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Spotlight on Earl of Shefford

Congratulation to Anna St. Claire on the publication of Earl of Shefford.

Earl of Shefford

Wicked Earls Club, book #28

By Anna St. Claire

Releases 2/16/2021

Colin, Earl of Shefford visits a building he won, having determined its address to be an excellent location for a new club. Discovering not only a fully functioning orphanage but a beautiful headmistress, who refuses his offer of an alternative establishment, he suffers a pique of temper. Irritated by her immunity to his charms, he foolishly succumbs to his intense attraction and brashly offers her a choice. Either she must accept him in a marriage of convenience or provide proof that the orphanage has value to him.

Impoverished and needing to restore her fortunes, Miss Honoria Mason despises the members of the ton for their extravagance and blames them for her family’s loss of home and fortune. Nora’s life takes a turn when the handsome Lord Shefford becomes the orphanage’s landlord. Either she proves the orphanage’s worth to him in two weeks or becomes his convenient bride in order that he may produce an heir. She refuses to lose the orphanage she has worked so hard to preserve and so accepts his offer to marry.

Sparks fly as proximity forces them together, the better to know each other. Yet, how may romance overcome such hazardous beginnings when resentment has stacked the dice against them?

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Earl-Shefford-Noble-Hearts-Wicked-ebook/dp/B08GJDTLQL

BN – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/earl-of-shefford-anna-st-claire/1137596286?ean=2940162961482

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/earl-of-shefford

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55296151

BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/earl-of-shefford-noble-hearts-series-book-three-wicked-earls-club-28-by-anna-st-claire-and-wicked-earls-club

Read an excerpt:

Finally! Here was a chance to set the wheels in motion for the fencing club he and his brother had talked about for years. Winning this building had become a prompt in his mind to make it happen. He would have the building renovated to his brother’s specifications and Jonathan would run it. He was the expert in the duello. Their father had encouraged the skill, often sparring with his sons. Colin considered himself more than proficient at the art of fencing; however, Jonathan’s skill was far beyond mere competence. He almost equaled the legendary Angelo.

Besides, Colin reasoned, he was much too busy to run a club. He had taken the bet on faith, being previously unaware of the building’s existence, let alone having knowledge of its condition. Upon reflection, there had been little—if not naught—trustworthy about Wilford Whitton. The nasty knife wound in his own arm, that was still in danger of infection, was proof of that. However, he could no longer tolerate staring at the four walls of his room.

Still involved with the Crown, and now with his estate, Colin found fencing an excellent way of releasing pent up emotion and helping him to feel bobbish. He felt sure this entertainment would also be a welcome diversion within his set at the Wicked Earl’s Club. The gentlemen met almost nightly, and no matter the requirement for amusement, the club could, for the most part, meet it. As yet, it had not provided a fencing saloon.

The sport itself had diminished somewhat in status, overtaken by the popularity of shooting; however, it remained an effective and punishing method of defense that, if vigorously practiced, kept a gentleman’s body at peak performance.

Caught up in the excitement of his thoughts, he picked up his cane and whipped it into a parry at an imaginary opponent—only to be immediately reminded of the stitches he had received only two days ago.

His arm ached, and that Whitton had caused it pricked his pride. He should have been more careful, expecting something from the man. He pulled out his pocket watch, mindful that Bergen and Lord Morray were meeting with him soon.

Where was Joseph? His valet was taking an inordinate amount of time to find a suitable coat. He fingered the frilled cuffs of his shirt distractedly. The man had pursed his lips anxiously when the bandage around Colin’s upper arm did not easily fit inside the brown wool coat he had chosen for today and had hurried from the room, muttering about fetching one with a better fit. Some minutes earlier, he had informed Colin that his black coat had been returned, repaired by his tailor. Presumably, therefore, the man had gone to fetch the garment.

Colin turned his head at the slight knock at the door. “Come in.”

“My lord, I apologize for the delay. I took the liberty of remeasuring the arm openings, in order to compare them with the brown coat. They are just as required and should provide room for your injury. It has also been cleaned.”

“God’s teeth, man! I was wondering where you had gone. I had hoped to view an investment before meeting with my brother.” Colin stretched his arms into the sleeves as Joseph fussed with the shoulders. “It looks better than new. Thank you, Joseph,” he acknowledged in a milder tone. The black coat would suit for what he needed to do today.

Joseph was the grandson of his father’s valet and had proven himself more than capable. The man had become indispensable in the three years he had been in his service.

“Mr. Weston has attached a new sleeve,” Joseph responded abstractedly, still twitching with the back.

Colin wanted to set out. “Have the footman summon my carriage to be brought around, if you will.”

“I anticipated your need, my lord. The carriage is already at the front, awaiting your convenience,” Joseph said, smiling. “Lord Bergen has arrived and is waiting in the drawing room.”

“Your ability to predict my requirements never ceases to amaze me, Joseph.”

“It is merely a part of my duties, my lord. I apologize for not considering the need to accommodate your bandage.”

“Think naught of it,” Colin responded, suddenly feeling guilty about the way he had spoken to the young valet. The lanky young man that shadowed his grandfather in those last years of the older man’s service had matured into a fine young man. Tall, with blond hair, broad shoulders, and bright blue eyes, he was a favorite among Colin’s staff. Surprisingly, it was more for his willingness to help anyone that needed an extra pair of hands than his masculine stature. “Thank you, Joseph.”

Humming to himself, Colin grabbed his cane and joined his friend downstairs. Adam Beaumont, the Earl of Morray had not yet arrived. The Earl was the one gentleman in Colin’s set he had counted upon to give him a realistic idea of the popularity of the venture he had in mind. He was not only a friend, but a frequent sparring partner at Jackson’s Saloon. His opinion on both the location and the popularity of the investment meant a great deal to Colin.

Less than an hour later, his coachman pulled the town chariot into a short, circular drive. Colin and his two friends stepped out of the carriage and stared up at a three-story, faded pink building surrounded by iron railings on a corner, north-east of Mayfair. Russell Square was a respectable if not fashionable neighborhood, yet not considered a dangerous one. He did not wish customers to be set upon by riff-raff. He found it was close enough to his prospective clients, while far enough removed for discretion. The location pleased him.

“Not a bad locality,” he remarked, hoping to spur his friends’ opinions. An instant later, he thought he saw movement in a window and squinted. Are those curtains? It looks inhabited. According to Whitton, this was supposed to be an empty building.

“I thought you had mentioned the building being empty. Unless my eyes deceive me, I saw a woman’s face—a rather charming woman’s face—in that upper window,” Morray said, pointing to the large second-floor window, centrally placed above the door.

“Then I was not seeing things,” Colin retorted in some chagrin. He regarded Bergen, who stood next to him, smiling, having not uttered a word.

Colin prompted Bergen with a slight nudge of his elbow. “He said the building was empty, did he not?” he queried.

“He did. However, he also tried to weasel out of the bet. I am thinking the reasons he failed to share are currently residing in that building, and she has no notion she is being evicted. Unless my memory fails me, this used to be an orphanage before it closed some years ago.” He eyed his friends. “Could it be that it has become so again? I say we should meet the young woman inside and find out. I would like to have a complete story to share with Elizabeth when I return home.” He laughed sardonically.

