Starting tomorrow, the Bluestocking Belles are taking you on a tour of the 1814 Frost Faire. Start on this blog for a piece of short fiction, prizes, and more. Then follow the links to each of the booths in turn.
Or go to the Bluestocking Belles’ website for blog hop central, or to the blog Facebook page for more about the fair and links.
Hot mulled wine and a book on the wooden table. Fireplace with warm fire on the background.
In a winter so cold the Thames freezes over, five couples find a love to warm their hearts. Love unexpected, rekindled, or brand new—even one that’s a whack on the side of the head—heats up the frigid winter. After weeks of fog and cold, all five stories converge on the ice at the 1814 Frost Fair when the ladies’ campaign to help the wounded and unemployed veterans of the Napoleonic wars culminates in a charity auction that shocks the high sticklers of the ton.
Our view of Georgian life is often coloured by fictional accounts of high society, where ladies spent vast amounts on bonnets and gentlemen gambled away entire estates on an evening’s card game. Which is a fair reflection of a small part of society, come to that. But one in ten families lived below the ‘breadline’, and at times as many as two in five. Many people were precariously balanced on a knife edge where illness, accidents or old age could tumble them into starvation.
The Poor Law was meant to make sure such unfortunates had the help they needed. Wealthy households paid a levy to the parish, and local overseers apportioned financial hand-outs, clothing and fuel, and bread to those who could prove they belonged to the parish and therefore had a right to its support.
Where the parish authorities were genuinely charitable, poor relief might tide a family through a bad patch so they could get back on their feet. But the idea that poverty was a character fault is not a 21st Century invention. Strident voices wanted the poor to suffer for their charity handout.
IN 1722, the first legislation passed allowing parishes to provide poor relief in specially built workhouses. By the end of the century, more than 100,000 people lived under their stringent and often dire regime.
The sexes were segregated, and the able-bodied set to work, with strict rules and routines. Some workhouses were pleasant enough. Others were no better than prisons, and many of the poor preferred to starve rather than be put in the workhouse.
They were overcrowded, and the people in them often overworked and underfed. Epidemics tore through them, and the deathrate for people of every age, and particularly for newborns, was brutal. Nearly 2,400 children were received into London workhouses in 1750. Fewer than 170 of those children were still alive in 1755.
The parish levy wasn’t the only funding for the poor, though. Many landowners (and particularly their wives) kept to the age-old tradition of providing food and other items to those who lived on or near their estates, and some continued this one-on-one help in town. They also joined groups to provide help for those who needed it.
Private charities collected money for initiatives such as the Foundling Hospital in London, which cared for children whose mothers could not support them, the Marine Society, which trained poor boys for a life at sea, the Magdalen Hospital for Penitent Prostitues, various hospitals to provide free medical care, and educational initiatives. I particularly like the name of the Female Friendly Society for the Relief of Poor, Infirm, Aged Widows and Single Women of Good Character Who Have Seen Better Days. The days of 140 character tweets were well in the future.
To raise money, these charitable groups used the time-honoured idea of offering tickets to an entertainment: balls, musical concerts, art exhibitions. Some charged a weekly subscription to support their work. Some solicited donations through pamphlets and direct approaches to possible donors. (Some people have suggested balls were a Victorian contrivance, but British newspapers contain advertisements for charity balls and assemblies, or reports on them, going back to the middle of the previous century.)
Groups would also get together to raise money for a friend in need; perhaps someone who had been injured or widowed. In the British Newspapers Online archive, I found a number of advertisements for events ‘for the benefit of Mr. Xxx’, which is, of course, where we get our term Benefit, to mean a charity event.
While men ran many of the great philanthropic institutions, charity was “the proper public expression of a gentlewoman’s religious energy”. [Vickery, 254] Many women joined benevolent societies (where members agreed to provide support for any of their number who fell on hard times) and a huge number of women founded or joined charitable groups that supported what they themselves would have called ‘good works’.
Porter, Roy: English Society in the 18th Century. Penguin, 1982
Uglow, Jenny: In These Times, Faber & Faber 2014
Vickers, Amanda: The Gentleman’s Daughter, Yale, 1998
White, Matthew: Poverty in Britain. https://www.bl.uk/georgian-britain/articles/poverty-in-georgian-britain
Fire & Frost is coming out Tuesday of next week, and since the five tales of find love in the depths of winter revolve around a charity event, I thought it was a good time to look at Georgian charities.
In a winter so cold the Thames freezes over, five couples venture onto the ice in pursuit of love to warm their hearts.
