He’ll never give her up again.

Now Hadley, Viscount Grey, arrives in Brighton and vows to win Laurel back. But this time, his greatest problem is not overcoming his competition or challenging Laurel’s vow to remain a proper lady, but her decision to never love another man.

How can he convince her that she simply never stopped loving him?

Link: https://amzn.to/3x9SZlX

Series link: https://amzn.to/3HfcXzs

Amazon:   https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B3BRL61Y

ACIS:  B087R6KCVH

Excerpt

Of all the people in all the world, the one who should never have walked into her cousin Cass’s grand salon was Hadley Sherborne, the dastardly, the false, the dishonorable Viscount Grey. Two years ago, the scoundrel had broken her heart—and their engagement—and she had no reason to welcome him here. Or anywhere within a thousand miles of her. Ever again.

Yet she squared her resolve to appear civil. Minutes ago, he’d strode in with three other men, all of whom had rescued her sister Addy from abduction. And ruin.

Ironic, that Hadley had destroyed Laurel but saved her sister.

Thus, here he stood, docile as a lamb.

A wolf in lamb’s clothing.

Laurel took a glass of bubbly from the footman’s tray and downed a good swallow. She’d hugged her sister, welcomed her back to safety and security. She was happy for her. Addy didn’t deserve to be so horribly used as to have been abducted and by a man of the cloth, too. What nerve that creature had to so misuse a young woman. What hideous arrogance to think one could kidnap a lady to compel her to marry.

Laurel nodded at that. Marriage should be undertaken for respect and affection, at the least. For love, at the best. She took another hefty swig of her good white wine and considered what it would have meant to her had Hadley ever abducted her. She’d be his wife. His bed partner. His lover. As once she’d been…

And lived to regret it.

Across the rosy gold salon, Hadley stood talking with Cousin Cass and that lady’s dashing beau, Colonel Lord Magnus Welles. Carefree, forthright in his regard to Cass and his friends, he’d greeted her politely and briefly. He’d shown no twitch of his mouth or blink of his eye that he recalled any of the humor or passion of their past.

She wished she knew how she had acted as they met just now. Shock could transform a woman. Of that she’d had first hand experience the day Hadley had appeared in her Grandpapa’s drawing room and told her he was breaking their engagement. His announcement had turned her into a mole, a shrew…a tiny animal who was less herself. Still, she had put a good face on her sorrow, if she said so herself, even after Grandpapa had died. Months later, Cousin Cass had come to Ireland. She’d mourned with them and educated them in the ways of proper British society. Then Cass had scooped up her two sisters and her and spirited them off to London, Brighton and the charms of a debutante Season. There their mother’s relative offered the triplets a plunge into the haute ton and the hope of a respectable marriage loomed before each of them.

In less than three weeks in town, both her younger sisters had found men they loved. Imogen had married the Earl of Martindale last week. Tomorrow, Adelaide would marry the Marquess of Heath, a fine fellow who had rescued her sister from the clutches of a perverse young man. Addy’s intended had been assisted by three gentlemen. Cass’s new beau, a colonel of the Royal Buffs and a decorated soldier. A cavalry man, Captain Fitzroy, recently home from the wars on the Continent. And Hadley. Here in Brighton. When he should be home in Wiltshire after a wedding in June to a young lady who had land, money and Hadley’s father’s blessing.

Instead you are here. Alone. Why, Hadley?

Grey. She must call him ‘Grey’. ‘My lord.’ ‘Scoundrel.’

The man cut a fine figure, too. Damn his hide. In a midnight blue cutaway frock coat, black Hessians and tight fawn breeches dusty from the group’s hurried ride across Brighton to Hove to the home and stables of the Earl of Davenport, Hadley…Grey looked like a devil’s advocate. His hair—the color of sunshine—glowed with streaks of  old gold. Tousled by wind and exertion, locks of his hair hung over his brow in boyish abandon. His sharp cheekbones were stained pink from the rough ride in the hot August sun. His mouth was full and ripe, able to entice and claim and sip from a girl the noblest of intentions. Oh, yes, Hadley Sherborne, Viscount Grey, who had tasted her with those lips and promised with those lips, had also lied with those lips.

“I love you, my darling, and I’ll never part from you.”

But he had parted from her.

Soon, too.

