Tea with Lady Patricia

“Milk and sugar, is it not, Patricia?” Eleanor asked her guest.

It had been years since Eleanor, Duchess of Haverford, had seen her godmother, Lady Patricia Strathford-Bowles. The elderly lady had been chatelaine for her brother, the Earl of Ruthford, for more than twenty years. Ever since his failing health precluded him from making the long trip from his family seat in County Durham to London and the House of Lords, Eleanor and Patricia had kept in touch by letter.

A letter had already informed Eleanor about the family crisis that had brought Patricia south without her brother. Her brother’s announcement that his supposedly illegitimate grandson was, in fact, born the heir the Ruthford title was a topic of discussion at all levels of Society, and the earl’s concealment of his son’s marriage until all other possible heirs had died was drawing much comment. Society was divided between those indignant on behalf of the overlooked heir, and those who thought his tainted blood reason enough to pass him over.

Furthermore, the newly announced heir had married suddenly and in suspicious circumstances. Eleanor and her allies had been doing their level best to put a romantic gloss on the wedding, but others were working just as hard to make the young wife appear a grasping witch, and the heir a lustful fool.

The heir and his wife, Lord and Lady Harcourt, were not known to Society, and not present to make friends of their own. Lord Harcourt, a colonel in the cavalry, was leading his men in Spain, and his wife was with him.

“I am here to represent the family,” Lady Patricia said. “I believe we may need to address the poisonous lies about my great nephew and his wife at the source. Will you help me to confront the Westinghouse family, Eleanor?”

Lord Harcourt, also known as Lionel O’Toole, and Dorothea, his wife, have their story told in Chaos Come Again.

Tea with Society’s great ladies

Her Grace the Duchess of Winshire asked her daughter-in-law, the Duchess of Haverford, to pour the tea. Her youngest stepdaughter, Rosemary, handed the cups around, her ward Frances following behind with plates of delicate treats.

The ladies who had gathered at Eleanor Winshire’s invitation chatted amongst themselves, waiting patiently for Eleanor to explain why she had called them together.

They were some of the most influential ladies of London, all of them connected to Eleanor by marriage, friendship or family. Eleanor planned to put them to work. She waited until all of them had been served, and then she spoke.

“Ladies.”

The hum of conversation in the room trailed away, and all eyes turned to Eleanor. She had planned how to begin, what happened next would be up to her friends and allies.

“A newcomer to Society is being targetted with lying gossip, and I want to help her. I would welcome your advice and assistance.”

Those gathered nodded or inclined their heads, but no one spoke.

“I speak of the former Lady Arial Bledisloe, daughter of the House of Stancroft and now Viscountess Ransome,” she explained.

Someone, she did not see who, breathed, “Lady Beast.”

“Yes,” said Eleanor. “That is the problem in a nutshell. A fine young woman subjected to such a heinous name. What, ladies, do we know about her and her husband? And about those who are campaigning against her?”

Published this Friday. Order now at https://amzn.to/3uJByrr

Some People Have Dirty Minds!

The Vicar’s Illicit Liaison, The Teatime Tattler April 1815

Dear Reader, The village of Fenwick has been shaken to its core by the discovery that its revered curate, Mr. S., has feet—nay, entire limbs—of clay. First, he allowed his nephew, a bold impertinent boy, to insult our own beloved Mrs. F. Second, as noted in a previous report, he spent much time alone with a female visitor to the village. But now he has taken up with another female, a visitor’s maid. Said maid has been staying all day at the presbytery, purportedly nursing Mr. S.’s wards through the influenza. Today, she sunk so far in depravity as to stay overnight on the pretext that Mr. S. is now ill. This is unlikely to end well.

“Will ye ‘ave anuvver glass, Piety, my dove?” her husband asked. Piety Withers held out her glass.

“Don’t mind if I do, Withers,” she agreed, ignoring the frowning looks Mrs Brewster was casting at poor Withers. The innkeeper’s wife had said, when handing over the wages that Piety had earned, “Now don’t let your husband get his hands on this money, Mrs Withers.”

Mrs Brewster could keep her nose out of Piety’s business. It made Withers happy to have cash in his pocket. Dear man. So what if he could never hold down a job or retain possession of as much as a farthing? He was fond of Piety in his way, and never raised a hand to her, unlike some husbands she could name.

Why, look how he had insisted on buying her a drink as soon as she handed over the carefully counted coins that she’d deemed sufficient to content him? He’d praised her for her industry, assured her that all of his friends were jealous of him for having such a lovely wife, and invited her to celebrate their good fortune at the Queen’s Barque Inn. Little did he know that she’d kept at least two-thirds of the windfall and hidden it where he’d never find it. Not that she felt guilty. He’d soon drink or gamble the rest away.

“I’ve a bit of a worry, darlin’ Piety,” Withers declared, wrenching her from the sad direction of her thoughts. She donned an expression of interest and waited to be told what concerned him.

“This business with the vicar and the skirt from London,” he said. “Young Alice was readin’ a bit from the London papers this afternoon, she was. Says that there maid Conroy is havin’ it off with vicar.” Withers shook his head. “Should ye be workin’ there, darlin’?”

Piety’s eyes flashed. “That is just not true, Withers. Miss Conroy has been looking after the vicar while he was sick, and anyone who says different is making things up and has a nasty mind.”

“But it was printed in the paper, my dove.” Withers didn’t read, and was inclined to invest anything in print with the same reverence owed to Holy Scripture.

