The Castle Keepers  by Aimie K. Runyan, J'nell Ciesielski, Rachel McMillan Publication Date: May 2, 2023 Harper Muse Genre: Historical Fiction ' The Castle Keepers is a fascinating story of love's ability to overcome family curses, scandals and even war. Told in three parts, this multi-generational tale is wonderfully heartwarming!' -- Madeline Martin, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Bookshop in London Leedswick Castle has housed the Alnwick family in the English countryside for generations, despite a family curse determined to destroy their legacy and erase them from history. 1870. After a disastrous dinner at the Astor mansion forces her to flee New York in disgrace, socialite Beatrice Holbrook knows her performance in London must be a triumph. When she catches the eye of Charles Alnwick, one of the town’s most enviably-titled bachelors, she prepares to attempt a social coup and become the future Marchioness of Northridge. When tragedy and scandal strike the Alnwick family, Beatrice must assume the role of a lifetime: that of her true, brave self. 1917. Artist Elena Hamilton arrives in Northumberland determined to transform a soldier’s wounds into something beautiful. Tobias Alnwick’s parents have commissioned a lifelike mask to help their son return to his former self after battle wounds partially destroyed his face. But Elena doesn’t see a man who needs fixing—she sees a man who needn’t hide. Yet secrets from their past threaten to chase away the peace they’ve found in each other and destroy the future they’re creating. 1945. Alec Alnwick returns home from the war haunted but determined to leave death and destruction behind. With the help of Brigitta Mayr, the brilliant young psychoanalyst whose correspondence was a lifeline during his time on the Western Front, he reconstructs his family’s large estate into a rehabilitation center for similarly wounded soldiers. Now Alec’s efforts may be the only chance to redeem his family legacy—and break the curse on the Alnwick name—once and for all. Amazon   | Barnes & Noble   | Bookshop   iBooks   | Books-A-Million   | Add to Goodreads   'A trio of talented storytellers skillfully brings to life three eras in The Castle Keepers. I found myself yearning to walk the halls of Leedswick Castle to soak up the secrets the walls held, and also the whispers of love. Intrigue, a poison garden, and a long-standing curse make for a colorful and rich read.' — Heather Webb, USA TODAY bestselling author of Strangers in the Night Enjoy an Excerpt from The Castle Keepers CHAPTER 1 ~Rule No. 1~ All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. — William Shakespeare New York City February 1870 Beatrice examined her reflection in the mirror, and though she didn’t risk her mother’s ire by commenting on her own appearance, she knew she was ready to take the stage for one of the most important performances of her life. Daddy wore his best tailcoat with mercifully fewer complaints than usual. For this, Beatrice offered silent thanks. She didn’t need her father’s grumbling and her mother’s resultant henpecking to rile her nerves. Her sweet-natured father’s grousing was a way of flirting with Mama, but Beatrice found it exasperating when it happened at important moments. Tonight they would dine at the home of Caroline Astor. Mrs. William Backhouse Astor, the single most influential person in all of New York society. And Beatrice, if she ever wanted admittance to Mrs. Astor’s good graces, would have to be flawless. Her hope was that if she played the part well enough, she just might secure a proposal from Thomas Graham. Thomas, who actually watched plays when he went to the theater rather than attending purely so he could be seen by those who mattered. Thomas, who was the only company that felt superior to the company of her beloved journal, a pen, and a roaring fire in her bedroom. Thomas, whose piercing gaze made her stomach wobble and her breath stop in her throat with the merest glance. Thomas, who had spent a great deal of social capital to secure this all-important invitation in hopes of advancing Beatrice and her family in society. Beatrice hoped it was so his parents could have no objection to their forming an attachment beyond seeing each other at social events and in the gathering areas at the theater once or twice a week. Thomas, who would be the great compromise: a position to please her mother and the potential for the honest-to-goodness love match Beatrice longed for but had never hoped to aspire to. Until Thomas. Befitting the event, Beatrice and her mother dressed in fine silks and tasteful jewels. Their ruffled bustle skirts were like sugary confections—flowing masterpieces of fabric, rather than meringue— that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Their restrictive bodices defied nature as well, molding the shape of the wearer into the feminine ideal. Their hair was just as elaborate—a massive tower of braids and curls that took the skill of a sculptor to achieve. Their money was so new, it was practically fresh from the printer’s, but Mama knew full well how to spend it. End of Excerpt. Shared with permission. 'Take one castle and the dramatic tales of three generations of fascinating characters who reside there, and you're in for a treat with The Castle Keepers by Aimie K. Runyan, J'nell Ciesielski, and Rachel McMillan. Every generation has its challenges, but for the owners of Leedswick Castle, their actions will affect their descendants over and over again. Filled with sweet romances, a little humor, and touches of intrigue, this novel written in three parts is sure to delight readers!' — Eliza Knight, USA TODAY bestselling author of Starring Adele Astaire Meet the Authors Aimie K. Runyan Internationally bestselling author Aimie K. Runyan writes to celebrate unsung heroines. She has written six historical novels (and counting!) and is delving into the exciting world of contemporary women's fiction. She has been a finalist for the Colorado Book Award three times, a nominee for the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers' 'Writer of the Year,' and a Historical Novel Society's Editors' Choice selection. Aimie is active as a speaker and educator in the writing community in Colorado and beyond. She lives in the beautiful Rocky Mountains with her wonderful husband, two adorable (usually) children, two very sweet cats, and a pet dragon. Visit her online at aimiekrunyan.com . J’nell Ciesielski Bestselling author with a passion for heart-stopping adventure and sweeping love stories, J’nell Ciesielski weaves fresh takes into romances of times gone by. When not creating dashing heroes and daring heroines, she can be found dreaming of Scotland, indulging in chocolate of any kind, or watching old black-and-white movies. She is a Florida native who now lives in Virginia with her husband, daughter, and lazy beagle. Learn more at www.jnellciesielski.com . Rachel McMillan Rachel McMillan is the author of The London Restoration, The Mozart Code, the Herringford and Watts mysteries, the Van Buren and DeLuca mysteries, and the Three Quarter Time series of contemporary Viennese romances. She is also the author of Dream, Plan, Go: A Travel Guide to Inspire Independent Adventure. Rachel lives in Toronto, Canada. Visit her online at rachelmcmillan.net .

Books and Benches is pleased to welcome author Pat Wahler to the blog and to showcase her beautiful book, The Rose of Washington Square. Scroll down for a look and enter the limited-time giveaway while you're here. “From start to finish, this story honors the talent, devotion to family, and the success that was such a huge part of Rose O’Neill’s life.” —Readers’ Favorite The Rose of Washington Square: A Novel of Rose O'Neill, Creator of the Kewpie Doll by Pat Wahler Publication Date: January 20, 2023 Evergreen Press Genre: Historical Fiction She set out to make her way in a man's world, rising from obscurity into one of the most famous women of her era. Self-taught artist Rose O'Neill leaves the Midwest for New York in 1893, determined to become an illustrator in a field dominated by males. Mindful of her duty to the impoverished family she left behind, Rose’s obligations require her to yield to the men who hold the reins of her career; as well as the men she grows to love. Yet despite every obstacle facing her, she excels at her craft, eventually designing a new character, the Kewpie. Her creation explodes into a phenomenon, but Rose’s disenchantment with the status quo fosters new ambitions. She must decide whether to remain within the boundaries dictated for her, or risk everything she’s gained to pursue the creative and personal passions that ignite her soul. With grit and tenacity, Rose O'Neill blazed an unforgettable path during the tumultuous times of the early 20th century. Available in eBook and Paperback “Rose O'Neill was a trailblazer of her time, and her life is a testament to the power of perseverance in the face of impossible odds.” —Kathleen Grissom, New York Times bestselling author of The Kitchen House "A classic reinvention of the life of Rose O'Neill, the woman who created the iconic Kewpie doll." —Nina Romano, award-winning author of The Secret Language of Women Meet Author Pat Wahler Pat Wahler is a Missouri native and avid reader. She is winner of Western Fictioneers' Best First Novel of 2018, a Walter Williams Award winner, and the winner of Author Circle Awards 2019 Novel of Excellence in Historical Fiction for I am Mrs. Jesse James. Pat has also authored a three-book contemporary romance series-the Becker Family Novels, and two holiday-themed books; all named Five-Star Readers’ Favorites. A frequent contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies, Pat is an avid reader with a special passion for historical fiction, women’s fiction, and stories with heart. She makes her home in Missouri with her husband and two rescue critters—one feisty Peek-a-poo pup and a tabby cat with plenty of attitude. WEBSITE | BLOG | BOOKBUB | GOODREADS FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM Limited-Time Giveaway Enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card! Enter the Giveaway Boring Legal Jargon: The giveaway is open to the US only and ends on March 6, 2023. You must be 18 or older to enter/at the time of entry. Void where prohibited by law. This giveaway is sponsored by the author and hosted by Historical Fiction Virtual Book Tours. The winner will be contacted directly by the author or blog tour host. Want more? Visit these other stops along the tour. Blog Tour Schedule Monday, February 20 Review at Dive Into a Good Book Wednesday, February 22 Interview at Passages to the Past Friday, February 24 Feature at The Caffeinated Bibliophile Monday, February 27 Feature at (You're already here!) Tuesday, February 28 Review at Girl Who Reads Review at Reading is My Remedy Wednesday, March 1 Review at Novels Alive Review at Little But Fierce Book Diary Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? I hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends.

