Aubrey Wynne's Blog, page 27
February 2, 2023
At Last by Whitney Dineen
At Last
Whitney Dineen
(Seven Brides for Seven Mothers, #8)
Publication date: February 1st 2023
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Queen Charlotte of Malquar has been hard at work setting up all her children, but so far, she’s been unable to find someone for Sophie.
Princess Sophie was supposed to be the second royal sibling to marry, but she broke her engagement when she found out her fiancé was cheating on her.
Sophie has all but given up hope of finding her own fairytale ending. That is, until a mystery bouquet of roses shows up at the palace. The note says they’re from Arlo Hammond. After years of pining for the man she thought was her everlasting love, Sophie finally released all thoughts of Arlo, only to have him show up again thirteen years later. Why?
Will Arlo’s explanation win Sophie’s forgiveness? Will she give him another chance and find her own happy ending at last? Or will the heartache of the past be too much to forgive?
Find out in the final installment of Dineen’s bestselling and deliciously romantic Seven Brides for Seven Mothers series!
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EXCERPT:
Curling up on my living room sofa, I snuggle under my favorite cashmere throw before picking up the telephone. After punching in the number, I smile when I hear the voice of my dearest friend from university days. “Sophie!” Avery sounds both surprised and delighted. “It’s been ages. How are you?”
“I’m confused,” I tell her bluntly.
“The farthest fork out is for the fish course,” she teases.
“Ha ha ha.” I love how easily we fall into old banter. It’s always been like this between us. But of course, I didn’t call to chit chat. “Do you remember Arlo Hammond?”
I hear her choke on what I’m guessing is her morning coffee. Having grown up in the States, Aves never was one for tea. “Of course I remember. But I thought he was old news.”
“He’s been sending me flowers once a month for the last seven months.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
“I figured I’d wait to see if he said anything interesting.”
“And?”
I hear a sharp knock, which I’m hoping is someone from the kitchen with the decadent sweet breads I’ve ordered. Even though my waistline doesn’t need the indulgence, I’m still going to enjoy them. “Hold on, Aves,” I tell her before getting up to retrieve my breakfast.
Padding across my living room rug in bare feet, I pull the door open. My enthusiasm vanishes when I see that my visitor is not from the kitchen. It’s my mother. “What are you doing here?” I greet none too politely.
“Good morning to you, too.” She pushes her way through the door.
“I’m on an important call, Mum. I can’t chat right now.” If I tell her who I’m talking to, she’ll simply demand to get on the phone and have her own conversation with Avery.
Stopping in her tracks next to the trestle table against the wall in my foyer, she says, “I see you received the flowers that arrived yesterday.”
“I did.” When she doesn’t immediately respond, I add, “Is there any way we can talk later? I really need to get back to my call. It’s rather important.” Let her assume I’m planning the next big charity event, and child literacy itself is at stake. Participating in charitable events is nearly all I do as a working royal, and while I know it’s an important contribution, it sometimes bores me to the bone.
“I’ll be in the parlor between ten and eleven,” she tells me before backtracking toward the door. Before she walks through it, she adds, “I’ll expect you at ten.”
“I’ll do what I can, Mum.” I’m about to shut the door when I spot the serving girl from the kitchen walking down the hall with my breakfast. I indicate that I’m leaving the door open for her before hurrying back to the couch.
As soon as I pick up the phone, I hear Avery yelling at someone, “Not there! I asked you to put them in the linen closet.”
“Who are you lording it over?” I ask with a laugh.
“My husband, of course. We’re only now getting down to the business of unpacking all the bedding.”
“But you’ve been married and in the house for over six months,” I tell her.
“You know me, Soph, I’m not that fussy. I’m okay with washing the old sheets and then returning them to the bed. However, my mother-in-law feels that kind of bohemian nonsense isn’t good enough for her Tony. She made me register for six sets of linens and now I have to store them all. I should dump them off at her house.”
“I don’t even have that many extra sheets,” I tell her.
“I venture you don’t have any idea how many sheets there are in that castle you call home. But you didn’t call me to talk about bedding. You called about Arlo.”
As the server pushes the trolley over the threshold, I motion for her to leave it there before mouthing a quick thank you. When she shuts the door behind her, I ask my friend, “What is he doing getting in touch after all these years?”
“You can’t guess?”
“Avery, what happened between us was over thirteen years ago. It barely even started before it was over.”
“You talked about him constantly for two years,” she reminds me.
It’s true, I did. Arlo Hammond made a huge impact on my life in a very short amount of time, but there was no way there could ever have been anything between us. “I did what I was supposed to do, and I forgot him.”
“Why were you supposed to forget him again?”
“Avery Flemming, you know perfectly well.”
“What I know is that your parents are much more open-minded than you give them credit for.”
I don’t give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her. I simply say, “Maybe …”
Author Bio:
Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries — not always in that order.
Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.
She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.
Gold Medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2017.
Silver medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.
Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.
Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.
Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017
Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017
Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Facebook / Instagram
GIVEAWAY!
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—
February 1, 2023
The Worst Woman in London by Julia Bennet plus a giveaway
The Worst Woman in London
Julia Bennet
Publication date: February 2nd 2023
Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance
A defiant Victorian wife fights to escape a bad marriage but her love for a forbidden man jeopardizes her chance at freedom.
James Standish knows how to play society’s game. He’ll follow the rules, marry a virginal debutante, and inherit a massive fortune. At least, that’s the plan until he meets Francesca Thorne. She’s not the sort of woman a respectable gentleman like James could ever marry—not least because, strictly speaking, she’s married already.
Francesca is determined to flout convention and divorce her philandering husband. When James sweet talks his way into her life tasked with convincing her to abandon her dream of freedom, she’s unprepared for the passion that flares between them.
Torn apart by conflicting desires, James and Francesca must choose whether to keep chasing the lives they’ve always wanted or take a chance on a new and forbidden love.
—
EXCERPT:
Ten minutes before intermission, Francesca entered the crush room and found James asleep in his chair.
He looked different in repose, gentle and unguarded. Faint laugh lines marked the corner of each eye and, underneath, light shadows. What had put them there? Not worry, surely. Too many late nights, perhaps? His lips, so often curled sardonically, looked different too—softer, capable of compassion as well as teasing.
Ah, she’d seen his compassion. The remembrance made her want to smooth the hair from his brow.
The stray impulse took her by surprise. He didn’t need her tenderness. He was an English gentleman of means. Problems melted away before the bright rays of his wealth and breeding. She’d long lost her tendency to romanticize men of his type, or so she’d thought. Yet here she was again.
His breaths grew shallower. Soon he would open his eyes and they’d exchange awkward greetings. His duty to Edward discharged, he’d have nothing left to say, and, anyway, how did one behave toward a man who’d seen one fall apart? If only she’d waited for the end of the act, Caroline would be here now and this whole encounter with James could’ve been avoided. But, even though Edward had stopped pawing Mrs. Kirkpatrick, Francesca had wanted to escape. Fleeing from trouble; a worrying tendency she needed to check.
