Call Me Elizabeth Lark
domenica 30 maggio 2021
Blog Tour: Call Me Elizabeth Lark by Melissa Colasanti [Interview + Giveaway]
venerdì 14 maggio 2021
Blog Tour: The Queen's Rival by Anne O'Brien [Excerpt]
England, 1459.
One family united by blood. Torn apart by war…
The Wars of the Roses storm through the country, and Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, plots to topple the weak-minded King Henry VI from the throne.
But when the Yorkists are defeated at the battle of Ludford Bridge, Cecily’s family flee and abandon her to face a marauding Lancastrian army on her own.
Stripped of her lands and imprisoned in Tonbridge Castle, the Duchess begins to spin a web of deceit. One that will eventually lead to treason, to the fall of King Henry VI, and to her eldest son being crowned King Edward IV.
Read an excerpt
Duchess Cecily teaches a lesson in Ludlow Castle, October 1459
We were in occupation of one of the corner chambers in the old gatehouse keep at Ludlow Castle because it was a good vantage point from which to detect approaching marauders. Despite the lack of light and the all-pervasive reek of damp, I lit candles then unrolled the precious scroll with a flourish. It was a line of succession, drawn as a tree with thorny branches, all the way from the first man and woman on earth, Adam and Eve, enclosed in leaves and flowers in the Garden of Eden, to King Henry the Sixth, our present crowned and anointed King of England.
‘Hold down the corners,’ I said to my children.
My two elder sons already knew this lesson well, as did my elder daughters, Anne and Elizabeth, who were wed and living in their own households. Here with me were my three younger offspring. Margaret, more frequently called Meg, at twelve years was adept at reading and could work it out for herself. George at ten, and Richard, known to all as Diccon to avoid unnecessary complications in our domestic dealings, the youngest of my sons who had not yet achieved eight years, were still in the process of gleaning information on old alliances. It was time they knew of their profound inheritance. Indeed, in the circumstances, it had become an urgent affair.
George slouched over the table edge, pressing down hard with his whole hand, while Meg applied her fingertips with neat precision. Diccon had his elbows splayed along one edge, leaning close to survey the pattern of lines and names.
‘Do you see the roundels, painted next to each name?’ I pointed to some of them, the closest to us today and the most highly coloured, all capped or crowned with gold. ‘The scribe has included a picture of each King, and his heraldic symbol so that you might recognise him.’
They peered over the document, sufficiently engrossed, even George who preferred weapons to books.
‘Our King Henry.’ George pointed. ‘Our cousin.’
Meg placed her finger on a sword-wielding figure, two branches above. ‘That is the fourth King Henry.’
‘He was my mother’s – your grandmother Joan’s – half-brother.’ I traced my finger down from that fourth Henry to his son, the fifth Henry, and then his grandson, the sixth, our present King. ‘These Kings – all three Henrys – are from the House of Lancaster.’
‘Why is the fourth Henry the only one with a sword?’ Diccon asked.
‘Because he used the sword to slice through the branches of the tree. There.’ I pointed to the break in the branches. ‘Henry cut the order of succession and deposed King Richard.’ I watched as a frown furrowed George’s brow. ‘The fourth Henry is what we would call a usurper.’
‘What happened to Richard?’ George asked.
‘He died. In Pontefract Castle.’
‘Did Henry have him killed?’ Meg asked.
‘No one knows.’
‘I wager he did. He is fierce in the picture.’ Diccon looked impressed.
‘What do you learn from this?’ I asked.
‘They are all branches of the same tree, from father to son. Except there, when the Lancastrian Kings took over.’ Meg regarded me with her solemn stare. Her eyes were forthright, her chin stubborn, her countenance often firm-lipped and unsmiling, but I thought she would grow into a handsome woman. My husband said that of them all she was most like
me, and perhaps he was right. She was developing a strong will. ‘Would it have been better to keep Richard, whatever his faults?’ she asked.
‘The Lancastrian Henrys have brought us a peaceful and strong country,’ I stated. ‘Victory abroad in battles against the French. Richard may not have done so. And Richard had no son to follow him. It is important to have sons.’
