My Victorian historical saga is available on pre-order at 99 cents for a very limited time. I can claim expert knowledge of the background to this book, as I used to work in a museum based on the history of a local woollen mill. We actually had one of the machines still up and running! I did some research into workhouses too, and came up with this authentic tale, following young Bella Hart’s unfortunate upbringing, the love this lonely outcast finds in a busy factory town, and the tremendous obstacles of class distinction and behaviour with which she’s faced. There’s some heart-stopping drama, and some plot twists I can guarantee you never saw coming! The book’s up on Amazon now, so grab your discounted copy today and prepare for an absorbing read! http://mybook.to/workhouse
Bella Hart fumed and fretted in the Punishment Cupboard. She was tempted to ram her fist against the door, but what she’d rather be doing was ramming it in Marie Froggatt’s face. It was all her fault, with her spiteful insults which had goaded Bella into giving her a slap. It had only been a little one, but Marie had flown wild, and Bella’s back still ached from the blows rained down upon it. But when she got out of here, the other girl would pay for it—oh yes, she would!
Time passed, and gradually, the regular noises of the workhouse died away. Bella knew it must be bedtime. But there was nowhere to rest her head. The only thing in the cupboard with her was the noisome pot in the corner in which to relieve herself. She’d have to grope around when she needed it—the cupboard was dark as pitch. Had the people who built this place, with all their good intentions, made this stupid cupboard for a purpose? There had never been anything in it but the chamber pot, the now invisible curls of dust and the smell of mouldering wood. Perhaps it was always intended for a prison, a place to punish small girls like Bella who couldn’t keep their tempers.
She wasn’t even sure what all the insults had meant. But the tone had been enough to infuriate her. She’d lashed out, and the fight had begun. Some adult women had come, and finally, the Matron arrived to find the girls separated and hanging—faces flushed with tears—in the arms of their captors. Marie’s quick tongue had got her out of trouble, so she’d be all comfortable in her bed now. But Bella would get her revenge—that bed would never be safe again for Marie Froggatt.
“Bella? Are you asleep?”
Miss Ainsty! What was she doing here? She should have been home long ago. Lessons had ceased many hours since, and the teacher was usually doing her sewing at this time—before the daylight died and the gas flared too dimly.
“No, Miss.” Her voice sounded small, sullen.
“Ah, Bella.” Miss Ainsty’s sigh whispered through the chink in the door. “Child, when will you ever learn to mind your temper?”
“But it’s not fair, Miss. She started it by calling names.”
“Did that make it right to hit her?”
“It was only a little slap.”
“After all I’ve told you, Bella. You’re a great disappointment to me.” Miss Ainsty’s voice was soft, for the child was one of her favourites.
“Can you let me out?” pleaded Bella.
“I haven’t the key. Matron’s got it. You’ll not be out before breakfast, I’m afraid. Have you had any supper?”
“No. Not allowed.”
“Why do you do this? You’re your own worst enemy.”
Bella digested this information and found she disagreed. “If I hadn’t hit her, she’d have done it again. Anyway, what she said about me was a lie. And that’s a sin, to lie, Miss, isn’t it?”
The gentle sigh came again. “Dear Lord! I don’t know why I waste my time with you. You’re a bright girl, very bright. You could make something of yourself—yes, even in a place like this. How many times have I told you how to behave properly, how to rise above these people?”
Bella wondered if she was supposed to count and give an answer. But before she could speak, something rustled in a corner and she squealed. “Rats! Oh, Miss, rats! I hate rats!”
Rustling and thumping came from behind the door, followed by Bella’s whimper. “Oh Miss, can’t you get me out of here?”
Miss Ainsty smiled ruefully. Where was all that bravado now? The belligerent child was now a little girl again, sniffling and squirming in her prison.
“Please Miss… rats!” as if it was the worst thing in the world. She should be used to rats by now—there were plenty in the workhouse yards. But everyone had their Achilles Heel.
