Posts Tagged ‘historical’

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French Toast a la Santa Fe
by Suzanne Stauffer


French Toast a la Santa Fe
Historical Culinary Cozy Mystery
2nd in the Series
Setting – New Mexico
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Artemesia Publishing, LLC
Publication date ‏ : ‎ October 13, 2026
Print length ‏ : ‎ 230 pages
Paperback
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1963832612
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1963832617
Digital Info Coming Soon

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In 1929 New Mexico, Prudence Bates joins ten other Detourists, their Courier, and driver, on the three-day Fred Harvey Indian Detour from Las Vegas through Santa Fe and to Albuquerque.

During the trip small, valuable items belonging to the Detourists begin disappearing, and a retired Australian school teacher falls into a kiva. Or was she pushed? Prudence begins to suspect that someone is trying to kill her fellow traveler and wonders where the flapper from Kansas City disappears to at every stop. Or is La Llorona haunting the Detour? And what secrets are the two German men hiding? Prudence is determined to solve the mysteries and uncover the truth.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

June 1929. Hotel Castañeda, Las Vegas, New Mexico

“Mornin’, Clara,” the tall, lean man in the deputy sheriff’s uniform greeted the young woman behind the reception desk. His cowboy hat was tipped back on his head and he leaned casually on the counter.

“Good morning, Jim,” she responded, smiling. “And to you, as well, Mr. Simmons.”

“Good morning, Miss Morgan,” replied the young man in the grey suit, as he tipped his grey fedora.

“I forgot you’d know Bob,” Jim said.

“He’s been staying with us for the past several days,” Clara reminded him.

“Well, then you know he’s with the Bureau of Prohibition.”

Clara nodded. “Yes, I read about that in the Optic.” She looked at Bob. “That was quite a coup, arresting that gang of bootleggers.”

Bob grinned. “Just doin’ my job.” He winked at Jim. “With a little help from my friends.”

 “So, how can I help you gentlemen?”

Bob laid a sheet of paper on the desk. “Do you recognize any of the names on this list?”

Clara wrinkled her brow as she perused it. She stopped at one name and glanced at Jim, then continued reading. “No, just this one, Prudence Bates.” She looked at Bob. “She was staying here for the past week, but she left this morning on one of the three-day Indian Detours.”

“Any idea where they’re headed?”

Clara reached over and picked up a folded brochure from a stack on the desk. “I know they are spending tonight in Santa Fe. I think they stop at the Apache Inn for lunch and the Pecos ruins after that. This brochure has the complete itinerary.”

Bob glanced through the leaflet and nodded. “Thanks. This is helpful. Now, back to the names on the list. We have reason to believe that some of them were guests at the hotel last night. Mind checking? And which rooms.” He didn’t make it a question.

Clara looked at Jim. He nodded.

“It’s official business,” he confirmed.

“All right,” Clara said slowly. She turned the registration book around to face her, then began writing numbers next to some of the names on the list. “These are the room numbers of the people who stayed here last night. It looks like they all came in on the 10:10, except for Prudence,” she said, at last, handing the paper back to Bob. “She came in last week, as you probably know.”

 “Have the maids cleaned the rooms yet?”

She shook her head. “They don’t start until noon, after the last guest checks out.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. We’d like to search the rooms they occupied last night, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t make it a request. “You can just give us the keys to the rooms. No need to leave your work.”

Clara wrinkled her brow again and glanced at Jim, but didn’t say anything.

“Official business,” he repeated.

She reached under the desk and pulled out a key. She paused, then handed it to Jim. “That’s a master key. I’m making you responsible for it, Deputy Sheriff.” She smiled to soften the statement.

“You know you can trust me,” Jim said, grinning back. He turned to Bob. “Let’s go.”

“When we’re finished searching the rooms,” Bob said to Clara, “we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Certainly. I’ll be here.”

Bob saluted with two fingers to his forehead, then he and Jim headed up the stairs. Clara slowly polished the shining countertop as she strained to hear their sotto voce conversation until they were completely out of earshot.

When the men returned an hour later, Clara was sitting on a stool at the desk, reading a large, thick book. She quickly closed it and looked up at them.

“Looks like one of my old college textbooks,” Bob chuckled.

 Clara nodded. “I’m studying teaching at the Normal University here. The manager doesn’t mind if I do a little reading when it’s quiet. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Jim handed Clara the master key and ignored her question. “I’ll be getting back to the station. Bob here has a couple of questions for you. It’s all official business,” he reiterated. He turned to Bob. “Stop by the station when you’re finished. We’ll grab some lunch and you can fill me in.”

“You got it, Chief,” Bob said, saluting with two fingers. Jim laughed as he walked away. Bob watched Jim leave the lobby, then turned back to Clara. He placed the list on the counter in front of her.

“You might have gathered that this is a list of people who left here this morning on an Indian Detour.”

Clara nodded. “I assumed they must be, since the ones who stayed here only stayed the one night. I’m guessing the others came in on this morning’s train.”

“You guess right,” Bob grinned. “What time did they leave on their Detour?”

“About nine o’clock, more or less,” Clara answered. “One of the passengers was late, but the other cars left on time.”

Bob consulted his watch. “So, about two hours ago. Any idea how many cars?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying too much attention. A couple of cars, I think. At least two, maybe three, of the buses. They hold eleven passengers each,” she added before he could ask. “And, yes, the lobby was crowded.”

“Any idea who went in which car — or bus?”

“No, I don’t have that information. The Couriers take care of all of that. You’d have to check with the office at the La Fonda in Santa Fe. We just give them a bed for the night, if they come in on the night train, and breakfast in the morning.”

“Pretty decent breakfast, I have to say,” Bob smiled. “Would you say that you know anything about any of the people on this list, other than Prudence Bates?” He grinned.

“No,” Clara shook her head. “They either arrived on the Navajo at 10:10 last night, after my shift was over, or they came in on the California Limited at 6:50 this morning.” She paused and quirked a smile. “I do remember one woman very upset about not being able to take all of her luggage on the HarveyCar. Her husband tried to bribe the porter.”

“And?” Bob asked.

“He wasn’t successful. There simply isn’t room for that kind of baggage. She had to transfer her jewel case to her valise.”

“Anything else unusual?”

“Oh, that isn’t unusual. There’s always at least one.” She paused and pursed her lips. “No, not that I can think of. They seemed to be the usual mix of middle-aged retired couples, college students on summer vacation, and foreign tourists.”

