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Lady Chandler’s Sister by Regina Jeffers is a Pot 'O Gold event pick #regency #romance #giveaway


Lady Chandler’s Sister: Book 3 of the Twins’ Trilogy


Regina Jeffers


Regency romance; trilogy; historical fiction; romantic suspense; classic romantic fiction; historical cozy mystery

Book Blurb:

Sir Alexander Chandler knows his place in the world. As the head of one of the divisions of the Home Office, he has his hand on the nation’s pulse. However, a carriage accident on a deserted Scottish road six months earlier has Sir Alexander questioning his every choice. He has no memory of what happened before he woke up in an Edinburgh hospital, and the unknown frightens him more than any enemy he ever met on a field of battle. One thing is for certain: He knows he did not marry Miss Alana Pottinger’s sister in an “over the anvil” type of ceremony in Scotland.

Miss Alana Pottinger has come to London, with Sir Alexander’s son in tow, to claim the life the baronet promised the boy when he married Sorcha, some eighteen months prior. She understands his responsibilities to King and Crown, but this particular fiery, Scottish miss refuses to permit Sir Alexander to deny his duty to his son. Nothing will keep her from securing the child’s future as heir to the baronetcy and restoring Sir Alexander’s memory of the love he shared with Sorcha: Nothing, that is, except the beginning of the Rockite Rebellion in Ireland and the kidnapping of said child for nefarious reasons.


Alexander wished he had insisted they dock at Carrigaline or Dungarven and had traveled across land from there. The miles would have been shorter, and Sorcha would not have suffered so much with the cold and the waiting. When Remmington demanded they change out the horses and find something hot to eat to warm their bodies, he expected a mutiny of sorts.

“But Greer—”

“Is safe.” Remmington cut off Alexander’s protest. “As much as I despise Kavanaugh, the man does not react without careful planning. If he and Bradley purposely took the boy, they have anticipated your response. They know you will come for your child, and, I suspect, the baron hopes I will be accompanying you. It is my belief this madness has as much to do with my interference in Kavanaugh’s finances as it is about your attempts to protect Margot Pottinger. My response to Kavanaugh’s treatment of Delia Phillips and his abandonment of his daughter Deirdre has nearly ruined the man. The last report I had from my agent in Limerick said Kavanaugh’s debtors are demanding their payments, and the baron has sought loans from London moneylenders.”

“What if Kavanaugh harms Greer?” Alexander pressed.

Remmington lowered his voice to assure confidentiality. “I did not haphazardly go after Kavanaugh. Like any good agent of the Crown, I learned all I could of him before I attacked the man’s weaknesses. I know more of the man’s nature than any person not in his confidences. If Kavanaugh meant to harm the boy, it would have already occurred. Yet, I do not think it so. The baron permitted your wife’s aunt to leave with him. If he meant the child harm, he would have refused Mrs. Steele’s presence.

“He wants a response from us. Kavanaugh has accepted Mrs. Steele’s tending to the boy. In fact, I suspect the lady and Greer are locked away somewhere from Kavanaugh’s sight. The man is desperate, but he is not a fool.”

Alexander knew his friend correct, but he wished to object to the reasonableness found in Remmington’s tone. “Tell me this is your true evaluation. Swear it to me as an agent of the King.”

Remmington held Alexander’s gaze for several elongated seconds before he responded. “Even if the boy belonged to Malvern or Lord Liverpool himself or if he were my heir, I would advocate for rest and a clear head in dealing with this matter.”

* * *

Alexander eyed his wife as she rode beside Lord Malvern. Although she had professed a need to sleep and eat in order to have the strength to save their son, he knew what rest she claimed had come in short intervals, for he, too, could name each hour that ticked away the night. Last evening, in Dublin, he had presented Sorcha the narrow bed and had made a pallet before the door to protect her from any interruptions. They had arrived late, and only two rooms were available. He and Sorcha had claimed the smaller room, one with a sloping ceiling, under which he could not stand upright in parts of the room.

Sorcha had battled her pillows, punching them with more vigor than she likely realized. He had lain awake in the dark and waited for her to find sleep, but all she, or he, for that matter, achieved was an exhausted slumber, marred by a disturbing nightmare, where she called out for their son.

Now, he turned his horse to come up on the other side of her. “Will we reach Lord Kavanaugh’s estate before dark?” she asked, eyeing the dark clouds appearing to top the mountain peaks in the distance.

“Our guide believes we will make Limerick City and Castleconnell today, as long as the weather holds, but it is not likely to be before dark sets in on us.” He did not wish to disappoint her, but he could make no promises that this would be the night she would again hold Greer in her arms. “We are at God’s mercy in this matter.”