The girl in the cupboard was sobbing now. “Please get me out of here, Miss Ainsty. I don’t like it when there’s rats.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The teacher stood up and dusted down her skirts, picturing in her mind the terrifying mountain of a woman she would have to confront. She was no coward, but the Matron was enough to quell even the stoutest heart.
Cowering in a corner, the girl heard the light footsteps fade away. If she kept very still and quiet, perhaps the rat would not run over her foot. But she didn’t know if she had the courage to do it.
If you want to read more, you can do so soon. Order your copy NOW!
I’m thrilled to be able to offer an excerpt from Crusader’s Path as part of the Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour!
Ribbon lightning flashed across the darkened sky as Duke Robert and Etienne reached the outer castle walls. Crackling thunder shook the ground beneath them as they dismounted near the stables. The grayish clouds burst open, sending a deluge of water upon the earth. Strong winds whipped the rain, stinging the face as the men fled inside, pulling their mounts behind them. The animals neighed, standing on their hind legs, threatening to trample anyone in their way.
“All is well, hush,” Etienne said, trying to calm the horse, rubbing its face and neck with his hand.
Duke Robert managed to get his stallion into its stall and proceeded to inspect the length of the barn, comforting the animals.
“I think it best to stay here until the storm passes,” Etienne said.
Sitting on a bale of hay, Etienne leaned against the wall. Looking at the loft, he remembered a stormy night when he and Isabella took shelter on a warm summer’s day. He recalled her laughter, her wet hair sticking to her face, her eyes sparkling when he touched her cheek. Invigorated by the smell of freshly cut hay, they tumbled in the straw, satisfying their desire numerous times until the rain stopped.
You need to go home, Etienne thought.
“Has there been word of Henry?” Duke Robert said, sitting across from his favored friend. “But I have interrupted your thoughts.”
“I was just wondering how long the storm will last. As for your brother’s whereabouts, the spies have not returned. He cannot be far.”
“Have you given His Holiness’s call for an Army of God much thought? I dare say I am intrigued. My soul is in need of saving, but the peasants would revolt if I taxed them to pay for such a lengthy campaign.”
“He did say full remission of our sins,” Etienne said. “I am tempted, but my sword is yours, Your Grace.”
“Ah, that is good to hear, because, my friend, I am inclined to join the campaign. It would free me from this useless fighting. And William Rufus would probably lend me the money, or I could ask Henry. Upon our return, they would not dare to rise up against me, lest they be excommunicated.”
“If that is your wish, so be it. I would visit Argences before we leave. Isabella can rule in my absence, as she has done in the past, until we are safely home.”
Do you LOVE medieval romance? Then you are going to adore this book by Mary Ann Bernal.
Here’s the story-
From the sweeping hills of Argences to the port city of Cologne overlooking the River Rhine, Etienne and Avielle find themselves drawn by the need for redemption against the backdrop of the First Crusade. Heeding the call of His Holiness, Urban II, to free the Holy Land from the infidel, Etienne follows Duke Robert of Normandy across the treacherous miles, braving sweltering heat and snow-covered mountain passes while en route to the Byzantine Empire. Moved by Peter of Amiens’ charismatic rhetoric in the streets of the Holy Roman Empire, Avielle joins the humble army of pilgrims. Upon arrival in Mentz, the peasant Crusaders do the unthinkable, destroying the Jewish Community. Consumed with guilt, Avielle is determined to die fighting for Christ, assuring her place in Heaven. Etienne and Avielle cross paths in Constantinople, where they commiserate over past misdeeds. A spark becomes a flame, but when Avielle contracts leprosy, Etienne makes a promise to God, offering to take the priest cowl in exchange for ridding Avielle of her affliction. Will Etienne be true to his word if Avielle is cleansed of the contagion, or will he risk eternal damnation to be with the woman he loves?
Here’s the gorgeous cover-
And here is where you can get your hands on the book-
I personally cannot WAIT to read it!
Excerpt from “Lord of Deception”
Available on pre-order HERE at only 99 cents!