Bob raised his eyebrows. “Foreigners?”

“Yes,” Clara nodded. “I definitely heard some people speaking French — I took a couple of years in high school — and, I think, German. Spanish, of course, but whether they were foreigners, I can’t say.” She wrinkled her brow again. “And a few English accents. Martha—“

“The Harvey Girl waitress here?”

“Yes, she told me that one of the women asked for tea, rather than coffee. That isn’t so unusual, but Martha thought she sounded English.”

“Hmmm. Tell me about this passenger who was late.”

Clara laughed. “Oh, she came charging down the stairs about five minutes after nine, still in the clothes she’d worn the night before, lugging her valise with her. Practically threw her key on the desk. She looked as if she had quite a night last night.”

“Sounds like my kinda’ gal,” Bob laughed. “I’d love to meet her. Any idea what her name might be?”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize her and I didn’t pay any attention to the room number on the key.”

“She left without paying her bill?”

“No, the Detour is paid in advance.”

“Well, that’s all my questions. Thanks for being so helpful.”

“Do you mind if I ask what this is about?”

Bob shook his head. “You can ask, but — as Jim would say, official business.”

“Can you at least tell me whether Prudence is in danger?”

“I wouldn’t like to think so, but it depends on who else is in that HarveyCar with her.” He grimaced for a moment, then grinned, patted the desk, and saluted. “Thanks again, doll!”

He stepped jauntily through the lobby. Clara watched him walk down the street in the direction of the sheriff’s office. She wrinkled her brow, pursed her lips, and shook her head slightly, then opened her textbook and started to read.

***

“Hi, honey. Ready to go?” John asked. Clara nodded.

“I’ll be off now, Dan,” she said to the man behind the desk.

“You kids have a good evening,” he replied.

“Thank you.”

John put his arm around Clara’s shoulders as they left the hotel and she slipped her arm around his waist. “Have a good day?” He asked.

“Mmn-hmm,” she nodded.

“Where do you want to get dinner?”

“Oh, let’s just go to my place. I’ll rustle something up, even if it’s just scrambled eggs. I wanted to talk to you about something strange that happened today.”

“Hmm?”

“Bob Simmons, that prohibition agent, remember him?”

“Yeah.”

“He and Jim searched the rooms of the Detourists who stayed with us last night. ”

“That is strange. Any idea why?”

“They wouldn’t tell say. I tried to listen in on their conversation, but I could only catch a couple of words. John, Prudence’s was one of the rooms they searched.” She looked up at him, concern on her face.

“Really?” He shook his head. “I wonder why. She can’t be mixed up with anything illegal. Not Prudence.”

“I wonder if it has anything to do with the bootlegging gang that Simmons arrested.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Our Prudence? A gangster’s moll?”

“No, silly,” Clara laughed. “She’s hardly the type. Besides, you know her heart belongs to that Navajo school teacher. But, Simmons is a prohibition agent, and you know that he was here investigating bootlegging.”

“That’s true,” John agreed, “but Prudence wasn’t involved with any of that.”

“Not that we know of, but the newspaper did say that there was an unnamed ‘undercover agent.’”

“And you think that might have been Prudence? Her story about coming out here to be a Courier for the Indian Detours was just a cover? Seems like a pretty elaborate ruse. And if that were the case, why would Simmons be searching her room?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Clara exclaimed. “It does sound unlikely when you put it that way. But what else could it be?”

John slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. As you say, Simmons is a prohis, so bootlegging seems reasonable, but, Prudence as an undercover agent?” He frowned. “If she is one, she’s a good one, because no one would ever guess she’s anything but a former librarian.”

“I thought I heard Simmons say something about ‘pot smuggling.’ Could it be to do with marijuana?”

John laughed loudly. “Prudence is even less likely to be messed up with bootleg dope, honey! Not that someone else on the Detour might not be, but not Prudence. She doesn’t even smoke legal cigarettes.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Clara said, as they approached the steps to her house, “I hope she’s not in danger.”

“So do I, honey, so do I,” John said as he held the door open for Clara to pass through.

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About Author Suzanne Stauffer

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After 20 years as a librarian and 20 as a professor of library science and library historian, Suzanne Stauffer has moved on to a third career as a mystery novelist. She currently lives in Albuquerque with her Australian husband and brown and white spotted rat terrier dogter, Treme. Her debut novel,  Fried Chicken Castañeda (Artemesia Publishing, May 2025), won the CIPA EVVY Bronze Medal in Mystery/Crime/Detection and the New Mexico Book Award for Cozy Mystery.

Author Links: Blog / Facebook / SubStack Newsletter Amuse-Bouche

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TOUR PARTICIPANTS

October 12 – Angel’s Book Nook – SPOTLIGHT

October 12 – Reading Is My SuperPower – SPOTLIGHT

October 13 – Ascroft, eh? – AUTHOR GUEST POST

October 14 – Sarandipity’s – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

October 14 – Salty Inspirations – CHARACTER GUEST POST

October 15 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

October 16 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT

October 16 – Jody’s Bookish Haven – SPOTLIGHT

October 17 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

October 18 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST

October 18 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT

October 19 – Sarcastically Yours, Jen – SPOTLIGHT

October 20 – Book HookUp – REVIEW

October 20 – Baroness Book Trove – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

October 21 – Boys’ Mom Reads! – REVIEW

October 22 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW

October 23 – Romance Novel Giveaways – AUTHOR GUEST POST

October 24 – Books1987 – SPOTLIGHT

October 25 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

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Book Details:

 Soldier’s Joy: Book II of The Sentinel Heart Trilogy

By M.F. Jones

Category:  Adult Fiction (18 yrs +)
Genre: Romance:  historical, supernatural, military​
Publisher:  Fieldwood Books
Release date:   Sep 28, 2026
Content Rating: PG-13 + M: Soldier’s Joy contains wartime violence, the suicide of a minor character, two slightly explicit sex scenes though without gratuitous detail, and profanities like s**t, a**hole, and God damn it, though no f-words.

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Book Description:

Avery Gowan is barely home from Iraq when a ghost appears to him—one that looks disturbingly like him. The apparition says that Jessie Gibbs, a woman he’s just met, can help him escape the guilt of the mission that killed three of his friends and maimed another.

