Monday for Tea

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Tea with Rumours of War

Eleanor, Duchess of Haverford, had gathered together a group of her god-daughters and protegees for a long afternoon of exchanging news. At the moment, the conversation had swung to events in Europe.

“He must be defeated for once and for all,” said Susan, firmly. Her husband, Major Lord Rutledge, had been called into the Horse Guard, where her father, Eleanor’s friend Henry Redepenning, was one of the quiet brains behind the mobilisation to oppose Napoleon in his triumphal return from Elba.

“Can no grounds for agreement be found?” Sophia asked. “We, perhaps more than most, understand how much these long wars have cost. So far, he seems to be concerned with reestablishing himself within France. Do we want to go back to feeding our men and boys into the maw of battle?” Sophia’s brother, the Earl of Hythe — with her sister Felicity — was on his way to the Low Countries once more, after having his journey interrupted by a mighty storm. Hythe had been commissioned by the Marquess of Buckingham to explore the possibility of accommodation with the Corsican.

Prue nodded. “David has heard that he is reforming the empire’s constitution with a view to becoming a constitutional monarch.” David Wakefield, cofounder with his wife Prue of the private enquiry firm Wakefield and Wakefield, had eyes and ears all over the continent.

Cecilia frowned. “Marcel says that the Emperor will not stop at France’s borders. He still dreams of Empire, and the longer he is given to reestablish himself, the more of a threat he will be to the rest of Europe and to England.” Marcel Fournier was the son of a family who fled the revolution, and hated the sans-culottes, but he thought Napoleon far more of a war-monger the Bourbons of the ancient regime and even the successive administrations of Revolutionary France.

As the ladies in the room offered their points of view, the weight of argument shifted back and forth. All of the ladies remembered the sons and brothers and friends who never came home, or who returned maimed or scarred in body and soul. Some felt one more campaign honoured those sacrifices. Others wanted to find a path that did not lead to such high costs.

Yet, in the end, the die had already been cast. On 13th March, the Congress at Vienna had declared Napoleon a traitor and an outlaw. From that moment, the Emperor was fighting for his survival. And, as Eleanor and her ladies feared, the toll was high. Within the next two months, the two sides would meet in a major series of battles, culminating in Waterloo. Out of close to 800,000 combatants, more than 200,000 were killed, wounded or missing.

 

 

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Tea with the Oxford ladies

The ladies of Lilac Cottage were largely ignoring their guest, focused as they were on sharing news about their vast pool of connections, with whom they kept up a voluminous correspondence.

Today’s visit was to cousins of His Grace’s father; three sisters who lived together just outside of Oxford. The Duchess of Haverford tried to call on them whenever she was in the vicinity, and she was always astonished at how much she learned.

“Sephronia has lost patience with that grandson of hers,” Muriel Grenford observed. “She plans to swoop on that village where he has taken refuge, with a list of suitable young ladies to become his countess.” In appearance, Cousin Muriel was the external epitome of a dear elderly spinster, including the silver curls under her lace cape and the round spectacles that she often pushed up onto her head and forgot. Eleanor Haverford was of the opinion that she fostered the appearance in order to disarm her victims.

Quite early in her marriage to the Duke of Haverford, Eleanor had taken over responsibility for the spinsters and widows who formed the highest percentage of the duchy’s pensioners—distant relatives of His Grace who lived in properties he owned, or on allowances from the duchy’s coffers. She enjoyed the challenge of finding the younger ladies opportunities for a fulfilling future, but the older ladies were also rewarding, in their own way.

“She has learned nothing from the mistakes she made with his father and brother,” pronounced Marilla, Lady Thorpe, the only one of the three ladies to have raised sons. Plumper and more faded than her sisters, Cousin Marilla was given to handing down implacable verdicts on the child-rearing habits of others. To be sure, her two sons were pleasant fellows, so perhaps she had the right.

Eleanor knew of only one Sephronia whose very eligible grandson had been unaccountably missing from Polite Society for years. She took another sip of her tea to hide her interest.