Piety snorted. “The Teatime Tattler, I suppose. Someone here in this village has been sending gossip and scandal to that terrible paper, and if I find out who it is, I shall pull their ears for them, and so I will. Making such trouble for that dear lady. Mr Somerville, too, after he worked himself into his own fever running around in the rain seeing to the sick. They should be ashamed!” She shook her fist.

Withers nodded. “If you say so, my dove. But ye’ll not be stayin’ there after dark.” He nodded again, firmly, satisfied that the problem was solved by his decree. “Shall I walk ye home before I go out fishin’ wiv Billy and Si, Piety, darlin’?”

Piety downed the last of her cider and stood up. Fishing, my left foot. If the boat left the dock, she’d be surprised, and certainly she did not expect the cronies to bring home anything more than their empty flasks and a headache each. Still, she gave Withers a peck on the cheek. He was, after all, not the world’s worst husband.

Who is the snooping reporter?

As told in Storm & Shelter in eight original novellas, refugees—the injured, the devious, and the lonely, lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers—all sheltered at the Queen’s Barque Inn. Now concern is buzzing in Fenwick on Sea and across these United Kingdoms, as scurrilous gossip about the goings on during the recent storm spread through the reports in that scandal rag, The Teatime Tattler. Who is the snoop?

You can help

Correctly identify the reporter and be entered to win a $100 gift card and other great prizes. There are details and instructions for entering here: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/storm-shelter/wanted-the-snooping-teatime-tattler-reporter/

Clues

There are clues in every story in Storm & Shelter. Find more clues by following on to each stop in our Snooping Reporter Blog Hop. The next stop features Grace Burrowes’ pony, who has a strong opinion about the identity of the reporter. https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/storm-shelter/wanted-the-snooping-teatime-tattler-reporter/who-has-been-telling-tales/ 

Local prize

Comment on this post to go in the draw for winners’ choice of any Jude Knight ebook.

About the book

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.

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Tea with the Countess of Chirbury and Selby

“My dear Anne,” the Duchess of Haverford said, crossing the room to greet her goddaughter with a kiss, “how lovely to see you. Come. Take a seat, and let us have a comfortable coze.”

While the maids bustled about setting up the tea table, Her Grace asked after each of the children in the burgeoning Chirbury nursery.

Daisy, at eleven, was taking lessons in painting from her Aunt Kitty, in music, writing, arithmetic, and manners from her Aunt Ruth, and in science, particularly the study of nature, from the local curate.

The twins, eldest children of Anne’s marriage to the Earl of Chirbury, had recently celebrated their fourth birthday, and Anne was happy to expound for several minutes on their virtues, escapades, and differing characters.

By the time the last maid left the room, she had moved on to the two youngest children. “Little Lord Joseph is happiest when he is high up, and — after rescuing him from the top of the nursery’s doll house, dresser, and wardrobe, Rede had the happy notion of building him a tower with ladders and stairs so he could climb safely and to his heart’s content. And Baby is a darling — such a sunny nature, and so good. I left the others at Longford Court, since we only came up to London to see Mia safely on her way to Cape Town. But Baby is with me, of course.”

“I long to see her, Anne,” the duchess said. “I was so sorry I was unable to come for her christening.”

Anne smiled. “I was sure you would say so. Rede said that taking a baby when visiting was hardly proper, but she is sleeping in the next room, Aunt Eleanor, and the nurse will bring her through when she wakes.”

If the countess had any lingering doubts about the propriety of visiting with an infant in tow, Her Grace’s delight in the coming treat dispelled them, and several more minutes were taken in discussing and dismissing the ton’s habit of ignoring the occupants of the nursery and schoolroom until they were of age to join in adult pursuits.

“But before Baby wakes,” Anne said at last, “I had a particular goal in visiting today, Aunt Eleanor. How well do you know Rede’s friend Lord Rutledge?”

“Gil Rutledge. He has been to various of my entertainments over the years, and of course he was one of lads who used to visit Haverford Castle in the summer, when Rede brought his friends. I have heard very good reports of his record as a soldier, too.”

Anne nodded. “From Uncle Henry.”

“Among others. What do you wish to know, Anne? And why?”

Anne turned her empty cup on its saucer, and then put it down and looked up at the duchess. “I have hidden his brother’s widow and children from his mother, and he wants to know where they are. I need to decide what to tell him.”

The duchess pursed her lips. “I see. You fear that Lord Rutledge may prove to be a bully and a tyrant like his brother.”

“Yes, or susceptible to his mother’s bullying, for she swears she will have those two dear little girls off poor Chloe.”

“The woman is a horror, and I would not give her a dog to raise, let alone Lady Rutledge’s little daughters. Does Lord Rutledge say why he wants to know the whereabouts of his sister-in-law and nieces?”

Anne nodded. “Yes, and his reason is fair. He is responsible for their welfare, he says, and needs to reassure himself that they have everything they need. Rede says he is to be trusted, and that he would never put them at risk, but will he allow himself to be persuaded by his mother?”

Her Grace was silent for a long moment, considering her answer. At last she said, “I believe not. He has a deep sense of duty and honour, and little affection for the dowager. Indeed, I suspect he considered Henry and Susana, your husband’s aunt and uncle, more his parents than his own. As to his susceptibility to bullying, you do know, do you not, that his nickname is Rock Ledge?”

“So my husband tells me,” Anne said. “Nothing shifts him once he has made up his mind.”

The duchess continued, “If I might advise you, Anne, tell him your concerns and ask him for his word that he will not allow his mother to discover the widow’s whereabouts.”

Gil Rutledge is the hero of The Realm of Silence. His sister-in-law and horrid mother also appear. Click on the title for blurb and preorder links. The Realm of Silence is the third novel in The Golden Redepenning series, and will be released on 22 May.