A few days earlier, at a service honoring his family’s Civil War relative, Lemuel Sanders, Avery was drawn to Jessie’s quiet strength and calm presence. Jessie, a musician, had been camping with her Civil War-style band the previous year when she discovered Lemuel’s unmarked woodland grave, leading to his identification and proper burial after 145 years.

Jessie and Avery begin a relationship, but his anger, recklessness, and self-doubt threaten to tear them apart. When the ghost saves him from a deadly motorcycle crash, Avery hides the truth about his spectral guardian, afraid Jessie will see him as broken beyond repair.

But Jessie is hiding something too—a secret about her true connection to Lemuel Sanders that may cost her Avery’s love.

The sequel to the award-winning Stones River, Soldier’s Joy nonetheless stands alone as a haunting, emotionally charged story about how the past refuses to stay buried, how healing demands facing it, and how love gives the courage to do so.

Buy the Book:
Amazon
B&N ~ BAM ~ Bookshop.org
add to Goodreads
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Interview With Author M. F. Jones:
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Thanks so much for the chance to talk about my writing! I thought it might be helpful to share some things I wish I’d known as a beginning writer.  

  1. 1. Just do it. It’s strange how reluctant we writers can be to actually sit down and do what we most want to do. I think it’s because the fear of doing it badly stops us. Try to produce something every day, even if it’s short.

I trick myself sometimes, telling myself, “Just write for 15 minutes and if it’s going nowhere you can stop.” Usually that carries me past the initial resistance and I get into the flow.

  1. 2. Don’t expect it to be any good at first. What kept me from pursuing my writing dream for far too long was how cringe-inducing my first attempts were. Believing that a real writer with real talent would never produce such junk, I quickly gave up.

But as I learned more about the writing process, I discovered that, for the great majority of writers, first drafts require suspension of all judgment as you hack your way through thickets of tangled ideas and slog through swamps of mucky language toward the goal of getting something—anything!—on paper or on screen. Because once you have that first draft, you’re on your way. You can cut it, add to it, shape it, polish it, and make something truly worthwhile of it.

Also, it’s virtually certain that, along the way in that messy first draft, you’ll produce sentences, paragraphs, scenes, maybe whole chapters, that give you chills of joy and may even make you think, did this really come from me? 

Having realized all this, my self-made obstacles toppled and I was able to write my way through this trying first stage to produce five books – so far.

  1. 3. Block negative self-talk. If, as you write, your inner disparager says something to you that you’d never say to a friend, tell it to get lost in your most vivid language, and keep on writing!
  2. 4. Find a supportive writers’ group. We writers can only improve through criticism, but that criticism has to be, first, kind, and, second, insightful. A good writers’ group, whether in person or online, is an invaluable asset. Look for fellow writers to share work with, in local writers’ organizations, through colleges or the library, or on websites devoted to writing. (Writers Digest magazine publishes an annual guide to best websites for writers.)
  3. 5. Filter feedback. At the same time as you need to be open to criticism, you also need to be selective. With my first effort at a novel, now in a bureau drawer never to emerge, I was a member of a group of smart and opinionated writers. Being a newbie, I accepted each of their critiques as a necessary change I needed to make. As a result, I gave up my own voice and vision in trying to please others, and the result was what could be expected from creativity by committee.

You’re the authority on your work. Be open to criticism, but weigh it carefully against your vision and your individual style. Reject any outright negativity; it reflects more on the limitations of the critic than on the work. Remember that reading taste is highly subjective.

  1. 6. Read a lot. It will develop your inner ear for language and sense of pacing and form. You’ll discover what you love in a book or story or essay, and that love will find expression in your own work. If you have a particular genre you’re writing in, read widely in that genre and join online groups devoted to it.
  2. Give yourself praise. No matter how a particular writing session may have gone, congratulate yourself for doing it. You wrote today. Tomorrow you’ll write again, a little or a lot better. You’re doing the work. You’re a writer.
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Meet Author M. F. Jones:

M. F. JONES is a former editor for Viking Press book publishers, and Redbook, Family Circle, and Reader’s Digest magazines. When not writing, she can be found reading, knitting (while listening to audiobooks), singing in a choir, or hiking in the beautiful Tennessee woods near the home she shares with her husband, composer Douglas Hedwig. ​

Connect with the author:   Website~ facebook ~ goodreads

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Welcome to My 31 Days Of Thrills And Chills 2026! I’m so excited to do it again. I’ll be sharing reviews and lots of extra spooky stuff every day leading up to Halloween. I hope you’ll join me!

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Free Computer Seeks photo and picture

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I’m sharing all kinds of books, movies, and other spooky stuff for every day in October. Gots to get those scares on for the 31st!

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 Don’t Go To Sleep

By Bryce Moore

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Genre: YA / Horror / Historical / Mystery

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MY REVIEW

I’m a big fan of true crime. Whether reading about it or watching documentaries. Though this book is fiction, The Axeman Of New Orleans was very real.

I enjoy historical mysteries. Especially those with a horror and supernatural element to them. The setting for this story is New Orleans during the Spanish Flu epidemic. I could relate after Covid. A serial killer is adding to his victim count and he has a specific type. Italians and Italian Americans. That doesn’t mean he’ll stick to the criteria and fear spreads.

I wasn’t expecting a supernatural twist and it didn’t quite hit for me. The main characters were interesting but for some reason I couldn’t get that anxious feeling for them that I should have. I did find the epidemic intriguing. And I was very curious about the killings. Enough to do some googling of my own.

Overall, I enjoyed the book and would try more from this author.

3 STARS

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Synopsis

A seventeen-year old girl goes up against the notorious axeman murderer in 1918 in this suspenseful historical fiction story from the author of The Perfect Place to Die.

Gianna is the average seventeen-year-old girl living in 1918 New Orleans. She worries about her family’s store, the great war, and a mysterious illness that’s about to take hold of the city she loves.

It doesn’t help that there also appears to be a mad man on the loose in her neighborhood. The attacks started as burglaries but soon escalate to cold blooded murder. There’s a killer out there, and the police can’t seem to figure out how to stop him.

Gianna enlists the help of her friend Enzo to investigate. And as they study the crimes, they see a common link between the victims, and Gianna can’t help but wonder if it’s the same man who attacked her family years before.

As Gianna gets closer to the killer, she discovers a connection between them that she never would have suspected.