The third of the sisters offered a new line of thought. “Eudora Fletcher writes that Sephronia is staying with her, and so is that nephew of Eudora’s and the Tewksbury pup who is betrothed to young Sarah.” A long career as owner and proprietor of an exclusive academy for young ladies had left Maude Grenford with a broad girth, a vast tolerance for the foolishness of girls, and a correspondingly poor opinion of most men.

Eleanor easily placed the nephew spoken of so contemptuously. He must be the Earl of Bassham, whose niece and former ward, Lady Sarah Weatherby had not been seen for some days. And her betrothed, Matthew Tewksbury would be the pup. Eleanor agreed with the assessment. Acres of charm when he wanted his own way, but as likely to make a mess on the carpet as not. Eleanor judged him the sort to promise anything and deliver very little.

“Eudora says,” Cousin Maude added, with glee, “that Sarah took refuge from that dreadful storm in the village of Fenwick-on Sea.”

The other two ladies put their cups down, and stared at her.

“But that…” Muriel started.

“Isn’t that where Sephronia said…?” Marilla said, at the same time.

Maude nodded, delighted with the reaction. “Indeed, it is.”

Mrs Fletcher’s great niece has indeed met the dowager’s grandson, as you can read in A Kiss by the Sea, a novella by Grace Burrowes in Storm & Shelter.

A Kiss by the Sea: By Grace Burrowes

He’s not really a blacksmith, and she’s not really an heiress… Can they forge a happily-ever-after anyway?

Thaddeus Pennrith finds a way to recover from multiple griefs when he accepts the blacksmith’s post at Fenwick on Sea. Village life gives him a sense of belonging that Polite Society never could, though he must resume his aristocratic responsibilities soon. Along comes Lady Sarah Weatherby, refugee from an engagement gone badly awry, and Thaddeus is faced with both a compelling reason to reveal his titled antecedents, and a longing to keep them forever hidden…

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

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Tea with Captain Gilroy

Captain Lord Brandon Gilroy sent his card up to the Duchess of Haverford, and waited with what patience he could muster for Her Grace to decide whether or not to see him.

He needed to know whether his uncle was as well as he claimed in his letters, and the duchess (who, they claimed, knew everything about everyone) almost certainly knew.

Brandon wasn’t free to travel to Scotland to see the Duke of Cowal for himself, not with Napoleon on the loose again. Brandon had thought he was done with French spies and English turncoats, but he needed to leave on the morrow to hunt down yet another plot, this one on the North Sea coast south of Yarmouth.

“Her Grace will see you now,” the footman said, and Brandon followed the man up the elegant staircase and down a long hall.

He’d been here once before, not long after he returned from the voyage that saw him stranded with all his men, his ship taken by a pirate.

The usual feelings of anger and helpless lust swirled in his gut. Irish Red. He’d never known a woman like her. Which was just as well, of course. Who would want to marry a female who dressed as a man, captained a pirate ship, and defeated him in battle.

And why did the word ‘marry’ occur to him. Irish Red wasn’t the sort of woman a person like him married. He let out a short laugh. Nor the sort he bedded either, not if he wanted to leave the bed with all his male equipment.

The footman announced him at the door to the duchess’s private parlour, and Brandon stepped forward and bowed. “Your Grace. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Tea, Captain Gilroy?” Her Grace asked, waving to a tray that stood ready.

Over refreshments, he asked about his uncle. Apparently, according to one of the duchess’s many correspondents, the man was failing. “You should go to him as soon as you can be released from your current duty,” she advised.

Brandon nodded, wondering what Her Grace knew about his current duty. Far more than any civilian should, he had no doubt. Her next words hit him like a brick. “You will need to marry once you inherit, Captain Gilroy. Have you any thoughts about a wife?” Images of Irish Red flooded his mind. Ridiculous. He shook them off.

“Time enough for that when we’ve defeated Napoleon again, Your Grace,” he insisted. 