Three weeks later, in fact.

Those lips that had kissed her, those hands that had caressed her, that rogue who had seduced her had abandoned her. Told her his father had demanded he wed the family friend’s daughter who lived across the river. He’d also told her he would go home to England, correct the error his father had made, apologize to his old friend whom her father and his had betrothed to him, then he would return to Laurel.

But she was Lady Laurel Devereaux, then age eighteen and with her two sisters the only remaining offspring of infamous Irish aristocrats. She’d grown up immersed in tall tales told by the likes of her Anglo-Norman family who were real live faeries. Those clever charmers possessed boundless imagination and very few scruples. They had woven their sprightly fables for more than eight centuries to mine their reputation, earn their keep and multiply their fortunes. They had also covered their losses and camouflaged their crimes.

Truly, she should have known a fairy tale when she heard it. Believing Viscount Grey’s declaration of love was her failure. She’d not be so naive about any man ever again. She was here in Brighton to marry for security. For money. For children. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she’d also laugh again. Indeed, she’d marry for many reasons. None included love.

She drained the last of her wine.

“Dinner!” Cousin Cass announced with glee for all assembled in the salon. “We will celebrate the coming nuptials of our dear Adelaide and the Marquess of Heath.”

Only fitting. Laurel considered reaching for more wine from the footman’s tray, but Adelaide gave her a mischievous little troll’s eye. Very well. Laurel demurred.  She had been drinking more than she should lately. Things had not been calm here in the marriage mart. She’d worried about the unscrupulous men she and her sisters had met. First Imogen had been assaulted by one evil sort who had tried to sully her in Dublin years ago, then tried again here. But she was rescued by the noble man who married her. Today dear Addy had been abducted and saved from ruin by her own Sir Galahad, the Marquess of Heath. Amid all that, their older cousin, Cass, Lady William Downs, had been cuddling in closets and map rooms with the strapping Colonel Welles there. Who had Laurel been entertaining? No one worth his salt. Of course, she’d have a few nips. Who wouldn’t!

But, Addy was right. Drinking was not good for the old reputation. Not very good for her attempt to establish a new one either.

She’d accept what she could not change.

Tonight at this intimate party, she’d celebrate the good turn of events. Even if they were in no small part thanks to the the man who had once been her dearest love, her fiancé. Grey had been heroic. He’d saved her sister. After that, for Laurel to be ungracious to him would be so de trop.

Fie! The things she did for love.

by

Spotlight on The Upright Son

A notorious will left David, the very proper Earl of Clarion, with a crippled estate and dependents. He’s the one left to pick up the pieces while caring for others—his children, his tenants, and the people of Ashmead. He cares for England, too. Now that the estate has been put to right, he is free to pursue his political ambitions. But loneliness weighs him down. Then he meets his new neighbor.

Her uninhibited behavior shocks him. Why can’t he get her out of his mind?

Happily widowed Lady Delia Fitzwallace revels in her newly rented cottage, surrounded by flowers and the wonder of nature, thrilled to free her three rambunctious children from the city of Bristol and let them enjoy the countryside to the fullest. If only she can avoid offending her very proper neighbor, the earl, when their children keep pulling her into scrapes.

She has nothing he needs in a countess. Is she exactly what he needs as a man?

Preorder now for release on June 28: https://www.amazon.com/Upright-Son-Caroline-Warfield-ebook/dp/B0B4FCXDX2/

Read Free in Kindle Unlimited!

The Ashmead Heirs
The Wayward Son
The Defiant Daughter
The Forgotten Daughter
The Upright Son

My review: Another five star novel from Caroline Warfield

The Ashmead Heirs series comes to a close with The Upright Son. We met David in The Wayward Son, and I’ve been waiting for the poor dear man to find happiness ever since. A widower with two children, he has devoted his life to doing the right thing in all circumstances, protecting those he loves, repairing the damage his father and mother did, and standing up for those without a voice.  In Delia, Warfield gives him a heroine worthy of him, a woman with great courage and loyalty, and a heart full of love. Like all of Warfield’s novels, our hero and heroine have serious challenges to overcome on their way to their happy ending, not least their belief that they are completely wrong for one another.  Beautifully written and fully realised characters, including a bevy of delightful children, whose escapades keep David and Delia on their toes.