Amazon /  B&N

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Holmes Away From Home (An Althea Adler Mystery)
by Samantha Larsen


Holmes Away From Home (An Althea Adler Mystery)
Historical Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – London, 1911
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Severn House
Publication date ‏ : ‎ October 6, 2026
Hardcover
Print length ‏ : ‎ 240 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1448322405
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1448322404
Digital Coming – September 16, 2026

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Introducing Althea Adler, accomplished thief and daring heroine with a mysterious link to Sherlock Holmes.

A heart-racing game of wits, murder and romance is about to commence . . .

London, 1911. Althea Adler receives a mysterious postcard with just four words, ‘Holmes away from home.’ Surely her mother, notorious thief and opera star Irene Adler, is instructing her to break into Sherlock Holmes’s safe? But when she does, Althea makes a shocking discovery . . .

Still reeling from events at 221b Baker Street, Althea accepts an invitation to a party at Twickenham Towers, the ancestral home of Lord Slough, where a murder throws her into further turmoil―as does handsome fellow guest William, the Marquess of Sheffield, who has been tasked with staking out Slough by the British Government.

Althea and William form an unlikely alliance as they set about catching a killer. But can they trust each other when they both have something to hide?

An addictive new cozy mystery trilogy featuring a super smart, lively heroine, a dashing lord and a fiendishly good whodunnit, perfect for fans of Sherlock Holmes’s classic mysteries, Deanna Raybourn’s Veronica Speedwell Mysteries, and Netflix’s The Residence.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

The private library at his gentlemen’s club felt very warm. William saw a lively fire blazing in the hearth. The only man in the room was his employer, who sat on a wingback chair beside a mahogany table. His superior had salt-and-pepper hair that was combed over his round head and reached his ears. He was a large man in height and size; his lips and nose were unremarkable, but his blue eyes, nearly black, were unsettling as they were sharp.

“You’re back early, Sheffield,” he drawled.

“Sir,” William said, bowing to his superior. “There’s been important developments in my assignment. On Monday, I broke into Lord Slough’s London flat and found a custom metal wax seal with the Red Dawn symbol. It matches the design seals on the threatening letters received by the prime minister and other members of government. I nicked a piece of the crimson wax stick from his desk and had the police lab compare it to the other wax seals from letters of the Red Dawn—the compound is identical. It definitely ties Slough and his group to the bombing of David Lloyd George’s London residence in January.”

“I should like to see this metal seal.”

William sighed. “I left it in the secret compartment in his desk, because I wanted Slough to lead me to the other members of the society. I didn’t want him to realize that he was under investigation. It is unlikely that he is working alone.”

“A shrewd choice.”

William tried not to let the blood rush to his face over such a small compliment. Particularly since he’d had no further luck. “I’ve been tailing Lord Slough for a week now, but I am no closer to knowing if the current members of the Red Dawn anarchist society are the same ones from Slough’s secret club at Eton.”

“I need to know as soon as possible. The Red Dawn is still sending threatening letters to Prime Minister Asquith and promising to assassinate him if he continues to support restricting and removing power from the House of Lords. Other parliamentary members have also received menacing letters if they support Irish home rule.”

William sighed. Their threat to the government was even greater.

When he’d returned to London a week and a half ago he’d recognized the sun symbol on the wax seal at once, for he’d lifted Saul’s secret-society card off him more than ten years ago. Stealing had been the only way that William could get revenge on the larger boys in school that used him as a punching bag. At Eton, William had thought that the secret society was just a way for the aristocratic boys to bully members of the working class. They egged storefronts, taunted male laborers, and tried to steal kisses from young female shop assistants. But it seemed that their thuggish ways had escalated into bombs and a real political threat.

The older man tapped his thick fingers against the side of his chair. “The crown supports restricting the House of Lords’ power from one of veto to one of delay. While you were still in Egypt, King Edward VII gave a speech from the throne on the twenty-first of February to that very effect. We have been tasked not only to protect the prime minister, but all the members of his Liberal party cabinet. We must find the members of the Red Dawn as soon as possible. The House of Commons intends to pass resolutions in the next two months that will remove the power of the House of Lords to veto money bills and to reduce the term of Parliament from seven years to five—the king would have preferred four years, but concessions must be made for progress.”

William placed his hands behind his back, gripping one wrist tightly with the other hand—a prickling of unease on his scalp. “Perhaps we should arrest Slough. Maybe if we promise leniency in his sentencing he will tell us the other members of the group.”

“Don’t second-guess yourself, Sheffield. It’s unlikely that he would tell us the truth and even if he did, it would be Slough’s word against another man’s. No, your theory makes perfect sense: a group of aristocratic young men who will one day inherit hereditary positions in the House of Lords are trying to protect their future power with violence and threats. Perhaps they are even being encouraged by their fathers who are current parliamentary members who don’t want Irish home rule to pass. We need to catch them in the act of conspiracy against the government or their privileged papas will tear us apart in court.”

William lifted his chin. “I thought I needed to get closer to Slough, so I made contact with him. I wangled an invitation to his family home, Twickenham Towers, for the weekend . . . I am hoping that he is less cautious at home with hiding information or that I can gain his trust and perhaps receive an invitation to join the secret group.”

His employer nodded and his eyes narrowed. “Then he doesn’t suspect you?”

“No, no,” William assured him as he shook his head. “I pretended to run into him at a department store and Slough was adequately distracted by the most beautiful young woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”

The older man brought one of his sausage-like fingers to his chin. “Describe her.”

“Venus, Aphrodite,” William admitted, feeling his face flush with color. “Blue eyes, rich-coffee colored hair that you long to run your fingers through, an angelic face, and a figure—”

There were no words for the perfection of Miss Adler’s figure, so William whistled.

His employer’s lips moved a little, but William wasn’t sure if the movement was enough to be called a smile. “Did you get her name?”

“Miss Adler.”

“Adler?” his employer said sharply and leaned forward. “An American?”

“Yes,” William admitted, blinking. “Do you know of her?”

“I once knew a Miss Adler. She had the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. She was a formidable thief and a potential political nightmare for Europe.”