Just when she’d decided to back away slowly, James opened one eye. He smiled up at her and shut it again before she had a chance to speak. Since he made no effort to hide a broad grin, she knew he wasn’t still sleepy. What did he mean by it?
“Jemmy, are you perchance a little the worse for drink?” she asked, escape plan forgotten.
“Certainly not, you rude girl,” he said, though his eyes remained closed.
Laughter welled up in her chest, but she held it in check. “Then perhaps you’re feeling unwell?”
“I’m never unwell.” How he managed to convey urbane insouciance while sprawled in a chair she’d never know. “This is the crush room, is it not?”
“Of course it is.”
“Well, there you are, then. I slipped in early to avoid the crush.”
How provoking he was when not comforting crying women. She waited, but he didn’t speak. “You were sleeping,” she informed him.
“Nonsense, I was resting my eyes.”
“That’s what all the old men say.”
At last, both eyes snapped open. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a forked tongue?”
Author Bio:
Julia writes historical romance with passion, intrigue, dark humor and the occasional animal sidekick. A tea-sodden English woman, she’s the only girl in a house of boys and yearns for all things pink and fluffy. If she isn’t writing, she’s probably reading everything she can get her hands on, spending time with her boys or procrastinating on the internet.
Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram
GIVEAWAY!
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January 31, 2023
And I Was Like November by Rachael Biggs
Welcome to the book tour for And I Was Like November, a “beautifully writtern bummer” by Rachael Biggs. Read on for more info!
And I Was Like November
Expected Publication Date: January 31, 2023
Genre: Womens Fiction/ Black Humor/ Short Stories
20 October 2022… In a world where hyper-positivity and woke culture abounds, Rachael Biggs’ And I Was Like November offers a glimpse of the other side, while navigating themes of isolation and longing.
These are stories of what happens to the women that didn’t get their happy ending—the ones who don’t believe the cliches about family being everything and who know that live-laugh-love isn’t the cure all. Taboo topics that embrace a gritty reality include transactional sex, romantic obsession, maternal disdain and teenaged drug dealing are linked by the need to survive in the midst of questionable sanity and deep loneliness.
“This is what happens when things don’t work out and the consequences and feelings we have in private as a result. They’re stories about women whose lives aren’t glossy, filtered, and Instagram ready, and the contrast of their brushed-under-the-rug realities is maybe more interesting and relatable. In a world where we’re bombarded with shiny fallacies, this is the beautiful side of ugly,” said Rachael.
Available on Amazon starting January 31st!
About the Author
Rachael Biggs is an author, screenwriter, copywriter and journalist. She studied creative writing at UBC, UCLA, and with masters of the craft Syd Field and Robert McKee. In 2016 she earned a screenwriting diploma from Vancouver Film School with a focus on television.
Her memoir Yearning for Nothings and Nobodies debuted to critical acclaim and was adapted for the screen as Behind the Eight Ball.
She is a frequent contributor to print and on-line publications and her short fiction appears regularly in literary magazines including Door is a Jar, Angel City Review and Charge Magazine.
She divides her time between Vancouver and Los Angeles. Rachael Biggs
Book Tour ScheduleJanuary 30th R&R Book Tours (Kick-Off) http://rrbooktours.com
Stine Writing (Spotlight) https://christinebialczak.com/
@read_dog_reviews (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/read_dog_reviews/
Riss Reviews (Review) https://rissreviewsx.wixsite.com/website
January 31st Breakeven Books (Spotlight) https://breakevenbooks.com
Timeless Romance Blog (Spotlight) https://aubreywynne.com/
Heidi Lynn’s Book Reviews (Spotlight) https://heidilynnsbookreviews.blogspot.com/
February 1st @wolves_perception (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/wolves_perception/
@vinamkent_author (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/vinamkent_author/
The Faerie Review (Review) http://www.thefaeriereview.com
February 2nd Rambling Mads (Spotlight) http://ramblingmads.com
@evelovesbooks_travel_art (Review) https://www.instagram.com/evelovesbooks_travel_art/
@ofbooksandromance (Review) https://www.instagram.com/ofbooksandromance/
@latishaslowkeylife (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/latishaslowkeylife/
February 3rd @booknerd_jen22 (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/booknerd_jen22/
Liliyana Shadowlyn (Spotlight) https://lshadowlynauthor.com/
@the.brooke.library (Review) https://www.instagram.com/the.brooke.library/
Book Tour Organized By:
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January 30, 2023
Yours and Mine by A.E. Bennett with an excerpt and giveaway
Yours and Mine
A.E. Bennett
Publication date: December 21st 2021
Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance, Romance
She told a lie. He confirmed it. Now they’re secretly betrothed against their families’ wishes…
Lady Octavia Dorchester is the most desired young lady in the Realm. Now that she has twenty years behind her, society has deemed her ready to marry. Although she’s not enthusiastic, she promises to act like a proper lady and look for a good husband—just like her powerful father Lord Roman Dorchester wants.
Lord Gerald Verte has been painfully shy his entire life. He’s never been comfortable in society and lives in the shadow of his older brother, the imposing Lord Tristian Verte. Despite his desires to remain indoors and away from people, he promises his older brother that he won’t shame the family name, no matter how much his anxiety threatens to overwhelm him.
After sharing a dance at a ball held in Octavia’s honor, both she and Gerald know what no one else believes—it’s love at first sight.
When their respective family members object to the match, Octavia lies about their betrothal and Gerald corroborates her story. Raising the ire of both Lords Dorchester and Verte, Octavia and Gerald are torn apart and kept from one another until tragedy strikes.
This high-heat romance with a guaranteed HEA is a prequel to Gathering of the Four: Book One of the Serrulata Saga but can be read as a standalone.
Excerpt
“The Lord Roman Dorchester has the honor and privilege to introduce his youngest daughter—the Lady Octavia Dorchester—formally into the most respectable society of the Realm’s gentry!”
Gerald recalled hearing rumors that the Dorchester sisters were famous beauties and, after seeing the older Dorchester daughter at a fete a few months ago, he’d readily agreed with the assessment. Selma Dorchester had commanded the room without purposeful intent. That had been a relatively small affair compared to this, and she’d only shown up at the occasion because she’d recently become betrothed to the Lord Hamden’s oldest son. It was a dynastic match, and the entirety of the gentry was anticipating their nuptials, scheduled for a few months hence. Gerald recalled the event with trepidation, but Selma was a pretty woman, and he had found himself jealous of the young Lord Hamden. As the awkward younger Verte, he could never fathom being able to make such a match.
Gerald gawked and almost dropped the glass he was holding as he joined the crowd in staring upward.
Octavia was clad in a cobalt dress of gossamer fabric that expertly complimented her dark skin. Her curly, dark hair encircled her beautiful face like a halo. Her dark brown eyes shimmered in the light of the myriad of candles that illumi- nated her magnificence. One of her arms was elegantly placed around her father’s so he could escort her down the winding staircase. She looked at her father, himself impres- sively dressed in a fine black suit, cravat tied with intense complexity, and then out at the crowd.