Reader's Thoughts Everard Hume and Blythe Hedley prove that love is often unexpected and can conquer almost any hardship. The Scotland setting is beautiful with vivid descriptions, and history is sprinkled throughout to complement without overpowering. Laura Franz writes beautifully and her words keep the reader engaged and interested in what will happen next with the characters and their story. She doesn't make the journey easy for Everard and Blythe, but the ending is all the sweeter for the trials they had to overcome. This is a clean read. While religion plays an important part in the characters' lives, it reads as historically accurate and not preachy. I enthusiastically recommend this book to anyone who enjoys historical fiction. The Rose and the Thistle In 1715, Lady Blythe Hedley's father is declared an enemy of the British crown because of his Jacobite sympathies, forcing her to flee her home in northern England. Secreted to the tower of Wedderburn Castle in Scotland, Lady Blythe awaits who will ultimately be crowned king. But in a house with seven sons and numerous servants, her presence soon becomes known. No sooner has Everard Hume lost his father, Lord Wedderburn, than Lady Hedley arrives with the clothes on her back and her mistress in tow. He has his own problems--a volatile brother with dangerous political leanings, an estate to manage, and a very young brother in need of comfort and direction in the wake of losing his father. It would be best for everyone if he could send this misfit heiress on her way as soon as possible. Drawn into a whirlwind of intrigue, shifting alliances, and ambitions, Lady Blythe must be careful whom she trusts. Her fortune, her future, and her very life are at stake. Those who appear to be adversaries may turn out to be allies--and those who pretend friendship may be enemies. Get Your Copy ↓ Amazon.com BOOK INFO Title: The Rose and the Thistle Author: Laura Franz Genre: Historical Christian Fiction Publisher: ‎Revell Publication date: ‎January 3, 2023 Source: Reader's personal library Content Rating: 2 Hearts / Clean Read Recommended by: MK. A version of this book recommendation was previously published here .

We're thrilled to welcome Amanda Skenandore to Books & Benches with her novel, The Nurse's Secret , which sounds fascinating and mysterious. We hope you enjoy getting to know more about the book and author as much as we have. Go to: About the Book | Interview | The Author The Nurse's Secret From acclaimed author and registered nurse Amanda Skenandore, The Alienist meets The Light of Luna Park in a fascinating historical novel based on the little-known story of America’s first nursing school, as a young female grifter in 1880s New York evades the police by conning her way into Bellevue Hospital’s training school for nurses… “A spellbinding story, a vividly drawn setting, and characters that leap off the pages. This is historical fiction at its finest!” – Sara Ackerman, USA Today bestselling author of The Codebreaker’s Secret Based on Florence Nightingale’s nursing principles, Bellevue is the first school of its kind in the country. Where once nurses were assumed to be ignorant and unskilled, Bellevue prizes discipline, intellect, and moral character, and only young women of good breeding need apply. At first, Una balks at her prim classmates and the doctors’ endless commands. Yet life on the streets has prepared her for the horrors of injury and disease found on the wards, and she slowly gains friendship and self-respect. Just as she finds her footing, Una’s suspicions about a patient’s death put her at risk of exposure, and will force her to choose between her instinct for self-preservation, and exposing her identity in order to save others. Amanda Skenandore brings her medical expertise to a page-turning story that explores the evolution of modern nursing—including the grisly realities of nineteenth-century medicine—as seen through the eyes of an intriguing and dynamic heroine. AMAZON | BARNES AND NOBLE | BOOKSHOP | CHAPTERS-INDIGO 5 Questions for Author Amanda Skenandore Give us an insight into your main character. What does she do that is so special? The main character of my novel is Una Kelly. She’s a slum-dweller and pickpocket extraordinaire. From an early age, she’s had to fend for herself, and that’s made her scrappy and self-reliant. But also mistrusting. She becomes a nurse trainee at New York City’s infamous Bellevue Hospital to throw off the police and finds herself in a world unlike anything she’s known. What I liked most about writing Una’s story and what makes her so special is the way she’s able to use her courage and street smarts to get by at the hospital while also learning there’s more to life than survival. In addition to being a writer, I’m also a nurse and was curious to explore the profession’s early history. Today, nursing is among the most trusted professions, but that wasn’t always the case. Until the late nineteenth century, nurses were untrained and often illiterate. Creating a fish-out-of-water character like Una helped me approach that history in a more playful and relatable way. What is your favorite motivational phrase? I love Teddy Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” speech. I keep a copy in my writing room and read it when my confidence falters. “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” I like to imagine myself as a writer daring greatly. Yes, I make mistakes and suffer failures. But in the end, at least I spend myself in a worthy cause, doing something I love, something that makes me a better person, something, I hope, that inspires my readers. Are there particular themes or motifs wrestle with or address in your books? The Nurse’s Secret is my fourth book. Something it shares with all my previous work is the theme of belonging. I never set out with the intension of wrestling with this idea— what it means to belong, how we find the people who accept us for who we truly are—but somehow that question is at the heart of everything I write. I suppose, like most people, there have been periods of my life where I’ve struggled to fit in. I’m shy and reserved and have old-cat-lady-like tendencies. But I’ve also known the joy of great friendships and the deep inner quietude of belonging. I want that for my characters too. What is your favorite movie based on a book, where you preferred the movie? My favorite movie of all time is Fried Green Tomatoes. (Insert agreement from B&B!) So often in books and movies, friendship between women falls into that “frenemies” trope, but Fried Green Tomatoes offers a more honest, complex, and diverse picture. I read the book Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flag hoping to love it as much as I love the movie but I just...didn’t. Somehow it lacked the emotional swells of the movie. Maybe if I’d read the book first, my experience would have been different. If you were to genre-hop, which genres would you most like to try writing? I’d enjoy trying my hand at paranormal romance. I came late to the romance genre. Growing up, there were “trashy books”—romance, thrillers, horror—which my father cast as, well, trash, and worthwhile books, which was basically everything else (bonus points if it had to do with science). I read Dark Lover by J.R. Ward in my mid-twenties and my mind was blown. Since then, I haven’t met a romance book I didn’t enjoy. (I love historical romance too.) During the pandemic when work at the hospital was at its most stressful, romance was all I cared to read. Even though I write historical fiction, a dash of romance always creeps in. I can’t help myself. My husband says I’m an 11 on a ten-point romantic scale. I think I’m more like a nine... B&B: Thank you so much, Amanda, for sharing your book, insights, and thoughts with our readers. The Author Amanda Skenandore is a historical fiction writer and registered nurse. Her first novel, Between Earth and Sky, won the American Library Association’s Reading List Award for Best Historical Fiction. She grew up in the Colorado Rockies but now lives in Las Vegas with her husband and their pet turtle Lenore. WEBSITE | INSTAGRAM | TWITTER | FACEBOOK Genre: Historical Fiction / Mystery Publisher: Kensington Books Release: June 28, 2022 Type: Novel Content Rating: PG-13 (2) View our rating system Go to: About the Book | Interview | Top of Post Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends. Have you read the book? Let us know your thoughts!