Colin tried to be irritated with his friend, but he could lay nothing at Bergen’s feet. In fact, he almost envied his friend. Bergen was happily married—something he could never achieve himself. He was uncertain he was even ready to consider marriage at this time. Thomas Bergen had married Lady Elizabeth Newton over five years ago, after discovering her living a quiet but remarkable life, caring for her children and abandoned animals. He had brought her an orphaned donkey he had found while on the way to London, having heard she adopted strays of all types. The donkey, Clarence, had found a home and his friend had found a wife he had not been seeking. Besides the three children she had already adopted, they had twins of their own—a boy and a girl. Lucky fellow, he thought irrationally.

“I cannot see the humor here,” Colin said, irritated. This created a whole new wrinkle in his quest to help his brother. He pulled out the deed and glanced first at a brass sign attached to the railings and then back to the deed. “We have the right of it. Shall we find out what more there is to this story?” It incensed him to be caught like a flat through accepting a chance wager.

“You should probably determine the legitimacy of the paper he gave you,” Morray added in a droll tone. “Yet we are here. I propose we meet the chit and find out what we can.”

Morray was always willing to meet the chit, Colin thought miserably. “She occupies my property and is not grist for your mill, Morray. This may very well be an orphanage.” Even to his own ear, he sounded testy. Perhaps it was the combination of being injured and swindled. He had thought things might not be as Whitton represented, and rather than follow his intuition, he succumbed to the lure of the game. Winning the building presented a suitable solution to his and Jonathan’s desire to honor their father.

Morray snorted. “Ownership remains to be seen, but fear not, my fine fellow. You know innocent ladies are not to my taste. I prefer, shall I say, a more savage entertainment. Your young woman is safe.”

“She is not my woman,” Colin snapped.

“I say, Shefford, you are letting this become bothersome. I have found that the biggest surprises can sometimes turn out to be the best ones. I, for one, am eager to meet the face behind the curtain.” Morray jerked his head toward the same curtain which had moved earlier, revealing a lovely face framed by soft, blonde ringlets staring down at the three of them.

The large oak door at the top of the steps had recently been rubbed down, most likely to prepare for a fresh coat of paint. Colin took in the neatened appearance of the portico and lifted the plain brass knocker to announce their presence. Less than a minute later, a small hatch above the knocker slid open and an older woman’s face appeared for a moment before the opening closed and the door opened.

“Good day, my lords. May I be of help?” A short, mob-capped woman stood at the door, filling the opening.

“I am Lord Shefford, and I wish to look over my recently acquired property. I must admit to being somewhat startled to find the house occupied,” Colin began.

“Oh, dear! Beg pardon, my lord.” The short woman closed the door.

“I say, did you just get the door closed in your face?” Bergen gibed.

“Stubble it, Bergen.” He lifted the knocker and gave three quick raps.

“I am sorry, Shefford. I should not be fooling at your expense.” Bergen smirked, putting the lie to his apology. “’Tis just that this reminds me a little of my first meeting with Elizabeth. I think I am merely amused by the coincidence.”

“This has no similarity to when you met your wife, I assure you. I am not meeting my future wife,” he grumbled as the door opened again. The older woman had disappeared, replaced by a beautiful young woman dressed in a plain cotton dress of a deep navy-blue color, covered with a white apron. She had golden blonde hair, bound neatly in a loose chignon, and chocolate brown eyes—eyes a man could lose himself in. “May I speak with your employer, my dear,” Colin said politely.

“Good day, my lords.” She bobbed a curtsey. “My name is Miss Mason and I am the headmistress here. Please forgive my housekeeper’s lack of deference.” She paused, smiling sweetly. “We are unaccustomed to having many visitors, especially gentlemen as distinguished as yourselves. Have you come to make a donation to the school?”

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. She would love to connect with any of her readers on her website – www.annastclaire.com, through email—annastclaireauthor@gmail.com, Instagram – annastclaire_author, BookBub – www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire,Twitter – @1AnnaStClaire, Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authorannastclaire/ or on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF?ref=.

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Tea with Harry

London

1919

Harry leaned his head into the wind. London’s weather proved as appalling as his grandfather remembered. He had three hours before the train left again, and he had been too restless to sit in the station. He left his friend Mac on a bench sipping a mug of hot black coffee while he wandered the streets his ancestors once walked.

He found himself drawn to an elegant square in Mayfair, and a grand old mansion. He couldn’t explain what drew him; it was just a feeling really. He stood for a long while staring up and the magnificent old place, while traffic zoomed by behind him, wondering if it could possibly be a private residence. Many of the grand houses had been turned into hospitals or schools. Some even housed museums. He gave into impulse and knocked on the door.

A man in the formal clothing of an earlier time greeted him. How odd, he thought. He soon found it even odder. “Welcome, Lieutenant Wheatly. Her Grace is waiting for you,” the strange man said.

“Her Grace?” Harry parroted.

“Yes. If you would follow me,” the man said. What else could Harry do? He followed.

The man led him to an elegant sitting room where a tiny woman with silvery hair and sparking blue eyes greeted him and invited him to sit. A wave of her hand brought a liveried footman with a cart containing tea and cakes. Conversation seemed unnecessary while they served Harry. What are these people? Reenactors?

“Pardon me, er, Your Grace, but what era are you meant to represent?”

“Era Harry? You are visiting me in 1819, but I’m getting ahead of myself,” the woman said.

Harry clamped his jaw shut. 1819? She must be mad.

“Let me explain. I am the Duchess of Haverford. I’ve known your family for generations. Why, your great grandfather visited me earlier this month. Of course he is just a gangly adolescent at the moment, and having rather a difficult time of it at Harrow.”

“My great grandfather? Randolph Wheatly?” He had been the last of Harry’s line to live in London, the first to migrate to Canada.  Randolph Wheatly died in 1893 when Harry was a toddler.

The duchess beamed at him as if he were a particularly bright school boy.

“The very one! You see, I know your family well, and so when I sensed your distress I had to reach out to you. It must be a very great distress indeed to come to me across… a century is it?” She gazed at him expectantly.

“A century. Surely you know it is 1919 and this…” he gestured around him with one hand, his expression troubled. “Confusing. What it is is confusing.”

The duchess chuckled. “I imagine it is. Let’s just say I knew you needed sympathy and a cup of tea and leave it at that. Don’t try to understand the rest.”

Harry felt his shoulders relax. It had been a long while since he had enjoyed such elegance. The chair and the tea were a far cry from army fare, and finer and more comfortable than even Rosemarie’s cottage—though he’d trade them in a heartbeat to be back with her.

“Suppose you tell me why you are in London and what troubles you,” the old woman said.

“I’m not staying here. I’m merely between trains,” he began. When she looked confused about “trains,” he wondered if he ought to explain the concept but decided not to. “I’m on my way to France to search for Rosemarie. We became separated in the last year of the war.”

“So much grief in time of war,” she murmured sympathetically. “I’m distraught to hear we’re at war with France again a hundred years from now. Does it never end?”

“Actually France was our ally. We fought the Germans for almost five years.”

“Which Germans?” she asked looking as puzzled as Harry felt. He recalled that the various German states unified late in the 1800s, long after this woman’s time.

He stared at her. Can this all be real? Surely not. “All of them, Your Grace,” he muttered.

She said something under her breath about never trusting Prussians, but she smiled up at him immediately. “Tell me about this Rosemarie. Why are you searching for her?”

“I need to reserve space on a repatriation ship to bring her to Canada. For that I need a marriage certificate. But I can’t marry her if I can’t find her. I’ve been given leave and I’m on my way back to Amiens to search for her and Marcel.”

“And who is Marcel?”

“Her son. Soon to be mine, I hope,” he replied.

“How wonderful! You are a fine young man, Harry Wheatly. Your great grandfather will be proud of you.”