Love unexpected, rekindled, or brand new—even one that’s a whack on the side of the head—heats up the frigid winter. After weeks of fog and cold, all five stories converge on the ice at the 1814 Frost Fair when the ladies’ campaign to help the wounded and unemployed veterans of the Napoleonic wars culminates in a charity auction that shocks the high sticklers of the ton.
In their 2020 collection, join the Bluestocking Belles and their heroes and heroines as The Ladies’ Society For The Care of the Widows and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans pursues justice, charity, and soul-searing romance.
Celebrate Valentine’s Day 2020 with five interconnected Regency romances.
Melting Matilda by Jude Knight – Fire smolders under the frost between them.My One True Love by Rue Allyn – She vanished into the fog. Will he find his one true love or remain lost, cold and alone forever?
Lord Ethan’s Courage by Caroline Warfield – War may freeze a man’s heart; it takes a woman to melt it.
A Second Chance at Love by Sherry Ewing – Can the bittersweet frost of lost love be rekindled into a burning flame?
The Umbrella Chronicles: Chester and Artemis’s Story by Amy Quinton – Beastly duke seeks confident woman who doesn’t faint at the sight of his scars. Prefers not to leave the house to find her.
(This post was originally written when we were promoting Holly and Hopeful Hearts, a collection about an earlier Charity event organised by the Duchess of Haverford and the ladies of London Society. It was published by the wonderful Madame Gilflurt on her Madame Gilflurt’s Guide to Life.)
The second story in the Bluestocking Belles collection, Fire & Frost, is Rue Allyn’s charming My One True Love.
Major Arthur Trevor PenRhyddyrch, Earl of Trehallow, returned to Wales from war and found his best friend gone. No one would speak her name let alone tell him where she might be. Then he found her in the frosty London fog of January 1814 only to lose her in the next moment.
When Miss Mary Percival Cummins saw Trevor in the fog, she ran. She knew he would hate her once he heard what others said, and the memory of their friendship was too dear for her to survive knowing he despised her.
But fate and the Duchess of Haverford had different plans. Her Grace knew, if they did not, that these two friends deserved the happiness of finding their one true love.
An excerpt
Trevor blinked. Percy had used his given name. Without any hesitation or prompting. Nor was she subdued and reluctant as she had been when the evening started. What had changed? He doubted anything in Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice had inspired his love to drop her unnecessary shame. He did agree, however, that Kean’s performance was inspiring. Perhaps she was simply transported out of the personal darkness that suppressed her naturally buoyant and intrepid spirit.
Regardless of the cause, he was pleased and happy to see again the inner fire that had always shown bright and strong in his best friend. Pray heaven they encounter no one rude enough to cause his love to sink back into unwarranted guilt. He helped her rise and escorted her from the box. Jessica had been correct. It seemed the entire audience had come for refreshments and to discuss the performance thus far. Everywhere he turned he heard Kean, Kean, Kean as well as stellar, immortal, truly gifted, and many other accolades. No one spoke Percy’s name. No one noticed her enough to turn aside and give the cut direct.
Her Grace had been right to insist that Percy attend tonight’s performance.
Meet the heroine.
She did not want him knowing where she lived. She shook her head and dropped her gaze to her fingers clenched in her lap.. She dared not look at him. One glance at the concern in his deep brown eyes, might have her betraying all good sense and throwing herself into his arms to weep out her troubles. He would feel honor bound to solve all her problems. She could not allow that.
“For the coachman,” he continued.
“Haverford House,” she blurted. She did not have to go inside, and if Trevor insisted on seeing her as far as the foyer, she would let him. The footmen were all familiar with her comings and goings. No one would question her if she left through the kitchen the minute Trevor left through the front door.
But Robert Burns had been right in his poetic address To a Mouse,. “The best laid schemes o’ mice and men, gang aft agley.” Her plans went awry the moment she crossed the threshold. There, in the midst of the foyer, stood Jessica and the duchess herself.
“Trehallow, my lad,” the duchess said. Jessica followed, crossing to where Trevor and Percy stood just inside the now closed front door. “What a pleasant surprise, and you’ve brought our Miss Cummins back home with you. We had begun to worry about you, dear.” The duchess—who did not prevaricate–lied through her teeth. “Go on up and change. We shall wait dinner until you come down.”
Jess took Percy by the arm and compelled her to walk to the stairs. There she spoke a few quiet words to a nearby footman. Percy was being whisked away up the stairs before she could blink. What was Her Grace thinking?
“You will join us for dinner, Trehallow. I insist,” Her Grace decreed.
And her determined hero.
He and Percy walked in silence nearly half the length of the promenade, the only sounds coming from the crunch of straw on the frozen ground beneath their feet and the low murmur of the other couple’s voices.