Gerald drank every aspect of her, scanning her up and down and all over.
And then he felt nauseated.
What are you doing? She is a person, not an object! Stop it!
As he chided himself, he saw it. It was brief movement, and a man unaccustomed to feeling anxiety would have missed it. But Gerald was not such a man.
Octavia Dorchester clutched her ample skirts with her free hand harshly—so harshly that she left wrinkles in the fabric. It had only been for a tick, but it had been a fierce action. Her voluminous skirts masked the damage she’d done, but Gerald watched her eyes as she descended the stairs alongside her stoically elegant father.
She’s terrified!
Gerald clutched the glass in his hands. He nodded in appreciation and clapped with the rest of the crowd when the pair reached the bottom of the staircase, and she curtsied formally to her guests as her father thanked the gentry for attending. Her father then said something about thanking Sovereign Jebidiah, who Gerald assumed would arrive late as he did to every ball. Then he watched with the rest of the crowd as Octavia was whirled around the middle of the floor by her father—her first dance in proper society. Men and women alike crushed against him to get a look at the younger Dorchester daughter who was now formally ‘on the market.’
As though women were commodities to be bought and sold, like animals.
Gerald backed away from the crowd as best as he could without looking awkward. He was a younger son, despite hailing from a Great House, but knew he would not be of any interest to someone like Octavia Dorchester. Rumor had it, as a younger sibling herself, she was looking to match with the head of a Lesser House who had a great deal of coin. The House Dorchester was powerful in its own right, but its youngest would not suffer to live in just any townhouse in any city. Octavia Dorchester had her own name and her own dowry, but she would not accept just any man, so said society.
Or, rather, her father would not accept the offer of any man who didn’t meet his standards.
Gerald huffed at the thought. A woman like the one who danced before him should be able to make up her own mind. Leaving that aside, any woman should be able to make up her own mind. Gerald knew that his mother hadn’t had any say in marrying his father, and his father had been a good man, but he’d heard rumors about gentlemen who were not kind. A man could beat his wife if he felt like it, no matter his posi- tion in society, and that had never sat right with Gerald. Now he watched as the heads of Lesser Houses fawn over the display before them—Damnation, did that man just lick his lips?!—and he suddenly wanted no part of the party that he’d been forced to attend.
He sighed inwardly as he retreated toward a wall.
Someone like Octavia Dorchester would never even look at him. Best to find a wallflower or two, dance with them, and then make his excuses and fade away. He had a promise to keep to his brother, but he didn’t have to stand around and watch such a wonderful woman be paraded around like a slab of prime meat.
He bowed his head nervously at a few ladies as he made his way toward one of the many tables that contained food. He piled various meats and cheeses onto a plate provided to him by a servant who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He shoved bits into his mouth without tasting what he consumed.
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Author Bio:
A.E. Bennett (she/her) lives in Washington, D.C. She is originally from North Carolina.
Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Instagram
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January 23, 2023
Hello Spain, Goodbye Heart by LoLo Paige with an excerpt and giveaway
Hello Spain, Goodbye Heart
LoLo Paige
(The Wandering Hearts Series, #1)
Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication date: January 23rd 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Travel writer Dayna Benning tours Europe to write a feature story for a travel magazine. Along the way, she helps her bestie scatter her husband’s ashes. When Dayna accidentally sprinkles Alex Mendes with dried rose petals intended for the deceased, she senses a chemistry with the silver fox airline pilot. Just one catch—he wears a wedding band. Embittered by her divorce, Dayna refuses to be a homewrecker, like the woman who ruined her marriage. Alex and Dayna go their separate ways, but she’s mystified when serendipitous signs point her toward him at every turn. Determined to find out why, she learns Alex is a widower. Dayna hopes for a second chance at love…but her resentful heart stops her. Can she forgive those that broke her heart the first time? And for that matter, can she forgive herself for her failed marriage? Unless she finds a way to piece together her fragmented heart, Alex will forever remain a fantasy.
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EXCERPT:
Romance was the last thing Dayna trolled for, but if it rolled in her direction, she wouldn’t rule out a casual fling. But not with a married guy.
Mariko elbowed Dayna. “I’ve heard a lot of hot older guys hang out on this side of the Atlantic,” she murmured, eyeing another tall, juicy morsel passing by on his way out the restaurant door.
Dayna wrinkled her nose. “Alex is married, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed. No law against enjoying eye candy.” Mariko grinned. “You should write a sidebar for your magazine article, ‘How To Meet Cute Guys on a Beach.’ Tessa would love it.”
“Ha, that’d spice up my travel piece.” Dayna’s editor would love it.
“Sprinkling a handsome guy with dead rose petals would be a fresh angle,” reasoned Mariko.
“You think?”
“You’ve had a sniper dot on Alex the whole time. You may as well write about him.”
Alex strolled toward them, and Dayna fantasized a slow-motion movie scene: Arms swinging, he moves toward me, wind teasing his hair, with an I-Want-You-So-Bad expression on his face. His arms scoop me up and he plants a hot, moist kiss on my quivering lips, dissolving me—
The seating hostess snapped Dayna back to reality. “This way, please.”
“Oh!” In her haste to follow, Dayna’s foot caught a chair leg and she tripped. After a sloppy recovery, she limped after the hostess with heated cheeks, to a table for three.
Mariko jerked her head toward Dayna, smiling sweetly at the hostess.
“Don’t mind her. Her name’s Grace.”
Author Bio:
LoLo Paige is an award-winning author who has a passion for writing romantic comedies after decades of theatre experience acting in stage comedies. While comedy is her first love, she also writes the pitfalls of falling in love in the action-packed, perilous world of wildfire. As a former wildland firefighter who married her hot firefighter husband, she lives her HEA, spending glorious Alaskan summers at her oceanfront cabin on Kachemak Bay, with her husband and two golden retrievers.
Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Amazon / Bookbub
GIVEAWAY!
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—
January 20, 2023
The Year of Cecily by Lisa Lin with an excerpt and giveaway
The Year of Cecily
Lisa Lin
(From Sunset Park, With Love, #1)
Publication date: January 17th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
This is the year of Cecily Chang.
San Francisco attorney Cecily Chang is ready to tackle the New Year head on, so she creates a list of resolutions guaranteed to reboot her life—right after her dutiful visit home to Sunset Park, Brooklyn, for the Lunar New Year. Cecily prepares to face her critical, meddling mother, nosy relatives, and the chaos and drama family togetherness brings. At least the food will be delicious. This holiday, Cecily vows to remain calm—as long as she doesn’t see him.
Jeffrey Lee deeply regrets how he ended things with Cecily ten years ago, but he felt it was best for her at the time. When he runs into her again during the New Year, he sees it as a sign. Now a successful screenwriter, Jeffrey is determined to win back Cecily’s heart.
But Cecily doesn’t believe in signs or second chances and embraces her new resolutions. This time, Jeffrey won’t give up—and he’s convinced he can write them a new Hollywood happy ending.