Suffolk, England 1585
Alys Barchard glared at her cousin and waited for the blow to fall. Kate Aspinall was wearing that expression again—a jest was coming, and it would be at her expense. It always was.
“So, what think you to a wager?” Kate rested her elbows on the railing of the wooden platform that gave them a view across the knot garden.
A wager? A trap, more likely. Alys frowned. “But you know I have nothing to stake.” “Oh, don’t be such a dullard. What about your embroidered pocket, the one you finished
the other day? What use have you of that when you’ve naught to put in it?”
“It took me all spring to fashion.” Alys meant to wear her hanging pocket as often as possible, to show off her skills as a needlewoman. Not that any men were likely to take an interest in her, forever eclipsed by her beautiful, wealthy cousin.
Kate’s eyes narrowed. Aye, here came the pout, the spoiled-child face that usually preceded stinging words. Since the loss of her husband last year, Kate’s faults had magnified a hundredfold.
Nonetheless, sympathy curbed Alys’ tongue. “Very well. Let my pocket be my forfeit. What are we wagering on?” She’d have to ensure she won the wager.
The sulky look vanished. “It concerns a man.”
“Which man?” The only regular male visitors to Selwood Manor were Sir Thomas Kirlham and his friend, Richard Avery, neither of whom Alys liked.
“My new gardener.” Kate’s gaze roved across the garden.
Alys’ fingers tightened on the railing. “The one your steward picked out at the hiring a sennight since?”
“The very one. Is he not a sight to set the hardest heart a-racing?”
The new gardener was in full view, but hopefully out of earshot. He was crouched down, snipping some errant stems from a rosebush, his shirt clinging to a broad expanse of muscled back. His heels pressed against tight buttocks, clad in a dusty pair of hose.
Alys swallowed. “Mayhap.”
“Mayhap? Fie on you, Alys—you have milk in your veins, not blood. He’s the handsomest fellow I’ve seen in a twelvemonth. Do you not see how gracefully he moves?”
Of course, she saw, but she wasn’t prepared to own it. Any confidence shared with Kate became common knowledge in an instant. Besides, it mattered not if the man was good- looking—he was but a servant.
“So, you admire him. But what part does he play in our wager?”
Kate’s smile was sly. “My challenge is this, to see which of us can steal the first kiss from that desirable mouth.”
Kiss the gardener? Had Kate taken leave of her senses? The idea sent a shiver skittering up Alys’ backbone. A sinful shiver.
Kate grinned as the man got to his feet again and tilted her head towards Alys. “Look at those long legs. I’ll warrant he could sit a horse admirably. Of a certain, he would ride a woman just as well.”
By the rood! If she weren’t so beholden to Kate, she’d slap her face for such wickedness. The woman must be taken in hand soon, or she’d drag the great name of Aspinall down into that same mud the gardener now brushed from his hands.
As if sensing their perusal, he turned as he stood, and bent a dutiful knee. His brown eyes flickered over them before he politely averted his gaze. Was there a mocking tilt to that firm mouth? Alys shivered again.
“You’re playing the fool, Kate. I can’t be party to such impropriety. Let’s go within—the wind is biting.”
“What wind? You mean this light summer breeze? You will accept my wager.” Kate’s blue eyes were hard, determined.
A pox on the woman! After a brief hesitation, Alys bowed her head. Kate would kiss the fellow and win the precious embroidered pocket. She must concede defeat—it was the only way to maintain harmony at Selwood Manor.
But what if the gardener preferred to kiss her? No, she couldn’t ask him—not even a poor relation like herself would kiss a mere servant. No matter how desirable he looked.
“Very well, I accept. What shall your stake be?”
“I’ll give the rosary that belonged to our grandmother.”
Alys blanched. What need had she of a rosary? Their use had been banned, and anyone caught using one would be branded a traitor. Kate had offered her a wager she couldn’t win and staked an item she couldn’t accept. She might as well give her the pocket now, and be done with it.