A lady, a musket, and a dance for freedom . . . pair that with a fabulous cover and an intriguing plot, and you have Lindsey S. Fera's Muskets & Minuets . She's giving us a sneak peek inside the story, so keep reading! Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | The Author | Book Details Muskets & Minuets Love. Politics. War. Amidst mounting tensions between the British crown and the American colonists of Boston, Annalisa Howlett struggles with her identity and purpose as a woman. Rather than concern herself with proper womanly duties, like learning to dance a minuet or chasing after the eligi-ble and charming Jack Perkins, Annalisa prefers the company of her brother, George, and her beloved musket, Bixby. She intends to join the rebellion, but as complications in her personal life intensify, and the colonies inch closer to war with England, everything Annalisa thought about her world and womanhood are transformed forever. Join Annalisa on her journey to discover what it truly means to be a woman in the 18th century, all set against the backdrop of some of the most pivotal moments in American history. Trigger warnings noted in book details section. AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON CA | AMAZON AU Enjoy an Excerpt from Muskets & Minuets The dirt road curved upward, and Annalisa followed until she reached the top. Beneath the hazy dawn before her, the Charlestown peninsula stretched across shimmering waters, southeast toward Boston. She squinted at the faintly visible slopes of Dorchester Heights far to the south. Steep, green islands were not the only things to speckle the harbor. Three-masted warships littered the inlet with billowing ivory sails, each one crowned with the blue, red, and white flag of Britain. She shivered. Far nearer, and more visible through the summer smog, sat a large fortification atop one of Charlestown’s hills. The king’s warships pointed their guns at the rising land—land a thousand minutemen had worked all night to secure. George and Jack must be there now. Her throat tightened as she imagined Jack and George clutching muskets behind those ramparts. A thunderclap of artillery shattered the morning calm. At last, she was direct witness to the hostilities. Sweat trickled between her breasts bound in linen, but the fabric wicked all moisture, as did the menses apron between her legs. I should face no troubles today as I did in Portsmouth. But the threat of her womanhood in disguise loomed. A half-mile from Charlestown Neck, Annalisa lingered beneath a wide maple. The cacophony of cannonade washed over her with bitter resonance. Without her militia, she must find a way to safely cross the narrow strip of land. The clank of metal mixed with a scuffle of marching shoes, and two regiments of what appeared to be provincial militia, gathered across the road. The gentlemen in command, addressed as Colonels Reed and Stark by their subordinates, appeared sullen and stiff. Colonel Stark, a thin, older man who must be in his middle-forties, stood tall and imposing. He wore his cocked hat low over squinted eyes. With a scowl upon his sunken mouth, he held himself in readiness, and lifted his cutlass into the air. “Gentlemen.” Stark’s craggy voice severed the eerie silence between cannon fire. “Ready yourselves. We march across the neck.” This was her chance. She gripped her musket. The regiment marched passed at a deliberate pace, and she slipped in. “Watch yourself.” An older man scrutinized her as she stepped on his foot. Panicked, she lowered her hat, and fell in with the march. She must take extra care to blend in and keep her identity hidden, no matter the cost. When they reached Charlestown Neck, water glimmered on either side of the narrow strip. Gunboats and warships blasted artillery across, turning the ground to crumbled wasteland. A blazing cannon screamed forth and lodged itself into the earth mere feet from her. The ground quaked and Annalisa lost her footing. She tumbled and fell, the moist soil inches from her nose. A minuteman from behind scooped her up and continued the march, scarcely wasting a step. Shaken, she advanced across the neck. Bunker Hill rose before them. It was probably thirty feet high. Beyond it, a valley, then a smaller rise, Breed’s Hill, she’d heard them call it. There, atop the shorter mount, minutemen gathered behind six-foot high dirt walls and ram-shackled rail fences. Perspiration gathered on her brows and dripped down her back. Hand trembling, Annalisa wiped her forehead. The regiment stopped after they descended Bunker Hill. To her left, the grassy land sloped down toward the banks of the Mystick River. Colonel Stark crossed in front of the regiment with another officer. “My boys.” He gestured to the river. “Low tide opened up this beach. You are to secure it with stones to form a breastwork to the water’s edge. Three ranks of men will flank you from behind.” Before she could sneak away, Annalisa fell in with a group descending the bank. They scurried over the edge and set to building a stone wall that would meet the brackish river waters. A young, bright-eyed boy handed her a large stone. “This is madness, is it not?” She grabbed the heavy rock from him, and her knees buckled. Annalisa bit her tongue, unwilling to speak. The timbre of her voice over cannonade would surely give away her secret—the one secret she had left. “Stack the stone, lad,” an older man barked. She placed the large rock atop the first row. “I daresay, we’re lucky to have made it this far.” The young man handed her another small boulder. “Nathaniel.” She gasped. He tipped his hat out of habit, then his brows lifted. “Ben Cavendish.” They embraced for only a moment and Annalisa pulled away, her anxiety pulsating. Will he ask why I abandoned our militia at Concord? Hesitantly, she asked, “What are you doing here? Is Captain Foster here with the militia?” “No, I left the militia shortly before Concord. My family moved to Exeter in New Hampshire. I enlisted with Colonel Stark’s first New Hampshire regiment only a fortnight ago.” Annalisa exhaled, relieved. He didn’t know she’d been detained in Topsfield that fateful day Ebenezer fell at Concord. “Here we are, Cav. Everything we believe in we get to fight for.” Nathaniel clapped her back, and his palpable vigor set her at ease—an old friend from her militia beside her in this fight. End of Excerpt. Muskets & Minuets ©2021 Lindsey S. Fera. Shared with permission. The Author A born and bred New Englander, Lindsey S. Fera hails from the North Shore of Boston. A member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets and Minu-ets. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Boston, she's nursing patients back to health in the ICU. WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS | AMAZON Book Title: Muskets and Minuets Author: Lindsey S. Fera Genre: Historical Fiction Publication Date: 19th October 2021 Publisher: Zenith Publishing (imprint of GenZ Publishing) Type: Novel Trigger Warnings: Violence and battle scenes, sexual assault, mild sexual content, and profanity. Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | Top of Post Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends. Have you read the book? Let us know your thoughts!

“The story rolls along at a lively pace, rich with details of the times and a wide cast of characters. [The] plotting, shifting points of view of the three engaging protagonists, and evocative writing style make The Oath a pleasure to read. Highly recommended.” — Historical Novel Review The Oath When the last of members of a secretive Druid cult are forced to abandon their hidden sanc-tuary, they send the youngest of their remaining priests in search of Annwr, their chief priest-ess’s sister, who was abducted by a Saxon war band fifteen years ago. With only a rudimen-tary grasp of English and the ambiguous guidance of an oracle’s prophecy, Caelym manages to find Annwr living in a hut on the grounds of a Christian convent. Annwr has spent her years of captivity caring for the timid Aleswina, an orphaned Saxon princess who was consigned to the cloistered convent by her cousin, King Gilberth, after he assumed her father’s throne. Just as Caelym and Annwr are about leave together, Aleswina learns that Gilberth, a tyrant known for his cruelty and vicious temper, means to take her out of the convent and marry her. Terrified, she flees with the two Druids—beginning a heart-pounding adventure that unfolds in ways none of them could have anticipated. AMAZON UK | AMAZON US | AMAZON CA | BARNES & NOBLE | KOBO | APPLE Enjoy an Excerpt from The Oath From Chapter 2: The Message Going into the cottage was like entering another garden, only one that was upside down and dead. Bundles of dried flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling, well above the woman’s head but low enough to hit Caelym full in the face. He ducked down, made his way past shelves lined with neat rows of jugs and pots and wooden boxes, and passed through a second door that opened into the main room of the cottage. It was a square room with a cupboard and counter against one wall, a bed and small square table against another. The bed was covered by a plaid blanket that was laid out so that its lines were perfectly straight, both up and down and side to side. The only other furniture was another, slightly larger, square table with two matching chairs. The chairs were exactly opposite each other and exactly aligned. There was a round stone hearth in the center of the room. A polished black kettle hung over the center of the hearth, and Caelym did not need to look inside it to know that the simmering water would be bubbling with well-disciplined bubbles, each one waiting its turn and rising to the surface in orderly succession—not in the confused, churning disarray with which most kettles boil. The woman, who had gone to the counter and started unpacking her basket, looked over her shoulder and nodded at the table. Caelym took this as an invitation to sit down, so he did—carefully, and at an angle, to keep the arrow from hitting the back of the chair. Resting his arms on the table to steady himself, he did his best to convey no more than polite attentiveness while the woman cleaned the last specks of dust off the food, took a knife out of the cupboard, checked its edge for sharpness, and cut meticulously measured slices of the bread, cheese, and sausage, grumbling all the while about uninvited guests who expected to be waited on hand and foot. She spread butter on the bread and put the bread in the center of a round wooden platter, arranged alternating slices of cheese and sausage around the bread, and added a sprig of parsley for garnish. With the plate prepared, she took a jug out of the cupboard and poured what he guessed from the color was elderberry wine into a cup. Then, finally, she brought the plate and cup to the table and put them down directly in front of him. Exercising a restraint acquired through years of intense training, Caelym waited for her to take her hand away before he started to eat. Even so, it took him less time to clean the plate and drain the cup than it had taken her to fill them. Sincerely grateful for the first substantial meal he’d had in weeks, he rose from his chair to praise the woman’s generosity to a stranger, only to be stopped by a dismissive wave of her hand. It was a gesture he would know anywhere—the exact same gesture that Feywn made when he came into her bedchamber uninvited. He opened his mouth, closed it, and sat back down. It was a full moment before he found his voice again. “You are Annwr?” “And if I am?” “I’ve come with a message for Annwr from her sister and need to know that it is Annwr I am giving it to.” “Fifteen years is a long time to wait to bring this message.” Spoken in an imperious voice—as if Feywn’s voice were coming from the old woman’s lips—her words settled the last of Caelym’s doubts. Still, it was not fair that he should have to answer for Ossiam’s failure to have his vision sooner, and he recovered himself enough to say so. “I began searching from one end of the land to the other, climbing snow-covered mountains and descending into desolate valleys, swimming across raging rivers, and wading through perilous swamps, with little food and no rest, the very moment it was revealed that Ossiam, Grand Oracle and Master of Divination, had seen in his dreams that . . . that . . .” Caelym faltered. The vision that Ossiam had seen was of a beautiful girl held captive in a king’s palace, not a bad-tempered old woman living comfortably in a common cottage that was too clean but otherwise quite pleasant. He finished awkwardly, “That you were still alive.” The realization of just how far off the mark their Grand Oracle and Master of Divination had been shook Caelym to his core, leaving him speechless. Annwr broke the silence. “Ossiam couldn’t divine his way to the latrine in broad daylight and downwind of it!” She fixed Caelym in a direct glare. “So now you are finally here, suppose you say what it is you have come to say. End of Excerpt. The Oath ©2021 A.M. Linden. Shared with permission. “Linden uses a fairy tale-like style almost as though this story has been passed down orally over the centuries.” — Booklist Review The Author Ann Margaret Linden was born in Seattle, Washington, but grew up on the east coast of the United States before returning to the Pacific Northwest as a young adult. She has undergrad-uate degrees in anthropology and in nursing and a master’s degree as a nurse practitioner. After working in a variety of acute care and community health settings, she took a position in a program for children with special health care needs where her responsibilities included writing clinical reports, parent educational materials, provider newsletters, grant submissions and other program related materials. The Druid Chronicles began as a somewhat whimsical decision to write something for fun and ended up becoming a lengthy journey that involved Linden taking adult education creative writing courses, researching early British history, and traveling to England, Scotland, and Wales. Retired from nursing, she lives with her husband and their cat and dog in the northwest corner of Washington State. Website | Amazon | Goodreads Book Title: The Oath Series: The Druid Chronicles, Book One Author: A. M. Linden Publication Date: 15th June 2021 Publisher: She Writes Press Page Length: 319 Pages Genre: Historical Fiction Trigger Warnings: Sexual assault, child abuse Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends.