“Now you best hurry. You won’t want to miss that… train, did you call it?”

He surged to his feet. “Yes train, and I most certainly don’t want to miss it. Thank you for the tea, Your Grace. It has been entertaining.”

“I’m glad to give you a respite. Now go find your Rosemarie, and God go with you.”

Moments later he stepped out of the mansion onto a busy street and rushed away dodging cars and rain puddles in the direction of St. Pancras Station.

Harry is the hero of  Christmas Hope, a wartime story in four parts, each one ending on Christmas, 1916-19.

When the Great War is over, will their love be enough?

A wartime romance in four parts, each ending on Christmas, 1916-1919.

After two years at the mercy of the Canadian Expeditionary force and the German war machine, Harry ran out of metaphors for death, synonyms for brown, and images of darkness. When he encounters color among the floating islands of Amiens and life in the form a widow and her little son, hope ensnares him. Through three more long years of war and its aftermath, the hope she brings keeps Harry alive.

Rosemarie Legrand’s husband left her a tiny son, no money, and a savaged reputation when he died. She struggles to simply feed the boy and has little to offer a lonely soldier, but Harry’s devotion lifts her up. The war demands all her strength and resilience, will the hope of peace and the promise of Harry’s love keep her going?

Buy links:
Barnes & Noble * Kobo * Apple 

Amazon: US * UK * CA * AU * IN

See yesterday’s post for an excerpt, a biography of the author, and a link to a blog tour and giveaway.

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Tea with Hopkins

Tristan Trent, the Marquess of Hopkins, hadn’t wanted to speak of matters that should remain private, but the rumors had reached the ears of Her Grace. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them to go hang, but this was the Duchess of Haverford, and perhaps she could help still the gossiping tongues come spring.

He pulled at his tight cravat. Nerves he hadn’t experienced since he was a lad entering Eton for the first time coursed through him as he followed the livered footman to the parlor where Her Grace awaited him.

“Hopkins, thank you for joining me,” Her Grace greeted, as a cup of the most delicate porcelain was presented to him.

“It is I who should thank you for the audience.”

Her Grace’s eyes twinkled. “You are wishing me to Hades, my dear. But you shall forgive me. I have heard the rumors, and I mean to help if I can. But first, I must know the truth for myself.”

“Yes, well, the truth.” He resisted the urge to pull at his cravat again as he settled across from the Duchess of Haverford.

“Is your wife truly back from the dead?”

It was the question everyone asked and wondered about. Everyone presumed Elaina dead, but Tristan never gave up hope, even when urged to do so and told to marry again and provide a mother for his small children. “She is,” he answered simply.

“How? Where was she? We all assumed….”

“It was a reasonable assumption.” He took a sip of the tea. “My wife, Elaina, washed up on the shores of Alderney, where she remained for three years.”

“I am informed that she didn’t recall who she was, or where she came from.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he answered. “The only knowledge she possessed was her name because another sailor, who also was washed overboard, had heard it called out before the tragedy. He could only supply that she was on a merchant ship traveling from Saint-Malo, France to Plymouth.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. He’d not known of her presence before the storm struck and everyone had come up on deck to abandon the ship, which was soon to sink because of damage from the storm. For three years Elaina knew nothing else. When my brother, Harrison, visited Alderney and a man he hoped would be a business associate, and was introduced to her.”

“Did she remember your brother then?”

“No. Seeing his face, a man she’d known several years, stirred no memories.”

“Oh dear.”

EXCERPT:

Elaina took a deep breath. Fear clutched at her heart, as she followed Harrison into the inn and remained silent when he inquired as to which chamber his brother could be found, and then followed him up the stairs until they stood before a dark wooden door and knocked.

A petite woman with blond hair answered the door. “Harrison!” she cried, clearly happy to see the man.

“So, this is where my family is,” he announced and stepped into the set of rooms. Elaina didn’t follow and tried to breathe through the anxiety crushing her chest. “It’s a good thing that I stopped at my home and discovered the various notes, or we would have traveled directly home and missed you completely.”

“We?” a voice questioned.

“Yes, we,” Harrison cleared his throat. “And I’m happy to be the one to facilitate this reunion.” At that, Harrison stepped aside and held out a hand to her. “I found Elaina.”

She allowed Harrison to pull her into the parlor and glanced around at the sea of shocked faces.

“Oh dear,” the blonde woman sighed.

“Elaina is it truly you?” a gentleman with dark hair set a glass aside and slowly crossed the room, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe that what he was seeing was real.

She had no response as she studied his appearance from the dark hair to the brown eyes, aquiline nose, firm lips and strong jaw, hoping for a sense of familiarity, but he was just as much a stranger as everyone else in the room.

“I can’t believe you’re back. I hoped, prayed…”

Before she knew what was happening, the stranger pulled her into an embrace. “Elaina, thank God you’ve come back to me.”

His voice was heavy with emotion and all she could surmise was this must be her husband.

He pulled back and looked down at her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a light misting in his eyes as if he were near tears. Had he loved her so very much?

“Where were you? What happened? We thought you’d drowned.”

Elaina quickly glanced at Harrison and hoped for his assistance.

“Tristan, there is something you must know.”

His brow furrowed with concern. “I’m certain you’ll explain all of the details,” he dismissed and took Elaina’s hand, drawing her further into the room.

“Elaina doesn’t remember who she is.”

He stopped and turned. “What?”

“She washed ashore after the shipwreck and never recovered her memory of who she is, where she came from or why she was even on a ship,” Harrison explained.

Tristan’s eyes widened, and he studied her again. “Is it true? You don’t know me?”

At that, the tears threatened, but Elaina blinked them away. Harrison had told her that Tristan was her husband and Elaina had prayed that once she gazed upon his face that her memory would return. Except it hadn’t. Everything about her life before she woke in Alderney was gone, an empty canvas, and now she feared that it would never return.

The Forgotten Marquis

For three long and lonely years, Tristan Trent, the Marquess of Hopkins, waited for his wife Elaina’s return. Eyewitnesses insist no one could have survived the storm that swept her overboard, but Tristan refuses to give up hope—even when he is trapped into a betrothal he doesn’t want and forced to declare Elaina dead.

Elaina Trent has no memories of her life before waking in Alderney surrounded by strangers, and three years of trying to recall an elusive history has left her life in limbo. Determined to have a future even though her past is gone, she accepts a marriage proposal and a promise for a new life. But when a man claiming to be her brother-in-law stumbles across her, Elaina has no choice except to end her engagement and return to a husband she no longer knows.

When Elaina and Tristan are finally reunited, she still cannot recall what they once shared. Can she begin anew with a gentleman she doesn’t even know and hope that love grows once again, or will they remain strangers forever?

BUY LINKS:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2knpTxS

iBooks: https://apple.co/2lqOceB

BN/Nook: http://bit.ly/2ls4V17

Meet Jane Charles

USA Today Bestselling Author Jane Charles lives in the Midwest with her former marine, police officer husband. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand, until one day, out of boredom on a long road trip, she borrowed her sister’s romance novel and fell in love. Her life is filled with three amazing children, two dogs, two cats, community theatre, and traveling whenever possible. Jane has authored romances set in the Regency era as well as Contemporary/New Adult.

JaneCharlesAuthor.com

Jane can be contacted at: janecharles522@gmail.com

Twitter: @JaneACharles

FB: https://www.facebook.com/JaneCharlesAuthor/

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Vimy Ridge: Canada’s coming-of-age

Guest post from Caroline Warfield.