Goodreads / Amazon / Bares & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play
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EXCERPT:
Having escaped the madhouse, Cecily dutifully made her way down the street to the Lee residence. She knocked on the door and was greeted by Jeffrey’s younger sister Bethany. She was dressed in a soft blue sweater and jeans, with a bandana pulling her hair back.
“CeeCee!” Bethany exclaimed as she enveloped Cecily in a hug. Despite herself, Cecily couldn’t prevent a grin. She’d always had a soft spot for Bethany.
“You’re home for the weekend?” Cecily asked. Last she heard, Bethany was a senior at Columbia, majoring in biochemistry.
“Yep. Where else would I be?” Bethany readjusted her bandana. “Mom needs all hands on deck for the cleaning.”
Cecily made a face. “My mom’s planning a top-to-bottom deep cleaning today too. I’m on bathroom duty. She’s also grumbling because she needs to take me to Walmart later to buy new clothes. But you can’t fight tradition.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. It was a New Year tradition slash superstition to clean the house top to bottom, get a haircut, and buy a new outfit. It was all about out with the old, in with the new and generating good luck and a fresh start for the Year of the Pig.
Bethany had no response, just blew out a breath and looked at her expectantly.
“Oh, right. Is Jeffrey around? I need to speak to him.” Speaking of the devil, he appeared behind his sister in the doorway.
“If you’re here to pay me for the Uber, think again.” He crossed his arms, and a stubborn look came over his face.
All right. If he was going to be a hard-ass about this, then so could she. She had plenty of experience dealing with difficult clients.
“It’s out of my hands, Jeffrey. You know that I can’t go into the New Year unless I settle all debts. You wouldn’t want me to start the Year of the Pig with bad luck hanging over my head, do you? You really want that on your conscience?” She gave her most innocent look and blinked disarmingly.
Jeffrey just scowled. “You always were a spoiled brat when it came to getting your way,” he muttered.
Cecily took immediate umbrage. “How dare you!” Such an unfair accusation. Besides, how did he know? They hadn’t seen each other in ten years. Maybe she had her moments, but didn’t everyone?
Jeffrey just raised an eyebrow. “Who was the one who told our moms I scalped her Barbie doll when she really was the one who decided to give it a haircut?”
“Really with that? I was five years old for God’s sake!” Seriously.
An implacable stare from him. “Did you or did you not get a new doll for your birthday?”
“To be clear, the statute of limitations for that has come and gone,” Cecily sniffed. “Not fair for you to throw that in my face now. It’s been thirty years, and I doubt your ability to accurately recall the event in question. Besides, whether or not I got a replacement Barbie doll is irrelevant to the current discussion.”
“And I was the one who got spanked for something I didn’t do.”
She continued to glare, and so did he.
Bethany just looked at them back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. “You two are weird,” she decided with a shake of her head. She walked away and disappeared back into the house.
Jeffrey ignored her. “But if you insist, it was sixty dollars.”
As Cecily dug through her wallet and purse, he added nonchalantly, “Oh and just so you know, Guillermo gave us a four and a half star rating.”
Her head snapped up and she stopped searching for the money. “Why didn’t we get five?”
“You were always so competitive.” He chuckled. He leaned against the doorjamb and put his hands in his pockets.
“Well, why didn’t we get five? We did nothing wrong,” she insisted, with her hands on her hips.
“Go ask him,” Jeffrey suggested, his lips twitching.
Cecily frowned and went back to her purse. Finally, she scrounged up thirty dollars and thrust it at him.
“There you go.”
“Glad I could help you start the New Year with a clean slate,” he drawled. “Happy now?”
She raised a warning brow. “You’re lucky I didn’t ask for a receipt.”
“Your faith in me is touching.
Author Bio:
Lisa has been an avid romance reader and fan since she read her first Nora Roberts novel at the age of 13 after wandering the aisles of her local bookstore. Lisa loves that romance has the power to inspire, and believes that HEAs are for everyone.
Lisa writes light contemporary romantic comedies with a liberal dash of snark and banter. She enjoys delving into the complexity of Asian and immigrant family experiences, and celebrates female friendships in her trademark dry, witty style. As an Asian-American author writing own voices Asian American stories, Lisa hopes that her books will show the diversity of the Asian-American experience, and the importance of every reader being able to see themselves represented on the page.
Having grown up in Pennsylvania and helping out at her parents’ restaurant, Lisa has never bothered to learn to cook. She has two liberal arts undergraduate degrees and a J.D, and in her former life she was an intern, then Legislative Assistant for a PA State Representative. She also worked as a paralegal at a boutique law firm. Lisa is a politics junkie (don’t get her started on the wonder that is The West Wing!), indulges in naps whenever possible, and believes Netflixing in her pajamas and ordering take out qualifies as the perfect weekend.
Website / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram
GIVEAWAY!
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—
January 18, 2023
Hearts of Steel by Elizabeth Camden
Hearts of Steelby Elizabeth Camden
Publication Date: January 17, 2023
Bethany House Publishers
Genre: Historical Romance/Christian
Series: The Blackstone Legacy, Book #3
His steel empire has catapulted him to the top of the world, but loving her could cost him everything.
Maggie Molinaro survived a hardscrabble childhood in the downtrodden streets of Manhattan to become a successful businesswoman. After a decade of sacrifice, she now owns a celebrated ice cream company. But when she offends a corrupt banker, she unwittingly sets off a series of calamities that threaten to destroy her life’s work.
Liam Blackstone is a charismatic steel magnate committed to overhauling factory conditions for the steelworkers of America. Standing in his way is the same villain determined to ruin Maggie. What begins as a practical alliance to defeat a common enemy soon evolves into a romance between two wounded people determined to beat the odds.
A spiraling circle of treachery grows increasingly dangerous as Liam and Maggie risk their lives and fortunes for the good of the city. It will require all their wit and ingenuity to protect everything–and everyone–they hold dear.
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Elizabeth Camden is best known for her historical novels set in Gilded Age America, featuring clever heroines and richly layered story lines. Before she was a writer, she was an academic librarian at some of the largest and smallest libraries in America, but her favorite is the continually growing library in her own home. Her novels have won Christy, Carol, and RITA Awards and have appeared on the CBA bestsellers list. She lives in Orlando, Florida, with her husband, who graciously tolerates her intimidating stockpile of books.
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We have two copies of Hearts of Steel by Elizabeth Camden up for grabs!
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January 16, 2023
Copper Waters by Marlene M Bell with an awesome giveaway bundle
Welcome to the tour for Copper Waters: A New Zealand Cottage Mystery by Marlene M. Bell. Be sure to enter the giveway below! Giveway Bundle ($225 Value)
William Morris Design Tapestry Throw – Acanthus Leaves Made in USA 34 oz. Hammered Copper Water Bottle 5×7 Handcrafted Suede Journal (blank pages) $50 VISA Gift Card Autographed Copper Waters
Copper Waters: A New Zealand Cottage Mystery
Publication Date: December 7, 2022
Genre: Mystery/ Suspense/ Light Romance
Antiquities expert Annalisse Drury and tycoon Alec Zavos are at an impasse in their relationship when Alec refuses to clear up a paternity issue with an ex-lover.