Brandon will meet Irish Red again sooner than he expects, in Rue Allyn’s novel Wait For Me, which you’ll find in Storm & Shelter. Buy links at https://books2read.com/u/b5k2pO

Wait for Me: Rue Allyn

Enemies by nature—Esmeralda Crobbin, aka the pirate Irish Red, and Captain, Lord Brandon Gilroy have met before.

Fate trumps nature—When a fierce storm creates a chance encounter and forced proximity, Brandon learns the pirate is a woman of serious honor and responsibility. Esmeralda discovers the captain is more than a uniform stuffed with rules and regulations. Both love the sea with boundless passion, but can they love each other?

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

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Tea with the Earl of Monteith

The Earl of Menteith was a personable young man. Handsome, too, and large—he had taken one look at her small dainty chairs and seated himself on the sofa. Also worried about something, and wondering how much to tell her.

The Duchess of Haverford poured him a cup of tea and asked his opinion of the weather, the company in town, and the situation on the continent, with Napoleon banished to Elba without his wife and son, who had returned to her family in Austria.

He answered gracefully to each conversational gambit, but none captured his enthusiasm.

Since Menteith had asked to make this call, Eleanor would wait for him to introduce the topic. “Another cup?” she asked.

“Not for me, Your Grace.” He studied one large hand, then looked up to see her watching him. “Ye may be wondering why I asked to see ye.”

Eleanor inclined her head in agreement, raising her brows slightly to encourage him to continue. The slight Scots burr was delightful. With those looks and that voice, he must be very popular with the young ladies.

“They tell me ye know everyone in the Upper Ten Thousand. I hoped ye might have heard of someone I need to find.”

“I am happy to help if I can,” the duchess assured him.

“The thing is…” Menteith paused, then continued…”I’m not at liberty…” he sighed. “ That is, I do not want to discuss my reasons. I hope ye’ll still help me, Your Grace?”

“If I can,” she said, and then added, since his blunt honesty deserved hers, “if I think telling you will not cause harm.”

He was startled at the thought. “I mean no harm. To the contrary.” He bit his lower lip then blurted. “I am looking for the Comtesse de Fontenay. Or the Comte. Do ye know them, Your Grace? Can ye tell me where I might find them?”

Eleanor wrinkled her brow as she thought. The name de Fontenay rang a bell, but she could not quite recall… “Émigrés?” she asked.

“Perhaps. I am unsure.” He lifted his broad shoulders in a shallow shrug. “Probably.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. It was coming back to her now. The old scandal—but it had faded into oblivion when one of the key players died and the others behaved as if it never existed. Did Menteith know? Surely not; how would he have found out? But if not, why look for Madame de Fontenay?

She wouldn’t raise it with him. Only one person still living had the right to do that. If he was still living.

“I believe the Comte de Fontenay has an estate in Norfolk, Menteith. Or is it Suffolk?” Now what was the place called? “Bloodstone Moor? No. Hall comes into it somehow. Or is it Hill?” Ah yes! That was it. “Bloodmoor Hill. Look for Bloodmore Hill Manor, Lord Menteith. I’m sorry I cannot tell you anything more.”

Malcolm Comyn, the Earl of Menteith, seeks the truth of an anonymous letter that threatens everything he knows about himself. Stranded in Fenwick on Sea by a dreadful storm, he finds more than he expects.

The Comtesse of Midnight: Alina K. Field

A Scottish Earl on a quest for the elusive Comtesse de Fontenay rescues a French lady smuggler from the surf during a devastating storm, and takes shelter with her. As the stormy night drags on, he suspects his companion knows the woman he’s seeking, the one who holds the secret to his identity. When she admits she is, in fact, the Comtesse Fontenay, just not the one he’s seeking, she dashes all his hopes—and promises him new ones.