Last April, I posted about the 102nd anniversary of the Battle of Vimy Ridge on History Imagined. It was a well planned, brilliantly executed operation in which all four divisions of the Canadian Corps, fighting together for the first time, successfully dislodged Germans from the top of a high ridge, a feat the French and English had failed to accomplish earlier in the war. It cost 3,595 Canadian deaths and approximately 7,000 wounded.

I will repeat most of that post here. Vimy Ridge in many ways represents to Canada, what Gallipoli does to Australia and New Zealand. Brigadier-General Arthur Edward Ross has been quoted as saying, “in those few minutes I witnessed the birth of a nation.” As Gallipoli defines the moment in which Australian and New Zealand came of age as independent countries, so Vimy Ridge took on mythological importance to Canadians. They came out from the shadow of Britain.

Weeks of training and nighttime drilling made use of models and mock-ups to prepare the troops for the attack. Unlike tactics employed at the Somme the year before, effort was made to empower leadership down to the squad level so every man knew that if officers fell, the assault would continue. Units were given as much information as possible, to decentralize command and to encourage initiative.

They built roads and railways, shored up the French trenches, made use of existing underground caverns called souterrains dug into the chalky soil, and built an additional 6km of subways to transport troops as close to the front as possible while protected from German Fire.

More important than any other innovation and preparation, however, were the overwhelming amount of artillery brought up to support the attack and improvements that enabled artillery shells to explode on contact so few simply burrowed into the mud. Steady bombardment began March 20 and lasted twenty days, raining death and destruction onto the top of the ridge. On April 3 it intensified, and Germans called it “the week of suffering.”

Coincidentally that week was holy week; Good Friday must have been hellish for men on both sides. My own interest is rarely about strategy and planning, but primarily about the men themselves, the lives of the common soldier, hiding in tunnels, trenches, and caves waiting. When the time came the stories of individual heroism at Vimy Ridge abounded. The names of Ellis Sifton, William Milne, and Jeremiah Jones, stand out as examples. Ordered to take Vimy Ridge, take it they did.

Shortly after dawn on Easter Monday, 9 April 1917, 15,000 Canadian troops, joined by a British division in their right flank, began their assault uphill in driving sleet, supported by still more artillery fire in a “creeping barrage” designed to protect them, and keep the Germans in their trenches. By the end of April 9 Canadians held the entire ridge with the exception of one hill; they pushed the Germans back 5Km, the greatest one-day advance in the war to that point. The artillery had been less effectively employed against Hill 145 (aka “the Pimple”). Defenders cut the Fourth Canadian Division to pieces in the initial assault. Renewed bombardment and a second infantry assault took the hill on April 12.

In the grand scheme of the Great War, Vimy Ridge could be defined as a mere tactical victory, its importance overshadowed by the British Army’s failure to make significant progress in the overall Battle of Arras of which it was a part, and the failure of the French action at Aisne, which it was designed to support. In the quagmire that was the war in northern France, Vimy cost the Germans an important vantage point, but only a few kilometers of ground.

Strategically vital? No. Defining? Emphatically yes. Though joined by a British division, and other the overall command of Sir Julian Byng, architect of the meticulous planning, at the end of the day Canadian soldiers accomplished the thing. Men from every part of Canada charged up Vimy Ridge, functioning as a single unit. They had good reason to be proud of their daring, initiative, and success.

They were not finished. There were battles of greater strategic importance, and more bloodshed still to come—Amiens, Cambrai, Passchendaele, and Ypres. Yet it is Vimy that is remembered as the corps’ defining moment. It is therefore fitting that Canada’s main monument to the Great War in France is the Vimy Memorial, which sits atop Hill 145.

Caroline Warfield, award winning author of historical romance usually set in the Regency and Victorian eras, reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart, believing love is worth the risk.

Her most recent release is Christmas Hope, set in France during World War I, it includes scenes at Vimy Ridge.

After two years at war Harry ran out of metaphors for death, synonyms for brown, and images of darkness. When he encounters the floating islands of Amiens and life in the form a widow and her little son, hope ensnares him.  When the Great War is over, will their love be enough?

Full blurb and excerpt

 

 

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Run, don’t walk, to buy Unexpected Wife

I was introduced to Caroline Warfield’s books when I read her first published novel, Dangerous Works, and within a few pages knew she was giving me everything I want in an historical romance. Well-rounded characters I cared about. Stories soundly grounded in historical fact, including real challenges and issues consistent with the times. Interesting plots with unexpected but logical twists. A solid passion between the hero and heroine ending in a commitment that I can expect to last well beyond the last page of the book.

Each book in the Dangerous series just got better and better, and the novella A Dangerous Nativity was just plain funny, besides. I loved the three delightful boys and their plan to put on a nativity scene with animals in all the parts.

You can imagine how excited I was when she spoke about Children of Empire, in which the three boys, now grown and estranged (thanks to a vicious lying harpy), each have a book. The story of Canadian timber baron, Rand, is told in The Renegade Wife. Fred, who went into the army, meets the love of his life in The Reluctant Wife. Charles, the Duke of Murnane, appeared in the story for each of his cousins. Good as they were, each better than the last, I was holding out to hear what happened to Charles. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Take everything I said about Dangerous Works and magnify it. The Unexpected Wife stars my beloved Charles, as wonderful as ever, and a heroine who is worthy of him. Zambuk is brilliant, passionate, magnificent — and deeply frustrated at the constraints on her as a woman. Together, they face the challenges posed by her opium-addicted brother, rogue Western traders determined to break the Chinese ban on opium, a Chinese magistrate dedicated to stamping out the vile trade, small-minded gossip, and Charles’s wicked wife.

Who could ask for more? A sigh-worthy ending goes without saying in a Warfield book. And I know I’ve said it before, but this is Caroline’s best yet.  Can’t wait to see what she does in her next series.

Giveaway

To celebrate the launch, Caroline will give a copy of any of her books to one randomly selected person who comments. They can choose from the books found here: http://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

 

The Duke of Murnane expects work to heal him. He doesn’t expect to face his past and find his future in China

Charles Wheatly, Duke of Murnane, accepts an unofficial fact finding mission to the East India Company’s enclave in Canton, China on behalf of the queen. He anticipates intrigue, international tensions, and an outlet for his grief over the death of his young son. He isn’t entirely surprised when he also encounters the troublesome offspring of his mentor, the Duke of Sudbury, but the profound love he discovers for the determined young woman is unforeseen and untimely. Charles certainly doesn’t expect to also face his troubled marriage in such an exotic locale. The appearance of his estranged wife in the company of their enemy throws the entire enterprise into conflict, and tensions boil over when the woman he loves is put at risk by his wife’s scheming—and the beginnings of the First Opium War.

Zambak Hayden seethes with frustration. A woman her age has occupied the throne for over a year, yet the Duke of Sudbury’s line of succession still passes over her—his eldest—to land on a son with neither spine nor character. She follows her brother, the East India Company’s newest and least competent clerk, to Macau to protect him and to safeguard the family honor—if she also escapes the gossip and intrigues of London and the marriage mart, so much the better. She has no intention of being forced into some sort of dynastic marriage, and she may just refuse to marry at all. The greed and corruption she finds horrifies her, especially when her brother succumbs to the lure of opium. She determines to document the truth. When an old family friend arrives she assumes her father sent him. She isn’t about to bend to his dictates nor give up her quest. Her traitorous heart, however, can’t stop yearning for a man she can’t have.

As an epic historical drama unfolds around them, both Charles and Zambak must come to terms with a love that neither expected.