He wanted to ask her what happened. Why she had become this silent almost shy person, when that was so alien to the lively, curious, intrepid Percy he remembered. But he could not find the words.
“How have you been, Percy?” was all he could manage.
“Well enough with the duchess’s patronage.”
Was she completely dependent on the duchess? That would not sit well with the Percy he had known. “I was sorry to hear of your parents’ passings. That must have been a very difficult time for you.”
She shrugged. “I prefer not to speak of it.”
So she would not talk about her family. “How did you come to know the Duchess of Haverford?”
“Jessica and I were at school together. She insisted I come to her and the Duchess after… after my father died. Mother was too ill to travel, so I came by myself. Her Grace has been all that is kind and helpful. Mother remained at Cummins house under the care of my cousin Donald. I hoped she was well cared for, since I could not be there to see to her comfort myself.”
Which implied that, without the Haverford’s help, Percy might not have been able to provide for her mother at all.
“I am very sorry I was not there to help, Percy. But surely your cousin gave you and your mother a home?”
Percy looked at him, her expression hard, her lips pressed together. “As I said earlier, it is not a time I care to discuss.”
In The Herald’s Heart, Rue Allen has given us a medieval novel that is out of the ordinary, with an unusual plot, strongly drawn characters, and gothic overtones, including a mad anchoress and a haunting.
Three people are out for revenge — or is it justice? — for the crimes of one man, and him an untouchable feudal lord. Their plots conflict: the hero and heroine, in particular, can’t both achieve their goals. A win for one is a loss for the other.
The hero is a King’s herald, sent on a mission to call the lord to account. He has his own reasons for relishing the king’s work. The heroine is a great lady and heiress brought low and reduced to scraping a living amongst people who regard her as mad.
I found the hero’s insistence on continuing to call the heroine a liar long after her main claim was proven to be annoying, but his eventual capitulation and grovelling were satisfying.
More would give away plot points you really ought to read for yourself, but I can’t resist telling you that the murder weapon might just be the most unusual one I’ve ever heard of, and depended on intimate knowledge of the victim and his own co-operation.
Jude, thank you so much for the opportunity to share The Herald’s Heart with your followers. Please allow me to explain a little bit about the inspiration for The Herald’s Heart. At the time I was drafting this story, identity theft was a major news story (yes, the book is that old). I knew that proving one’s identity in the middle ages was difficult, if not nearly impossible. It was the job of the royal heralds to visit every noble household, verify identies, record any changes, and if it was important, accept copies of the records about the local yeoman population. A herald was essentially a census taker, and the information was used for the same purposes as a present day census: to assign taxes, to draft soldiers and sailors, and maintain identies.
Imagine, if you will, having to rely on the hand written record of a man, who may no longer be alive, to verify that Sir So-and-so of Somewhere in England actually was the person he claims to be. What happened when two claimants to a title appeared whom no one had ever seen before? No wonder medieval kings and queens required that their nobles show up at the royal court on a regular basis.
When the royal summons was ignored, as it was in The Herald’s Heart, the king (or queen) would dispatch a herald to record the truth of things and perhaps carry a message to the delinquent noble that his royal master was not pleased. Appearance at court alone would prevent any dire consequences.
You’ll note that I just said the herald might carry a message. That was in some respects their major job, especially in time of war. But The Herald’s Heart is inspired by the census taking aspect of a herald’s work. I had a wonderful time writing this story and pray you will enjoy it when you read The Herald’s Heart. Please leave a comment letting me know if the story interests you or not.
The Herald’s Heart is available for pre-order now through this Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bowW2A. The book is set for general release on September 2, 2019. If you would like to know more about The Herald’s Heart, you may find an excerpt here https://www.rueallyn.com/hh-excerpts-and-links/
As one of King Edward I’s heralds, Sir Talon Du Quereste imagined he would someday settle on a quiet little estate, marry a gently bred damsel, and raise a flock of children. The wife of his daydreams was a woman who could enhance his standing with his peers, and certainly not an overly adventurous, impulsive, argumentative woman of dubious background.
When her family is murdered, Lady Larkin Rosham lost more than everyone she loved—she lost her name, her identity and her voice. She’s finally recovered her ability to speak, but no one believes her claim to be Lady Larkin. She is determined to regain her name and her heritage, but Sir Talon Du Quereste guards the way to the proof she needs. She must discover how to get past him without risking her heart.