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About Author Samantha Larsen

Samantha writes cozy mysteries under Samantha Larsen and historical romances under Samantha Hastings. She met her husband in a turkey sandwich line. They live in Salt Lake City, Utah, where she spends most of her time reading, eating popcorn, having tea parties, and chasing her four kids. She has degrees from Brigham Young University, University of North Texas, and University of Reading (UK). She’s the author of: The Last Word, The Invention of Sophie Carter, A Royal Christmas Quandary, The Girl with the Golden Eyes, Jane Austen Trivia, The Duchess Contract, Secret of the Sonnets, The Marquess and the Runaway Lady, and A Novel Disguise. Learn more at: www.SamanthaHastings.com

Author Links
Website      Instagram     Facebook      X     BookBub

Preorder Links 
Amazon – B&N

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TOUR PARTICIPANTS

September 16 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

September 16 – Sarcastically Yours, Jen – SPOTLIGHT

September 17 – Jody’s Bookish Haven – SPOTLIGHT

September 17 – Storybook Lady – REVIEW 

September 18 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT 

September 18 – Baseball, Books, and Banter Podcast/YouTube – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

September 19 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

September 20 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST

September 21 – Baroness Book Trove – REVIEW

September 21 – Angel’s Book Nook – AUTHOR GUEST POST

September 22 – Ruff Drafts – SPOTLIGHT

September 22 – Carstairs Considers – REVIEW

September 23 – Reading Reality – REVIEW

September 23 – Sarandipity’s – SPOTLIGHT

September 24 – Books1987 – SPOTLIGHT

September 24 – Salty Inspirations – SPOTLIGHT

September 25 – Boys’ Mom Reads! – REVIEW

September 25 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

September 26 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT

September 26 – Book HookUp – REVIEW

September 27 – Romance Novel Giveaways – SPOTLIGHT

September 28 – Novels Alive – REVIEW

September 29 – deal sharing aunt – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

September 29 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW

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The Harlot of St. Cecelia's by Darcy Graves Banner

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THE HARLOT OF ST. CECELIA’S
by Darcy Graves
September 21 – October 16, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
An Inspector Garrett Mystery

  London, 1923. American expat librarian Eden Brior thinks things are bad when she is accidentally locked overnight in the St. Cecelia’s Library vault with the charming and unreliable Simon Cross. Then she emerges to find the body of his estranged wife — a celebrated French actress — draped over a chair upstairs. Detective Inspector William Garrett is methodical, quietly perceptive, and already fairly certain he has his man. He tells Eden firmly to go home and leave the detecting to the professionals. But how can she? Racing to clear their names before Garrett closes the case, Eden follows the truth from the bright footlights of the London stage through the sleek drawing rooms of Jazz Age society, and into secrets that someone will kill to keep buried. Steeped in the style of the golden age of detective fiction, The Harlot of St. Cecelia’s captures a London still glittering on the surface and shadowed underneath — where every drawing room hides a secret and every secret has a price.

Perfect for fans of Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs series.

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Praise for The Harlot of St. Cecelia’s:

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“This novel consistently delights, from the spicy title to the last page.” ~ Kirkus Reviews

 

Book Details:

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Genre: Historical Mystery

Published by: Independently Published Publication Date: May 3, 2026 Number of Pages: 306 ISBN: 979-8195315580 Series: Inspector Garrett Mystery Series, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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About Author Darcy Graves:

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Darcy Graves

Darcy Graves grew up in Boston and holds an MA in English history and a BS in copywriting. A marketing content writer for over thirty years, she brings to her work a deep love of the golden age of detective fiction — particularly Agatha Christie and P.D. James — and the whimsy of P.G. Wodehouse. Darcy lives in the Berkshires with her daughter, two ragdoll cats, and a very naughty terrier named Merial. The Harlot of St. Cecelia’s is her first novel.

Catch Up With Darcy Graves:

DarcyGravesAuthor.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @darcygravesauthor Instagram – @darcygravesauthor

 

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Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win! Click here to view the Tour Schedule  

 

Don’t Get Locked Out… Enter for a Chance to Win!
This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for The Harlot of St. Cecelia’s. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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THE HARLOT OF ST. CECELIA’S by Darcy Graves | Gift Card Can’t see the giveaway? Click Here!

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book for Killer Friends tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Chris Karlsen will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

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Killer Friends

By Chris Karlsen

 

 

Genre: Historical Suspense

Synopsis

Henrietta Newell stormed into the detective bureau. She claimed her adult son was missing and feared for his safety. The detectives attempted to reassure her that the absence of a bachelor in his thirties, in a city like London, wasn’t extraordinary. Despite their efforts, she insisted an investigation be conducted, reminding them of her political connections.

Detective Rudyard Bloodstone and his partner were told to look into the matter. Their investigation reveals evidence of suspicious and unusual activity but no clues regarding the man’s disappearance. The few leads they develop take them from the world of wealthy families and into the secret society of sexual peculiarities.

The detectives discover the victim didn’t simply disappear. He was murdered. They have the evidence except for one problem, they’re missing the victim’s body.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Newell counted to one hundred out of excess of caution in case Eric and Leo remained nearby. At one-hundred he stood by the door, delayed for a couple of seconds, searching for a way to open the door. His vision, cut off by the bag when they hustled him into the room, he was unaware the knob had been removed.

Newell kicked the lock housing. The door didn’t budge. He took a few steps back to build momentum and kicked the lock again. The force knocked him on his bum and sent a shock wave of pain from his ankle to his knee. He scrambled to his feet and, gave his kicking leg a few good jerks, hoping to shake off the pain. He couldn’t say why he thought that would help other than he’d seen workmen shake limbs after hurting themselves.

The effort didn’t ease the pain. No point in repeating another kick. He took the only option left and screamed for help.

No one came.

Outside, drunks shouted challenges and curses to each other. London was never truly quiet. The seedier the neighborhood, the louder the inhabitants. Foot traffic along the river was constant, increasing during the day, but still busy at night. Surely, someone should hear him. He yelled, loud as he could.

Nothing.

He shouted for help again and again.

No one came.

Newell’s throat felt like he’d swallowed broken glass when he finally stopped for the night. Exhausted, he curled up on the cold floor and tried to sleep. Every part of his back ached. Shoulders to his tailbone throbbed like he’d been beaten with an iron rod. The pain traveled and no matter how he positioned himself, his calves and thighs cramped. When he had found a sliver of comfort, rest continued to escape him. Questions plagued his thoughts. After a while he sat up with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head pressed to them.

Another gust of fetid air from the river wafted through the only window. Three millennia of foul matter, human and otherwise, hung like a cloud over the room. He idly wondered if there was ever a time the Thames wasn’t a filthy cesspit.

“Bloody hell.” To escape the worst of the stink, Newell moved to the far corner and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

Initially, with all the daytime activity around the river, Newell didn’t think Eric could keep him prisoner for long. Someone would discover what Eric had done. A day passed and then another passed. He still hoped he’d be heard. He removed a shoe and pounded the wall that bordered the wharf. Between hits he and screamed and screamed, “Help me, please. Someone, help me. I’m locked inside. Help me.”