PREORDER LINKS (ebook only) — published 25 July

US  ♥  UK  ♥  Canada    ♥  EuroZone   ♥   India

The Trailer:                 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CQ9QWkqLvw

Bookbub   ♥  Book Trailer   ♥    Book Page    ♥  Pinterest Storyboard

Excerpt

At the mention of Jarratt her stomach clenched, and a vile taste crept into her mouth. “What else,” she rasped.

Charles looked down. His sigh sounded deep and weary. “Elliot fears the Chinese response will eventually ensnare an English user or dealer. If they arrest someone or threaten violence he may be forced to act.”

If Thorn is as closely allied to the opium dens as Jarratt implied—and out of his senses from the narcotic—he could be… cow turds!

“Charles, I have to get to my brother. I can’t leave him in Jarratt’s circle.”

The duke’s eyes held hers until she felt him boring into her soul. He put out a comforting hand, and she gripped it to steady herself. “How exactly do you propose to do that, Zambak?” he asked.

“Jarratt said to come back. I’ll go tomorrow. He implied Thorn might be well, might be willing to come with me.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” he corrected.

She stiffened in outrage for a moment before Jarratt’s face leered at her in memory, and she sagged toward Charles. When he cupped her cheek with one hand and searched her face, she thought for an insane moment he meant to kiss her. Absurd. Charles is a married man, and we’re friends. Only friends.

“We’ll go together, Zambak. We will get Thorn help together.”

Together. Relief flooded her. She had thought that accepting help made her weak, but the tenderness in the duke’s eyes gave her strength.

Author bio

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Visit Caroline’s Website and Blog

Meet Caroline on Facebook 

Follow Caroline on Twitter

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Tea with Charles

 

How in God’s name does this woman know everything?

Charles Wheatly, Duke of Murnane glanced down at the missive in his hand, a rather personal one coming from a duchess, and shook his head.

Charles

Do come to tea before you leave for China.  Shall we say Tuesday next?

Eleanor Winshire

He knew the answer to his own question. The duchess spoke to Uncle Richard, of course.  The Duke of Sudbury wouldn’t have confided such a secret in many people, but he would be frank with the Duchess of Haverford who could be trusted with both the political and the personal aspects of Charles’s mission.  Which part does she wish to pummel me about? Charles wondered.

He suspected the personal. The last time she summoned him to tea, she urged him to divorce his wife.  “This time I may listen to her,” he mumbled to the empty carriage. But no. He had no more desire to drag his wretched marriage through the mud than he did three years ago. He liked Eleanor, he truly did, but his life was his own.

The duchess surprised him. After tea had been poured, he accepted her condolences on the death of his son. She wisely chose not to linger over them, and they quickly moved on to the sort of exchange demanded by good manners. Yes, Uncle Will has recovered from the bronchitis he contracted at the funeral. Yes, Fred and Clare were thriving at Songbird Cottage, but he’d had no world from Rand recently. Charles suspected his cousin was too busy building his timber empire. The duchess, in her turn, referred lightly to the doings of her vast tribe of grandchildren: the children of her sons and foster-daughters, and the step-grandchildren from her second marriage. “They are all growing up, Charles. Even Haverford’s daughter is about to make her debut, and my son made a late start, as you know.”

Charles reached over to pick up a second lemon cake, always his favorite, when she struck.

“You will of course want to get into Canton itself.”

He sat upright, and blinked at her.

“There is no point in you going all the way to Macao just to listen to Charles Eliot’s views on the matter, much less those of Jarrett and those wretched smugglers unleashing drugs on those people.”

He put the remains of the cake down and cleared his throat. “You are correct. I had planned to haunt the docks of both cities and Madras as well.”

“And shed your title and position to do it.”

“How else can I entice people into speaking plainly?” He grinned at her, enjoying himself now. “Besides, I may as well enjoy a bit of freedom while I can.”

“Quite so,” Eleanor replied. “It is a pity you don’t speak Cantonese. You will need a translator.”

That problem had bothered him, but he assumed it could be solved. “There are people—“

“Not many. Lily would be perfect, but of course she has much too much dignity at her age to go racketing about with you.”

He choked on his tea. Lilias Hayden, the Duchess of Sudbury, might be a gifted linguist, but she wielded her skills over diplomatic dinners, not on the docks. “I should say not,” he croaked.

“I wonder if her daughter has inherited her skills?” Eleanor murmured innocently. Too innocently. Sudbury had obviously told her that his hoydenish daughter had absconded to China after refusing to accept the attentions of no fewer than six suitors during the previous Season.

“I wouldn’t have any idea,” Charles answered carefully.

“You might ask her when you see her,” Eleanor replied over her teacup. She put it down and turned the subject to tea and the opium that supported its import into London. Her extensive understanding of the laws, the economics, and the ethics didn’t surprise him.

“Be cautious what you report to Victoria, however. She may think she wants to know the truth, but she won’t upset any apple carts, and she certainly won’t cross Melbourne. Still, it can’t hurt to have the sovereign well informed. I applaud the mission.”

He rose to leave sometime later and bowed over her hand. He was half way to the door when she spoke again.

“Don’t forget what I said about Lily’s daughter. She might be just the thing you need.”

He turned and gave her a slight bow.

“And Charles, do something about your marriage. Enough is enough.”

 

About the Book: The Unexpected Wife

Children of Empire Book 3

Crushed with grief after the death of his son, Charles Wheatly, Duke of Murnane, throws himself into the new Queen’s service in 1838. When the government sends him on an unofficial fact finding mission to the East India Company’s enclave in Canton, China, he anticipates intrigue, international tensions, and an outlet for his frustration. He isn’t entirely surprised when he also encounters a pair of troublesome young people that need his help. However, the appearance of his estranged wife throws the entire enterprise into conflict. He didn’t expect to face his troubled marriage in such an exotic locale, much less to encounter profound love at last in the person of a determined young woman. Tensions boil over, and his wife’s scheming—and the beginnings of the First Opium War—force him to act to rescue the one he loves and perhaps save himself in the process.

Zambak Hayden seethes with frustration. A woman her age has occupied the throne for over a year, yet the Duke of Sudbury’s line of succession still passes over her—his eldest—to land on a son with neither spine nor character. She follows her brother, the East India Company’s newest and least competent clerk, to protect him and to safeguard the family honor. If she also escapes the gossip and intrigues of London and the marriage mart, so much the better. She has no intention of being forced into some sort of dynastic marriage. She may just refuse to marry at all. When an old family friend arrives she assumes her father sent him. She isn’t about to bend to his dictates nor give up her quest. Her traitorous heart, however, can’t stop yearning for a man she can’t have.

Neither expects the epic historical drama that unfolds around them.

The Unexpected Wife, will be released on July 25 and can be preordered from Amazon internationally as well as here:

https://www.amazon.com/Unexpected-Wife-Children-Empire-Book-ebook/dp/B07FGGC918/

Here’s a short video about it:

https://www.facebook.com/carolinewarfield7/videos/924791187669849/

About the Author

Traveler, would-be adventurer, former tech writer and library technology professional, Caroline Warfield has now retired to the urban wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania, and divides her time between writing and seeking adventures with her grandbuddy. In her newest series, Children of Empire, three cousins torn apart by lies find their way home from the far corners of the British Empire, finding love along the way.

She has works published by Soul Mate Publishing and also independently published works. In addition she has participated in five group anthologies, one not yet published.

For more about the series and all of Caroline’s books, look here:

https://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

 

 

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Tea with the duchess – will the Canadian recluse refuse?

