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I am still having a difficult time concentrating on reading a book, I hope to get back into it at some point. Still doing book promotions just not reviews Thank you for your understanding during this difficult time. I appreciate all of you. Kathleen Kelly July 2024

10 April 2023

For My Sins by S C Cunningham Blog Tour!


For My Sins 

An addictive mix of 'Lock Stock', 'RocknRolla', 'Killing Eve', and 'Line of Duty'.  

Knowing his days are numbered, a seasoned criminal finds his life calling, to expose and cull the sordid underbelly of the world's elite. Delicious, charming, cunning, avenging, David Howard escapes prison and agrees to an MI6 deal, to close down a high-profile trafficking ring in exchange for his freedom - setting a thief to catch a thief. 
 
With a target on his back, he's helped by a rogue police unit, working behind the scenes to right cases that fall through the courts' fingers. In an unlikely coupling, they share a goal... and will risk everything to attain it. 
 
A page-turning, cheeky, thought-provoking, at times laugh-out-loud, contemporary psycho-thriller, that comes with a warning. 
 
CAUTION 
Adult language, sex, violence, triggers. 



FOR MY SINS by SCCunningham 

Escaped convict David Howard has joined an undercover MI6 agent, Moira, to help bring down the evil Lord Knute Bates MP, the boss of a trafficking ring. David has forced a gang of friends to help him. Two tattooed hackers, on loan from prison, have just arrived at their makeshift HQ, footballer Franco’s penthouse flat, to work with them in sourcing the intel the bring the Lord down through a social media campaign. The two, Elvis and Jimmy, are setting up computer equipment and explaining how they will work together.


‘Do you know how to use a computer?’ Elvis asked, nervously.

The gang nodded.

‘That’s good,’ he smiled, relieved. ‘We don’t need to waste time teaching you the basics. These pieces of kit are like any other except that they can link into some pretty powerful secret squirrel databases that will help us raise intelligence, follow someone’s whereabouts, give all ports information, airline travel, passport control, previous criminal history, the prison database, the police national database, Interpol, the benefits agency, vehicle licensing, police custody, forensics, DNA, fingerprinting, doctors surgeries, hospitals, street cameras, train, bus and emergency services cameras, companies house, trading standards, press, media, coroner’s office, you name it, we have access to it,’ he sipped his tea. 

‘Is that legal?’ asked Seb.

‘Yes, mainly, ish,’ Elvis scrunched his nose, deliberating. He couldn’t lie. ‘Well, actually no, if we get caught, we could go down for all manner of things,’ he gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry.’

Jimmy quickly intervened. 

‘But don’t worry, you won’t be working on this shit, we will. We’ll teach you what kind of information can be dug up. Your job is to work out what’s useful, and what you need, and we’ll gather it for you.’

The gang looked nervous; this was well outside their comfort zone.

‘It’s easy,’ blurted Elvis, trying to keep them on side. ‘You’re sort of already digging dirt on stuff in your everyday life. Whether you’re googling a company and looking at its reviews before you work with it, or searching for the best price on a car, or holiday, or social media spying on someone you’ve met on a dating site or checking out what next to watch on Netflix. You’re intel sourcing all the time. We just have the goods to mine a little deeper. No big deal.’ 

‘What are you guys doing time for exactly?’ Seb asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. 

‘Hacking, mainly,’ offered Jimmy, giving Elvis a look of ‘I’ll answer this one’. Elvis missed it.

‘Attempt murder,’ answered Elvis.

Anton squealed. The gang leaned back from the table.

‘And hacking,’ Jimmy corrected.

‘And fraud, and perverting the course of justice,’ added Elvis.

‘Elvis, shut up!’ sighed Jimmy. ‘You’re frightening them.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s the corrupt perverting, not the sexual kind. But we now know how to get away with it, so we don’t aim at getting caught again any time soon,’ Elvis smiled, proudly.

‘You tried to murder someone?’ asked Tara, looking at the meek geek in a new light, he didn’t look like he could cope well with violence. 

‘Not really, I’m a vegan, I can’t kill anything, I’m even beginning to wonder if plants have feelings.’

‘Oh, me too,’ offered Anton, finding a fellow soul mate. ‘I can barely beat an egg,’ the two men smiled at each other, having a private moment of kindhearted hippiedom.