No one heard or if they did, they had no desire to heed the call. Still, someone should’ve been curious enough to investigate but who knew how thick the brick walls were? Eric was clever. It wouldn’t surprise Phillip if Eric had tested how well a scream traveled.

Newell lay in a fetal position on the floor, shivering. He began to sob as he waited for Eric’s return, waiting to beg for release. He was weeping when Eric finally arrived.

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About Author Chris Karlsen:

Chris is a Chicago native who grew up with a love of history and books.

Passionate about traveling her travels have taken her Europe, the Near East, and North Africa, in addition to most of the United States.

Chris spent twenty-five years in law enforcement with two agencies. Harboring a strong desire to write, upon retiring, Chris decided to pursue her desire. She writes three different series. Her Bloodstone series, which is set in Victorian London, features homicide Detective Rudyard Bloodstone.

She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and four wild and crazy rescue dogs.

Website / Facebook

Amazon / B&N / KOBO / Goodreads / Audible

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GIVEAWAY

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Historical Fiction

Date Published: 09-23-2026

Publisher: Echoes Publishing

 

 

When The Wizard of Oz graced the silver screen in 1939, it changed
cinema and popular culture forever. But the true story began decades earlier
with the young composer who risked everything to bring it to the Broadway
stage.

At the turn of the century, twenty-three-year-old Paul Tietjens is a gifted
classical pianist with dreams of greatness and a non-refundable ticket to
Europe to study with the master composers of his time.

But when the bank calls in the debt on his family’s Missouri farm, Paul
forgoes his dream to save them from financial ruin. Desperate to find a new
road to success, he moves to up-and-coming Chicago, where he persuades author
L. Frank Baum to collaborate on a comic opera of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,
setting the stage for the defining cultural touchstone that we know today.

Paul embarks on his opera with high hopes, but scandal threatens his soaring
ambition when he falls in love with his best friend’s beautiful but
married sister, and his fears grow as the Wizard of Oz demands not only his
talent but his soul.

Inspired by Paul’s 1901 diary, The Lark follows Paul as he journeys from
the theaters of Chicago to the streets of Manhattan, from his family’s
Missouri farm to the beaches of Michigan, fighting to hang onto the chance of
a lifetime, his integrity, and the woman he loves.

 

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Excerpt

From Chapter 27 of The Lark by Laura C. Rader

After lunch, I sat at the parlor piano and ran through some of the songs
for The Wizard of Oz, replaying each moment with Katherine in my mind as my
fingers played the keys. She sat nearby, silently reading Persuasion, our
glances meeting now and again as Daisy played with Lina and Vita in between
sorting through the boarding house accounts. I mulled over the sanctity of
marriage, the frailties of the heart, and the ominous predictions of the palm
reader. My fate was surely sealed, and I only prayed I hadn’t somehow
thrown Katherine’s completely off course.

 

About Author Laura C. Rader
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In addition to The Lark, Laura C. Rader is the award-winning author of the
historical novel Hatfield 1677, based on the lives of her ancestors in
Hatfield, Massachusetts, in the seventeenth century.

When she isn’t writing, you can find her researching history for her
books and her family tree and spending time with family, friends, and pets.

A native of southern California, she now lives north of Raleigh, North
Carolina.

Please go to www.lcrwriter.com for more info on her books or to subscribe to
her newsletter.

 

Contact Links

 

Website

Facebook

Blog

Instagram

 

Purchase Link

 

Amazon

Amazon Author Page Link

 

 

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When Frost Was Spectre Grey

By Nicola Italia

 

Publication date: August 30th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery

Yorkshire, 1881. Imogene York has one job: authenticate a dead man’s signature and witness the reading of his will. It should take an afternoon.

But the moment she arrives at Trelawney Grange, she can tell the people gathered to hear Lord Alaric Trelawney’s final wishes aren’t waiting on an inheritance. They’re waiting on something they’ve spent fifteen years hoping would stay buried.

Every person in that house-the doctor, the solicitor, the reverend, the aristocrat, the household staff who move through it like they were never there at all-is bound together by a secret from one terrible summer years before, and no one will say what it is. As the snow closes in and the will’s true purpose comes to light, Imogene realizes she wasn’t hired to verify a signature. She was hired to witness a reckoning fifteen years in the making, and there is no walking away from the past.

A gripping Victorian mystery about the debts the past never stops collecting, and the lengths people will go to keep a secret buried or to finally bring it to light.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

1866
London England
Prologue

He shivered as a draft moved through the room. He sorted through documents spread out before him, organizing them into careful piles. He thought about the conversation that had occurred and anger exploded inside his head. The upstart!

What did he know about anything? He, who had studied with Dr. John Snow, so renowned in his field. His throat was dry. He pulled the decanter of whiskey toward him and poured. The amber liquid splashed on a piece of paper but he brushed at it dismissively.

He drank it quickly and it seared his throat but he poured himself another. He contemplated the glass this time before drinking. He should have known. Those do-gooder types didn’t understand the true sacrifice he was making. They couldn’t see the big picture. They couldn’t see what was really happening. What he was trying to do. He set the glass back down without taking a sip and saw that his hand was shaking. Blast it! It had all been going so well. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? Now what.

He looked about the room. The draft no longer bothered him and he felt a sweat break out on his brow. There was much to do. But most importantly, he must find his medical notes. They had been right here on his desk. He was certain. It was a necessity. No one would have come into his room and removed them, had they? No. They wouldn’t dare.

He pondered it. Perhaps his assistant, the new fellow fresh from school, had simply moved them. No. He wouldn’t. He had expressly told him not to meddle with his things. He didn’t like it and he had everything just as he liked it. So where were they, dammit!

A knock sounded at the door and almost caused him to jump. The hour was late. Who could it be?

“It’s me,” the familiar male voice called out.

His benefactor. The one with all the purse strings. He must play the part at least for him.

“Just a moment,” he called back.

He looked at his reflection in the window and saw that his hair was disheveled. He took out a comb and quickly brushed his wavy hair in place. The desk was in disarray and he quickly placed the papers in neat stacks to show the appearance of order.

Jesus, what awful timing. He called the man to enter and the visitor did, looking about the room.

“Am I interrupting you?” the older man asked.