Finish it with that satisfied sigh that only comes from a well deserved happy ending. Warfield has a new series in the Ashmead world up her sleeve, which will mute the inevitable sadness of finishing such a wonderful series.

Excerpt

David has forbidden his children to go anywhere near Delia Fitzwallace and her children after an accident. Then his daughter disappears and he found her being led home by Delia.

***

Temptation to lash out warred with a suspicion he owed the lady an apology. Desire to chastise his daughter for running off warred with the impulse to hug her. Confusion drove his good sense to the winds.

“What the devil is this about?” he snapped, immediately embarrassed by his rudeness yet determined not to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing it.

“This young lady arrived on my doorstep and threw herself on my mercy.” Lady Fitzwallace, chin high and jaw tight, spoke as if every word was forced out.

“She made me come back,” Marjory muttered, staring at her feet. Her head bobbed up. “But I needed to talk to her. I did.” She cast a sour glance at the woman.

“I’m grateful to you for returning her,” he said. It was true enough.

“I hope I don’t regret it.” The woman eyed him as if he were some species of monster who might eat his young.

His head jerked up. “I beg your pardon, madam?” Her outspoken disrespect gave his words a sharp edge.

The Fitzwallace woman shuddered and sighed, as if struggling for self-control. As well she might.

“You forbade her my house,” she said. “I certainly didn’t plan to shelter her like some sort of criminal. I brought her to face you. I merely hope you’ll hear her out. She has some important things to say.”

He studied his daughter, eight years old, and worldly beyond her years. She met his gaze steadily, her expression comically similar to that of the woman who held her hand. More forceful than her mother ever was.

She has backbone, my daughter. A niggle of pride overtook him. “Come inside then, Marjory, and I will hear you out.”

The girl clung to Delia Fitzwallace’s hand and glanced up at the woman with pleading eyes. “Only if Lady Fitz comes too.”

‘Lady Fitz’ is it?

The lady knelt right there in his lane like the farm wife he first thought her, ignoring her gown, grasped both of Marj’s hands, and spoke softly. That he found it endearing was a complication for another day. “What did we talk about, Marj?” she said. “Remember the words.”

“I’m to apologize and, and make my case,” the girl replied. “But about Alf—”

Lady Fitzwallace tugged on the tiny hands. Marjory sighed, her gaze on the woman, and went on. “Defend but don’t defy—and warn.”

“I have confidence in you, Marj,” the woman said.

David reached out to help the lady rise as a gentleman ought. She blinked, as if stunned by the gesture. He soaked in the troubled whirlpool of emotion in her expressive eyes, but his hand never wavered. She wore no gloves; David resisted the urge to tear his off, to feel the texture of her skin. When she placed her hand in his, their eyes holding, warmth flowed through him, setting off a flurry of improper thoughts followed by immediate irritation at his weakness.

The lady broke eye contact whispering to his daughter. “Confidence.”

Confidence. It must have been the magic word. Marjory walked directly to him and said, “I apologize for disobeying you by going to see Lady Fitzwallace, sir, but I would like to have a word, if you please.”

Spoken like a diplomat. How could he resist. “Then we shall have a word.” He glanced behind her. “Perhaps, Lady Fitzwallace might be so kind as to join us.” The words were out before he thought. He hoped he wouldn’t be sorry. He didn’t wait for an answer

by

The artist Turner and Lady Twisden from Desperate Daughters.

Author Alina K. Field joins us today to discuss some of the research for Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match, her contribution to the new Bluestocking Belles collection with friends, Desperate Daughters.

***

Having fulfilled her duties to her late husband, her stepson, and the family estate, our heroine, Lady Honoria Twisden has removed herself to York where she plans to become reacquainted with her niece, Lady Seahaven, live independently, and most importantly finish a painting!

I am not by any means skilled in drawing or painting, and writing a heroine whose passion is painting was a challenge for me! So I gave Honoria a fascination with someone I knew a bit about, one of the most famous artists of the period, J.M.W. Turner. Information about Turner abounds on the internet, and I had seen one of his paintings up close, in real life, the Battle of Trafalgar, at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich. Turner’s landscapes and paintings of the sea are distinctive and dramatic. One would never expect the practical, dutiful Honoria to have such romantic taste in art!