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

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Tea with Miranda

Miranda de Courtenay stepped over the threshold into the tea room that was one of the great attractions of her favourite London Bookshop.Her sister Grace was browsing for something to take to read at the beach, and when Grace was choosing books, she could not be hurried. Miranda had fidgeted until Grace’s need for peace overwhelmed her wish to keep Miranda firmly under her eye.

As if Miranda was going to cause a scandal in a bookshop! Or anywhere else, to be sure. She had only provisionally been forgiven for the last one. Which was most unfair, because it had all turned out very well.

She scanned the rather full tearoom, looking for acquaintances or at least an empty chair.

“Miss de Courtenay?” The voice came from the left, and when she turned, she saw the Duchess of Haverford. Miranda curtseyed, blushing. She had coloured every time she saw Her Grace ever since the outrageous way the duchess’s sons had behaved at the house party two years ago. Which Miranda had been blamed for, of course, though she had only been flirting. Everyone flirted. It did not excuse what they suggested!

So embarrassing!

“It is rather crowded today, my dear. Come and sit with me. I have been wishing to speak with you.”

One did not refuse a duchess. Miranda pasted on a smile and took the chair to which she had been bidden.

For a few minutes, the duchess was busy ordering more tea and cakes, but far too quickly, the servant brought the order, and they were alone.

Her Grace spoke of trivialities until Miranda had her cup and had raised it to her lips. “How goes your search for a suitable lord, Miss de Courtenay?”

Miranda fought not to spray the tea everywhere, and choked on it instead. By the time she had stopped coughing, she at least had an excuse for her bright red face.

Yes, she wanted a husband who would bring her the title ‘lady’. It was so unfair that the rest of her family had titles and she didn’t. Adrian had unexpectedly inherited an earldom, and Grace was a countess by her first marriage and the wife of a duke’s son in her second, a lady twice over.

But how did Her Grace know that was what Miranda wanted?

“If I may exercise an old lady’s privilege, my dear, I would like to give you a thought to consider.”

Miranda nodded, of course, though she was sure she did not wish to hear what the duchess had to say.

“A title is for public places, Miss de Courtenay. A husband, on the other hand, has a right to be with you day and night, in public and in private. Be very sure that the person you choose is one you wish to spend the rest of your life with. Character is more important than social status or  surface attraction. Your brother and your sister both married for love, and that choice has much to recommend it.”

Miranda could not resist an answer. “Surely one can fall in love with a titled man as easily as with a commoner?” she asked.

The duchess smiled as she sipped her tea. “Love is not easy to command, my dear,” she replied, “but you shall see.”

Miranda will find out the truth of the duchess’s observation, when she meets a man who cannot give her what she thinks she wants, but whom she cannot forget.

Before I Found You: A de Courtenay Novella By Sherry Ewing

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

Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady.

Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball.

Their connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s quest for a title at all cost. What if the cost includes love?

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

 

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Tea with Major Heyworth

“Major Lord James Heyworth, Your Grace,” said Eleanor’s butler.

The major, a great bear of a man, stopped in the doorway for a moment, sending his charming scapegrace smile across the room as an ambassador. He had no idea why she had invited him, Eleanor guessed, but had a guilty conscience and hoped to flirt his way out of consequences.

For a moment, she was tempted to investigate further. But there was probably nothing to find. Young Jamie had been at a loose end since arriving back from Waterloo, and was filling the void with alcohol and wild women. That and the untidy situation with his horrid father. But Jamie would not appreciate her interference, and would work out whatever was bothering him in his own time.