Kate’s lips thinned in triumph. “I don’t think kissing him will be any hardship. But which of us will he choose, do you think? Me, with my golden curls and eyes of cornflower blue, or you, with your disapproving frown and eyes like a puddle on a stormy day? Ah, see how he lifts that water butt with barely a blink! I’ll warrant he could last the race and more besides.”
Something stirred in Alys’ belly. A vision of the handsome gardener, poised naked over her, slick with sweat, sprang into her mind’s eye and refused to be banished, no matter how hard she tried.
“I’m going back to the house.” Why did her voice sound hoarse? What manner of beast had Kate unleashed in her head?
“But our wager—”
“I care not for kisses from servants, however dark of eye or long of leg. You shall have my pocket. Only I beg you not to kiss him. ‘Tis most unseemly.”
“Odd’s blood, Alys, you sound like a Puritan. Are not young widows entitled to a little diversion? Ah, I know what baits you. You don’t want me to show interest in a man, for fear I might lie with him, and conceive a child to deprive you of your inheritance.”
Alys bit her tongue. Kate had been spending most of that inheritance this past year— Alys didn’t expect to have more than two Angels to rub together should her childless cousin die first. But if she spoke out any more than she already had, there was a risk of spiteful reprisals.
“Whatever pleases you.”
“So, you accept my terms? Shall I do it now, right in front of you?”
Before Alys could point out that several of their servants were currently in view, Kate had swept down from the viewing platform and crossed the parterre to the rose arbor, where the subject of their discussion labored. He rose to greet her, the lithe grace of his movements a refreshing change from the stocky villagers normally employed on the manor. Kate looked a mere child before him, and as she stretched on tiptoe towards him, he ducked his head to hear her. A lock of his long dark hair fell forward, shadowing his face and his slender-fingered hand hovered protectively by her elbow but did not touch her.
Groaning inwardly, Alys prepared to endure the shameful spectacle of her cousin making a fool of both herself and the gardener.
Smiling smugly, Kate returned to the platform, the gardener’s gaze apparently riveted by the sway of her hips. His expression was unfathomable—the only clue to what had passed between them was a touch of color on his high cheekbones.
“What did you say to him? Did he refuse to kiss you?” Alys let out a breath as hope kindled about the embroidered pocket.
Kate swept past her, heading towards the yew walk. “Don’t be so hasty, Coz. The game is all the better if it does not end straightway, the prize all the sweeter if not quickly won. You’ll just have to wait, and watch for me to fulfill my part of the bargain. If you wish to kiss him yourself, you must make your move.”
Alys’ fingers dug into her palms. She had tasks enough to do without having to dawdle around after the mercurial Kate, playing her games. Yet if she didn’t give her the requisite attention, life would be Purgatory for the next week at least.
She ran a finger over the platform’s rough handrail. Oh, what she would give to escape from this prison of hers. The only freedom she could hope for was by Kate’s death, or by her own marriage. Due to Kate’s jealousy, the latter was unlikely—and Kate was in robust good health. The vibrant colors of the gardens blurred before her eyes as her cousin disappeared in the direction of the back moat.
“What is it that saddens my lady so?”
Alys’ head snapped up. How could anyone approach so swiftly without making a sound? The gardener stood below the platform, looking up at her, his dark gaze too deep, too knowing.
She flushed. “Impertinent fellow! Who bade you speak?”
“I beg your forgiveness. I’ve been commanded to bring you a tussie-mussie by your cousin. I did not mean to pry.”
She accepted the little handful of lavender and sweet Williams in trembling fingers. The gardener had to reach up to offer his gift due to the platform’s height, but he was still too near for her liking. In close proximity, he grew in stature and disquieting beauty, like a spark springing to a flame.
She thanked him with cool courtesy. The urge to ask what else Kate had whispered was strong, but she mustn’t demean herself. The gift of the flowers was just part of Kate’s attempt to goad and confuse her.
He still stood below her. She felt his eyes on her face, an impertinence. Why could she not meet them?