Natalie Jenner, the internationally bestselling author of The Jane Austen Society , returns with a compelling and heartwarming story of post-war London , a century-old bookstore, and three women determined to find their way in a fast-changing world in Bloomsbury Girls . Bloomsbury Girls Bloomsbury Books is an old-fashioned new and rare bookstore that has persisted and resisted change for a hundred years, run by men and guided by the general manager's unbreakable fifty-one rules. But in 1950, the world is changing, especially the world of books and publishing, and at Bloomsbury Books, the girls in the shop have plans: Vivien Lowry: Single since her aristocratic fiancé was killed in action during World War II, the brilliant and stylish Vivien has a long list of grievances--most of them well justified and the biggest of which is Alec McDonough, the Head of Fiction. Grace Perkins: Married with two sons, she's been working to support the family following her husband's breakdown in the aftermath of the war. Torn between duty to her family and dreams of her own. Evie Stone: In the first class of female students from Cambridge permitted to earn a degree, Evie was denied an academic position in favor of her less accomplished male rival. Now she's working at Bloomsbury Books while she plans to remake her own future. As they interact with various literary figures of the time—Daphne Du Maurier, Ellen Doubleday, Sonia Blair (widow of George Orwell), Samuel Beckett, Peggy Guggenheim, and others—these three women with their complex web of relationships, goals and dreams are all working to plot out a future that is richer and more rewarding than anything society will allow. PRINT & DIGITAL BOOK AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | BOOK DEPOSITORY | BOOKSHOP AUDIOBOOK AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | BOOK DEPOSITORY | BOOKSHOP Enjoy an Excerpt from Bloomsbury Girls Excerpt from Chapter Two The Tyrant was Alec McDonough, a bachelor in his early thirties who ran the New Books, Fiction & Art Department on the ground floor of Bloomsbury Books. He had read literature and fine art at the University of Bristol and been planning on a career in something big—Vivien accused him of wanting to run a small colony—when the war had intervened. Following his honourable discharge in 1945, Alec had joined the shop on the exact same day as Vivien. “By an hour ahead. Like a dominant twin,” she would quip whenever Alec was rewarded with anything first. From the start Alec and Vivien were rivals, and not just for increasing control of the fiction floor. Every editor that wandered in, every literary guest speaker, was a chance for them to have access to the powers that be in the publishing industry. As two secretly aspiring writers, they had each come to London and taken the position at Bloomsbury Books for this reason. But they were also both savvy enough to know that the men in charge—from the rigid Mr. Dutton and then-head-of-fiction Graham Kingsley, to the restless Frank Allen and crusty Master Mariner Scott—were whom they first needed to please. Alec had a clear and distinct advantage when it came to that. Between the tales of wartime service, shared grammar schools, and past cricket-match victories, Vivien grew quickly dismayed at her own possibility for promotion. Sure enough, within weeks Alec had quickly entrenched himself with both the long-standing general manager, Herbert Dutton, and his right-hand man, Frank Allen. By 1948, upon the retirement of Graham Kingsley, Alec had ascended to the post of head of fiction, and within the year had added new books and art to his oversight—an achievement which Vivien still referred to as the Annexation. She had been first to call him the Tyrant; he called her nothing at all. Vivien’s issues with Alec ranged from the titles they stocked on the shelves, to his preference for booking events exclusively with male authors who had served in war. With her own degree in literature from Durham (Cambridge, her dream university, still refusing in 1941 to graduate women), Vivien had rigorously informed views on the types of books the fiction department should carry. Not surprisingly, Alec disputed these views. “But he doesn’t even read women,” Vivien would bemoan to Grace, who would nod back in sympathy while trying to remember her grocery list before the bus journey home. “I mean, what—one Jane Austen on the shelves? No Katherine Mansfield. No Porter. I mean, I read that Salinger story in The New Yorker he keeps going on about: shell-shocked soldiers and children all over the place, and I don’t see what’s so masculine about that.” Unlike Vivien, Grace did not have much time for personal reading, an irony her husband often pointed out. But Grace did not work at the shop for the books. She worked there because the bus journey into Bloomsbury took only twenty minutes, she could drop the children off at school on the way, and she could take the shop newspapers home at the end of the day. Grace had been the one to suggest that they also carry import magazines, in particular The New Yorker. Being so close to the British Museum and the theatre district, Bloomsbury Books received its share of wealthy American tourists. Grace was convinced that such touches from home would increase their time spent browsing, along with jazz music on the wireless by the front cash, one of many ideas that Mr. Dutton was still managing to resist. Vivien and Alec had manned the ground floor of the shop together for over four years, circling each other within the front cash counter like wary lions inside a very small coliseum. The square, enclosed counter had been placed in the centre of the fiction department in an effort to contain an old electrical outlet box protruding from the floor. Mr. Dutton could not look at this eyesore without seeing a customer lawsuit for damages caused by accidental tripping. Upon his promotion to general manager in the 1930s, Dutton had immediately ordained that the front cash area be relocated and built around the box. This configuration had turned out to be of great benefit to the staff. One could always spot a customer coming from any direction, prepare the appropriate response to expressions ranging from confused to hostile, and even catch the surreptitious slip of an unpurchased book into a handbag. Other bookshops had taken note of Bloomsbury Books’ ground-floor design and started refurbishing their own. The entire neighbourhood was, in this way, full of spies. Grace and Vivien were not the only two bookstore employees out and about, checking on other stores’ window displays. London was starting to boom again, after five long years of postwar rationing and recovery, and new bookshops were popping up all over. Bloomsbury was home to the British Museum, the University of London, and many famous authors past and present, including the prewar circle of Virginia Woolf, E. M. Forster, and Lytton Strachey. This made the district a particularly ideal location for readers, authors, and customers alike. And so, it was here, on a lightly snowing day on the second of January, 1950, that a young Evie Stone arrived, Mr. Allen’s trading card in one pocket, and a one-way train ticket to London in the other. End of Excerpt. Excerpt courtesy of St. Martin’s Press, New York. Copyright © 2022 by Natalie Jenner. All rights reserved. Narrated by esteemed stage and screen actress Juliet Stevenson, enjoy the full unabridged edition of Bloomsbury Girls. “ Stevenson delivers the satisfying triumph at the end with perfect polish.” — AudioFile Magazine Audiobook Excerpt "In a London still reeling from the ravages of World War II and the changes war has brought to English society, three young women take their futures into their own hands. With Bloomsbury Girls , Natalie Jenner has penned a timely and beautiful ode to ambition, friendship, bookshops, and the written word." —Janet Skeslien Charles, New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Library Meet the Author / Find Online Natalie Jenner is the author of the instant international bestseller The Jane Austen Society and Bloomsbury Girls. A Goodreads Choice Award runner-up for historical fiction and finalist for best debut novel, The Jane Austen Society was a USA Today and #1 national bestseller and has been sold for translation in twenty countries. Born in England and raised in Canada, Natalie has been a corporate lawyer, career coach and, most recently, an independent bookstore owner in Oakville, Ontario, where she lives with her family and two rescue dogs. Visit her website to learn more. Find the author online ↓ WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS Title: Bloomsbury Girls : A Novel Author: Natalie Jenner Genre: Historical Fiction, Women’s Fiction Publisher: ‎St. Martin's Press (May 17, 2022) Length: (368) pages Format: Hardcover, eBook, & audiobook ISBN: 978-1250276698 Content Rating: PG View our rating system Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | Top of Post Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? 