‘But you were charged with attempt murder,’ Josie pushed.

‘Oh that, well it was silly really, someone was trying to steal my knapsack, so I gave him a push. My laptop is my livelihood, he can go earn some money and get his own laptop, damned cheek.’

‘So, it was self-defense, you were being robbed,’ Josie tilted her head, trying to understand.

‘It started out as self-defense, but we were standing on a train platform at the time, and the seven forty-five for waterloo was just arriving. It turned into attempt murder. It was a very messy affair.’ 

‘Is he okay?’ asked Tara.

‘Oh yes, he’s fi…’

‘Can we get on with it please,’ interrupted Franco. ‘I’ve got meetings to get to, I’ve already missed training this morning.’ He gave Jimmy a nod to continue.

‘Right,’ said Jimmy. ‘We’ll meet here every day until the job’s done, it could take a few days or a few weeks.  You can go home each night, but you’re prohibited to take anything with you, or talk to anyone else about the project. Think of it as jury service. If we get caught, Moira and her boys will disown us, so we’re on our own.’

Michael put his hand up. ‘I’m not happy releasing information to the media, we may be in breach of an official secrets act or something, with no legal support from Moira’s office to bail us out. He works with the government, for fucks sake, we don’t know what we might find.’

‘Understood,’ nodded Elvis. ‘We always protect any state secrets relating to the security of the country. And anyway, with the methods we use nothing is traceable, that’s our job. We step in and out, clean as a whistle, uncovering the truth and protecting others. Simples.’

‘It may be simples to you, but to us it’s a minefield, we don’t have a clue what we’re doing,’ sighed Tara.

‘I didn’t go to school,’ said Jimmy. ‘And I can do it. Don’t worry, we do all the tricky, risky, stuff, you do all the plotting, maneuvering, creating a media buzz stuff.’

‘There’s one good thing about the internet,’ interrupted Elvis. ‘Okay, so crime can hide behind it to a certain extent, and it does, mountains of it. But when the truth comes out, it goes viral and beats the hell out of evil every time, everything, everyone is exposed. Think of yourselves as superheroes surfing the world wide web saving lives, think of us as your guides.’

‘Oh my,’ gushed Anton, loving the idea of being a superhero. ‘We’re going to have to give ourselves superhero names.’

He trotted around the room with his arms stretched out, singing the superman theme. The gang giggled.

‘Make no mistake,’ interrupted Michael. ‘It may sound like fun, but we’re going to have to be careful, we’re small fry to the likes of Knute and his cronies, life is cheap to them, they’ll have no qualms in silencing us,’ he dragged a finger across his neck.

Anton sat down with a plop beside Franco, looking nervously over his shoulder.

‘Yeah, but we have David and Moira,’ countered Jimmy. ‘I don’t know much about David, but Moira is a hard-arsed bitch, I’ve never met anyone like her. She can get you anything you want, with the click of her fingers, and can take a life without flinching. You’ll want her on your side in a war.’

‘If she’s such a hot shot, then why doesn’t she just click her fingers and get Knute sorted by one of her sniper boys?’ asked Tara.

‘Because David wants it done differently. They have history. Maybe she’s an old romantic, I don’t know, but she listens to him, and will do it his way… until she doesn’t.’



Having worked in the worlds of sport, music, celebrity management, and law enforcement (CID Crime Investigator, Major Crime Team Intel Analyst, Wanted & Absconder Unit), Cunningham creates psychological thrillers with a skilled mix of fuelled tension, dark humor, and pulsating passion, offering a fresh level of sincerity and authority, rare in fiction.   

THE DAVID TRILOGY 
The Penance List 
Unfinished Business 
For My Sins 
https://linktr.ee/AuthorSCCunningham  Trailer - https://youtu.be/Wh0OkT8DfzQ






09 April 2023

Mid Flight by @travelisa1984 Book Blitz! ⁣⁣#MidFlight #LisaWilkes #XpressoTours @XpressoTours⁣

  #bookstagram #instabooks #bookish #booklover #greatreads #booknerd #nowavailable #fortheloveofreading #bookstagrammer #bibliophile #releaseblitz #bookaholic #mustread #authorsofinstagram #bookblogger #amreading

Mid Flight
Lisa Wilkes


Publication date: March 31st 2023
Genres: Adult, Romance, Science Fiction

2037 was a really bad year.