Frustrated with his avoidance when their future is at stake, Annalisse accepts an invitation from an acquaintance to fly to New Zealand—hoping to escape the recent turbulence in her life.
But even Annalisse’s cottage idyll on the family sheep farm isn’t immune to intrigue.
Alec sends a mutual friend and detective, Bill Drake, to follow her, and a local resident who accompanies them from the Christchurch airport dies mysteriously soon after. A second violent death finds Annalisse and Bill at odds with the official investigations.
The local police want to close both cases as quickly as possible—without unearthing the town’s dirty secrets.
As she and Bill pursue their own leads at serious cost, the dual mysteries force Annalisse to question everything she thought she knew about family ties, politics, and the art of small-town betrayal.
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Excerpt
“Nothing’s sinking in.” I pass the note to Alec and prepare myself. “Would you mind reading it aloud?”
“She and Ethan traveled together.” He gazes at me.
“Okay, we’d considered that.”
“Kate has business to conclude in New Zealand before she returns to New York. She asks me not to mention this to you until she arrives in the States but didn’t give a reason. Kate says she’ll meet you in person when she’s ready.”
“Seriously? Where does she plan to live? With me in Greenwich? The Goshen farm could be sold by now. Does she mention Jeremy finding her another place?”
Alec scans the page randomly. “No, she didn’t.”
I scratch my scalp and shake my head. “Then my sheep station trip to New Zealand is perfect timing. I have to leave now and see if I can catch her before she skips out. Ethan must know where Kate is. If it’s all the same, we’ll hang on to the tickets for our April trip, and I’ll buy my own way for this flight.” Tugging at my sweatshirt with clammy hands, I take the note from Alec and sail it into the flames, watching paper crinkle and burn on the log.
He steps forward, his chiseled profile gawking at the fire in disbelief.
“Were you ever going to tell me about Kate’s message?” A sob chokes my windpipe. “If it weren’t for Ethan’s invite, I doubt that we’d be talking about Kate.”
“Babe, I thought by staying neutral…” He twists his lips and looks at his shoes. “Seeing your reaction now; it was a mistake not to tell you.”
“That totally blows.” I ball my hands into fists. “More like you were afraid that I’d run down there to find her.” I’m mad enough to send smoke signals, so I take slower, calming breaths.
“If I’d told you… Yeah, I worried you’d run off. The ordeal in Italy, then Peter Gregory terrorizing you, and Helga has had barely enough time to settle around here. Your safety doesn’t include encouraging you to hop on a plane to another country so soon after a trauma like that. Waiting for Kate’s return felt right to me. At some point, I hope you’ll see things from my side. Kate put me in the middle, but it’s you I worry about.”
Willing myself to relax, I take his hand to get him to focus on me instead of the floor. “I know that.”
Peter Gregory, an old coworker from my past job at another gallery, is responsible for a young woman’s murder in Lecce, near the Mediterranean Sea on Italy’s eastern shore. Alec and I went to Southern Italy for a working vacation that spun us into solving more than one homicide in order for Alec to sell his dad’s Signorile Corporation, a sports car company.
“After a shower, I’ll give your mom a call from the car on the way home. I might have trouble getting a flight out on the spur of the moment, but if I do, I hope you’ll help me.”
“Anna, we should discuss this.” He catches my wrist. “I’d like to go along. Say the word, and I’m on that plane with you. Allow what’s happened with Kate to simmer. You might feel differently in the morning.”
Grasping Kate’s locket beneath my shirt, I slide the chain over my head and cup Alec’s hand, dropping the necklace there.
“Hold on to my locket while I’m gone. It’s the most precious thing I own. That way, you’ll know I’m coming back to you.” On my tiptoes, our salty kiss calls a loneliness— In a flash, two people are about to have a hemisphere drifting between them from outside influences that want to manipulate us. “Gen will be here to see Noah in a few hours, and you have him until Sunday. Let me go, Alec, and please wait for me at Brookehaven. I have to make this trip by myself. If there’s the slightest chance that Kate’s with Ethan or he knows where she is, I have to go. I’ve already lost precious time.” I start for the drawing room doors and remember something left undone. “Oh, and sorry for the sticky mess in your stable office.”
In a dead run, I’m biting a quivering lip. On the way to Alec’s bedroom suite, I send Chase a text to hold Ethan’s box and note for me at the gallery. True to form, Kate shoves us all out of our comfort zones, where I’m certain to find a disaster waiting for me to book a ticket to New Zealand in a mad rush.
Available on Amazon & Barnes & Noble
About the Author
Marlene M. Bell is an eclectic mystery writer, artist, photographer, and she raises sheep in beautiful East Texas with her husband, Gregg, three cats and a flock of horned Dorset sheep.
The Annalisse series has received numerous honors including the Independent Press Award for Best Mystery (Spent Identity,) and FAPA— Florida Author’s President’s Gold Award for two other installments, (Stolen Obsession and Scattered Legacy.) Her mysteries with a touch of romance are found at marlenembell.com. She also offers the first of her children’s picture books, Mia and Nattie: One Great Team! Based on true events from the Bell’s ranch. The simple text and illustrations are a touching tribute of compassion and love between a little girl and her lamb.
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January 14, 2023
Sneak Peek: Earl of Brecken
Earl of BreckenA seductive Welsh earl on the brink of ruin. A wealthy cit in search of a hero. Miss Evelina Franklin reads too many romance novels. She’s certain a handsome duke—or dashing highwayman—is in her future. In the meantime, Evie entertains herself with the admirers vying for her fortune. The Earl of Brecken needs cash. His late father left their Welsh estate in ruin, and his mother will not let him rest until it is restored to its former glory. Notorious for his seductive charm, he searches the ballrooms for a wealthy heiress. His choices are dismal until he meets Miss Franklin. Guileless and gorgeous with an enormous dowry, she seems the answer to his prayers. Until his conscience makes an unexpected appearance.Excerpt:Prologue
Brecken Castle, Wales
November 1809 Madoc ran a hand over the horse’s hindquarters, then moved his palm along the inside of the backl-eft haunch and found the swelling. He lifted the stallion’s left hind leg. “Hold his head,” he told the stableboy, “and when I release the leg, take him into a trot.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He counted to fifty then let the hoof drop to the ground. The gleaming bay went into a trot with a noticeable limp, its hoof lightly scraping the dirt. “Now halt, back him up a dozen steps, then take him into a trot again.”
The boy called over his shoulder. “Ye think it’s only a spasm?”
“No, I think his stifle is locking up.”
The horse moved forward without an issue. At fifteen, Madoc was known for his love of animals. He slept in a stall if a mare was foaling, spent an afternoon devising a splint for a sheep or goat with an injured leg, or wiled away hours with the chemist discussing human remedies that could apply to other species.