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“With twists and turns as unexpected as an Arkansas thunderstorm, Tromp brilliantly explores the things war can change and the important things it can’t.” — Lynne Gentry, USA Today best-selling author of Lethal Outbreak Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | The Author | Limited-Time Giveaway Shadows in the Mind's Eyes Charlotte Anne Mattas longs to turn back the clock. Before her husband, Sam, went to serve his country in the war, he was the man everyone could rely on–responsible, intelligent, and loving. But the person who’s come back to their family farm is very different from the protector Annie remembers. Sam’s experience in the Pacific theater has left him broken in ways no one can understand–but that everyone is learning to fear. Tongues start wagging after Sam nearly kills his own brother. Now when he claims to have seen men on the mountain when no one else has seen them, Annie isn’t the only one questioning his sanity and her safety. If there were criminals haunting the hills, there should be evidence beyond his claims. Is he really seeing what he says, or is his war-tortured mind conjuring ghosts? Annie desperately wants to believe her husband. But between his irrational choices and his nightmares leaking into the daytime, she’s terrified he’s going mad. Can she trust God to heal Sam’s mental wounds–or will sticking by him mean keeping her marriage at the cost of her own life? Debut novelist Janyre Tromp delivers a deliciously eerie, Hitchcockian story filled with love and suspense. Readers of psychological thrillers and historical fiction by Jaime Jo Wright and Sarah Sundin will add Tromp to their favorite authors list. Get your copy ↓ AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | INDIEBOUND Enjoy an Excerpt from Shadows in the Mind's Eye A scramble in the haymow sent bits of straw raining down on me. The movement was too large to be any of the barn cats, and my fingers tightened around the leather reins, my rapid heartbeat loud in the silence. The sound of a footstep on the planks above shattered my frozen stance, and I spun and backed toward the doors, my mind bouncing between escaping or protecting my girl. My foot caught on a rough spot, and I stumbled, falling in a scrambling heap. Everything was silent. Even Elsie stood still as death in her stall. Shivers crept down my spine. The devil himself had come out of the mountain, casting a cloud over everything. Peter had warned me that he’d caught a few drifters up on the farm. Elsie kicked against the wall, and a scream clogged in my throat as I stumbled into the nearby grain store, searching desperately for a weapon. The cow lowed at me, rolling her big brown eyes like she wondered who’d let the crazy woman into the barn. The metal grain scoop wasn’t going to do much, but I held it in front of me nonetheless. Least it might protect me until I crossed the barn to get my shotgun out of the wagon. “Who’s up there?” My voice was run over by fear. Wasn’t sure even the cow could hear me. I’d read about blood-crazed men coming home from the war. We’d asked them to be killers over there, and some were having trouble giving it up. But as the calm, chirping cricket chorus started back up, the stories of those men not quite right and doing terrible, twisted things began to evaporate. I’d near convinced myself I’d dreamed it all when a man-shaped figure peered over the ledge. I recovered my voice, the scream ripping through the air as I dropped the grain scoop, ran for the shotgun, and stood in the shadows between the intruder and my sleeping daughter. “Best stay where you are. I got a gun.” My shaking hands belied the confidence in my voice. The man’s answer was muffled by his stumbling descent. Though I followed his movements with the barrel of the gun, I wouldn’t shoot him even if I’d thought to load the durn thing. Last thing I wanted was the law sniffing around the farm because I’d killed some drifter. Sure as the sun rises in the east they’d find something, and then Daddy would swoop in to smother me with his saving. “We don’t have much food to share.” My voice sounded like an unsteady girl’s, cracking in the middle, but the footsteps stopped. “We’ll feed you, then you best be on your way.” I shifted my sweaty grip on the shotgun. I could do whatever was necessary. Think of Rosie. “Come on out.” My command echoed into the rafters. The man stepped forward, the meager light behind him casting strange shadows across his body. His tattered uniform hung on him, and a row of medals glinted from the chest that had no doubt once been broad and strong. The poor man. The tip of the gun dipped. I heard a match strike and fizz, watched it sacrifice its light to the lantern by Elsie’s stall. The chest of the man leapt into color, and he brushed at the splotches of mud across his navy trousers. A gold wedding band caught the light, and I was so mesmerized by the meaning that I nearly missed him speaking. “Annie?” He stepped toward me, squinting into the flickering light. “Annie?” That voice. The shotgun clattered to the ground. I gasped for air, my fingers fluttering to my lips, praying I wasn’t dreaming. But then his arms were around me, his breath against my hair, my neck. Desperate. Lost. His body, skinnier than I ever thought possible, yet real, wrapped around mine. Please, God. Real. His stubbly beard pricked my fingertips while his fingers explored my face, his calluses scratching my skin, anchoring me. He pressed my head into his chest, and his heart pounded against my hand, beating in rhythm with my own. The dovetail fit of our bodies—nearly forgotten, but precious and right. My Sam was home. I took a half-step back, brushing at my day-rumpled dress, wondering how he saw me, wishing I’d had time to change. Least I wasn’t in my blue jeans or overalls. I choked back a laugh, imagining him mistaking me for Rosie the Riveter. He wiped a tear from my cheek, and then he sketched the trail of the others down my neck, my skin burning under his touch. “Are you real?” he whispered, echoing my own question. I’d thought for sure I’d be a widow at twenty-three. Took more than a telegram about a homecoming to make me believe, I guess. My fingers ran up his arm, over his muscles and bone, the line of medals, exploring for the injury I knew was there somewhere. He winced as I reached his right shoulder. “I’m supposed to be wearing a sling, but it gets in my way.” I heard the smirk in his voice. He never did let much slow him down. He lifted my hand to his lips, his breath warming my fingers before he kissed my palm. Life shifted back, and I took the first real breath I’d had in three long years. Sam was home. And everything would be all right. End of Excerpt. Shadows in the Mind's Eye ©2022 Janyre Tromp. Shared with permission. Meet the Author / Find Online In case we get to meet in person some day, you pronounce that first name Jan-air. Kind of like the stove. I’m a developmental book editor by day and a writer at night. And that all happens from my kitchen table when I’m not hanging out with my husband, two kids, and slightly eccentric Shetland Sheepdog. Unfortunately, I spilled coffee on my super cape and then the dryer ate it. So you’ll just have to imagine I can do it all! I have four traditionally published books—a WWII era novel, Shadows in the Mind’s Eye ; a juvenile fiction, That Sinking Feeling ; and two board books in the All About God’s Animals series—and 2 indie books— Wide Open , a historical novella and It’s a Wonderful Christmas , a Christmas novella collection. But my passion is writing about the beauty of the world—past and present—even when it isn’t pretty. After all, isn’t it the beauty in the world that gets us through the day? Hopefully after you hang out with me for a bit, we’ll be able to see things a little more clearly, find a little bit of meaning, and make a bigger impact. With me what you see is what you get…all the Beautiful, all the Ugly, all the Me. Find the author online ↓ WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS Genre: Historical Fiction/Christian Publication Date: April 19, 2022 Kregel Publications Type: Novel Content Rating: R View our rating system Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | Top of Post Limited-Time Giveaway Enter to win a copy of Shadows in the Mind’s Eye by Janyre Tromp! CLICK HERE TO ENTER THE GIVEAWAY Boring Legal Jargon: The giveaway is open to the US only and ends on May 20, 2022. You must be 18 or older to enter/at the time of entry. Void where prohibited by law. This giveaway is sponsored by the author and hosted by Historical Fiction Virtual Book Tours. The winner will be contacted directly by the author or blog tour host and not by Books & Benches. Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends. Have you read the book? Let us know your thoughts!