As it happens, Turner spent a great deal of time at Farnley Hall near Otley in Yorkshire, the home of one of his patrons, Walter Fawkes.

Having learned about Turner and his visits to Farnley Hall from her stepson’s art tutor, Honoria stops there on her journey to York for a chance to see some of Turner’s sketches and paintings.

My hero has seen some of Turner’s watercolors at the National Gallery and finds them not to his taste—too emotional, too dramatic. He much prefers portraits and paintings of dogs or horses—George Stubbs for example, or at the very most, restful landscapes:

Excerpt

“When I viewed Turner’s work in London, I didn’t…well, I’m a literalist, I suppose. When one is outlining a plan of assault, precision is helpful. I’ve always been drawn to portraits, or paintings of horses.” He laughed. “Or dogs. Yes, forgive me. I enjoy George Stubbs’s work. And I like restful landscapes.”

“Restful landscapes before battle.”

He took her hand and his gaze slid to the canvas. “Yes. I’ve seen enough scarred, tumultuous landscapes after the fighting.”

“Oh. Augustus, I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me—”

“No.” He set a finger to her lips. “What I’m trying to say is that Turner’s work with his play on light and shade, and yours, are steeped in, well, feelings. Your Minster is marvelous, gothic, and haunting. Are you working on the sky?”

Marvelous. Did he truly mean that?

“The sky?” he prompted.

“The sky. Yes. One would like a beautiful blue, but this is closer to the true one as it is now.”

“They say the strange skies and cold weather might be due to a volcanic eruption in Java two years ago.”

“Yes,” she said. “I read of that. It’s such a big world.” She would never see Java, but she’d like to go as far as France, and in her wildest dreams, Italy.

Honoria is referring to the 1815 volcanic eruption at Mount Tambora, an historical event that had a world-wide effect on weather and agriculture, and also the paintings of J.M.W. Turner!

Have you seen Turner’s work? What do you prefer—romantic and emotional, or precisely drawn images? Or perhaps something modern and completely open to interpretation?

About Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match:

After years of putting up with her late husband’s rowdy friends, Honoria, Lady Twisden, has escaped to York where she can paint (even if badly), investigate antiquities, and enjoy freedom.

Then her stepson appears with a long-lost relation in tow.

Promised York’s marriage mart and the hospitality of his cousin’s doddering stepmother, Major August Kellborn is shocked to find that his fetching hostess is the one woman who stirs his heart.

Where to find it: Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match is one of nine novellas included in the Bluestocking Belles & Friends collection, Desperate Daughters, to be released on May 17, 2022.

About Desperate Daughters: Love against the Odds

The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage. The young dowager Countess’s one regret is that she cannot give Seahaven’s dear girls a chance at happiness. When a cousin offers the use of her townhouse in York during the season, the Countess rallies her stepdaughters. They will pool their resources so that the youngest marriageable daughters might make successful matches, thereby saving them all. So start their adventures in York, amid a whirl of balls, lectures, and al fresco picnics. Is it possible each of them might find love by the time the York horse races bring the season to a close?

Available for Pre-order: https://books2read.com/u/bMwL17 for $0.99. The price goes up after the book’s May 17, 2022, launch day.

About the Author:

USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature but prefers the happier world of romance fiction. Her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., but after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with a gold-eyed terrier and only occasionally misses snow.

Website: https://alinakfield.com/

 

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by

Spotlight on My Love, My Rogue

She faked her death. He now knows she’s alive. Can they survive the treacherous enemy that hunts them and gain a chance for love and happiness?

Lady Honora Radcliff was betrothed to the most sought-after man of the Season— just not the man she loved. Too much champagne and too many dances with a handsome stranger leaves her life in tatters and she finds herself married to an abusive man whose only interest is the dowry her father refuses to release. Desperate to save her life and that of her unborn child, she fakes her death and disappears.

Lord Benjamin Crewe, the Marquess of Willington, planned to enjoy the Christmastide season relaxing. Instead, he accepts a dangerous assignment from the Crown and while working it, comes face to face with the woman he always wished he had married. Only she has been thought dead for three years.

Needing answers, he pursues her at the same time a treacherous enemy of England surfaces, and the two of them become tangled in a web of danger, espionage, and deception.

Can Honora and Benjamin survive the danger in which they find themselves and gain a chance for love and happiness?