“Did you work your magic?” asked Lord Brecken, his hazel eyes twinkling gold in the afternoon sun. “Is he ready for the hunt?”
“I’m afraid not, Father.”
“He looks fit to me.” Brecken watched the huge gelding walk back toward the stable. “That’s my favorite mount. If he’s not lame, I’m riding him.”
“I wouldn’t, sir. I think that back joint may lock up after a strenuous ride, like it did today.” Madoc took a deep breath and looked up at the towering earl. He hoped to match his father’s height in the next few years. “Take my horse tomorrow. If I’m right, a bit of rest should take care of it.”
“Ha! I’ll ride my own, and if there’s any trouble, I’ll give him the rest of the month off.” The earl smoothed back his dark hair and adjusted his hat. When he squinted up at the sun, the laugh lines deepened on his weathered face. He gripped Madoc’s shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. “You’re the only man in this county that would dare argue with me. Besides my dashing looks, you’ve inherited my audacity.”
Madoc had never compared himself to this remarkable man. True, their features and coloring were similar, but their temperaments were wholly different. His father was gregarious, charming, and spontaneous, though Mama called it impatient. He was also a natural leader. And fearless. “Father, I—”
“And not a word to your mother. She’ll be nagging me all night.” Brecken strode away, his long legs quickly eating up the distance to the stable. The greatcoat strained against his broad back, and Madoc straightened his own shoulders as he watched the earl walk away.
“You’ve been doing that since you were old enough to walk behind him. Always in his footsteps, imitating every move and expression.”
“Mama, how do you manage to sneak up on me like that? You’re quiet as a fox hunting chicken.”
She laughed, a tinkling sound that always reminded him of the porcelain bells his grandmother had loved. “Doc, what secret is he keeping this time?”
Madoc grinned at the nickname, given to him as a child, because he was always doctoring some creature. If he wasn’t heir to an earldom, he’d have studied medicine. Instead, he would follow his father’s path and go to Oxford, take the Grand Tour if the war was over, and eventually assume his place at Brecken Castle.
“It will do you no good to ignore me. I won’t tell, I just need to prepare myself.” Her dark gaze settled on him. “When I’m kept in the dark, it usually includes some level of danger.”
“I’m more concerned for the horse.”The next day, he wanted to take back those words. His father got his way and rode his favorite horse. At first, Madoc thought perhaps he’d been wrong. The stallion held up well after a hard day’s ride. Lord Brecken, irritated they’d lost the fox, raced one of the younger men back to the castle. Coming to a hedge, both men leaned over their mounts as the horses jumped.
Madoc’s heart lodged in his throat as the earl’s horse baulked, its back leg jutting out. Lord Brecken was pitched over the hedge. Struggling to breathe, Madoc kicked his gelding’s flanks to catch up, waiting to hear his father’s angry bellow. But it never came. On the other side of the shrubbery lay the twisted body of his hero. A scream, muffled and seemingly far away, sounded behind him.
Mama!
He turned his mount on its haunches and held up a hand to the approaching riders as he slid from the saddle. His voice sounded calm and commanding, and he wondered how that could be when he trembled like a frightened child on the inside. “Keep my mother on the other side until we know his condition.”
An old friend of the earl nodded and intercepted Lady Brecken while Madoc and two other men crouched around the earl. He rested on his back, his head and one leg at on odd angle, eyes closed. Putting his ear close to his father’s face and placing two fingers on his neck, he blew out a loud sigh of relief. “He’s alive. Let’s get him to the castle. Send someone for the physician.”
Madoc closed his eyes as his mother’s wails filled the silence. “Sweet Mary, is he…?” She almost fell from her horse and collapsed over her husband. “Wake up, love.” Her voice rose as she shook him. “Wake up, damn you. Wake up!”
“Mama, he’s alive. We need to get him home.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up. “I’d say his leg is broken, from the angle of it. We’ll know more once he’s been examined and wakes up.”
Someone whistled, and the wagon following with refreshment rumbled along the uneven field. It took four men to gently lift Brecken onto the bed. Lady Brecken, skirts in one hand, scrambled up next to her husband. She wiped at her cheeks, then rocked back and forth, holding one of his giant hands in both of hers. He could hear her whispering to the earl as if he could hear her.
Madoc helped the physician set the broken leg. As the bones cracked and popped into place, he wondered how the pain did not stir his father. A glance at the physician reinforced his concern.
“Let’s take it as a blessing that he didn’t wake,” said the doctor. “I’ll stop in daily to check on his progress. He’ll be able to tell us more once he’s conscious again.”
But it would be several days before the earl was coherent. When he did rouse, the entire household heard him. Cursing like Madoc had never heard before floated down the hall. He ran down the hall that morning, praising the Lord above for small miracles. While the words weren’t for delicate ears, the sound of his father’s voice had eased the tightness in Madoc’s chest. Until he reached the bedroom.
Inside, his mother stood next to the four-poster bed, fists pressed to her mouth, shaking her head. The early rays of dawn shone on her wet cheeks. When her gaze locked with Madoc’s, his stomach lurched.
“What is it?” he rasped, tying the belt of his banyan around his waist.
“I can’t bloody move! I can’t feel my bloody legs. By God, get that physician here NOW!” The earl waved a shaking hand at the door. “NOW!”
By that afternoon, it was determined the earl had lost the use of both legs. It happened sometimes with back injuries. Madoc remembered a pup that had to be put down when a horse stepped on it. His mind whirled, going over every accident, every ailment he could remember. There had to be something they could do.
The weeks passed, and Lord Brecken went from ranting to depression. “Shoot me. Give me the same mercy we give a loyal horse. I can’t live as an invalid.”
Never had Madoc heard the pleading in his father’s voice. The thought of a gun to the earl’s head made his stomach quiver. Would he find a way to do it? Not his father. Not the Earl of Brecken. Suicide was a coward’s way out.In the end, he wasn’t sure what was worse. His father chose silence over death, rarely uttering a word. He continued to breathe but stopped living. Mr. Caerton, the steward, maintained the estate and lands. When he approached his mother about working with Caerton and taking over the some of the earl’s responsibilities, she refused to listen.
“Your father planned on instructing you. We’ll have to wait until he’s himself again. I can’t imagine his reaction if you took over without his consent.”
At eighteen, Madoc left for Oxford as planned. The earl managed farewell that came out a snarl. “Enjoy your youth while you can. Happiness is capricious and snatched from you in the blink of an eye.”
“Doc, he doesn’t mean it. He loves you,” his mother soothed. “This is just so hard for a man like him.”
“A selfish man, you mean. It’s self-pity that keeps him strapped to that chair. He might as well be dead.” He closed his eyes at her gasp, stunned at his vehemence. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean that. It’s just—”
“I understand. Be patient, my dear.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “He’ll come back to us. I know he will.”
“You’ve been saying that for three years.” Madoc wrapped his mother in a fierce hug. “I pray you are right. For your sake.”