“Take a seat, Major Heyworth,” she instructed. “Tea?”
He looked at the chairs on offer and chose to sit on the robust sofa opposite her. Eleanor’s companion remained long enough to carry the teacup and a small plate of savoury tarts to the major, then left them alone as Eleanor prepared her own cup.
All the time, Eleanor kept up a light conversation: the weather, who was in Town, a coming auction for the benefit of out-of-work ex-soldiers.
Jamie continued to look uneasy as he sipped tea, the delicate porcelain dwarfed in his hand. Eleanor decided to take pity on him.
“Major, I have invited you here for your opinion on an application to a fund I sponsor. The Fund for Women Scholars, Scientists, and Artisans.”
Jamie’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline as he widened his eyes in surprise.
“Me? Are you sure you don’t want my friend Mallet?”
Eleanor smiled. “I am seeking a character reference, Major. I believe you and Major Mallet both know the couple in question, but you are in London and Major Mallet, I understand, is in Cambridge.”
“Well. Whatever I can do to help, Your Grace. Of course.” He still looked perplexed, but the underlay of guilt disappeared. Whatever had the boy been up to?
“I have two difficulties with the application. One is character, which is the reason I wished to speak with you. The couple, and particularly the proprietor of the school, have been the subject of rumours regarding their morality and their ability as educators.”
The perplexity was clearing. Jamie was clever enough to have thought about his acquaintances and guessed who she was talking about. She left him in no doubt with her next comment.
“The other, I can resolve. They have applied to a woman’s fund for a boys school. But if they are as worthy as their cause, I shall fund them myself.”
“Sergeant and Mrs Newell?” Jamie asked.

Eleanor nodded, and the major grinned. “I can certainly tell you what I know about them, Your Grace. I am happy to do so.”

Jamie knows Sergeant Newell well, as he served under Jamie’s command during the wars. Jamie has also met the former Miss Abney, proprietor of The Academy for the Formation of Young Gentlemen. All three of them, plus Andrew Mallet, plus several of the young gentlemen, plus an appealing dog and her puppies, face the terror of the storm in Caroline Warfield’s novella in Storm & Shelter.

The Tender Flood: Caroline Warfield

Zach Newell knows Patience Abney is far above his touch. But he has been enchanted by her since she raced out of the storm and into the Queen’s Barque with a wagon full of small boys, puppies, and a bag of books. When the two of them make their way across the flooded marsh to her badly damaged school in search of a missing boy, attraction deepens. She risks scandal; he risks his heart.

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

 

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Tea with a mother-in-law

The Duchess of Haverford cast a practiced glance around the large room. As hostess, it was her task to ensure that all of her guests enjoyed themselves during the hour they allowed for social engagement after the monthly meeting of the Ladies Foundation for the Support and Encouragement of Gentlewoman Scholars, Artists and Artisans.

She narrowed her eyes at one group of ladies. Seated in a far corner, they had their heads together. Something about the way three of them leaned forward, eyes fixed on the fourth, set Eleanor’s hackles up.

The speaker was Lady Stanton—the Dowager Lady Stanton for a second time, since her widower son had recently remarried. Undoubtedly, she was sharing gossip and, knowing Lady Stanton, Eleanor was sure it would be unkind, and probably scandalous.

With a sigh, Eleanor set off around the room to see what damage was being done to someone’s reputation, and to try to set it right.

“So you see,” Lady Stanton was saying, “He is already regretting the match. I can only hope it is not too late to have the marriage annulled, for I could not countenance a divorce, even to remove That Woman from the family.”

Ah. The lady was attacking her new daughter-in-law again. “I find the new Lady Stanton to be charming,” Eleanor said, “and my son has nothing but praise for the way she conducts her father’s business.”

Lady Stanton was not so lost to propriety as to glare at the duchess, but Eleanor was sure she wanted to. Or perhaps not, for there was a gleam of triumph in her eyes. “She is in trade, like her father,” the nasty scold pointed out. “Not what a Stanton looks for in a wife.”

“Your son is old enough to make his own choices,” Eleanor reminded her.

“One would have thought so,” Lady Stanton said, the gleam appearing again. “But since his wife left him on their wedding night, I can only suppose that he is regretting that he did not listen to his mother.”

“Left him?” Eleanor asked. Her son Aldridge had met up with Lord Stanton the night before last, when both had been changing horses at a posting inn during that dreadful storm. “Went ahead of him to their country estate, rather, when Lord Stanton was called out on government business.”