Lexi Brennan’s best friend was killed in a plane crash. Two weeks later, an intergalactic crisis threatened the fate of humanity. Authorities responded by launching a genocide.

Lexi opposed this vicious attack. Then again, what could she do? An eccentric flight attendant drawn to glamorous trysts, she felt powerless to incite change.

Until tragedy struck close to home. Suddenly, Lexi was forced to acknowledge the widespread atrocities. She uncovered a network of lies along with an opportunity to restore basic human rights. To protect others, Lexi would have to launch a movement that could destroy everything important to her, including her promising new romance.

Goodreads / Amazon

Wordlessly, Lexi grabbed her purse and darted for the exit. She needed to see it. She had to know for sure.

The midnight sky was pierced by jagged red veins. A thousand burgundy fingers tore through the stratosphere like lightning etched in the wrong color. Puffs of smoke dotted the horizon, mushroom clouds rising toward the ominous red ether. From the descriptions and images in Lexi’s VirtuAlarms, it appeared Santa Fe had gotten off easy. Other cities looked like they’d been struck by an atomic bomb.

The world was blazing. The sky was breaking apart in pieces.

AutoScan—Jorge Rodrigues, I didn’t see your texts ‘til just now. They’re grounding all planes immediately? Scary stuff. Wish I was there with you. Where’s your plane landing?

With a rapid-fire double blink, Lexi sent the message.

Jorge’s response flitted across Lexi’s cornea. His words felt frantic. Can’t get down. Capitol Hill is burning. Dense population, nowhere to land. 80 miles from Dulles Airport. I don’t think we’ll make it.

Lexi read the last sentence and crumbled. She fell to her knees on the hot New Mexico concrete, sirens blaring in the distance and meteors crashing to the ground with a fiery scarlet vengeance.

“No,” she begged the universe. “Please, no.” Her vision blurred. Lexi ached to rip her skin off her body, inch by inch, melting into a heap of exposed veins. It was so enticing. She wanted it so badly. It was what she deserved, truly.

She should’ve been on that airplane with Jorge. Self-reproval flitted through her mind on an endless loop. Should have, should have, should have, you worthless idiot.

She gasped for air.

AutoScan—Colin Brennan, dial right now, she instructed, calling her brother via electrical impulses connected to her cranium. Five beeps sounded in her ear, then the line went dead.

Tears rolled down Lexi’s cheeks as she mentally composed another note to her best friend at SkyLine. AutoScan—Jorge Rodrigues, don’t talk that way. You will land safely. Reagan International probably has space for diverted aircraft. You’ll be fine. I promise.

As she waited for Jorge’s reply, she dug her nails into her leg, reopening the wound on her thigh. She picked at it, forcing the gash to widen. It was the size of a dime, then a quarter. She kept pulling, peeling, exposing her insides. She wanted her entire soul to leak out.

“Don’t leave me, Jorge,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

Colin tried to leave all the time. Lexi couldn’t handle another loss. She needed Jorge. He was her partner in crime, her other half. He was the best thing about being a flight attendant.

Words appeared in front of Lexi’s eyeball. Her chest tightened.

I don’t think we— Jorge began.

“What?” Lexi murmured aloud. Her hands fell to her sides, limp. “What is it, J.R.?”

Lexi craned her neck toward the red-streaked sky. She shouted, pleaded, implored her buddy bidder to write back. She wanted to hear details about his safe landing, after the pilots found an open runway someplace in Maryland.

Arms clasped around Lexi’s waist, dragging her back into the restaurant. She kicked and screamed, fighting to stay outside. She wanted the sky to collapse on her and drag her into the deep black unknown. She didn’t deserve the safety of four solid walls and a roof. She didn’t deserve to be in a city that had received minimal damage from the celestial hellfire.

Lexi began to chuckle as she was forced back inside the restaurant. She could barely breathe from laughing so hard. Through narrowed eyelids, Lexi saw customers and staff staring at her in disbelief. She continued flailing her limbs. She laughed with all her might, a deep guttural guffaw that echoed through the bar.