“For all of our sakes,” she murmured into his chest.Chapter One January 1819
London, England Madoc shivered, pulled up the fur collar of his greatcoat, and adjusted his beaver hat. With a well-placed kick, he urged his horse into a canter. He wanted London far behind him. His manservant followed with the luggage, but he needed air and time to prepare himself mentally for the upcoming encounter. His last visit had been more like a stay in a mausoleum than one’s boyhood home. His father’s mumbled responses and lackluster eyes had not prompted any lively conversation—until the end.“I’ve completed my final year of university. Are you sure you want me to leave again so soon?” Madoc leaned against the mantel, the smoldering peat in the grate hot against his riding breeches. The May sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows and mocked the thin, dour man wrapped in heavy wool blankets. Where had the Earl of Brecken gone? That man had been larger than life with a booming laugh, an iron fist, and cunning wit. A man his son had looked up to, imitated, his every action geared toward the hope of gaining the glow of his father’s approval. The kind of man who commanded attention merely by walking into a room. And therein lay the problem.
The silence stretched. Perhaps the earl had fallen asleep. His gaze fell on his father’s bony fingers, clutching a shawl about his rounded shoulders, as if it were his last defense. Madoc swallowed as his father’s hazel eyes narrowed. The brown and green flecks, passed down to his only son, sparked with anger.
“Every young man needs to see the world. It’s part of your basic education. Do you think I’m unable to manage my own affairs because I cannot walk?” rasped the earl, pushing back a limp strand of gray from his forehead. “Do you think the inability to use these feckless limbs affects my brain?”
“No, Father, but I believe it has affected your spirit.” He went down on one knee and took a cold, papery hand between his warm palms. “Please, let me take you for a ride in the carriage, get out and see some of your tenants. Your soul is in this land. It would do you good.”
“I don’t need you to take me anywhere. If I wanted to leave my home, I’d do it,” bellowed the old man with surprising volume. His shoulders slumped as if the admonishment had depleted what little energy he’d possessed. “Go! Enjoy your youth while you have it. Lady Fortune is a capricious, evil female. You never know how long happiness will perch on your shoulder.”
Madoc’s jaw tightened as he gave the earl a rigid nod and left the room. Why was he surprised? Delaying his response to the Home office, he had hoped for one last bid to bring his father back to the land of the living. By God, he’d tried. Now, he’d take the assignment with no remorse, working under one of England’s most brilliant spymasters. At twenty-two, he was making a name for himself. The danger and intrigue made him feel alive, a welcome and vivid contrast to the quiet hills of the Welsh countryside.
His parents suspected nothing, assuming their son had come from his last year at Oxford rather than Belgium. This “Grand Tour” would provide the perfect ruse to be abroad, his title gaining him entry into the right circles to mingle, charm, and… listen. Napoleon had been declared an outlaw and was wreaking havoc again. The Crown needed every available set of eyes and ears. It may be years before he was able to return. If he returned. Lord Risk was as fickle as Lady Fortune.
He stopped at the front door, his palm on the cold handle of the door as he looked over his shoulder, a final glance around his childhood home. An ancient castle with the countess’s modern touch. The large receiving hall had been paneled with oak, the stone floor covered with narrow, polished planks, and the windows enlarged to allow more light. The furnishings had come from London by way of France and Italy, the earl sparing no expense for his new, young wife. Painted silks and satins hung on the walls and dressed the glass panes.
“Must you leave, Doc? Can you not put off your trip for a year or so?” His mother appeared at his elbow, using his nickname to soften him, no doubt. He recognized the familiar martyred expression creasing her face. Her slender fingers clutched his riding coat. “He was so looking forward to your visit.”
Madoc snorted. “Mama, you know my passage has been paid. Father has been quite adamant that I go.”
“You don’t understand what he’s been through, what it’s like for him. He’s bitter, that’s all. If you stayed, he’d come round. I’m certain.” Her onyx eyes watered, and she laid a hand on his cheek. Rays of light shed a halo about her black chignon, at odds with the growing venom in her tone. “Have you become one of those dandies, then? Looking for pleasure and living off your father’s money and good name? He needs you now.”
He ground his teeth, his jaw tense. “He’s been like this for six years. My presence for a few weeks will not produce a miracle. I will obey my father’s wishes, ma’am.”
Madoc turned on his heel and stormed out the door. A chestnut gelding stood patiently waiting in the courtyard. He mounted and turned the horse to face the veranda, hooves and cobblestones reverberating in the warm afternoon air. “Good day, Mama.” With a bow and sweep of his hat, he added, “Until we meet again.”
Four years ago. Four long years.
So much had happened in that time. He’d changed, lost his naivete, his youthful optimism. His skills belonged more to a soldier than a titled landowner. He had a relentless grip on a sword, excellent marksmanship, and a wicked right punch. He could go days without sleep. His superiors regarded him as the man with a seductive smile and honey-like charm that could distract top officials—or their wives—while correspondence was pilfered in their own libraries for secrets that could hasten the end of the war. He’d become the perfect chameleon, as comfortable playing a discontented foot soldier or a common thief in the rookeries as he was the polished dandy spending his father’s fortune.
It had taken its toll.
Madoc trusted few people, rarely heard a conversation or request without discerning a hidden implication or ulterior motive, and was bone-tired. He wanted to sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Ride across his childhood estate, nod at tenants, and have no greater worry than balancing the ledgers and deciding which country dance or dinner to attend. It was time to begin his life, the life he’d been born to, the life that had called to him when he’d stepped onto English soil again. Yes, he was ready for the role he had only pretended at the last four years.
Brecken Castle and estatesA tired and dusty Madoc trotted toward the village of Brecknock. He crossed the stone bridge, drawing in a renewed breath as the clear water rushed and splashed under the arches. The slate mountains and snow-capped peaks seemed to be stacked on top of each other, like a crowd trying to see over the next shoulder. They provided the perfect background for his brooding mood. Curiosity would greet him in the village. Enthusiastic waves and questions about the master when the tenants realized it was Lord Madoc riding through.
A frigid wind whipped at his face, and he hunkered inside his coat and cursed. Devil confound it, it was cold. A man awake on all suits would have waited for his coach and valet. The sun peeked out from a billowy, gray cloud. He squinted at the unexpected brightness, his vision watery, barely able to discern the outline of the small town looming in the distance. As he drew closer, Madoc blinked and wiped his eyes with his palms.
He slowed his chestnut gelding to a trot and made his way to the square, taking in the dilapidated buildings. The main thoroughfare—that made him chuckle as he thought of the hectic, paved streets of London—was dotted with people buying last-minute wares from closing vendors and hurrying home before dark. A growl in his belly reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but his attention focused on the derelict condition of Brecknock.
There were no inquiries or smiles. No hoorays or nods from the men. Filth trickled like a brown and yellow brook from an alley and puddled near the street. Roofs were in disrepair and walls had been patched and patched again. The tenants’ clothes were worn and shabby. What in blue blazes was going on? His lovely village had gone to ruin.
“Good day,” he called out to the blacksmith he’d known since a boy. “I’ve just returned home and can’t help but notice…” He made a long sweep with his hand to encompass the sight before him. “What happened?”