‘Is our King Henry a good King?’ Diccon asked.
‘Sometimes he is not well,’ I suggested. ‘Sometimes he needs good advisors.’
‘Like our father?’
I regarded Diccon. My other sons would be as tall and broad and fair as the painted angels on the walls of my private chapel. Diccon would be neither tall nor broad, and his hair was the dark of a raven’s wing. He was the image of his father, who had more wiry strength than powerful muscle.
‘Yes, like your father.’
But King Henry’s worthiness was not a subject for discussion. We were stepping on the quivering ground of a morass that had recently begun to weaken the solid foundations of our vast, far-flung family.
‘But where does our father fit on the branches?’ George asked.
I pointed further back than the deposed King Richard, to the great third King Edward who had won battles at Crécy and Poitiers and thus defeated the French.
‘We come here, from the sons of this King Edward. He had five sons. Your father is descended from one of those sons, the Duke of York.’
‘I know that I will not inherit my father’s title, even though I have his name,’ Diccon said.
His acceptance rather than childish wistfulness made me smile. ‘You are named for him, but it is Ned who will be Duke of York. You will have your own title when you have grown a little more.’
My eldest son Edward – still Ned in his adolescence – would make an exemplary Duke of York.
I replaced the scroll, locked the coffer and returned the key to the purse, appropriately embroidered with our emblems of falcons and fetterlocks, at my girdle.
‘So our father is royal. We are royal.’ Diccon’s mind was still absorbed in the multi-layered branches of the tree as we left the chamber, even as he hopped with an excess of energy. George raced ahead down the narrow stairway, his voice echoing in a strident farewell, and I let him go. Meg walked with grace at my side.
‘You have Plantagenet blood in your veins, just as King Henry does. From your father and from me.’ It was never too early to instil some sense of pride in their inheritance, as I had learned it at my mother’s knee. My mother Joan, as one of John of Gaunt’s Beaufort children with Katherine Swynford, once disgracefully illegitimate before being restored to respectability, had more than her fair share of pride when she was wed to Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmorland.
‘Why are we not on the tree as well, if we are all descended from the great King Edward?’ Diccon was asking.
I dropped my hand lightly on his head, ruffling his already ruffled hair.
‘Because we do not rule.’
‘Even though the fourth Henry was a usurper?’
He had remembered the word well.
‘Even though he was a usurper. We do not have the right to rule, and we never will.’
‘To think otherwise would be treason,’ Meg stated with all the smooth assurance of youth and untried loyalties.
Diccon looked to me for confirmation.
‘That is true. We are loyal subjects to the House of Lancaster. The House of York will always be so.’ I spoke what were to become fateful words. ‘Whatever you hear to the contrary, we are loyal subjects.’
There were storm clouds building on our immediate horizon. It was a simple thing to make this declaration of fealty. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold it as a truth.
At this moment there was an army outside our gates, almost within our sights across the river. It was led by Marguerite, Queen of England, who would be quick to cry me false.
Sunday Times Bestselling author Anne O’Brien was born in West Yorkshire. After gaining a BA Honours degree in History at Manchester University and a Master’s in Education at Hull, she lived in East Yorkshire for many years as a teacher of history.
Today she has sold over 700,000 copies of her books medieval history novels in the UK and internationally. She lives with her husband in an eighteenth-century timber-framed cottage in the depths of the Welsh Marches in Herefordshire. The area provides endless inspiration for her novels which breathe life into the forgotten women of medieval history.
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | LinkedIn | Amazon | Goodreads
lunedì 10 maggio 2021
Blog Tour: Forsaking all Other by Catherine Meyrick [Book Spotlight]
England, 1585.
Bess Stoughton, waiting woman to the well-connected Lady Allingbourne, has discovered that her father is arranging for her to marry an elderly neighbour. Normally obedient Bess rebels and wrests from her father a year's grace to find a husband more to her liking.
Edmund Wyard, a taciturn and scarred veteran of England’s campaign in Ireland, is attempting to ignore the pressure from his family to find a suitable wife as he prepares to join the Earl of Leicester’s army in the Netherlands.