 

This is a bit of a prequel to a confrontation over tea…

The Duchess of Winshire studied the missive in her hand carefully, although there was no doubt about the message. The bold hand of the Earl of Chadbourn scrawled a message as succinct as it was unwelcome.

He will not come.

Randolph Wheatly, the earl’s brother-in-law had stormed into town sporting spectacular purple bruises and calling down the wrath of the Almighty on certain abusive and dishonorable members of His Majesty’s forces the day before. That he sought the assistance of his sister’s husband and the rest of his family spoke volumes about his desperation.

Rand Wheatly left London six years ago announcing to all and sundry that he would never return. Shattered by what he saw as betrayal by his cousin—the man who had been his closest childhood friend—he refused all attempts at reason and sailed for Canada on the first available ship. That the woman was, in Eleanor’s opinion, not worth the pain didn’t make the pain any less.

He spent the intervening years obtaining land—heavily timbered land. Now he was back, choking on his pride, and asking for help. Yet…

He will not come.

He sought the earl’s help, accepted his sister’s support, and even allowed the Duke of Sudbury, Chadbourn’s crony, to stick his ever-managing oar in the water, but the insufferable puppy wouldn’t take the advice or assistance of the Grenfords.

The one he needs is that cousin of his, she mused. She folded the note and tapped it on the arm of her chair, lost in thought. There had been another message, that one from Catherine, Rand’s sister and the earl’s intrepid wife. Eleanor had never heard Catherine so desperate. Six years of worry and the man turns up dirty, beaten, and breathing fire—no wonder the countess was frantic. He needed to gain control before he did something spectacularly stupid. Perhaps she could help. Perhaps she could give him a push in the direction of the cousin; if the two of them would simply talk to one another it might resolve any number of problems.

First I have to get him here.

“Bring my writing desk, please. Isadore,” she said to her companion, so lost in thought she failed to smile. If the stubborn man insists on acting like a child I may have to treat him like one. She took pen and began to write.

The Duchess of Winshire summons you…

_________________

Rand accepted the duchess’s summons, of course. How could he not? You can read the results here:

https://judeknightauthor.com/2018/03/13/tea-with-rand/

About the Book, The Renegade Wife

Reclusive businessman Rand Wheatly finds his solitude disrupted by a desperate woman running with her children from an ugly past. But even his remote cabin in Upper Canada isn’t safe enough. Meggy Blair may have lied to him, but she and her children have breached the walls of his betrayed heart. Now she’s on the run again. To save them he must return to face his demons and the family he vowed to never see again.

It is available in Kindle format free with Kindle Unlimited or for purchase as ebook or in print:

Amazon.      

Barnes and Noble

BooksAMillion

The Renegade Wife is Book 1 in Caroline Warfield’s Children of Empire Series.

Three cousins, who grew up together in the English countryside, have been driven apart by deceit and lies. (You may guess a woman was involved!) Though they all escape to the outposts of The British Empire, they all make their way home to England, facing their demons and finding love and the support of women of character and backbone. They are:

  • Randolph Baldwin Wheatly who has become a recluse, and lives in isolation in frontier Canada intent on becoming a timber baron, until a desperate woman invades his peace. (The Renegade Wife)
  • Captain Frederick Arthur Wheatly, an officer in the Bengal army, who enjoys his comfortable life on the fringes until his mistress dies, and he’s forced to choose between honor and the army. (The Reluctant Wife)
  • Charles, Duke of Murnane, tied to a miserable marriage, throws himself into government work to escape bad memories. He accepts a commission from the Queen that takes him to Canton and Macau, only to face his past there. (The Unexpected Wife)

Who are their ladies?

  • Meggy Campeau, the daughter of a French trapper and Ojibwe mother who has made mistakes, but is fierce in protecting her children. (The Renegade Wife)
  • Clare Armbruster, fiercely independent woman of means, who is determined to make her own way in life, but can’t resist helping a foolish captain sort out his responsibilities. (The Reluctant Wife)
  • Zambak Hayden, eldest child of the Duke of Sudbury, knows she’d make a better heir than her feckless younger brother, but can’t help protecting the boy to the point of following him to China. She may just try to sort out the Empire’s entangled tea trade–and its ugly underpinning, opium, while she’s there. (The Unexpected Wife)

Book 3, The Unexpected Wife, will be released on July 25.

Here’s a short video about it:

https://www.facebook.com/carolinewarfield7/videos/924791187669849/

For more about the series and all of Caroline’s books, look here:

https://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

About the Author

Caroline Warfield grew up in a peripatetic army family and had a varied career (largely around libraries and technology) before retiring to the urban wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania, where divides her time between writing Regency and Victorian Romance, and seeking adventures with her grandson and the prince among men she married.

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Tea with Will and Henry

A sober young woman whose firm chin and intelligent blue eyes marked her as a twig of the remarkable Grenford family tree led William Landrum, the Earl of Chadbourn, through French doors in Her Grace’s sitting room and out into a sunny garden filled with the hum of bees and the scent of roses.  He followed her down a stone path, around towering lilac bushes, into a sheltered bower paved in flagstones and bordered with flowers in lush profusion

He had known Eleanor Winshire since boyhood, and had come to count her a friend in spite of the difference in their ages. Her immediate response to his request for an interview pleased him. That she invited him so early in the day, hours before her formal calling hours, gratified him even more.

“The Earl of Chadbourn, Your Grace,” the young woman announced, bowing out.  The earl hesitated. She wasn’t alone. A tall gentleman with silver hair and the upright bearing of an officer, but dressed in impeccable civilian clothing, chatted happily with the duchess, sobering when the earl interrupted their tête-à-tête.

The topic that weighed on his mind involved family secrets and deeply personal worries. He didn’t know Brigadier-General Lord Henry Redepenning well, not as he knew the duchess. Will hesitated.

“Will! I’m delighted you could join us. Come and try some of the cook’s berry tarts. He has outdone himself.”

The Haverford chef enjoyed renown for good reasons. Will sat and helped himself. “Thank you for responding so quickly Eleanor.”

“Of course! Don’t hesitate due to Henry’s presence—you know Brigadier-General Redepenning; I know you do. He can be trusted with absolute discretion. I presume you wish advice about Charles.” She glanced pointedly at the black band on his sleeve.

Charles Wheatly, the Duke of Murnane, and, what is more to the point, Will’s nephew endured the loss of his only son six months past, casting him into a hell of grief and despair.  Will looked over at the general, and seeing only sympathy, came to a decision.  He brushed crumbs from his waistcoat.

“It’s killing me, Eleanor. We lost Jonny, and for the first month I thought we were going to lose Charles too.  My Catherine goes about pretending she has regained her spirits, but I know she worries for him still.”

“Charles always struck me as a sensible sort,” Lord Henry commented. “But any man may turn to the bottle after the sort of loss he endured.”

Eleanor nodded. “But Charles has never been the sort for dissipation. “

Will shrugged. “He’s tried every form of dissipation he could, except laudanum. He hates the vile stuff. None of them lasted. I’m not certain how much he eats or sleeps.”

“Has he gone out home to Eversham? He hasn’t been seen in town,” the duchess asked.

“Briefly. Fred has the place well in hand, however, and he doesn’t feel needed.” Will glanced at the general and plunged ahead. “They settled the matter of Jonny’s paternity, thank God, and all is well between them, but I think the sight of Fred’s and Clare’s growing brood running about the place depressed him.”

“Happy memories can wound as deeply as bad ones when one is being strangled by grief,” General Redepenning suggested.