“Ask His Lordship,” boomed the man before ducking his head and removing his cap, “or the devil in his pocket.”
“And does this devil have a name?”
“Aye, it’s Caerton’s eldest, Niall.”
“He’s taken over for his father, then?”
“He’s taken… That’s a true statement, to be sure.” The man turned away and disappeared into his smithy.
“By God, I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Madoc yelled to the retreating figure.
Four generations of Caertons had managed the estate for the Earls of Brecken. The last time he’d seen Mr. Caerton, the old man had been in decline. Finding it difficult to maintain the physical responsibility of managing Brecken’s vast holdings, he had begun training his oldest son, Niall, to replace him. Madoc had never liked the youth growing up. He remembered the boy picking a fight, then cheating by throwing dirt in the other lad’s eyes to win. Of course, that had been years ago. People change. He was living proof of that.
It got worse as he cantered toward the castle. The fields were overworked. At a glance, he knew there had been no rotation of land. Less fertile soil, less crops, less profit. Perhaps Caerton had died before he’d been able to instruct Niall in all aspects of management. He’d give the steward the benefit of the doubt until he had more facts. If the past years had taught him anything, it was that appearances could be deceiving. A mirthless laugh scratched his throat, thinking of the disguises he’d donned over the years.
Madoc kicked his horse into a gallop as he passed a paddock of thin plow horses. He was glad he’d come home. It was time to take over for his father and have a word with Niall Caerton. As he clattered onto the stone courtyard, the butler appeared at the door.
“Lord Madoc, it is so good to have you back.” He held the door open as Lady Brecken rushed down the steps to greet him.
“Oh, my sweet son. The lord has answered our prayers. You’ve come home just in time.”Like this:Like Loading...
January 9, 2023
Painted to Death by Sarah Vernon
Painted to Death
Sarah Vernon
Publication date: January 10th 2023
Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery
Sam Green is an art student with some pretty creative habits when it comes to solving mysteries, in this new series from author and artist Sarah Vernon. It’s the coldest part of a Boston winter when her friend Catherine is found dead in the painting studios one evening. The police are quick to rule her death a suicide, but Sam knows that something doesn’t seem right. Despite the protests of her friends Rebecca and Stephanie (although — happily — with the help of her crush Arun), Sam starts to poke around the old art department building. Peering into the dark corners of studios and underneath piles of musty art supplies, Sam soon uncovers some surprising suspects and motives behind Catherine’s death, in an art department simmering with artistic jealousy, resentment, and more relationship drama than a daytime talk show could handle. The only question is, will Sam be able to find out who killed Catherine before that person finds Sam?
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EXCERPT:
It was a dark and stormy night. Yeah, for real. That’s how I’m starting, because why mess with what works?
Also, it really was dark and stormy the night this all started, the wind bursting in through all the tiny cracks around the old, barely insulated windows of our triple-decker apartment. I say started, but this was actually a couple of weeks after Catherine had died. I just thought I’d start right in the middle of it, because we all know the worst Agatha Christies are the ones where Poirot doesn’t even come into it until page seventy-five, and you have to first get through hours and hours of slow English family drama, or worse, a bumbling English inspector.
We were huddled in the living room, with Benny on the floor leaning against the coffee table, and Rebecca, Mel, and me on the couches, mugs of mulled wine steaming in our hands. We would have all preferred to be outside smoking, the distraction of a cigarette easing the conversation, but there’s that dark and stormy night again. Plus, our landlord had recently made it harder to disarm the smoke alarm, so no more smoking inside either.
So here we were, trying to have a casual conversation about a topic that defies casual conversation. Mel – the kind of roommate we weren’t quite close to yet, who still attached herself to any kind of group activity at our apartment – was trying hard to make everyone smile, telling unfunny jokes and keeping the wine topped up. Rebecca had taken the comforting aunt approach, keeping her hand on Benny’s shoulder while he told us about his afternoon.
“I just feel like they weren’t even asking the right questions,” he was saying. “It’s like, the cops didn’t ask about her family much at all – what kind of mood she had been in. All they wanted to know was things like, did she have a boyfriend?” Rebecca tutted and leaned down to pat his back. “I mean, what is this, twenty years ago? Do they still only go for the boyfriend?” Benny frowned into his cup, the steam blurring his glasses.
In fairness, people are still most often killed by their immediate loved ones. And twenty years ago is not all that long ago. But forgive Benny’s nearsightedness; in fairness, at twenty-two, it was essentially a lifetime to him.
“What did you tell them?” Mel wanted to know.
Rebecca and I shot her a sharp look, but she was innocently fiddling with her hair, short and newly dyed lavender, and wouldn’t meet our eyes. Benny had called us as soon as the police had finished interviewing him, desperate for our company and already on his way over. We had all agreed it would be best not to ask for specifics, but Mel was apparently determined to be as annoying as ever.
“Obviously the truth,” Benny replied. “That she had dated a few different people so far this year, but none was particularly serious. And really,” he continued indignantly, “even if someone had been a serious boyfriend, how can they actually think that proves anything? All that shows, I think, is how easy it was to love her.”
Benny’s chin dropped to his chest and Rebecca was immediately on the floor next to him, her arm around his back. I swear she actually said, “There, there.”
“Sam, maybe you can get out some extra blankets? Benny, why don’t you just spend the night here, on the couch?” Rebecca looked at me expectantly.
“Of course,” I said, a clap of thunder accentuating my voice. “It’s way too stormy out for you to go anywhere, anyway.” I got up, dragging Mel with me. “Mel, help me get the blankets down.”
She followed me, obviously reluctantly, out into the hall. I opened the door to the hall closet, still holding onto her arm.
“Sam, what’s up? Let go of me,” she whined. I rolled my eyes.
“What was all that back there?” I hissed. “We agreed we weren’t going to ask him for specifics. Benny’s been through enough as it is – we don’t have to make him relive everything.”
Her eyes grew wide, an expression of innocence we were familiar with, as Mel always proclaimed that she was never the one who left dirty dishes out or forgot to buy toilet paper. It was frankly gross that she would try to pull the same crap here, in the middle of a murder investigation.
“Sorry, I didn’t think it was prying just to ask what he answered to one question,” she said, still in her most exasperating whine. “And come on, Sam, it’s not like you’re not curious. Benny was her best friend. Basically her brother! Who else is going to know what’s really going on?”
“But you don’t need to know what’s going on,” I said, reaching up to the top shelf for an extra quilt. “If the police want to call you up and tell you everything they’ve found out in the past two weeks, they’ll do that. You don’t have to ask Benny for the recap.” I pushed the quilt into her arms, turning back for sheets.
“Fine,” Mel said. “I’m sorry. But for the record, I’ve heard you and Rebecca whispering. I know I’m not the only one who wants answers.” This last word she delivered in a true crime podcast-perfect whisper.
Author Bio:
Sarah Vernon is an author and artist based in Massachusetts, where she writes the Triple-Decker Mystery Series.
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