Buy Links

Amazon – https://amazon.com/Lord-Rogue-Noble-Hearts-Book-ebook/dp/B09SFFWN1P/

B&N – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-lord-my-rogue-anna-st-claire/1141004890?ean=2940160798554

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1610262220

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/my-lord-my-rogue

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60419196-my-lord-my-rogue

BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/my-lord-my-rogue-noble-hearts-series-book-4-by-anna-st-claire

Excerpt

Saltdean, Brighton, England

March 1815

Lady Honora Aster stood at the edge of the cliff and regarded the black void of the ocean pounding below and wondered if she could blend in anywhere, ever again, or if her life would be the endless onslaught of pain and mockery she endured today. The frothy waves beckoned her, daring her to jump and join them. The cold March winds whipped her auburn curls wildly about her face as she stood in her night rail and wrapper at the edge of the cliff, staring through the thick layer of sea mist. The smell of salt and seaweed hung heavy in the air. Wet fog soaked her night clothing as she watched the water crash onto the jagged rocks below. She felt lost and hopeless.

Her mind spun with memories of the life she had foolishly cast aside. Two months before, she had been on her way to Lady Beaumont’s event, betrothed to Adam Hunter, the Marquess of Greystone. Her disgraceful behavior that night ended her betrothal and forced her to wed another—a man she barely knew, who had waltzed into her life that night and convinced her they were meant for each other. Today, her marriage to that man was anything but what he had promised her. A shiver shook her. Shamefully, in mere months, her former betrothed would return home from the battlefields to find out she had jilted him. And for what? For the man who married her and used her. Tonight, there was only ache, cold, and loneliness.

Closing her eyes, she struggled against the memory of that fateful night.

She had been eager to attend Lady Beaumont’s event. It had been the height of the social season—and the end of life, as she had known it. With Adam off fighting against Napoleon’s armies, her social life had been limited and felt stifling.

As her parents’ carriage slowed to a stop behind the waiting line, she noticed they were already discussing how long they should stay at the ball. Her betrothal to Adam had been the match of the Season, and her parents wanted nothing to mess up the engagement. A sarcastic laugh escaped as she gave thought to it all. Her parents had wanted the engagement more than she had.

Curse her heart, but she had hoped a different lord would offer for her—one who acted as if she did not exist. To make matters worse, it had been weeks since her last letter from Adam. He was everything one could want in a suitor. She would love him, she felt sure of it.

“Honora,” her mother said as she snugged her pelisse closer, “remember you are engaged. Do not dance more than once with anyone.”

“Yes, Mama.” Her mother did not have to worry. She might not love Adam as he professed to love her, but she cared for him and fervently wished he was here tonight to show off on her arm.

However, when Lord David Aster had shown her attention, she had ignored her promises, dancing twice with him, eliciting looks and whispers. The evening had spun out of control when she foolishly allowed him to take her to the garden, knowing he wanted to kiss her. But it had gone so much further—too far. When it did, David had promised they would be happy together. She attributed her foolishness to frustration, loneliness, and too much champagne.

He had professed to love her and had been quite attentive—at first. Honora had thought she loved him, but realized now that she had only been caught up in the moment’s passion. How could she love someone so cruel? Absently, she rubbed her raw wrists. “I had everything I ever could have wanted, and like a dog with a bone, I wanted another,” she muttered wearily. David had lied.

Finally, he had admitted it was all about her dowry. He needed it. Not her. Not this baby. The problem was that her dowry was the settlement promised to Adam with their betrothal contract. The contract she had broken. And her father refused to cede to David’s demands that David be given the money. They had eloped. There had been no contract.

Slowly, she took off her shoes and tossed them over the edge, one at a time, watching them land. One landed on the sandy, rocky bottom, the second on a large, jagged rock just as a fierce wave full of foam slapped at the cliff beneath her. When the wave withdrew into the ocean, the shoe had gone with it.

Honora shifted closer to the edge and stood, her bare toes feeling the wet grass beneath them. Her toes hugged the edge. It gave a sense of control to be there. David had stripped her of her sense of worth, her own sense of being. She had run from him and he followed her, demanding she return to London. She would never return to London as his wife. Tears streamed down her cheek unchecked as she recalled their last conversation.