When a VirtuAlarm informed Lexi that two planes in the Northeast had been struck down, she was convinced she’d dreamt the whole thing. The aircraft she was supposed to be on that night had not burst into flames. No way, no how. Jorge was not dead. Lexi would wake up soon, she knew. She would call him. They’d talk about her silly nightmare, her tendency to imagine the worst possible scenario, her bizarre fear of erupting into laughter during a moment of crisis.

Lexi would wake up and chat with Jorge for hours. And she would not swap out of their next scheduled airline trip.

Lisa Wilkes has spent 13 years as a flight attendant, jetting across the globe and collecting inspiration for her writings. Her debut novel, Flight Path, is a fast-paced romance laced with serendipitous encounters. This book follows a daydreaming stewardess as she learns to navigate a new terrain: unconditional love.

In her second novel, Mid-Flight, Lisa transports readers to the year 2038. A flight attendant begins to unravel after her best friend is killed in a plane crash. In the throes of unspeakable grief, she uncovers a political ploy to decimate one-fifth of the population. To combat this sinister plan, she must risk everything. Including her breathtaking new romance.

Lisa’s writing is provocative and timely, with a focus on societal issues and powerful internal conflict. Flight Path’s readers will appreciate Mid-Flight's emphasis on hope and redemption, while newcomers to Lisa’s work will be drawn to the power of her storytelling.

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Murder in Postscript (A Lady of Letters Mystery) by Mary Winters Virtual Book Tour and Excerpt!

 

About Murder in Postscript

Murder in Postscript (A Lady of Letters Mystery)

Historical Cozy Mystery 

1st in Series

Setting - Victorian London, 1860 

Berkley (March 28, 2023) 

Paperback ‏ : ‎ 320 pages

ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593548760

ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593548769 

Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0B5D5HW3K

When one of her readers asks for advice following a suspected murder, Victorian countess Amelia Amesbury, who secretly pens the popular Lady Agony column, has no choice but to investigate in this first book in a charming new historical mystery series.

Amelia Amesbury—widow, mother, and countess—has a secret. Amelia writes for a London penny paper, doling out advice on fashion, relationships, and manners under the pen name Lady Agony. But when a lady’s maid writes Amelia to ask for advice when she believes her mistress has been murdered—and then ends up a victim herself—Amelia is determined to solve the case.

With the help of her best friend and a handsome marquis, Amelia begins to piece together the puzzle, but as each new thread of inquiry ends with a different suspect, the investigation grows ever more daunting. From London’s docks and ballrooms to grand country houses, Amelia tracks a killer, putting her reputation—and her life—on the line.

] 
© Julie Prairie Photography 2016

Mary Winters is the author of Murder in Postscript, the debut novel in A Lady of Letters Mystery series. A longtime reader of historical fiction and an author of two other mystery series, Mary set her latest work in Victorian England after being inspired by a trip to London. Since then, she’s been busily planning her next mystery—and another trip! Find out more about Mary and her writing at marywintersauthor.com.

Author Links 


MURDER IN POSTSCRIPT Chapter 1

London, England

1860


Amelia Amesbury hated to admit it, but she was bored. Mind-numbingly bored. She supposed this was what contentment felt like: a beautiful young charge, bless her heart, playing the pianoforte; a governess, prim and proper, turning pages; and three tiers of cakes to choose from in a tastefully papered drawing room. But if she was so content, why was she itching for the afternoon’s post?

She glanced at the portrait of her dead husband above the fireplace mantel. She could put the brunt of the blame on him, bless his heart, too. When they met, she had no idea who he was. He presented himself like any young man in Somerset, looking for a room at her family’s respected inn, the Feathered Nest. Well, not exactly any young man. His manners were a little too refined, as were his features: smooth skin, straight nose, good teeth. When he revealed he was an earl, after she’d accepted his proposal, she was surprised, yes, but assumed that’s how it was done. Wealthy aristocrats had to protect themselves and their fortunes. Like Lancelot, Edgar Amesbury had come in disguise, and the subterfuge hadn’t bothered her in the least. In fact, it added to the excitement.