“[An] enchanting mystery. . . . Gray perfectly captures the personalities of Austen’s beloved characters. This is a real treat for Austenites.” — Publishers Weekly The Murder of Mr. Wickham A summer house party turns into a thrilling whodunit when Jane Austen's Mr. Wickham—one of literature’s most notorious villains—meets a sudden and suspicious end in this brilliantly imagined mystery featuring Austen’s leading literary characters. The happily married Mr. Knightley and Emma are throwing a party at their country estate, bringing together distant relatives and new acquaintances—characters beloved by Jane Austen fans. Definitely not invited is Mr. Wickham, whose latest financial scheme has netted him an even broader array of enemies. As tempers flare and secrets are revealed, it’s clear that everyone would be happier if Mr. Wickham got his comeuppance. Yet they’re all shocked when Wickham turns up murdered—except, of course, for the killer hidden in their midst. Nearly everyone at the house party is a suspect, so it falls to the party’s two youngest guests to solve the mystery: Juliet Tilney, the smart and resourceful daughter of Catherine and Henry, eager for adventure beyond Northanger Abbey; and Jonathan Darcy, the Darcys’ eldest son, whose adherence to propriety makes his father seem almost relaxed. In this tantalizing fusion of Austen and Christie, from New York Times bestselling author Claudia Gray, the unlikely pair must put aside their own poor first impressions and uncover the guilty party—before an innocent person is sentenced to hang. Get your copy ↓ AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | BOOK DEPOSITORY | BOOKSHOP Add to → GOODREADS | BOOKBUB Enjoy an Excerpt from The Murder of Mr. Wickham Three times now, Fitzwilliam Darcy had believed himself permanently rid of the odious presence of George Wickham. Three times, he’d been wrong. The division eight months ago had seemed as though it had to be final, but no. Fate could be pernicious. “Ah,” Wickham said, strolling forward. “I see my timing is inopportune. In the city, you see, the fashion is for later dinners.” Knightley stood, pale and drawn. He looked as though he loathed Wickham as much as Darcy did. “You would not have been invited at any hour.” Wickham’s smile widened. Somehow, in the heart of a confrontation, the man managed to seem even more at ease. “If I waited for an invitation to receive that which is mine in right of law—yes, Mr. Knightley, I imagine my wait would be very long.” Knightley’s lips pressed together. Emma’s face had flushed with ill-repressed anger. Nor were they the only persons agitated at the table: Wentworth’s expression was dark, and his wife had tensed, as though she expected to have to fly from her chair to hold him back. Worst of all was dear Elizabeth, frozen like ice in her seat; her fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt of her dinner knife. Jonathan’s distrust of his uncle clearly warred with his concern for his mother. As for the Brandons, the Bertrams, and the young Miss Tilney: they each appeared deeply confused by the sudden, severe deviation from common civility. Therefore, none of them had ever met George Wickham before. Darcy envied them the privilege. A loud clap of thunder rumbled through the air, the house, the ground itself. In the next instant, raindrops began to pelt the windows and ground, striking the windowpanes until they rattled. Darcy could’ve cursed aloud. To judge by the hoofbeats he’d heard outside earlier, Wickham had arrived on horseback rather than by carriage, and not even the most odious company would be thrown out in such weather. Particularly in such hilly country as this corner of Surrey—to attempt to ride in a severe thunderstorm risked the health and nerves of one’s horse, and even one’s life. Wickham raised an eyebrow, as aware as anyone of the etiquette that imprisoned his hosts. “It seems I shall be staying for a while.” *** “I fear we cannot accommodate you at the table, Mr. Wickham.” Mrs. Knightley pushed her chair back as abruptly as an ill-mannered child. Jonathan would’ve been scolded for less, as a boy. She said, “Allow me to get you settled, and the servants will bring something up to you for dinner.” With that she strode out of the room. After a moment, Wickham inclined his head to the table—an ironical half bow—then followed her. Had she done the right thing? The normal rules could not apply to such a situation as this. Jonathan would’ve resolved to ask his parents later had they not appeared so stricken. No, he would be left to interpret this for himself. A silence followed, empty of words and yet suffocatingly heavy. Finally, Knightley cleared his throat. “My dear guests, I must beg your pardon. The gentleman who has arrived is . . . no friend to this household. Yet there are matters between us that must be resolved.” “He seemed insolent in the extreme,” said Mrs. Brandon, astonishingly forthright. “What a disagreeable person.” In any other circumstances, Jonathan might’ve found such a pronouncement rude; tonight, people seemed freed to speak their thoughts—and to the whole table, at that. Understandable, perhaps, but in his opinion it set a dangerous precedent. “George Wickham is indeed disagreeable,” Knightley agreed, “however skilled he is at pretending otherwise.” Brandon spoke for the first time at dinner. “Did you say—Mr. George Wickham?” Knightley nodded. “A former army officer, who now fancies himself an arranger of investments. Bah! Investments that work to his own gain and everyone else’s loss.” “Certainly to ours,” Wentworth said, his voice hollow. Jonathan saw Mrs. Wentworth wince. But she rallied swiftly, turning to Darcy and asking very civilly, “How are you acquainted with Mr. Wickham, sir?” “We grew up together in Derbyshire,” Darcy said. Brandon’s fork clattered against the dinner plate. Jonathan wondered— How could anyone continue eating at such a time? “He was the son of my late father’s steward. As adults, our ways parted for many years.” To his surprise, it was Mother who spoke next. “Then Mr. Wickham married my sister Lydia.” And Lydia and George Wickham had had a daughter. For a moment, Jonathan remembered Susannah so vividly that she might’ve been sitting at his side, giggling as she so often did, dark curls framing her round, smiling face. To him, she had been more sister than cousin. To his parents, Susannah had been more daughter than niece. He knew himself and his brothers to be dearly loved, but he knew also that for many years his mother and father had longed for a little girl that never came. Then, eight years ago, Susannah had been born—the belated first and only child of his aunt and uncle. Neither Aunt Lydia nor Uncle George had possessed much interest in the daily tedium of child-rearing; as soon as Susannah had left her wet nurse, she had been packed off to Pemberley for lengthy visits. Indeed, Susannah had spent far more of her short life in his home than she ever had with her parents. This suited everyone: Mother and Father, who doted on the child; Jonathan and his brothers, who were old enough to find her odd little ways amusing rather than irritating; Aunt Lydia and Uncle George, who showed no evidence of ever missing their daughter; and Susannah herself, who wept piteously before each of her journeys home and always ran back into Pemberley as fast as her small legs would bear her. She would never run through the doors again. End of Excerpt. Excerpt courtesy of Vintage Books, A Division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Copyright © 2022 by Claudia Gray. All rights reserved. Meet the Author / Find Online Claudia Gray is the pseudonym of Amy Vincent. She is the writer of multiple young adult novels, including the Evernight series, the Firebird trilogy, and the Constellation trilogy. In addition, she’s written several Star Wars novels, such as Lost Stars and Bloodline . She makes her home in New Orleans with her husband Paul and assorted small dogs. Find the author online ↓ WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM BOOKBUB | GOODREADS Title: The Murder of Mr. Wickham Author: Claudia Gray Genre: Historical Mystery, Cozy Mystery, Austenesque Publisher: ‎Vintage (May 3, 2022) Length: (400) pages Format: Trade paperback, eBook, & audiobook ISBN: 978-0593313817 Content Rating: PG/PG-13 View our rating system Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | Top of Post Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends. Have you read the book? Let us know your thoughts!

This is an adventure set in the bloody Second Scottish War of Independence when Scotland's very survival is in question. The Douglas Bastard The Black Douglas is dead. With Scotland's greatest knight no more, the throne is up for grabs as enemies try to devour the kingdom. An orphaned youth returning from exile, Archibald, the Black Douglas's bastard son, fights for a land being torn apart from within and without. If Archibald is to survive, he must learn to sleep with a claymore in his hand and one eye open because even his closest friend might betray him... This is an adventure set in the bloody Second Scottish War of Independence when Scotland's very survival is in question. AMAZON UK | AMAZON US | AMAZON CA | BARNES & NOBLE | KOBO | APPLE Enjoy an Excerpt from The Douglas Bastard Sometimes I laughed as I worked, the lightness bubbling out from my chest, although every muscle ached, and I was covered with scrapes and bruises. Tiny midges swarmed in clouds, so I had hundreds of itching bites. That was the worst part. Sir William was absent much of the time, meeting with the other leaders to discuss plans and riding out with some of his men to search for any sign of an English relief. The hardest part was digging a trench to divert water from the River Almond that fed into the Lade, the moat protecting Perth’s walls. We started at the Tay, where the water would drain, digging into the loamy, rich-smelling earth. Even in the summer, the dirt was damp. It took two weeks, with scores of men taking turns until the trench was four feet deep and twice as wide. At last, we broke through to the river, and water gushed into the ditch. I strolled to the edge of the Lade, where water was still flowing in. "All that work"—I kicked a clod of dirt into the shallow flow—"and it still has water." A fletched crossbow bolt thudded into the ground a foot away. Gamelin grabbed my arm, jerked me even farther away, and pointed to the several piles of large rocks. "It has to be blocked, but we have to wait for Boyd to bring his archers. They will try to keep the damned Sassenach ducking while we work." He pushed me toward the camp. "It's too dangerous a job for a page. Go ask Sir William what needs doing.” I went, looking over my shoulder. Men carrying bows were loping toward the Lade. They strung their bows. Sir William was talking with Bullock in front of his tent beneath the starred banner. Bullock said that as soon as the water was dammed, they needed to cover the muddy bottom of the Lade, but Sir William shook his head. "That dam willnae hold long.” "It only needs to hold long enough for us to cross.” The knight broke off his conversation to look me up and down. "Go to the river and scrub off that filth. And use that sliver of soap in my tent. You look like a bogle covered in all that mud. Then tend to my armor and weapons. I shall need them soon." My pulse thrummed as I hurried to do as he bid. I scrubbed my skin until it stung and checked my lord's chainmail for any spots of rust, rubbing them off with sand. His sword and dagger were already sharp because he checked them himself every day, but I checked again to make sure. Then I took out my dagger from the scabbard on my belt and held it up to the light. I ran my finger down the twelve inches of its blade to its crossguard. If I needed it, it would be ready. Smiling, I sheathed it. There were cups to be rinsed, and a shirt needed to be brushed and laid out to air. After a while, my eyelids were so heavy that I curled up in my cloak, muttering, "I will rest for a wee while.” My eyes popped open. Sir William nudged me with his foot, probably not for the first time. “Up. Help me into my hauberk.” He already wore the quilted linen haubergeon that went under the chainmail armor. I hopped to my feet, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and picked up the piece to hold as Sir William worked his way into it. This would normally be a squire’s job, so maybe I would be raised to match my tasks before too long. After all, I was nearly as tall as Sir Arnoul’s squire, who was a grown man. I knelt to fasten on the chainmail chausses and the plate pieces that covered his