“Is that what you heard, Your Grace?” Lady Stanton was now smiling with perverse satisfaction. “I think not.”

“We shall see,” Eleanor told her, coldly. “In the meanwhile, Lady Stanton, I am certain your son would not wish to hear that you have laundering the family linen in public.”

She retired with honours in the bout, but took a moment to say a prayer for the newly-weds. Where on earth could they have gone in such dreadful weather?

Lady Stanton is wrong. Her successor has not left her husband, but is on a mission to find her missing ship, or at least her undercover agent, who has escaped France and should have been aboard.

Lord Stanton’s Shocking Seaside Honeymoon: Cerise DeLand

She is so wrong for him.

Miss Josephine Meadows is so young. In love with life. His accountant in his work for Whitehall. Her father’s heir to his trading company—and his espionage network.

Lord Stanton cannot resist marrying her. But to ensure Wellington defeats Napoleon, they must save one of Josephine’s agents.

Far from home, amid a horrific storm, Stanton discovers that his new bride loves him dearly.

Can he truly be so right for her?

And she for him?

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

 

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Tea with fears for Letty

“But you will let us know if my niece contacts you, Your Grace.” The impertinent man was not asking, but demanding.

Eleanor allowed a haughty eyebrow to express her opinion of his attempt at command, but did not flatter him with a response. “My butler shall show you and your son out, Kent.”

“I am her betrothed,” the younger fool insisted. “I have a right to know where she is.”

Eleanor ignored him, exchanging a glance with her butler that had him summoning the footman from the hall to insist that the two men leave.

“I doubt it,” her friend Grace observed, as the door closed behind them. “I have seen Miss Lovell in the company of the younger Mr Kent, and I very much doubt she is amenable to his suit.”

“I would hope not,” Eleanor said. “I do not know Miss Lovell well, but I have formed a good opinion of her sense, and no woman of sense would take on an overgrown schoolboy like that one. He and that father of his would strip her fortune in no time.”

Grace frowned as her friend poured tea. They had been about to partake when the Kents had been announced, their message begging help to find a missing niece and ward guaranteeing them a few minutes of the duchess’s time. Their unpleasant personalities and the holes in the story they told meant she ignored the waiting refreshments and had them removed as quickly as possible, though not before she had told them, truthfully, that she had not heard from the missing heiress, and had no idea where she was.

“Did she come to you, Grace, or to Georgie or Sophia?” The Winshire women ran a village refuge for women who needed to escape intolerable situations, but Grace was shaking her head. “Not that I have heard. I imagine she is trying to reach her uncle Robert Lovell, who is in Brussels, I believe.”

“I hope she has reached him, or found refuge elsewhere,” Eleanor told her. “The storm in the North Sea is terrible, or so my son says.”

Letty Lovell is caught up in the storm, and her ship goes down in the sea near the village of Fenwick on Sea. She is rescued by an improbable hero in the first story of the new collection, Storm & Shelter, on preorder now.

An Improbable Hero

By Mary Lancaster

A runaway heiress, a mysterious stranger.

When Letty’s ship founders in a violent storm, she forges a rare bond with her rescuer.

Simon is a troubled man on a final, deadly mission—until the spirited yet soothing Letty makes him question everything. Hiding in plain sight among the refugees at The Queen’s Barque, Simon is more than capable of protecting them both. But when the floods recede, can either of them say goodbye?

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

 

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Tea with Mrs Fishingham’s daughters

The Duchess of Haverford usually enjoyed welcoming this year’s crop of maidens on the Marriage Mart to afternoon tea. She had begun the practice for the sake of her legion of god-daughters, offering a relaxed environment in which the young ladies could form friendships with others they would meet at fashionable entertainments. Just the girls, away from their mothers’ fussing and with no need to compete for the attentions of prospective husbands. In London, she tended to devote an afternoon a month to the practice. Here in Bath, one event sufficed.