“I suspect spending much time with those two didn’t help either. At least I assume Fred is still besotted with the beautiful woman he married,” Eleanor murmured. “That can’t help in Charles’s situation.” Thankfully she didn’t directly mention the duke’s dreadful estranged wife.

Will nodded morosely. “He is back in London, haunting my house, his own, and Sudbury’s like a wraith, saying little, refusing all invitations, and pacing the drawing room. He throws my children into miseries whenever he comes. He’s lost, Eleanor, just lost.”

The duchess glanced at her friend the general. “Henry and I were discussing it before you came. He can’t be allowed to wallow in grief until it makes him ill, you know that.”

“But what am I to do?” Will snapped. “I’m at my wit’s end.”

“He needs work. He allowed his career to languish these few years while he attended to Jonny. He needs work, and England needs his talent.

“I thought of encouraging him to find a position in the foreign office, but I don’t see that haunting Whitehall will be an improvement over my drawing room.”

Eleanor smiled at him. “Perhaps not, but he would be out from underfoot.”

“Getting away from places that bring his son to mind might help,” General Redepenning put in.

“Precisely!” the duchess replied. “What he needs is a mission, preferably something overseas.”

Will brightened. “That might do the trick, but what?”

“Why don’t you speak to your friend the Duke of Sudbury. He keeps an oar in for all his party is out of power. He’ll know of something.”

“He might at that,” Will said. “I feel better.” He sat back to enjoy the duchess’s excellent tea.

“One other thing,” Eleanor said, this time more sternly. “He needs to deal with his marriage mess. He’ll be lost until he does it. Now that the boy is gone, it’s time. I know you use Sudbury’s network to keep an eye on the woman.  What do you know about her whereabouts.“

Will choked on his tea. “Julia? Yes, well as it happens we heard she sailed for India with some baron she met in Baden.”

The general looked at the duchess, amusement impossible to conceal. “You want to send him on a mission to Madras?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” she answered primly. “You and Sudbury will think of something Will.”

They passed an hour in pleasanter conversation until the earl rose to depart. Before he could take his leave, Eleanor spoke again. “One other thing, Will. Sudbury’s heir is becoming a byword. Tell the duke I would be delighted to chat about some ideas for that boy as well.”

About the Book: The Unexpected Wife

Children of Empire Book 3

Crushed with grief after the death of his son, Charles Wheatly, Duke of Murnane, throws himself into the new Queen’s service in 1838. When the government sends him on an unofficial fact finding mission to the East India Company’s enclave in Canton, China, he anticipates intrigue, international tensions, and an outlet for his frustration. He isn’t entirely surprised when he also encounters a pair of troublesome young people that need his help. However, the appearance of his estranged wife throws the entire enterprise into conflict. He didn’t expect to face his troubled marriage in such an exotic locale, much less to encounter profound love at last in the person of a determined young woman. Tensions boil over, and his wife’s scheming—and the beginnings of the First Opium War—force him to act to rescue the one he loves and perhaps save himself in the process.

Zambak Hayden seethes with frustration. A woman her age has occupied the throne for over a year, yet the Duke of Sudbury’s line of succession still passes over her—his eldest—to land on a son with neither spine nor character. She follows her brother, the East India Company’s newest and least competent clerk, to protect him and to safeguard the family honor. If she also escapes the gossip and intrigues of London and the marriage mart, so much the better. She has no intention of being forced into some sort of dynastic marriage. She may just refuse to marry at all. When an old family friend arrives she assumes her father sent him. She isn’t about to bend to his dictates nor give up her quest. Her traitorous heart, however, can’t stop yearning for a man she can’t have.

Neither expects the epic historical drama that unfolds around them.

The Unexpected Wife, will be released on July 25.

Here’s a short video about it:

https://www.facebook.com/carolinewarfield7/videos/924791187669849/

About the Author

Traveler, would-be adventurer, former tech writer and library technology professional, Caroline Warfield has now retired to the urban wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania, and divides her time between writing and seeking adventures with her grandbuddy. In her newest series, Children of Empire, three cousins torn apart by lies find their way home from the far corners of the British Empire, finding love along the way.

She has works published by Soul Mate Publishing and also independently published works. In addition she has participated in five group anthologies, one not yet published.

For more about the series and all of Caroline’s books, look here:

https://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

 

Spotlight on <i>Seductive Surrender</i>
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Spotlight on Seductive Surrender

Today’s guest on Spotlight on Sunday is USA Today bestselling author Collette Cameron, with the sixth in the Highland Heather Romancing a Scot series.

Settle down and read about Seductive Surrender.

SEDUCTIVE SURRENDER

Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series #6

Dalliances, flirtations, liaisons? Aye. But marriage? Nae. Spies dinna wed

Betrothed four times.

Gwendolyn McClintock has resolutely slammed the door on romance and marriage. Intent on beginning a new life, she sells her beloved familial home in America and totes her orphaned niece and nephew to Scotland’s Highlands. But the grand adventure she promised becomes a tangled muddle when her coach accidentally runs down a powerful laird’s much-too-attractive, far-too-brawny brother.

A covert agent.

A confirmed, carefree rogue, Dugall Ferguson comes perilously close to being trampled beneath horses’ hooves. And the remorseful, deliciously tempting woman responsible for nearly killing him isn’t even aware of the peril awaiting her at her new home. Gwendolyn desperately needs protection, and though he’s on the cusp of realizing his life-long dream, Dugall rashly offers to aid the fiery lass.

Their futures collide.

Forced together in order to oust a would-be killer, irresistible passion erupts between Gwendolyn and Dugall. Dare she trust her traitorous heart one last time, especially to a known rake? How can he choose between his love for Gwendolyn and his desire to be a spy?

Read the sixth installment of the Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series for a suspenseful Scottish historical romance awash with intrigue, seduction, and passion you won’t want to put down.  

EXCERPT

Seductive Surrender

“She should have more care,” Gwendolyn muttered as she trailed her forefinger down his bicep. The flesh bunched in delicious anticipation as she traced his arm. “She told me she needs her position. I still might kick a mud hole in her hind end and stomp it dry.”

“Pardon?” he managed around the grin splitting his face.

“Send her packing for her untoward behavior.”

Daring to draw Gwendolyn indecently nearer, Dugall flattened one palm against the small of her back and cradled her jaw in the other. Feathering a series of short kisses from her delicate ear, across her soft cheek, and to her sweet mouth, he breathed, “Are ye jealous, Gwenny?”

She stiffened, all outraged femininity, then sagged against him, and nodded, her hair brushing his chest.

“Yes.”

“Ye needn’t be, leannan. The only lass I have any interest in kissin’ is in my arms.”

BUY LINK

Amazon: https://books2read.com/SSURcc

https://amazon.com/dp/B07B6S36Q7

Meet the author

A USA Today bestselling, award-winning author, COLLETTE CAMERON pens Scottish and Regency historicals featuring rogues, rapscallions, rakes, and the intelligent, intrepid damsels who reform them.

Blessed with fantastic fans, and a compulsive, over-active, and witty Muse who won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she still lives in Oregon with her mini-dachshunds, though she dreams of living in Scotland part-time.

Admitting to a quirky sense of humor, Collette enjoys inspiring quotes, adores castles and anything cobalt blue, and is a self-confessed Cadbury chocoholic. You’ll always find dogs, birds, occasionally naughty humor, and a dash of inspiration in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances.