knees and elbows, and then came the bascinet and aventail protecting his head and neck. Lastly, I buckled the sword belt around his waist. When I held back the tent flap so Sir William could exit, I realized that it was still the semidarkness of a summer night. So far, I’d not seen a truly dark night in Scotland, and there was a rim of gold on the eastern horizon, so daybreak must be near. Silhouettes darted across the camp, grunting as they carried logs into the Lade to make a walkway over the brush. Bowshots made a steady twap twap as our archers tried to protect them, but the bolts still thudded into the ground from the English high on the walls. One of the men screamed as an English bolt found its target. “It’s Sir Alan!” one of the men yelled as another scooped up the still man to carry him to safety. A friar scurried to meet them, his black cloak flapping around his legs. “Ready the ladders,” Sir William bellowed. A horn shrilled from Robert Stewart’s camp, and the whole of the army became a tumult of running and shouting. Sir William was staring up at the wall where archers ducked behind the merlons to pop back up and fire. He did not glance behind him to see if his men were ready. He grabbed the front of one of the ladders and bellowed, “Now! Run!” He charged. The men surged with him, shouting, “A Douglas! A Douglas!” I kept pace behind him. I did not carry a ladder and was not supposed to be near the fighting. Arrows were thudding all around like hail despite the Scottish archers’ steady return fire. Sir Arnoul was next to me, shouting, “Montjoie Saint Denis!” Sir William jumped down into the Lade, Ramsay a step behind. I landed with bent knees and an “Oof!” The logs wobbled a little under my feet. Colban stumbled and went down on his hands and knees. When he saw me looking at him, his eyes widened, but then he just shook his head. He got up, lifted the ladder he carried with Gamelin, and kept going. A bolt thudded into a log at his feet. I realized it had grown light enough that I could see the top of the wall and crossbowmen firing down as fast as they could winch their bows. Pushed back by men who snarled at me to get out of the way, I was at the rear. But I advanced with them, scrambling up the far side of the Lade. Then I heard the thump of a ladder hitting the top of the wall. An archer dropped his bow to heave at it. There was a shriek. Arms and legs flailing, a man crashed to the ground beside me. I jumped away from the falling ladder. Sir William was starting to climb as more ladders were raised, braced by men on the ground. Ramsay was on a ladder beside him and reached the top first. He gave a roar of triumph. With a lunge, Sir William threw himself over. Then his men swarmed after him. I squirmed and shoved my way to a ladder and frantically climbed. Then I threw my arms over and scrambled onto the parapet walk. Sir William shouted, “On them!” As a man-at-arms came at him, the knight smashed his hilt into the man’s nose while he drew his dagger with the other hand. Gamelin joined him on the walkway and thrust under the man’s guard. Even as the blood splashed, he toppled backward to the ground below. An English knight in shining chainmail put his sword through the back of one of the men, and Sir William stepped over the body to face him. The Englishman swung from a high guard. Sir William parried the blow and locked their hilts. Swords locked together, almost chest to chest, they heaved. Rolling his wrists to free his sword, Sir William slammed his arm into the Englishman’s neck. It rocked the man back. His feet tangled in the body, and he flailed, fighting to stay on his feet. His sword skittered from his hand. He shouted, “I yield.” A crossbowman stopped, aiming at Sir William’s back, so I darted forward. I raised my dagger and jabbed it as hard as I could. It scraped along his chainmail-clad shoulder. He swung around with a growl and hit me up the side of the head. I bounced hard back against a merlon, seeing black for a second. Colban roared, “A Douglas!” and chopped the man down. The mass of our men was still flowing over the ramparts. Swords slashed, axes hacked. The enemy broke. They jumped from the parapet and ran. But a crossbowman at the far end of the rampart pointed his bow and let fly. The bolt hit Sir William in the thigh. He gave a shout and fell. A charge of his men crushed the archer to the ground in a flurry of blows. A horn blew a frantic cry within the city. “We yield!” a voice shouted. “The city is yours! We yield!" The horn sounded again and again. I jumped over a corpse, raced to Sir William, and knelt beside him. End of Excerpt. The Douglas Bastard ©2022 JR Tomlin. Shared with permission. The Author J. R. Tomlin is the author of nineteen historical novels. She has close ties with Scotland since her father was a native Scot, and she spent substantial time in Edinburgh while growing up. Her historical novels are set for the most part in Scot-land. Her love of that nation is traced from the stories of Robert the Bruce and the Good Sir James her grandmother read to her when she was small, to hillwalking through the Cairngorms where the granite hills have a gorgeous red glow under the setting sun. Later, her writ-ing was influenced by Alexander Dumas, Victor Hugo, Nigel Tranter, and Sir Walter Scott. When JR isn't writing, she enjoys hiking, playing with her Westie, and killing monsters in computer games. In addition to spending time in Scotland, she has traveled in the US, Eu-rope, and the Pacific Rim. She now lives in Oregon. Website: jrtomlin.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/JRTomlinAuthor BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/j-r-tomlin Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/J.R.-Tomlin/e/B002J4ME1S Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4094154.J_R_Tomlin Book Title: The Douglas Bastard Series: (A sequel to The Black Douglas Trilogy) Author: J R Tomlin Publication Date: 26th April 2022 Publisher: Albannach Publishing Genre: Historical Fiction Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends.

Meet the Thompsons of Locust Street, an unconventional family taking Philadelphia high society by storm… The Professor's Lady 1870 Kirsty Thompson is determined to begin her own business bringing beloved Scottish fabrics and yarns to Philadelphia but first she must meet the men and women who weave the plaids and spin the wool. How will she ever escape her protective older siblings and sail to Scotland? Albert Watson is a medical doctor focusing on research, especially that of Joseph Lister and his sterilization techniques. He speaks at universities in America and in England while visiting his London relatives. As he prepares to sail for just such an engagement, Kirsty Thompson boards his ship to beg him to take her with him. What’s a gentleman to do? Albert cancels his trip across the ocean to escort Miss Thompson back to Philadelphia and finds there is danger afoot for her and her family. Soon he comes to realize there is also danger for his heart, even for a man who rarely pulls his nose from a medical journal. He finds himself unable to put Miss Kirsty Thompson out of his thoughts, where they belonged, because certainly a beautiful, ambitious, and charming young woman could have no interest in him. Or could she? AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | KOBO | APPLE Enjoy an Excerpt from The Professor's Lady “Whatever has happened, Albert?” his mother asked when he found her in her favorite chintz-covered chair in the room she called the drawing room. “That Clawson person said you were not going to London! Have you contacted your Uncle Bertrand? Louisa will be expecting you! You must send a transatlantic immediately, even though it will be quite expensive. Albert? Have you heard what I’ve said to you?” “Yes, Mother. I’ve heard it all. C-clawson has already sent a telegram to Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Louisa with my apologies.” “Whatever happened? Clawson was quite mysterious and would not give me any answers! And I do not understand why that person must live here! In our home!” “We have the space as there are sixteen bedrooms in this house aside from the staff quarters. It isn’t unusual in England for a s-secretary to live with his employer, and it is convenient for me to have him here. And he does have his own entrance.” “It is bad enough that you have him dine with us occasionally. I would have insisted on his own entrance if he did not! I don’t want to be seeing him coming and going at all hours.” “And Graybell and Mrs. Munchin live here in their own apartments.” “Of course they do! B-butlers and housekeepers always live with their employers.” “And often so do secretaries.” She opened the magazine she was holding. “As usual, you are determined to ignore my wishes.” He’d only been marginally aware of his mother’s histrionics until after his father died. He was away at preparatory school and then college, and when he was home, he spent most of his time reading medical books and working with his father while he was alive. It had come as rather a shock that his mother was as unpleasant as she was, which he’d discovered after his father’s funeral. From what he’d been able to wheedle from Graybell over the last few years, his mother’s behavior had not changed. It had just been hidden from him. He loved her. She was his mother. But he often wondered how a wife would ever fit in. “A friend needed an escort, and I provided it, and therefore I did not sail with the Maybelle to England. Mr. Clawson will reschedule my speaking engagement, and I will ask Aunt Louisa if it will be c-convenient for us to stay on a new date.” “Of course it will be convenient! Whyever would they not want you to stay with them? Your father was a successful and well-regarded physician to the highest echelons of British society and Bertrand just a merchant.” Just a merchant , Albert thought to himself. Uncle Bertrand had made a fortune in bits for horses, although his wide range of metal products included everything from rails for the ever-expanding British railroads to containers for flour and sugar. “I’ll just want to make sure they have not made plans to travel or entertain other guests. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.” “Don’t be ridiculous. They don’t travel. Louisa is a spendthrift, and they’ve three daughters to launch, none of whom show much promise to be beauties.” She looked at him with panicked eyes. “Whatever you do, do not let yourself be caught in a compromising position with the two eldest. Louisa would love to see one of them married to you and moved here to America, to live in my home!” “Calm yourself, Mother. I’ve no intention of marrying any of my cousins.” She took a deep breath, her back straight, her hands clenching a handkerchief, and turned her head to look out the front windows. “I’ve been preparing myself for your marriage. You’ll need to have sons to carry on your father’s title. I will have much to teach a young woman about household management.” The reality of his situation came crashing down on him at that moment. His mother, his mother , could make it nearly impossible for him to have any sort of normal relationship with a woman. Although in his last letter, Uncle Bertrand had replied to his subtle questions about how his father had managed his mother’s tendency to drama through all the years of their marriage with this advice: Stand firm. Your father never raised his voice and did not allow your mother’s moods to threaten his, for as you know, my brother was the most even-tempered and pleasant person one could ever meet! What else he did not allow was when she disparaged another person, especially staff. I know you love her, as any dutiful son should, but your mother can be cruel, especially, it seems, to those of her sex. “I will see you at dinner, Mother,” he said, refusing to begin a conversation about who actually ran the household—his mother or Mrs. Munchin. End of Excerpt. The Professor's Lady ©2022 Holly Bush. Shared with permission. The Author Holly Bush writes historical romance set in the U.S.in the late 1800’s, in Victorian England, and an occasional Women’s Fiction title. Her books are described as emotional, with heartfelt, sexy romance. She makes her home with her husband in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Connect with Holly at www.hollybushbooks.com . Book Title: The Professor’s Lady Series: The Thompsons of Locust Street, Book 3 Author: Holly Bush Publication Date: 25th January 2022 Publisher: Holly Bush Books Page Length: 216 Pages Genre: Historical Romance Gilded Age Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends.