“Certainly not,” he replied. “I was looking for some misplaced medical notes. That blasted assistant must have moved them. I told him not to meddle.”

The older man settled himself into the red leather chair. “I wanted to speak with you privately. It’s important.” He swallowed visibly and appeared to be trying to find the words.

“The hour is quite late.”

“It is. You’ll forgive me.” The older man nodded. “I would have waited but—” He almost stumbled over his words.

“It must be something of great importance to bring you here at this late hour,” he noted.

His benefactor seemed to take in the words and almost seemed dazed. “Yes,” he said in agreement. “Something most concerning has reached my ears, most concerning,” he repeated for emphasis.

The man had no time for this. What’s more, he didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. It was irritating that in all of his important work, he had to give the man anything. For Christ’s sake! Didn’t this feather-head realize what was at stake? But he steeled himself and responded as he should.

“What is this concern?”

But instead of answering outright, his benefactor merely looked about the room. “I scarcely know where to begin.”

In a flash of blinding anger, he resisted the urge to stand up and reach over the table to slap the man’s face. Who did he think he was? How dare he presume anything? The man might have status and money but little else. Just because he had been born into the right family, what else did he have? Brains? Certainly not. If he had been born a common person, he would be selling fish at the docks.

But he calmed himself. He knew who he was. He was the one with brilliance and brains, decidedly so. He was the one who had risen and become the man he was today. He was the shining star. But he needed the older man’s patronage. He knew that. He would have to play the game, then, and pretend to care about whatever was preying on the man’s mind.

If the man told him something stupid like they had not enough places set at the dinner table or the china was mismatched, he might strangle him.

Instead, his expression stayed mild, untroubled. “Tell me the concern. Perhaps together we can alleviate the issue.”

Relief eased across his benefactor’s face. “Yes. This must be a mistake. It can’t be what I’ve been told. I heard something from my sister, but she can ramble. But then the vicar came to me—”

“Oh yes?”

“And the family solicitor—”

“Him as well? My, my,” he said, trying to pretend to care. “What is it they are saying? Tell me quick.”

He only hoped he would tell the story quickly so he could be on his way.

Then without preamble, his benefactor began to speak. He laid out the whole issue, the concerns, the rumors and the whispers that were being spoken about and how grave the matter was. He mentioned his sister’s concerns and a young man who had spoken to the solicitor’s son and on and on the man babbled. He thought if the man was a tenor opera singer, his aria would last thirty minutes. It was exhausting and supremely irritating.

“It’s fantastic – is it not?” His benefactor said. “Most fantastic. I can hardly fathom it myself. I told Delly she was ridiculous. She should know better than to pass on rumors.”

“That is – quite a story,” he agreed as he pulled the decanter to him once more. “Quite a story.”

He poured the man a drink and pushed it across the desk to him. He took up his glass from earlier and took a long sip. “What proof is there of these allegations?”

His benefactor’s shoulders dropped. “That’s just it. Some rumors and whispers. But as it’s reached my ears, as your benefactor, we must discuss it.”

“My, my.” He set his glass down. “And what are you prepared to do?”

“Get to the bottom of it!” His patron said passionately. “Good God, man! These are lies, slander! I’ll not have you slandered! You could sue in court. I’ll be your witness,” the older man’s face grew red with exertion.

“Very decent of you,” he murmured. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass absently. “Very decent of you indeed.”

“Of course, my dear chap,” the older man looked relieved. “Least I could do.”

The mantel clock chimed the half hour.

“That’s of course assuming these rumors are false,” he said quietly, taking another sip. “What if they are true?”

His benefactor looked slightly irritated. “This is no time for jests, old boy,” the older man said curtly. “The rumors are grave. I might even say macabre.”

“Macabre?” he echoed.

“Yes!”

But he just continued to stare at his patron while swirling the liquor in the glass.

“Wait. What are you – what are you saying?” His benefactor suddenly straightened up in his chair. “In plain English. Gentleman to gentleman. I demand you tell me what is happening.”

“Your witnesses speak the truth.”

The silence between the two men was deafening.

“No. No, that can’t be.” His patron grew pale.

“I assure you, it is,” he said, his mouth curving.

His benefactor suddenly looked sick in the low gas lights. “No. I- I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Well, you certainly don’t need to believe it.”

“But if the witnesses are correct, and the rumors are true,” he visibly swallowed, “you’re a—” He shook his head.

“Yes? Go on.” He was amused at the turn of conversation. The man was an idiot.

“You’re a monster.”

He sat back in his chair and surveyed his patron. “Come now. There’s no need for dramatics.”

But his benefactor stood up then. He looked flushed now.

“I demand you refute these rumors laid at your door! I demand it!”

Calmly without saying a word, he pulled a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. He took a long drag before responding. “The rumors are not rumors,” he said steadily. “Your witnesses are correct.”

The man’s face drained of color.

“I’m leaving tonight,” he told him. “There need not be any fuss or theatrics. I will leave quietly and continue my work in India. The matter will end and you will squash the rumors.”

“The hell I will!” His face was now mottled with anger. “The hell I will!”

He took another sip of whiskey completely unbothered by the man’s outburst.

“If these things are true, you should be imprisoned! Hanged even!”

“No, sir. I won’t be.”

“Why won’t you be?” The patron demanded.

“For the simple reason that you helped me. Your family helped me, your vicar helped me. You are complicit. Whether you like it or not,” he told him.

“No,” he whispered and fell into the chair. “I’m not. That’s not what I did. I thought – I thought you were helping. I thought you were a savior. We all thought that.”

“Hmph! Did you really? Or did you also want to be involved with the discovery of a lifetime?” he said coolly. “Perhaps you wanted to even take a bit of credit as my benefactor.”

His benefactor sputtered out several words but nothing made sense until he finally whispered, “How dare you?”

He poured himself another glass enjoying himself and the interaction. “So. As I said. I will leave quietly. You will let everyone know that I was called to India of the utmost importance, and nothing else will be said.”

“You can’t get away with this,” he said weakly. “You can’t.”

“My dear chap,” he said, his face showing no emotion. “I already have.”

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About Author Nicola Italia:

Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.

She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.

https://linktr.ee/authornicolaitalia

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Facebook

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When Frost Was Spectre Grey Blitz

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All That Remains

Samantha Grosser

 

Publication date: September 15th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

A choice shaped by war. A life in its shadow. One last chance to make peace with the past.