Although Bess and Edmund are drawn to each other, they are aware that they can have nothing more than friendship. Bess knows that Edmund’s wealth and family connections place him beyond her reach. And Edmund, with his well-honed sense of duty, has never considered that he could follow his own wishes.
With England on the brink of war and fear of Catholic plots extending even into Lady Allingbourne’s household, time is running out for both of them.
Love is no game for women. The price is far too high.
Catherine grew up in regional Victoria, but has lived all her adult life in Melbourne, Australia. Until recently she worked as a customer service librarian at her local library. She has a Master of Arts in history and is also an obsessive genealogist. When not writing, reading and researching, Catherine enjoys gardening, the cinema and music of all sorts from early music and classical to folk and country and western and, not least of all, taking photos of the family cat to post on Instagram.
venerdì 7 maggio 2021
Blog Tour: Under the Light of the Italian Moon by Jennifer Anton [Interview]
Under the Light of the Italian Moon
A gripping historical fiction novel, based on a true story and heartbreaking real events. Spanning over two decades, Under the Light of the Italian Moon is an epic, emotional and triumphant tale of one woman’s incredible resilience during the rise of fascism and Italy’s collapse into WWII.
1. Hello Jennifer, thank you for being here today! It’s so fascinating to have an Italian/American writer on my blog! To start, would you like to share with us a few lines from your book opening?
It all begins with women.
In them, Heaven and Earth transfer. Creation comes to life, and all of humanity springs forth.
In the mother’s powerful womb, the transition from Godly to worldly takes place.
It was Mary who gave birth to eternity and redemption.
The strength of the world is in its women.
The power of the world is within its women.
Yet it is the women we erase.
Some women are unwilling to be forgotten or to forget.
Particularly if they are Italian.
2. In the synopsis, it mentions that the book was inspired by a true story, could you tell us whose story it was?
The novel is based on the lives of my Italian ancestors. You have to read the book to find out the exact connection, but I can tell you that my grandmother was the start of where my research began. The novel tells the story of Nina Argenta, the daughter of a strong-willed midwife, who falls in love with Pietro Pante, a boy who emigrates to the coal mines of America. The story is based on the lives of my family and tales I have been told growing up, as well as research I did after my grandmother died in 2006.
3. What would you say the hardest part of writing this book was? T
The book was truly a joy to research and write but after fourteen years, there was a massive manuscript that would have been too big to publish. The most difficult thing was determining what to cut to make the story shine, without impacting the book negatively. For that, I did work with two fantastic developmental editors.
4. What is the thing that gets Nina attracted to Pietro?
Like many great love beginnings, there is a spark between them that makes them stand out to each other, even from a young age. She is curious about him at first, a boy she knows from around the small town heading to America on a great adventure. Ultimately, there is something unexplainable but very powerful about the way they are drawn together when he returns later. Oceans cannot keep them apart or destroy their love. How many of us can say that?
5. Now speaking a little bit about you, name one thing you love and one thing you hate about Italy.
I love so much about Italy: the feeling of connection to my strong female ancestors, the beautiful scenery, the food, the language, the art, the fashion, everything. Once, when we were in Rome and my daughter was three or four years old, she took a big bite of pasta, looked at us with wide eyes and asked, “Mom, why is everything so GOOD in Italy?” I had to laugh. From the mouths of babes. There is nothing I hate about Italy except for the historical pain the country has been through because of men who drive for power and end up ruining so much. It’s also sad how many families were separated through the years due to emigration. My greatest wish is for Italy to continue to create, thrive and grow. It would be nice to see more equality of females in leadership in order to ensure creation and new solutions for the future!
6. Do you have a favorite Italian author?
I love Bassani and Moravia (men who wrote during and after WWII) but right now I love Elena Ferrante and Donatella Di Pietrantonio blew me away with Girl Returned which is so few pages but has so much power! A must read.
7. Are you working on some other books right now?
I’ve started a second book which takes place in Fonzaso and is based off a minor character and another family member who left audio memoirs
Jennifer Anton is an American/Italian dual citizen born in Joliet, Illinois and now lives between London and Lake Como, Italy. A proud advocate for women's rights and equality, she hopes to rescue women's stories from history, starting with her Italian family.