The future is built in the embers of the past. Venture to the Plymouth Colony in 1675 to live alongside Verity Parker to see if she will choose peace or happiness, duty or love. Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | The Author | Limited-Time Giveaway Iron & Fire 1675 — Plymouth Colony — Verity Parker promised to look after her family. Raised among the bookshops and turmoil of Reformation London, Verity now finds herself in Puritan New England, where she must learn to keep her head down and her mouth shut, or risk dire consequences. The only person who values her tenacity is Kit, the heretical ironworker she has been forbidden to see. When King Philip’s War breaks out, Verity must stay silent as the Puritan elders spread hateful rhetoric about the “savages” in the forest. When she witnesses a young girl die in childbirth, Verity must stand by as neighbors blame God’s vengeance. But when tragedy strikes her own home, Verity must choose between her duty to her family and her love for Kit. Will she choose to keep the peace, or will she defy the leaders of the colony for a chance at happiness? Set against the backdrop of King Philip’s War, the bloodiest war per capita in American history, Iron & Fire explores the experience of a clever, educated woman at a time when being so often resulted in death. Perfect for fans of Amy Belding Brown’s Flight of the Sparrow, or Elizabeth George Speare’s The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Iron & Fire was written for those who read the original American Girl series as children and are now all grown up. Get your copy ↓ AMAZON | BARNES AND NOBLE | WALMART Enjoy an Excerpt from Iron & Fire Talk around the dinner table that afternoon revolved mainly around the three Indians who had been arrested for the murder of the praying Indian, John Sassamon. Verity’s eldest stepbrothers, Jon and Diah, questioned their father about the incident, and Obadiah Elston was more than pleased to share the gritty details. Verity sat in silence between Hannah and Mercy, swirling her stew around with her spoon, as Obadiah recounted the story. Sassamon, a Massachusett Indian who had converted to Christianity and been educated at Harvard College, had been found beneath the ice of Assawompset pond a few months past, his neck badly broken. It was said that he had angered the Wampanoag chief, King Philip, and that Philip had ordered his murder. Obadiah was clearly enjoying his personal pulpit at the head of the table, and Verity’s face and hands grew hot in annoyance as he said, “Soon, the savage’s executioners will feel the wrath of God around their own necks, as is fitting.” “How can you call it fitting to hang men for the crime of murder? Does that not make the men who pass the sentence murderers as well?” Verity barely realized she had spoken aloud until she felt eight pairs of eyes staring at her in astonishment. Joseph, who sat directly across the table from his stepsister, looked at her with eyes wide enough to fall clean out of his head, and next to him, little Grace’s lips formed a perfect “O” at the impertinence of Verity’s question. Obadiah cleared his throat, and said pointedly to Verity, “An eye for an eye, Mistress Parker. Good Christian men,” he emphasized the word, “ must show King Philip that those who attack the English, or those who give us succor, will face the vengeance of the Lord.” He punctuated this point with his spoon, before digging into his meal. Obadiah was finished with the discussion, and as such, there would be no more talk until after the meal was completed. Was such an aggressive warning necessary? The few Indians Verity had seen appeared to be peaceful, but they didn’t represent the whole of their people any more than she and her family represented the entire colony of Plymouth. Verity had been taught in the Quaker meetings of her childhood about the inward light of God, inherent in each person on earth, regardless of country or creed. Surely that light existed within the Indians, as well as the English? And yet, she recalled her father reading from the works of George Fox, founder of the Quaker Society of friends, that Light would not grow if not tended to. If the Indians were just as likely as the English to house a connection to the Almighty, then they were also just as likely to ignore it in favor of their more immediate needs. Verity turned these questions over in her head as she finished her meal, working to make sense of them. The shadows from the hearth fire danced on the walls of the keeping room, giving an air of foreboding to what had previously seemed to be a simple Sunday dinner. Perhaps it was the shadows, undulating on the walls like primal spirits of a time long past, but an icy chill ran down the base of Verity’s spine as she had a terrifying thought. “What will we do if the Indians attack?” The question hung in the air for a beat, as though Verity’s giving voice to their fear had rendered them all momentarily mute. Her mother finally broke the silence. “Do, child?” Her spoon paused halfway between the table and her lips. “We will pray that they do not attack.” “But if they do….” Jon spoke up, squaring his shoulders with the authority that came from being the eldest son. “The Indians are not to be trusted. There’s been talk — I don’t wish to frighten you — but we’d best be prepared.” He leaned forward in his chair. “The counsel talks of building three additional garrison houses. In the event of an attack by the Indians, the safest plan would be to move straight to the nearest garrison and remain there until the danger has passed.” “How will the danger pass?” Verity met his eyes squarely, challenging him to give her a satisfactory answer. “Why, we will fight them, of course,” Jon’s eyes shone. “The women and children will be safe in the garrison, and the men will show the heathens what happens when they attack our settlements.” “All the men who are of an age to fight will do so.” Obadiah’s words tempered his son’s fervor. At 14, Jon considered himself a man. His father, however, did not, and this was a point of contention in the home. “The Bible tells us that there is a time for war, and a time for peace. We will not wage war against the Indians unless provoked, but if they burn our farms and violate our women, we must retaliate.” A rock settled in Verity’s stomach at the fervor in the men’s eyes. She wanted to confront her stepfather and ask him if he’d ever experienced war, or if he thought the Indian men were as fiercely protective of their women and children as he was of his own, but she knew it would come to naught. Again, she would be seen as impertinent. Again, someone would tell her stepfather that he needed to keep a better control on her tongue. Again her mother and sister would give her that look of disappointed confusion, silently asking Verity why she can’t just fit in their new world. End of Excerpt. Iron & Fire ©2022 Kerrin Willis. Shared with permission. Meet the Author / Find Online Kerrin Willis lives in Southeastern Massachusetts with her two daughters and her dog, Austen. She is a high school English teacher who prides herself on being a feminist and a strong protagonist in her own story, and she would probably have been burned as a witch in colonial New England. Kerrin can usually be found pausing The Little Mermaid and subjecting her daughters to a lecture on the dangers of giving up their voices. Kerrin has a BA in English from Stonehill College, and MA in English from Simmons College, and is currently working on her MFA in Fiction from Southern New Hampshire University. Find the author online ↓ WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS Genre: Historical Fiction Release: April 5, 2022 Type: Novel Content Rating: PG-13/R View our rating system Go to: About the Book | Excerpt | Top of Post Limited-Time Giveaway Enter to win a copy of Iron & Fire by Kerrin Willis! CLICK HERE TO ENTER THE GIVEAWAY Boring Legal Jargon: The giveaway is open to the US only and ends on April 22, 2022. You must be 18 or older to enter/at the time of entry. Void where prohibited by law. This giveaway is sponsored by the author and hosted by Historical Fiction Virtual Book Tours. The winner will be contacted directly by the author or blog tour host and not by Books & Benches. Thank you for visiting and reading! Feel inspired? Want others to experience the book magic? We hope you'll support this author by sharing with your friends. Have you read the book? Let us know your thoughts!