Amelia set down her flowered teacup with a plunk, earning her a glance from the governess. Despite her last name, Amelia was no Amesbury. Yet here she was, now the widow of one of the wealthiest families in London, with a country manor in Cornwall besides, responsible for the upbringing of Edgar’s niece, Winifred. She was the reason he’d chosen a wife so quickly—that and his degenerative illness, which took him just two months after their marriage. He had wanted Winifred cared for when he was gone, and Amelia was doing a good job, if she did say so herself. Smart, well behaved, and kind, Winifred was, in every aspect except blood, her daughter. As Winifred tinkled her way through Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21, Amelia was so proud. And yet, there was the afternoon post at the door!

“I’ll get it, Jones,” Amelia called to the butler. Winifred paused at the instrument. “Please continue, dear. You’re doing wonderfully.”

The letters she’d been waiting for all afternoon were here, the letters addressed to Lady Agony, her secret pseudonym and life-giving alter ego. Amelia’s black dress rustled noisily as she alighted for the door. She opened it before the deliverer could knock.

“Good afternoon,” greeted Amelia. “A lovely day to poke your head out for a breath, isn’t it?”

The man blinked. “My lady.”

Amelia inhaled the thick London air—and choked. It was no matter to her whether it was smoke filled, smelly, or rank, however. It was the thrum of the city that had enticed her to leave Somerset without protest. Mells, the small village where she grew up, delivered newspapers directly to the Feathered Nest—and into her small hands. She spent many afternoons poring over news from the city, young dreams arising in her heart even then, and when Edgar asked her if she would move to London, she answered with a resounding yes. “I’ll take that, thank you.”

The deliverer bowed wordlessly, and Amelia shut the door, returning to the drawing room as she opened the parcel and thumbed the correspondence: one, two, three letters. They requested advice on love, labor, and life. Well, mostly love, but letters all the same. Correspondents needed help traversing the murky waters of life’s greatest unsolved mystery, and who better to guide them than a member of the social elite? Her title was the reason her responses were so popular—that and her honest advice. Times had changed, and readers were desperate to change with them, reaching for the next rung of the social pecking order. Plus, they and the ton wanted to know who Lady Agony really was and how she had become involved in writing in the first place.

It was her childhood friend and fellow newspaper fiend, Grady Armstrong, now an editor at one of the most popular penny weeklies in London, who put her in touch with the task. No one but he and Amelia knew the true story. A year ago, his office was flooded with letters addressed to the magazine’s agony column, called such because of the angst in the letters. When the writer became discouraged with young people’s outrageous behavior and quit, Grady had neither the time nor the talent to respond. That’s when he asked Amelia—who needed something to occupy her hours after her husband’s death—if she would be interested in the chore. He knew she enjoyed reading and writing. Would she enjoy a secret job at the weekly magazine? Did the queen enjoy tea? She agreed in a heartbeat. Now Grady’s office was busier than ever before, but in a good way. Her unconventional wisdom and mysterious identity kept readers hooked—and buying more magazines.

“Letters!” exclaimed Winifred, leaving the pianoforte. “Are any for me?”

Amelia slipped them into the crevice of the chair. “I’m afraid not. But your performance was top-notch. I’ve hardly enjoyed Mozart more.”

“Really?” Winifred pushed a fair lock of hair from her face.

“Really.” The Amesburys were known for their handsome hair, and Winifred’s was no exception. Winifred would grow into a beauty before long, but for now Amelia was enjoying the plumpness of her cheeks, the crookedness of her smile, and her enthusiasm for life. At ten years old, Winifred was at that precious age between child and young woman, and Amelia was going to savor every moment.

Unlike Winifred, Amelia had long auburn locks with honey highlights that hung to her waist when it wasn’t swept up, which was only at bedtime. Her hair, streaming behind her as she rode into the inn’s stable, was the first thing Edgar had noticed about her. The second was that she wasn’t riding sidesaddle.

The governess tsked from the corner. “Lady Winifred, you’ve not been excused from the pianoforte. The last page went dreadfully fast.”

“That’s all for now, Miss Walters,” said Amelia. “I’d like to have a cup of tea with Winifred before I reply to my correspondence.”

Miss Walters bowed deeply, her light brown bun a perfect swirl. “As you wish, Lady Amesbury. Please send her up to the music room when you’re finished.”