1998. Eva Marlowe has never asked her husband if he regrets his decision – she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer. But when news arrives that his estranged son has died, she feels the foundations of their marriage begin to shift beneath her. Then the funeral draws them back to Silverwood Hall where it all began, and she can no longer avoid the question.

1939. As Europe teeters on the brink of war, young socialite Eva Ravensby has been sent home from the Riviera in disgrace. Grounded at the family seat of Silverwood Hall, she chafes against the constraints of her upbringing, until her brother brings aspiring writer Ben Marlowe home for the summer.

Ben is utterly compelling. And wholly unsuitable. So when he asks Eva to marry him the night before he leaves for war, she refuses. Duty must come before love, and her father would never forgive her. But how can she possibly know the train of events her answer has set in motion? As the war takes its toll on them both, her refusal shapes their lives in ways they can never undo. Then, in the aftermath, an unexpected second chance arises. But the price they must pay for it is more than they could have imagined.

Now, decades later, as Ben grieves for the son he never knew, Eva faces the question she has spent a whole marriage refusing to ask: was she ever truly the life he chose?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Nobles / iBooks / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

On the day of the funeral, Eva drives with her signature brand of recklessness and skill. When they were young, the thrill of it was intoxicating: Ben can still recall with absolute clarity the heady feeling of that long ago summer before the war – an awareness of their youth and vitality and a belief in the wonders the future had in store for them. He had never felt so alive. But as he grew older and more aware of his mortality, each swerve and near miss became nothing short of terrifying.

Now, watching Eva in profile as she slams her palm with impatience against the steering wheel at a slow car ahead of them, he finds himself thinking it would actually be quite a fine way to go, wrapped together in tangled metal, a definitive end.

Eva lets out a curse as the column of traffic slows to a crawl and he quenches a smile, taking the opportunity to watch her a little longer. He will never tire of looking at her face, marvelling at the fine chiselled lines of her cheekbones and her jaw, the forget-me-not blue of eyes that are still as bright and clear as on the day they first met. She catches him watching her from the edge of her eye and turns her head.

‘Are you all right?’

Her question drags his thoughts reluctantly back to the purpose of their journey.

George’s funeral.

His son.

He shifts awkwardly in the seat of the car. The trousers of the wool suit are rough and itchy – it’s been a while since he’s worn it and his skin has become more sensitive with age. He stretches out as much as he can in the confined space and tries not to think about how stiff his hips will be after an hour and a half in the car.

‘I’m fine,’ he says, and they both know it’s a lie.

He’s still in two minds about going at all and with each successive roundabout they come to, it crosses his mind to ask Eva to drive right around it and take them back home. But he says nothing, and the Audi bears them in sleek leather comfort ever closer to their destination.

‘We don’t have to go,’ Eva offers, reading his discomfort with her usual clarity.

‘But you think I should,’ he replies, which is unfair, because they’ve talked about it endlessly in the days since the letter arrived and they came to the decision together. But he’s in no frame of mind to be reasonable. Anger seethes in his gut, bitter and relentless, and he only hopes he can contain it once they get there. Eva says nothing, eyes trained with uncharacteristic attention on the road ahead.

Abruptly, the anger slides into guilt. Such a pointless emotion, but he’s spent most of his life in its grip, one way or another. Guilt for dreaming and wanting more; for hurting people and for poor decisions; for living a life that is full of regret for what he lost instead of gratitude for all he has. He loves Eva desperately and always has, but he’s conscious he has not always been the best of husbands. He lets out a low sigh.

‘I’m sorry,’ he offers.

His wife flashes him a quick look of forgiveness, and he touches his fingers to where her hand rests on the gear lever. The last person in the world he wants to fight with is Eva.

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About Author Samantha Grosser:

Samantha Grosser is a very British author who doesn’t function without tea. Having spent many years teaching English in Asia and Australia, she has now made her home on the sunny beaches of Sydney, Australia, where she lives with her husband, son, and a very small dog called Livvy.

She is the author of wartime dramas Another Time and Place, The Officer’s Affair, and Out of the Ashes, and the historical novel The King James Men. When she isn’t writing or reading, (which isn’t often) you can find her either doing yoga, going for long walks, or watching old movies.

You can find out more at samgrosserbooks.com

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All That Remains Blitz

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Book One of the Fitzjohn Duology

 

Historical Fiction with Speculative and Romantic Elements

 

Date Published: 09-01-2026

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

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England, 1381 AD: Blanche Fitzjohn is an outcast in her small coastal
village. Not only is she the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, the man
responsible for her neighbors’ over-taxation, but she possesses strange
abilities: hearing sound from miles away and smelling people’s emotions.

She takes solace in her studies with the local wisewoman and in her friendship
with Geoff, a groom at the local manor. Until the day Henry of Lancaster,
Blanche’s half-brother, brings her news of an arranged marriage to Sir
Thomas Prescott, Constable of the Tower of London. Although she smells cruelty
on him, Blanche agrees to marry Thomas in the hopes that her influence may
help better the lives of Geoff and all England’s villeins.

But soon, the peasants’ discontent turns to revolt. Though her heart is
of the people, Blanche’s nobility makes her an enemy to the rebels. To
save herself and Henry from the executioner’s ax, Blanche must use every
power at her disposal, even those she once considered a curse.

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About Author J. E. Rizzo

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 J.E. Rizzo is a life-long history fanatic and writer of historical fiction,
and her work can be found in Vanity Fair, The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The
Tudor Times, Tudor Life Magazine, Scary Mommy, and Ultrarunning Magazine.
Rizzo won Manuscript Academy’s Agent Choice Award in 2024, and her
article Past and Precedence: Abortion Law in the Middle Ages and Its Use to
Overturn Roe v. Wade won History Inquiry’s Medieval History Writing
Challenge.

By day, Rizzo works in Human Resources—a field offering more than ample
opportunity to observe the follies and fancies of humankind. Before her career
in HR, Rizzo worked as an opera singer, a professional baker, and a dog
walker. These days, when not writing she can be found running ultramarathons
through the forests and mountains of New England, knitting, reading, sewing,
baking, or performing any number of (what some might call) old-lady hobbies.
She also keeps busing caring for her two children and forty-seven houseplants,
making her husband carry heavy things and cook her gourmet meals, and
rehabilitating her rescue dog and semi-feral ginger cat.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Blog

Goodreads

Instagram

BlueSky

 

 

Amazon

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RABT Book Tours & PR

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.