“You may return to your work.” She rolled the flower stems vigorously between her hands. “We are expecting visitors, and they may wish to walk in the gardens.” Her voice sounded weak and shaky. This would not do at all—she should not be discomfited by a servant.
Silence grew between them, heavy as a millstone. She had just steeled herself to look into the dark eyes, to put the man in his place, when the stillness was broken by the clatter of hoofbeats in the lane, accompanied by the rattle of wheels.
He stiffened, his fingers clenching on the sun-warmed wood of the platform. “Who may your visitors be?”
She gazed down at his hands, browned from outdoor labor, smudged with dirt, and green-stained. Beautifully-shaped masculine hands, strong, purposeful, gentle. Too fine for a gardener.
“What business is it of yours who visits? I’ve a good mind to have you punished for your effrontery.” Lord! She hated how she sounded—she usually got on so well with all the staff. But this man was different. Disquieting.
The fingers removed themselves, and he backed away, head and shoulders bowed, a picture of apology. “Your forgiveness, lady, if I spoke out of turn. I just wanted to know the best flowers to pick for a table display—if ladies are visiting rather than gentlemen, I’d choose differently.”
A heavy step crunched on the gravel outside the walled garden. Alys’ heart thundered as the gate opened, revealing the menacing form of Sir Thomas Kirlham. She felt herself jerk like a child caught with his thumb in the cream pot.
“Oh!” She looked down, but the gardener had gone, as softly as he’d come, and a glance around revealed him exiting the garden by the other gate. Good. Her censure must have reminded him of his place. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t approach her again, regardless of Kate’s orders.
As she gathered her skirts and swept down from the platform to greet Sir Thomas, she vowed it would have to be Kate who kissed the alluring gardener, not her. Mistress Alys Barchard must never stoop so low, not even in defense of her embroidered pocket.
Fancy a gritty, romantic saga, set in the dark satanic mills of Victorian England? Then look no further!
Here’s your introduction to this fabulous author-
Born in St. Louis MO with a degree from University of Missouri, Mercedes Rochelle learned about living history as a re-enactor and has been enamored with historical fiction ever since. A move to New York to do research and two careers ensued, but writing fiction remains her primary vocation. She lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.
Now find out more about her latest book, THE KING’S RETRIBUTION.
If you read A KING UNDER SIEGE, you might remember that we left off just as Richard declared his majority at age 22. He was able to rise above the humiliation inflicted on him during the Merciless Parliament, but the fear that it could happen again haunted him the rest of his life. Ten years was a long time to wait before taking revenge on your enemies, but King Richard II was a patient man. Hiding his antagonism toward the Lords Appellant, once he felt strong enough to wreak his revenge he was swift and merciless. Alas for Richard, he went too far, and in his eagerness to protect his crown Richard underestimated the very man who would take it from him: Henry Bolingbroke.
Excerpts, insights, and more can be found on the Mercedes Rochelle blog tour.
Her work has been compared to “Game of Thrones” and “The Last Kingdom”, and she is also creator of an award-winning blog, The Coffee Pot Book Club. You will find all manner of amazing facts and stories on there and are bound to meet your next favourite historical author. I can personally vouch for the fact that Mary Anne is a terrific person and has been a huge help to hundreds of authors, including myself, over the years. So go check out her blog and her books!
Mary Anne Yarde
Mary Anne Yarde is the multi award-winning author of the International Bestselling Series — The Du Lac Chronicles. Set a generation after the fall of King Arthur, The Du Lac Chronicles takes you on a journey through Dark Age Britain and Brittany, where you will meet new friends and terrifying foes. Based on legends and historical fact, The Du Lac Chronicles is a series not to be missed.
Born in Bath, England, Mary Anne Yarde grew up in the southwest of England, surrounded and influenced by centuries of history and mythology. Glastonbury — the fabled Isle of Avalon — was a mere fifteen-minute drive from her home, and tales of King Arthur and his knights were part of her childhood.
Mordred Pendragon had once said that the sons of Lancelot would eventually destroy each other, it seemed he was right all along.