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Pinterest | Book Bub | Amazon | Goodreads | Youtube
martedì 4 maggio 2021
Review: The Flatshare by Beth O'Leary
Tiffy Moore needs a cheap flat, and fast.
Leon Twomey works nights and needs cash.
Their friends think they're crazy, but it's the perfect solution: Leon occupies the one-bed flat while Tiffy's at work in the day, and she has the run of the place the rest of the time.
But with obsessive ex-boyfriends, demanding clients at work, wrongly-imprisoned brothers and, of course, the fact that they still haven't met yet, they're about to discover that if you want the perfect home you need to throw the rulebook out the window...
martedì 27 aprile 2021
Book Blitz: Grave Robbing and Other Hobbies by Jayce Carter + Giveaway!
Grave Robbing and Other Hobbies
Jayce Carter
Grave Concerns #1
Publication date: April 20th 2021
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Reverse Harem, Romance
Ghosts, corpses and four hot men—what’s a girl to do?
Abandoned at three—whose parents want a kid who sees ghosts?—I learned the world is quick to punish misfits. I try my best to be a normal, boring human, but the call of the supernatural just won’t be ignored.
When a stranger shows up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, it’s no sexy tryst. Instead, I’m off to the graveyard, digging up the corpse of a murder victim at the demand of the local vampire coven—and that small felony is just the start.
The spirit of the woman has gone missing—something that shouldn’t be possible—and everyone is looking to me for answers. There’s Kase, a vampire who’s both terrifying and secretive. Grant, a mage with a bad attitude and a lot of power. Troy, the possessive werewolf-detective next door and Hunter, a mysterious bad boy who isn’t even close to human.
It’s a race not just against time but against everything to figure out where the spirits are going, who’s behind it and if I can trust the men who now share my bed.
And all because of a little grave robbing…
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play
Hunter didn’t remove his hand from my mouth. It made me realize he was also entirely pressed against me, and despite it not being possible, he felt better than he’d looked. His skin was warm, even through my robe.
He took his hand off my mouth but didn’t move away. “Stay still,” he whispered against my ear.
“Why? Is it coming back?”
“No. I just really like looking down your robe.”
As soon as his words sank in, when I moved past the adrenaline and the purr of his voice, I realized that yes, my robe had bagged open and he had a perfect view down the front.
I elbowed him, but he didn’t seem to even feel it. He released me, though the way he did it implied my little move hadn’t meant a thing.
“I am so tired of people breaking into my house,” I said.
“You aren’t human, and you don’t have any wards. That’s the same as a ‘come on in ’sign in our world.”
“I am human.”
“Sure, shadow-girl.” He sent me a conspiratorial wink, as if we were on the joke together.
“No, I actually am. No funky teeth, no freaky eyes. Human.” I pointed at my face as though that drove the point home.
He waved at himself. “No funky teeth, no freaky eyes. Very much not human. Sure, though, if you want to pretend, I’m not one to turn down a bit of good roleplay. You want to be innocent Little Red Riding Hood? I’ll play the wolf.”
His suggestion derailed me. How could it not? Any girl who claimed she hadn’t had entirely inappropriate dreams about the wolf in that story was a damned liar. Once I’d reached a certain age, ‘all the better to eat you with ’had taken on a very different meaning.
I pictured a dark, heavily wooded forest as I ran, something on my heels, gaining ground. His warm breath on my neck when he caught me…
Suddenly I didn’t care what he’d said, why he was there or what exactly he meant by him ‘not being human’.
Until I recalled he’d broken in, and clearly him showing up at my office wasn’t a coincidence.
He snorted. “I liked where your mind was going before.”
“What are you doing here? And what was that thing?”
“Don’t we have better things to discuss? Or we can do away with talking all together.”
“I don’t sleep with people who might kill me, but thanks.”
About the author:
Jayce Carter lives in Southern California with her husband and two spawns. She originally wanted to take over the world but realized that would require wearing pants. This led her to choosing writing, a completely pants-free occupation. She has a fear of heights yet rock climbs for fun and enjoys making up excuses for not going out and socializing.