Today’s crop of young ladies seemed unusually frivolous and silly. Or perhaps Eleanor was growing old. As they took their turns to sit with her for a few minutes, she smiled and nodded at their stories of balls they had been to, bonnets they desired, and bouquets they had garnered from suitors. Here came another Fishingham child. She had already endured Miss Eugenia’s quotations from a book of etiquette and Miss Matilda’s boasts of more callers than either of her sisters.

Ah! She remembered this one from last year. The eldest, but the quietest. Miss Fishingham had been a wallflower at last night’s assembly, until the Master of Ceremonies presented Will Chadbourn as a dance partner. A nice boy, Chadbourn, newly come to his title. She had shown plenty of animation talking to him, and had been popular for the rest of the evening. “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday evening, Miss Fishingham?” Eleanor asked.

The girl looked up from the hands she had been studying. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace.”

Nothing more. Miss Fishingham had used up her stock of conversation last night, it seemed. “What did you and Chadbourn talk about with such enthusiasm?” Eleanor asked.

“Crop rotation, Ma’am. His lordship was good enough to explain a new succession planting method that ensures better crops.”

The unexpected answer made Eleanor smile. “And are you interested in crop rotation, Miss Fishingham?”

“Lord Chadbourn certainly made it more interesting than some of my later partners made tying a cravat or collecting snuff boxes,” the girl retorted.

Eleanor laughed out loud. “You have discovered the secret of Social success, Miss Fishingham. Listen attentively.”

“At the risk of terminal boredom,” said Miss Fishingham, then clapped a shocked hand over her mouth. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I quite forgot myself.”

“No apology required, my dear. If I have to hear a description of one more bonnet, I am at risk of dying of boredom myself. So tell me, Charis–it is Charis, is it not? What would you rather be doing than dancing at a assembly?”

 

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Charis is the heroine in The Beast Next Door, my contribution to the box set Valentines from Bath.

If you haven’t read this one, now is a good time to grab a copy because the price is going up. (It is from two years ago)
Anything can happen in the magic of music and candlelight as couples dance, flirt, and open themselves to romantic possibilities. Problems and conflict may just fade away at a Valentine’s Day Ball.
Dukes, earls, tradesmen, and the occasional charlatan —alert to the possibilities as the event draws nigh—all appear in this collection of five terrific Valentine’s Day stories.
Reverts to $3.99 after Valentine’s Day. Buy it now for under a dollar. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07MP7WV4T/ #99cents
by

Tea with Lord and Lady Hicklestone

Gossip had followed the new Lord Hicklestone and his bride from their country estate to London. Well. Of course it had. The poor man’s predecessor had been a scoundrel and a rake of the worst sort, seducing maidens high and low then refusing to take any responsibility for the consequences. Within a month of the brother inheriting the earldom, he married a neighbour with a young daughter, the gossips in the local villages and in London had a field day, and the young couple arrived in Town to copious servings of cold shoulder and the cut direct.

But the Duchess of Haverford did not allow anyone to tell her what she should think. She invited them to tea, and her ladyship’s aunt and the child too. She asked no questions, but she observed. Lady Hicklestone and Miss Cleghorn acknowledged that Society was unwelcoming, but declared that they were not concerned about the opinions of those who did not form their own. A noble view, but impractical, and Lord Hicklestone’s frown hinted that he, too, saw the difficulties.

This little family deserved her support. “I am pleased to know you all, and I shall be opening doors for you,” she informed Lady Hicklestone as they stood to make their farewells. “You will begin to receive invitations. I trust you will accept them, for little Miss Estelle’s sake and for those of any future children, and for the good Lord Hicklestone might do in the House of Lords.”

Lady Hicklestone’s eyes widened and she nodded. “I had not thought of the impact on Edward and Estelle,” she admitted. “I shall follow your advice, Your Grace.”

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To find out about Edward’s courtship of Anne, read “Anne Under Siege” in Chasing the Tale. This collection of eleven short stories is currently USD 99c, but will go up to $2.99 shortly.