He had walked in behind her, yelling her name. She hated his voice.

“I have had enough of your family.”

“You are back.” It was more of a statement. She closed her wardrobe and turned to face him.

“Your father refuses to acknowledge me as your husband,” David seethed, his arms crossed.

“David, please . . .our marriage, everything, it all happened so fast.” She glanced where he was looking, curious. He was watching the gardener tending her aunt’s roses in the seaside garden behind her Brighton home.

“You have not supported my needs. I married you as I promised. I gave you my name.” His voice turned ugly, mocking, “Your Marquess would not have married you, once he returned. I did your parents a favor.”

“David, I have pleaded with Father. He refuses.” She touched her belly, unsure of how to break the news. “Why did you follow me?”

He turned from the window and glowered at her. “You are my wife—my property. And you owe me . . .” He grabbed her by the arm and threw her to the bed.

“David, stop,” she pleaded. “My aunt will hear us. Please . . . I am with child.”

His eyes bore into her before he grabbed her by the wrists, twisting them roughly. “What?” he roared. “You tricked me into marrying you so I would give my name to your bastard child.” He released one wrist and backhanded her with his free arm, knocking her back onto her bed before advancing on her.

Shaking, she drew up into a protective ball, watching him through blinding tears. “That is not true. I have only just missed my courses. There has only been you. You know this is truth.”

He had moved toward her, but her words stopped him. Instead, he stood and walked to the door. “Clean up. I shall return at dinner.” With that, he opened the door and stopped. “You shall convince your aunt to support our side, tonight at dinner.” He gave her a last look and slammed the door closed behind him.

Moments later, Bridget tapped on the door before entering into the room. “Your ladyship! What has happened?” The petite maid dropped the linens she carried and rushed to the basin and wet a cloth, carrying it back to Honora.

“Bridget, I cannot take this anymore. He is so cruel. He accused me of having another’s baby.” Honora hiccupped, struggling to catch a breath. “You are the only one that knows what he does to me.”

Her maid pursed her lips and gave a tight nod. “I will see to everything as you have asked, m’lady.”

Bridget was as true a friend as any other. She had grown up with Honora in the Radcliff home. Honora trusted her above everyone, except Evie. She needed to trust that Evie would do one last favor for her. Ashamed and unwilling to hurt Adam any more than she already had, she sat at a small escritoire and withdrew a page of vellum. Quickly, she penned a note to her childhood friend. When it was complete, she sanded it and folded it. Melting her lavender candle, she dripped enough wax for her seal. Satisfied, she reached under her bed and withdrew her valise. Bridget would see the letter here, she thought, stuffing it inside the side pocket.

Honora found herself pregnant, humiliated, and all alone. She had already written to her parents, giving Bridget specific instructions on when she wanted the letters mailed. This was the only way she saw to gain her freedom. Loosening her wrapper’s tie, she pulled it free and watched the wrapper fall. It floated gently on a breeze before disappearing into the fog-laden haze below her feet. She took one last look at the white silk wrapper snagged on a branch partially down the side of the cliff. There were no other options. This was her only way out of a life she hated.

A black carriage rolled up behind her and stopped. She turned and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment to the driver. It was time to leave. Slowly, she backed away from the edge and walked toward the open carriage door her aunt’s footmen held for her. Bridget had a warm pelisse waiting. They needed to make haste before he returned.

Meet Anna St Claire

Anna St. Claire is a big believer that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself. She sprinkles her stories with laughter, romance, mystery and lots of possibilities, adhering to the belief that goodness and love will win the day.

Anna is both an avid reader author of American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their  two dogs and often, their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, and Mimi—all life roles that Anna St. Claire relishes and feels blessed to still enjoy. And she loves her pets – dogs and cats alike, and often inserts them into her books as secondary characters.

Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, always encouraged Anna’s interest in writing, after discovering short stories she would write in her spare time.

As a child, she loved mysteries and checked out every Encyclopedia Brown story that came into the school library. Before too long, her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind, now a treasured, but weathered book from being read multiple times. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss,’ books, Shanna and Ashes In The Wind, Anna became hooked. She read every historical romance that came her way and dreams of writing her own historical romances took seed.

Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys almost any period in American and British history.

https://www.annastclaire.com

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https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17419205

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by

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/