Winifred jumped into the patterned chair next to Amelia, her feet not touching the floor. She reached for a strawberry tart, then drew back her hand, waiting for permission.

When Miss Walters was gone, Amelia turned to Winifred. “Would you like a sweet?”

“Yes, please, and tea also.”

Amelia poured out the tea. “Do you like playing the pianoforte?”

“Very much,” answered Winifred. “Three sugars, please.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows but dropped in the sugars. “I can tell. I can feel it when you play.”

“Governess Walters said I played it too fast.” Winifred took a bite of the strawberry tart, closing her blue eyes as she savored the sweetness. Only a child could enjoy the full pleasure of tartlets.

“She knows best.” Amelia placed the girl’s tea next to her. “She’s been classically trained.” It was one of the reasons Amelia had hired her; also, she was terribly good at French. Winifred had a talent for music, and Amelia wanted to make sure her musical instruction was taken seriously. Much to Amelia’s delight, Winifred performed for her every afternoon in the drawing room. Most of the practice went on in the music room, so the performances were a treat. They also helped Amelia keep an eye on her lessons.

“Amelia, may I ask you something?” asked Winifred. When no one was around, she called Amelia by her Christian name.

“Anything, dear.” Amelia took a sip of her tea.

Winifred leaned in. “What’s really in those letters?”

Amelia paused, her cup at her lip. Children were smart, and she and Winifred had spent a lot of time together since Edgar’s passing. In some ways, they’d weathered the tragedy together. There was no lying to the girl. First, she would know it, and second, Amelia respected her too much to deceive her. “The most wonderful things. Secret things that I cannot discuss with you today.”

“But someday?” Winifred gulped her tea.

“Yes, someday I will tell you. I will show you.” Amelia set down her empty cup. “For now, it must be enough to know they bring me pleasure, as your pianoforte brings you pleasure. And for that reason alone you must keep quiet. Can I trust you?”

Winifred popped the rest of the tart in her mouth and nodded.

“I know I can,” said Amelia. “Now you had better be off to see Miss Walters. She’ll be wanting you to rework those last measures.”

Winifred gave Amelia an impulsive hug, and Amelia breathed in the beautiful strawberry scent of the child. Edgar hadn’t given her love—he wouldn’t risk passing on his degenerative condition— but he had given her his dear niece, and for that, Amelia would always be grateful.

When the girl was gone, Amelia took the letters into the library, her favorite room in the house. It was something else Edgar had given her that she’d enjoyed very much—a home with books. While the Feathered Nest had plenty of room for dining and entertaining, it did not afford much room for books, just the special theatricals the family loved and performed. One of her favorite performances was Romeo and Juliet, probably because she and Grady were central characters. Most times her eldest sister, Penelope, took the lead roles. Indeed, Penelope was better at memorizing lines, but Amelia was better at improvising.

She stopped and inhaled a breath. The room smelled of cloves and paper and past cigars. Hundreds of leather-bound tomes filled the wooden bookshelves that lined the two-story room. She bypassed the books and made for the large rosewood desk, situated in a bright alcove of windows. It faced a dark green couch, striped chairs, and an ornate oval table. In a nearby corner was a smaller table, with heavy crystal glasses and fine liquor. And on the far wall was a grand stone fireplace, surrounded by two soft damask chairs, comfortable enough for reading and dozing. She’d spent many nights there doing just that.

Slice went the letter opener, revealing the contents for her eyes only. She scanned the penmanship: hurried, sloppy, and slightly smudged from tears. Definitely a relationship problem. Settling into her chair, she began to read the letter.

Dear Lady Agony,

You are a lady of repute. Please tell me what to do. I love the boy next door, but he’s unaware of my feelings. I am certain we possess a special bond, for he smiles at me so. But he’s going to ask another girl to marry him. He told me his plan on the way to the well. I stumbled away, confused, but how I longed to tell him the truth of my feelings. Am I too late?

Devotedly,

Too Late for Love

Amelia dunked her quill in the ink. This one was easy, a drop in the bucket of love letters. She began her response, which would be printed in the magazine. Readers’ letters weren’t included, and a good thing, too. Amelia had a feeling many writers would be embarrassed later by the emotion they’d poured into their requests.