Connect with Collette

Get a FREE Starter Library! Join my VIP Reader Club: http://bit.ly/TheRegencyRose

Website: http://collettecameron.com

Blog: https://collettecameron.com/blue-rose-romance-blog/

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Cafe Press: http://www.cafepress.com/collettecameronsblueroseromance

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Tea with Rand

Rand Wheatly paused his pacing to study the young woman behind the desk. She looked exactly as he remembered, but she couldn’t be. She had the same composed manner, grey frock, and simple hairstyle.  Her visage hinted at a connection with the Grenford family. This woman, however, was much too young to be the same companion he remembered from fifteen years before. He had been a boy, and this one didn’t appear to be much older than he had been then. No, it was not the same woman. The Duchess of Haverford—not Haverford—Winshire now, he reminded himself—had a penchant for employing needy relatives.

She also had an uncanny ability to interfere in a man’s life at inconvenient times. Rand met the duchess soon after his sister married the Earl of Chadbourn. Even then the duchess knew everyone in the haut ton, every foible, every conflict, every devastating crisis, every damned failure. Like his. Like now.

Her summons had arrived within an hour of the awkward meeting in his brother-in-law’s drawing room in which the earl, the Duke of Sudbury and their cronies blackmailed him into cooperating with the one man he hated most in this world. To rescue his Meggy he would do what they wanted, even accept the company of His Grace the Duke of Murnane, his traitorous cousin Charles. For Meggy he would swallow even that humiliation, but he would not let the bastard coerce him into doing the government’s bidding.

“Mr. Wheatly?” The woman’s voice had an emphatic tone, as if repeating her words to an obstinate child. Or distracted man.

“I beg your pardon, Miss, ah…”

“The duchess will receive you now,” the woman said, opening the door with admirable efficiency. Rand noticed she caught the eye of the regal looking lady seated in a brocade chair. Some silent message passed between them, and the younger woman dipped a curtsey and departed.

“Your Grace.” His tone sounded curt to his own ears when he bowed over her hand. I‘ve lived alone too many years, he thought. On the edge of the frontier in Upper Canada he had little call to practice refined manners, as his sister had reminded him the past few days.

“Randy, how good to see you! Or perhaps I’m meant to call her Rand now.” The silver haired woman beamed at him. In her seventies Eleanor Winshire radiated the same timeless beauty and controlled power she had as a young woman.

“Rand, please, Your Grace,” he murmured taking the seat she indicated.

“When did I see you last?” He had no answer. “I believe it was at Charles’s wedding, was it not?” she asked with deceptive sweetness.

My cousin’s wedding to the woman I loved —or thought I did, fool that I was. She knows full well it was the worst time of my life. He clenched is teeth. “Perhaps. I don’t recall,” he said.

She watched him under her lashes while she poured tea with practiced grace, his laconic reply bringing an amused twinkle to her eyes.  Rand knew better than to let down his defenses. Amusement or not she wanted something, and he doubted it would be to his advantage.

The weather received short attention, his nieces and nephews a bit more. The duchess certainly knew them better than Rand, who had returned to London after an absence of six years, did.

“Have you met Jonny?” she asked.

Jonny. His cousin’s son.  The bride’s obvious pregnancy at the wedding had been the last straw. She had been Charles’s lover even as she still let Rand believe she loved him. She had led him by the nose the entire time.  He left or Canada within days and had not come back. None of that was the boy’s fault. Rand forced the muscles in his face to relax.

“I met him yesterday. One gathers he spends much time in my sister’s nursery with the other children. He and my nephew Toby are great friends. Drew’s as well.”

“Drew? You sister’s mysterious guest, I gather.”

“Drew’s mother is my, ah, friend.” Rand looked over at the empty hearth. He had begun to sweat and wondered at the heat.

“You are to be commended for your fierce protection of the boy and his mother. There is a sister as well, I’ve heard. The abuse of a domestic tyrant is a terrible thing, and you are quite right to intervene. A husband, even a poor excuse for one, complicates things, does it not?”

He expected something very different. Compassion can burden a man as well as condemnation, however, and this lovely woman threatened to weigh him down with it.

“The children’s safety matters, Your Grace,” he said, passion lending fierceness. “And Meggy’s as well. Once I’ve secured that I will go back to Canada. My business requires my attention.”

Her skeptical glance disappeared quickly as she lay down her teacup. “Yes, one gathers you are making the earl even wealthier. Timber, I hear.”

There was little point in confirming what she obviously knew. There has to be more. What does she want?

“In your goal to protect this woman you are lucky to have the assistance of your cousin Charles.” Rand went rigid and fought the urge to leap from his seat. She continued. “He isn’t the shy young man you left. His professional and political rise has been stellar and life—well, life hasn’t been kind to Charles. He has the fortitude, the skills, and the power to protect your Meggy.”

The thought of Charles with Meggy made bile rise in his throat, but she didn’t mean anything inappropriate. At least he hoped not.

The duchess leaned forward into his silence and patted his arm. “You would be wise to accept his help, Rand,” she told him. “Truly. You can trust him.”

Rand didn’t believe it, but he would accept the snake’s help if it meant Meggy’s safety. “I believe he has his own goals,” he said, trying to turn the conversation.

“Yes, someone is corrupting the coinage in our port cities. Sudbury fears some in the military may be involved as well.”

“That isn’t my problem. My cousin and my uncle may jump to Sudbury’s tune, but I don’t. I want Meggy safe; that is all.”

Her eyes bore into him. “You will do your duty, Rand. I know you will; its how you’re made. Perhaps you will get what your heart desires at the same time.”

“Perhaps.” Bloody, damned unlikely.

She leaned forward again; this time authority took the place of compassion. “Follow your heart Randolph Wheatly. Your instincts are right. And trust Charles. He won’t fail you.”  She fell back on small talk after that, and in short order Rand found himself skillfully dismissed.

“Charles? Bloody damned unlikely,” he repeated out loud when he reached the street.

About The Renegade Wife

Reclusive businessman Rand Wheatly finds his solitude disrupted by a desperate woman running with her children from an ugly past. But even his remote cabin in Upper Canada isn’t safe enough. Meggy Blair may have lied to him, but she breached the walls of his betrayed heart. Now she’s on the run again and time is running out for all of them. He will have to return to London and face his demons if he wants to save them.

A Night Owl and The Romance Reviews Top Pick, In D’Tale Crowned Heart of Excellence, and Reader’s Favorite Five Star book.

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Excerpt From The Renegade Wife

“I met Jonny,” Rand said, accepting a third glass of port.

“I expected you would. He spends much of his time at Chadbourn House.”

“He is a bright boy. You must be proud of him.” Rand gripped his glass. Should I mention his illness? He had no idea how comfortable Charles might be with the subject.

“I am. He endures his illness with courage and grace.”

Rand relaxed somewhat. “I wasn’t sure—that is, Catherine told me. I’m so sorry, Charles. It must be devastating for you, and for Julia.” He meant every word and was distressed to see Charles stiffen.

“I manage. I have no idea about Julia,” Charles said through tight lips.

Rand raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen Julia in two years. She hasn’t seen Jonny in longer. I have no idea how she ‘manages.’” He leaned toward Rand. “Don’t look at me like that, Randolph Wheatly. We separated less than a year after we married. It happens. If you had stayed, you might have delighted in my misfortune.”

Charles glared at Rand, who could think of nothing to say. When the silence became painful, Charles sank back in his chair. “Don’t worry. Though it seems unlikely Jonny will ever be duke, know that he is loved. I love him as if he were my own.”

As to Charles, the Duke of Murnane, watch for his story in May 2018