Garren du Lac knew what the burning pyres meant in his brother’s kingdom — invasion. But who would dare to challenge King Alden of Cerniw for his throne? Only one man was daring enough, arrogant enough, to attempt such a feat — Budic du Lac, their eldest half-brother.
While Merton du Lac struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of Budic’s crime, there is another threat, one that is as ancient as it is powerful. But with the death toll rising and his men deserting who will take up the banner and fight in his name?
Read on for an excerpt…
The air inside of the church smelled of myrrh, as well as the frightened sweat of the nuns and the monks who were knelt with their heads bowed in desperate prayer. Outside this sacred building, the Evil One played, but here there was only God.
Sister Helena lit the altar candles, her fingers shaking. She stood back for a moment and watched the tiny flames as they fought against the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
A child whimpered but was quickly shushed. It would not do for the child to be discovered, for Sister Helena knew that the Evil One had no respect for the sanctuary of this church or any church for that matter. He only needed an excuse to rip the door off its hinges and violate this sacred place with his foul presence.
Outside, a man screamed, and a horse whinnied in terror. The smell of smoke drifted through the tiny gap at the bottom of the doors and mingled with the scent of the myrrh. Someone hammered on the door, but the nuns and the monks paid it no heed and continued to pray. Only Sister Helena turned to look.
They had barricaded the doors as best as they could. But the barricade would only last for so long. And if those outside really wanted to get in, then there was not an awful lot they could do to stop them. They had no weapons — not that they would have known how to use them if they did. They would be slaughtered. Sister Helena knew this for she had seen such things before. She had lived through such things before. But this time it was different. Very different. Tonight there was an evil moon, which looked down from an indifferent sky. Many would die. Perhaps they all would.
The child whimpered again as she hid under Sister Mary-Sarah’s habit. If the child were discovered, then she too would be killed, for that was what happened to the children of a king who had been usurped. But Rozen had only just turned four, and she did not understand what was happening. How does one go about telling a child that her father had been poisoned and her mother, who had so daringly tried to reach her children, had been taken prisoner? The soldiers must not find this little one. It was bad enough that her younger baby brother had been taken captive. Sister Helena knew only too well what his fate would be. She just prayed that Jowan, Alden du Lac’s eldest son and heir, would make it to safety. But even if he did, he would still be hunted. No son of Alden’s would ever be allowed to live. For the boy would be a great threat when he grew up and sought revenge. And he would seek it.
If you want to read on, you can get the book HERE.
You can follow the blog tour to find out more.
Why pay full price on Friday when you can get it cheaper NOW?
Here at last is the long-awaited third book in the Marry in Haste Collection of Regency novellas, ONCE RUINED, TWICE SHY. Readers are going to love Conall and Hestia!
She was sent to ruin him. Now, he wants his revenge.
Miss Hestia Normanton hasn’t much further to fall. The man with whom she eloped refuses to marry her until she brings down his enemy, Conall Methuen, Earl of Corsbury.
Methuen, tortured by the untimely death of his fiancee, hides away from the world, injured and disfigured. Hestia’s arrival brightens his bitter existence, but interferes with his fundamental need to revenge himself on the man who stole the woman he loved.
Hestia’s lover Frederick, a man with a murky past, links both the living and the dead. Can Hestia stop Frederick and Conall destroying one another? And how can she avoid ruin all over again?
Each book in the Marry in Haste Collection can be read as a standalone.
If you want to grab your copy for just 99 cents before the price goes up after launch day, Friday April 17th, you can get the book on Amazon here. It will, of course, be available to read for free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription.
Stay safe, stay well, and, wherever possible, stay IN and read a good book.
I am thrilled to be featuring a range of fantastic authors on my blog over the next few months.
Today’s Meet the Author post shines the spotlight on Chris Savory, and offers readers a chance to get signed copies of his paperback, “Confessions of a non-violent revolutionary” with FREE postage!
About the book
Confessions Of a Non-violent Revolutionary: Bean Stew, Blisters, Blockades and Benders.