His gaze followed hers to where the snow drifted a foot high in places. “And the horses?” she asked pointedly.

“Will do well,” he assured. “They are accustomed to the land. The guide means to take us around the mountains rather than over them. There will still be several more climbs to maneuver, and then we should be on the plains of Tipperary, leading us to Limerick and Clare. We are slowly making a turn toward the city of Limerick.” He nodded to Malvern, who moved up to join the earl. “We will stop soon for a quick break. Let the horses drink, and we can have a bit of bread and cheese and stretch our legs.” He looked upon her with concern. “Tell me truthfully, are you well?”

She swallowed what appeared to be a knot of emotions. “Even if I were not, Alexander Rockwell Loren Chandler, you shall not send me back to Dublin.”

He smiled when he realized she knew his whole name. Certainly she would know it, but he had never thought upon the intimacy of something so simple. Warmth crept up his spine, while he said, “I never considered leaving you behind. I just know from experience how riding for hours can wear a person’s resolve thin, more so than walking the same distance.”

She presented him a weak smile. “I imagine walking up and down these mountain slopes and icy paths could prove just as monotonous.”

Alexander had lost the train of their conversation. He wanted simply to relish the glory of her countenance. “You are so beautiful, Lady Chandler. So beautiful, that I often ache to touch you.” He attempted to disguise the pain he experienced at causing her so much misery, but a rasp had laced his words. He would never forgive himself if his stubbornness cost her their child.

After they rested the horses, permitting the animals to drink their fill from a nearby icy stream, they set about gathering up their food. “We’ve another far hours before we reach Lord Kavanaugh’s place. Nine of the clock it be or thar abouts,” the guide shared.

“Deep into their evening,” Remmington observed ominously. “His lordship will think this is another day we did not come for him.”

“Want to shar what ye plan?” the guide asked with a smirk.

Remmington stiffened. “Not particularly.”

Alexander purposely interrupted this exchange. Some of what would occur this evening would be against protocol, and there was no reason to present Lord Liverpool a witness if the Prime Minister decided not to approve of Alexander’s actions. He stood and extended his hand to Sorcha. “Everyone prepared?”

The guide’s eyebrow rose in question before shoving to his feet. “Any of ye laid yer eyes on the ruins of Castle Connell previously? It be originally built on a rock overlookin’ the River Shannon. It be the seat of the chief of Hy-Cuilean, a territory lyin’ southeast of Abbeyfeale, in the barony of Upper Connello neared the Cork and Kerry borders. The castle then passed to the hands of the O’Briens of Thomond. It be blown up during the Jacobite War. Thar be a large chunk of the castle wall some fifty feet than whar it once stood, thrown across the road by siege cannons.”

“And what’s your point?” Malvern demanded.

“Nothin’ to note,” the man said. “Just sounds as if ye mean to make a stand. If’n ye decide to do so, what bettar place than a castle that has known its own trials.”

Buy Links (including BookBub):

What makes your featured book a must-read?

Each book in this trilogy has been recognized for its excellence, including Lady Chandler’s Sister, which was a finalist in the Fiction/Romance category of the 2019 International Book Awards. I am quite proud of the trilogy, which includes Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep and The Earl Claims His Comfort, whose heroine, by the way, is an Irish lass with lots of “spunk.” Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep was finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense and several other coveted awards, and The Earl Claims His Comfort was recognized by the Hot Prospects Awards in Romantic Suspense.

All that being said, this book is the perfect ending to my beautifully crafted Twins’ trilogy. It contains love. Power. Intrigue. Betrayal. Despite being the last book in the trilogy, a reader can enjoy it as a stand alone, for, although some scenes are connected to happenings in the previous books, I have crafted those scenes to be told through the eyes of Sir Alexander Chandler and Miss Alana Pottinger.

Like any good “cozy mystery,” the reader will find the suspense and drama of a murder mystery, but without the violence and darkness.

Giveaway –

Enter to win a $15 Amazon gift card:

Open Internationally. You must have a valid Amazon US or Amazon Canada account to win.

Runs March 9 – March 19, 2023.

Winner will be drawn on March 20, 2023.

Author Biography:

Regina Jeffers is an award-winning author of Austenesque, Regency, historical mysteries, and contemporary novels. Living outside of Charlotte, North Carolina, she is a retired English teacher and an often sought after consultant for media literacy and language arts, who spends her “down time” pulling weeds from her flower beds and spoiling her “grand joys.”

Social Media Links:

Every Woman Dreams (Blog)

Always Austen (Group Blog)


Rita Wray
Rita Wray
Mar 13, 2023

Sounds like a great read.


N. N. Light
N. N. Light
Mar 13, 2023

Thank you, Regina, for sharing your book in our Pot 'O Gold Bookish Event!

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