secret baby

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Tea with a scandalous woman

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire, was reserving judgement.

The Duke of Kempbury was coming to visit, and bringing with him his new duchess. Some were whispering, with approval, that he had finally wed the lady to whom he had been ten years ago. Others assured their friends that they’d had doubts about that betrothal at the time. A duke marrying the daughter of a mere gentleman? And not even the legitimate daughter, but the child of a long ago mistress, whom he and his wife had raised with their own daughter.

Eleanor had been sympathetic at the time. She firmly believed that a child should not be blamed for the sins of his or her parents, and Adaline Fairbanks had been raised as a lady.

Then came the scandal, ending the betrothal, justifying the critics and casting Miss Fairbanks into Society’s outer darkness. Those who had stirred the scandal broth at the time were doing so again now that Adaline was finally the Duchess of Kembury.

Hence Kempbury’s call on Eleanor yesterday, to assure her that the betrothal had been broken over a misunderstanding, that the scandalous encounter had been a plot against Adaline, and that his lady was innocent.

Eleanor had to wonder whether he had been duped. After all, credible witnesses placed Adaline Fairbanks in an intimate embrace with the Duke of Richport. However, Kempbury was no fool. He insisted that Eleanor would understand all if she only spoke to his wife.

So here she was. Waiting to have tea with a scandalous lady.

They would be here any moment. Eleanor resolved that, whatever had happened in the past, she would support Kempbury. And his duchess, too, if that lady could convince Eleanor that she was a fit mate for duke. Scandal could always be turned around, when a person knew how to manage it.

 

The Lyon’s Dilemma

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party, particularly one attended by her. Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel. The one woman put on God’s earth to lure him from his duty. But Kempbury’s purpose is strong. Nothing she can offer will tempt him from his chosen path.

Only 99c until July 30th.

 

 

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Fated meetings on WIP Wednesday

 

I have a preorder link for A Lyon’s Dilemma! So I thought I’d share an excerpt, since it will stop counting as a Work-In-Progress in a little over three weeks, on July 30th.

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The half-sisters had never been friends, though only a few months separated them in age, and they had been raised in the same nursery. Adaline supposed she could not blame her father’s wife for being resentful, but it was not Adaline’s fault her father kept a mistress, nor that he brought his love child into his own house after her mother died giving birth to Adaline.

Emmeline’s resentment was copied from her own mother, and had been given further force because Adaline and Emmeline resembled one another so much. Emmeline, even though she was the younger by four months, had held a childish belief that Adaline had copied Emmeline’s looks to spite her. According to Emmeline, that justified wearing Adaline’s clothes to play naughty tricks on the governess and other servants.

Adaline had suffered many punishments for things she hadn’t done, and for lying about her guilt. And then Emmeline was caught in the act, and Adaline was sent away to school. “For your own sake,” her father had said. Adaline had enjoyed school well enough. But it was an exile, nonetheless.

Her own childhood experiences made her all the more determined to ensure that Melody never had cause to doubt that she was loved. Sad to say, that goal had been aided by Richard Beverley’s death. He had been a poor choice as a husband, as it turned out, though better in the circumstances than none at all. He had been shaping up to be a miserable father, and none at all was definitely preferable.

“Are any of the gentlemen going to be my new father?” Melody asked. The schoolroom party was taking advantage of today’s fine weather to walk to the pond to feed the ducks, and Adaline had elected to join them. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard the question, but Melody and Adaline had dropped behind the rest.

“I do not think so, darling,” Adaline said. “But remember I told you I have seen a matchmaker who will be looking for a husband for me.” Not Kempbury. Damn Kempbury, for invading her mind and setting her pulse beating just for him, as it had once before, long ago.

Melody frowned, thoughtfully. “I do not think I would want someone else to choose me a husband,” she said.

Adaline had certainly not done very well on her own, but she kept that thought to herself.

Ah! Here was the pond. Oh dear. And here was Kempbury. He had obviously come here for some privacy and solitude. He had a propensity for going off on his own—Adaline remembered that about him. She almost giggled at the thought of his dismay when his refuge was invaded by ten children of assorted ages, four nursemaids, two governesses and Adaline.

He nodded to her with distant courtesy, and then turned his gaze on Melody. All thought of laughter fled. But no. He would not guess. Melody was only a child. And even if he wondered, he could not be certain.

Besides, what could he do? Melody was legally a Beverley, and Adaline was her mother.

He narrowed his green eyes, while Melody stared back at him, her head to one side, her own very similar green eyes alight with curiosity.

“Might you be Miss Beverley?” he asked.

“Melody, make your curtsey to the Duke of Kempbury,” Adaline prompted. Melody, her most winning smile to the fore, curtseyed. “I am Melody Beverley, sir,” she said, “and this is my Mama.”

His expression, which had warmed while observing her daughter, chilled again as he looked at Adaline. “Mrs. Beverley and I were acquainted a long time ago,” he said.

“A very long time ago,” Adaline agreed. “Before you were born, Melody. Look, Miss Winchard has bread for the ducks. Get in line for your share, my dearest.”

Melody bobbed another curtsey, briefer than the first and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” then rushed off before he could reply.

 

 

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Memories on Monday – 10 years since Farewell to Kindness was published

Ten years ago, my first historical romance novel was published. Ten years! It hardly seems like any time at all, and yet I feel as if I have been writing and publishing forever.

As the first is series, Farewell to Kindness is permanently 99c in US dollars.  If you haven’t read it, buy it today. I hope you’ll be glad that you did.

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Spotlight on My Love, My Rogue

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

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

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

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

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

Buy Links

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

Saltdean, Brighton, England

March 1815

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have had enough of your family.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet Anna St Claire

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

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

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

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

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

https://www.annastclaire.com

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

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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.