The True Story of a Peace Activist in Thatcher’s Britain by Chris Savory. Clairview Books 2020
Britain in the 1980s – strikes, the dole, IRA bombings, CND demos, poll tax riots, vegetarian food, radical feminism and an international build-up of weapons guaranteeing ‘mutually-assured destruction’.
Rejecting the privileges that life offers him, Chris Savory seeks to redress wider injustices in society by rejecting future wealth, power and status to follow his ideals. He throws himself into political struggle – living in poverty, sleeping in tents and on floors, braving the mud and cold, surviving on bean stews and wholemeal bread – to the general disapproval of respectable society. His aim? To bring about a non-violent revolution, disarmament and an eco-feminist-socialist utopia!
Oxford University in 1980 opens up a world of opportunity, but the threat of imminent nuclear war pushes Chris to make life-changing decisions. Alienated by the casual superiority of his peers, he abandons essay-writing and sherry with the Dean to embark on a constant round of organising and protesting – peace-camps, marches, illegal direct actions, communes and anarchist street theatre. The triumph of Thatcherism and the defeat of progressive politics leaves him feeling despair, anger and isolation. But having given everything to fight the system, how can he re-enter mainstream society?
At the heart of this memoir is a deeply honest and heartfelt human story, spiced with humour and colourful details of the 1980s’ counterculture. In an age of climate crisis and Extinction Rebellion, Confessions Of A Non-Violent Revolutionary is a thought-provoking and engaging record of a previous wave of mass civil disobedience and an opportunity to learn lessons from the recent history of grassroots political struggle.
‘… Insights into how individual action can play a role in avoiding Armageddon.’ – Billy Bragg
‘Terrific – thoroughly engaging and a real page-turner … wonderfully evocative, thought-provoking and a fascinating window into a world which until recently seemed almost old-fashioned, but now has a particular resonance in our re-politicized age.’ – Jason Webster, author of Violencia, Duende, The Anarchist Detective.
‘Intriguing – a fascinating and racy record of a life which will find many resonances in its readers. Particularly striking is its sense of journey through idealism, disillusion, and the yet remaining conviction that the struggle is not lost.’ – Harvey Gillman, author of A Light that is Shining, A Minority of One.
To get your book NOW, visit the author’s website and see if you can snag a signed copy and get it delivered FREE!
About the author
Chris has spent his whole adult life trying to make the world a better place through protest, local politics, working in the education sector, community campaigns and volunteering for social enterprises. He was born in 1961 in Kitwe, Northern Rhodesia and arrived in England aged two. He has subsequently lived in Kent, Essex, Paris, Oxfordshire, Missouri, Yorkshire, Berwickshire, Herefordshire, Dorset and South-West London. He is lucky to have been happily married for 25 years and have two adult stepchildren. He loves ukuleles, singing, watching Bridport Town and Brentford FC, rivers, soft toys, marmalade, the seaside, beer, country music and London. He struggles with chronic depression, exhaustion and joint pains.
Here’s a little factoid- I used to go past Chris’ house very day on my way to school. And never even knew!
I’ve read snippets of this book, and know it’s going to be thoroughly absorbing, poignant, fun and nostalgic. You can find out more at Google Books.
Regency romantic adventure, A PERILOUS PASSION, is currently FREE from ebook sellers. Grab your copy of this INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER before the offer runs out. You can get it on Amazon, nook, kobo and iBooks.
All three books in the bestselling WAYWARD IN WESSEX Series are currently on offer at only 99 cents each. Each book is a standalone, so why not fill in those gaps on your virtual shelves while the offer lasts?
Although the books can be read in any order, Book 1 is DISTRACTING THE DUKE,
Book 2 is UNMASKING THE EARL, and
Book 3 is VANQUISHING THE VISCOUNT.
Go to the Entangled Publishing Elizabeth Keysian page so you can choose to get them from your favourite seller. I hope you enjoy escaping into historical romance as much as I do,