Award winning author, Rue Allyn, learned story telling at her grandfather’s knee. (Well it was really more like on his knee—I was two.) She’s been weaving her own tales ever since. She has worked as an instructor, mother, sailor, clerk, sales associate, and painter, along with a variety of other types of employment. She has lived and traveled in places all over the globe from Keflavik Iceland (I did not care much for the long nights of winter.) and Fairbanks Alaska to Panama City, Panama and the streets of London England to a large number of places in between. Now that her two sons have left the nest, Rue and her husband of more than four decades (Try living with the same person for more than forty years—that’s a true adventure.) have retired and moved south.
When not writing, enjoying the nearby beach or working jigsaw puzzles and singing along with her playlist, Rue travels the world and surfs the internet in search of background material and inspiration for her next heart melting romance. She loves to hear from readers, and you may contact her at Rue@RueAllyn.com. She can’t wait to hear from you.
What Rue likes best about the belles is their can-do spirit. “This group isn’t afraid to try anything the publishing world can dish out. The only other place I’ve found such completely supportive energy is with my fellow sisters-in-arms, both active duty and not.”
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Author pic: See attached.
Congratulations to my friend Rue Allyn on the release of Her Cadillac Cowboy.
A rich cowboy with a classic Cadillac—sounds like the stuff of dreams for a small-town Texas girl, right? Wrong! Josh McKinley and his classic car have been Sara Carson’s nightmare since Josh left ten years ago. Now the cowboy and his Caddy are back. Sara must choose between loyalty to her family and love for the one man she shouldn’t want.
Is the key to Sara Carson’s heart the Cadillac that their families have been feuding over for ten years? Or will Josh McKinley have to give up the car he treasures in order to win the woman he loves?
A rich cowboy with a classic Cadillac—sounds like the stuff of dreams for a small-town Texas girl, right? Wrong! Josh McKinley and his classic car have been Sara Carson’s nightmare since Josh left ten years ago. Now the cowboy and his Caddy are back. Sara must choose between loyalty to her family and love for the one man she shouldn’t want.
Is the key to Sara Carson’s heart the Cadillac that their families have been feuding over for ten years? Or will Josh McKinley have to give up the car he treasures in order to win the woman he loves?
Buy Link~exclusively at Amazon until mid-June
Amazon: https://www.amazon.in/Her-Cadillac-Cowboy-Rue-Allyn-ebook/dp/B07MQ25ZLQ/
Sara wandered down the hall, turned the corner at the end of the corridor, and ran smack into a bare, sweaty, male chest. The impact was brief. Hard hands closed over her shoulders and steadied her before setting her away. Sara looked up. Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again.
“You!” echoed through the emptiness.
Sara jumped back farther. More memories squeezed her heart. Of all the voices that she might hear, she never expected to hear Josh McKinley’s deep baritone.
“So, you’re back.” His mouth twisted on the statement. His graveled voice and daredevil blue eyes challenged her.
She wasn’t ready for this. “What are you doing here? Gloating because my father’s bedridden and can’t throw you out?”
“Not gloating, working.”
What a surprising idea. “That’s ridiculous. It’s Sunday and Carson’s Cars is closed.”
“Always was, as I recall. Guess even an old devil like your daddy needs a day of rest.”
Her eyes widened. How dare Josh try to provoke her. He’d betrayed her, run off like a coward. Never mind that she’d done her own running a few years later. “My father would never hire a McKinley, and no McKinley would want to do an honest day’s work when he could shyster widows and orphans instead.”
Josh hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall, his narrow hips cocked at an aggressive angle. “I don’t work for your father.”
He had no right to prop his broad shoulders against that wall. “Then you’re not working here, so get off Carson’s property.”
Damn him with his dark hair and bright eyes. He didn’t move. He gave a slow smile and looked her over, head to toe and back. “You’ve changed, Sara.”
Déjà vu skittered bumps over her skin. Time was when she would have danced naked in a cactus patch for that smile. No more. “Maybe it’s time you found out just how much I have changed.”
Hi, I’m Rue Allyn, I write heart melting romance novels. Books about characters and adventures in which love triumphs at the darkest moment. The kind of hopeful, steal-your-breath romance that melts a reader’s heart. The type of book I like to read. Hope you will too.
Rue’s Website: https://RueAllyn.com
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Today, the Duchess of Haverford is having tea with Caibre MacFearann: Hero of A Wish for All Seasons (and by the way he’s a cowboy in a kilt). A Wish for All Seasons is a historical romance novella by Rue Allyn. Eleanor has consented to interview Mr. MacFearann for readers of historical romance everywhere.
I am glad you could join me, Mr. MacFearann! Please tell us about the story your author wrote. Ms. Allyn’s wee story is titled A Wish for All Seasons. I believe you ladies would call the story a historical romance. While adult ladies are Ms. Allyn’s intended audience, any young person, age 13 or above could read the tale without risk of traumatizing their young minds. While I find such doings a tad embarassin’, I know Ms. Allyn would want us to share a thing she calls a blurb with your readers. So here ’tis: The last thing Caibre MacFearann wants is to return to Scotland let alone be forced to stay there. But the chance to rekindle the lost love of his youth is too tempting to resist. However, Aisla MacKai refuses to listen until her clan’s fate and a royal decree force Aisla to give him a chance.
Please tell us about yourself. I am a mon of twenty-eight years. I was born at Castle MacFearann on the northeast coast of Scotland. I’m a ranch owner in Wyoming territory. While I live in and love Wyoming, I’ll fore’re be a Scotsman true.
Will you tell our readers what you look like? I’m a fair height and lean. I’d guess I weigh about 13 stone. My hair is reddish brown, and I have blue eyes. My face is square. Some say I’ve a determined chin, others have accused me of being made o’ rock. That picture Ms. Allyn provides is somewhat misleading. It was painted when I was a young mon before I left Scotland. It doesna show anything of what’s happened to me since I left. I dinna wear a kilt verra often now days.
Who is the significant other in your life? Significant other? ’Tis a bit of an odd term that, but I’m supposin’ you mean Aisla MacKai, the only woman I’ve ever loved.
How do you dress? I wear practical clothes for work and weather—trousers, shirt, chaps, boots, shearling jacket and a Stetson hat. I clean up fairly well. I only wear my tartan and kilt in Scotland and for special occasions.
If we could only hear your voice (but not see you) what characteristic would identify you? Steady.
What is your viewpoint on wealth? Wealth is nae to be sneered at. It is convenient to have. The lack of wealth forced me to leave Scotland and the woman I love. I was too puir a mon to support Aisla when I left. I thought never to return, but fate has seen differently, and I now have the means to keep my love in comfort.
What kinds of things do you always carry (in pockets or purse)? Oiled paper, flint and steel for starting a fire. Kindling is nae always easy to find.
What is your family like? I have one older brother, Eric. He’s laird of clan MacFearann now that our father has been laid to rest. We’re verra close and determined to return honor to the name MacFearann.
How do others perceive you based upon looks, and is this assumption accurate? A great many men think of me as a nancy boy when they first meet me. It’s because I bathe and wear clean clothes every chance I get. Those men discover quickly they are mistaken.
Do you care about what others assume about you? Only two people’s opinion of me matter. My brother Eric’s and my darling Aisla’s. The rest of the world can go hang.
Can you keep a secret? Why or why not? O’ course I can keep a secret. ’Tis only honorable, and I’d nae do anything lacking in honor.
What secrets do you know about people around you that you do NOT share? Well now, if I told you, they’d nae be secrets would they?
What would help you face hardship and meet any challenge? The love of Aisla MacKai and the hope of winning her.
If you could make any one thing happen, what would it be? I’d make Aisla’s life easier. She’s had a rough time of it w’ her brother being declared dead and all. The queen has even threatened to take the MacKai barony back if Aisla doesna marry in six months.
What would you like to tell your writer? I’d tell Ms. Allyn that she should give A Wish for All Seasons more words. Aisla’s story and mine is too important to squeeze into a short novella.
What would you like people who hear your story to know? That happiness will come your way, no matter your difficulties., just Follow Your Star Home.
Is there anything else you’d like us to know? Absolutely. On November 4th of this year, the Bluestocking Belles will hold a party in honor of the release of their boxset, Follow Your Star Home. Everyone is invited. Here is the location where you can get more information. I will attend as escort for both Ms. Allyn and my beloved Aisla. The party will include all the Belles, many guest authors, games and prizes. Attendees are encouraged to come attired in the dress of their favorite time period, since the stories in Follow Your Star Home span more than 1,000 years of history. I hope to see all of you there.
The book is available on pre-order until it is released November 4, 2018.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Belles-Christmas-Title-Still-Under-ebook/dp/B07H4ZY517/
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/894110
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/nz/en/ebook/belles-christmas-2018-box-set-title-still-under-wraps/
Rue Allyn is the award-winning author of heart melting historical and contemporary romances. A USN veteran with a Ph.D. in medieval literature, Rue has retired south of the US border where she enjoys sunny days and heated inspiration. She continues to enjoy professional relationships in the Romance Writers of America, The Maumee Valley Romance Authors Inc. and the (in)famous Bluestocking Belles. She can be reached at any of the following locations.
*This interview format adapted with permission from that used on Romance Lives Forever.