Dear Too Late for Love,

It’s never too late for love. In fact, I prefer the old, and perhaps wiser, adage, Better Late than Never. In your case, it cannot be truer. You love the boy and are late to admit it. Yes. However, there is still time. He hasn’t asked anyone to marry—yet. Best he knows your true feelings before he proceeds. Even if he does not reciprocate them, you will feel secure in the knowledge that you told him. And that is a feeling you can live with. The other is not.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

The next letter was just as clear-cut. It was from a reader who was jealous of her friend’s hair, though she didn’t say so outright. The letter accused the friend of spending too much time dressing her long, blonde, thick locks, but it was obvious to Amelia that the letter writer wished for the hair herself.

Another dunk into the inkwell, and Amelia was poised to respond.

Dear Hair, There, and Everywhere,

Some women are born with great hair. Others are born with great wit, vivacity, or kindness. Cultivate one of the latter. Or purchase a wig. The choice is just that simple.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

She waited a moment before opening the last letter, savoring the unknown contents. It would be tomorrow afternoon before she received more letters, the mysteries that made up her day. Because of the popularity of the column, Grady made certain the letters arrived daily so that she wouldn’t fall behind.

She turned the envelope over in her hands, positioning it in front of the light. A few drops of spring sunshine shone through the windows, making burgundy flecks on the wall as it bounced off the nearby decanter of brandy. Soon a housemaid would be in to start a fire, to warm the chill brought on by the late afternoon. Then Amelia would enjoy a glass of sherry before dressing for dinner, a complicated affair that she had never quite mastered.

She noted the seal of the envelope had been hastily done. Dashed out at the last minute, perhaps, the letter might contain time-sensitive information. Amelia unfolded the paper. The handwriting, no better than chicken scratch, was hard to decipher. Written at a slant, possibly in this morning’s rain burst, it was wrinkled and marked. Yet the writer’s desperation was clear from the first sentence. Amelia scanned the letter twice before dropping her quill, splattering ink on the desk. She grabbed her spectacles and read it a third time. Her eyes must be deceiving her. It was indeed dated this morning.

Dear Lady Agony,

You are my last hope, for I have nowhere else to turn. Could you meet me at St. James’s Park at nine o’clock this evening? Make sure no one follows you. I believe someone is following me. I’ll be at the bench by the pond. You will know me by my red hat. Please make every effort. I’ve witnessed something dreadful, and I fear the worst.

Devotedly,

Charlotte

Postscript: I think my mistress was murdered.


TOUR PARTICIPANTS

March 28 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – REVIEW

March 28 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT

March 29 – I’m Into Books – SPOTLIGHT

March 29 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

March 30 – Elza Reads – REVIEW

March 30 – Novels Alive – REVIEW – SPOTLIGHT

March 31 – View from the Birdhouse – REVIEW

March 31 – Diane’s Book Journal – REVIEW

April 1 – Just Another Teen Reading Books – REVIEW

April 1 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT

April 2 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW

April 2 – The Mystery Section – SPOTLIGHT

April 3 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee – SPOTLIGHT

April 3 – Lisa Ks Book Review – SPOTLIGHT

April 4 – Book Club Librarian – REVIEW

April 4 – The Book Decoder – REVIEW

April 5 – Baroness Book Trove – REVIEW

April 5 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW

April 6 – Hearts & Scribbles – SPOTLIGHT

April 6 – Elizabeth McKenna – Author – SPOTLIGHT

April 7 – Reading, Writing & Stitch-Metic – SPOTLIGHT

April 7 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT

April 8 – Guatemala Paula Loves to Read – REVIEW

April 8 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW

April 9 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

April 9 – Cassidy’s Bookshelves – SPOTLIGHT

April 10 –The Mystery of Writing – REVIEW

April 10 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT



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The Officer’s Wife by Catherine Law Blog Tour and Review!

 


The Officer’s Wife

1939 - American heiress Vivi Miles falls for naval officer Nathan as soon as she arrives in England. And, under the threat of war, they marry in a whirlwind before he leaves to join his ship.

When Nathan returns from Dunkirk injured, he is distant, aloof, and no longer the man Vivi fell in love with. But it’s not just because of his brutal experiences of war. Nathan has a secret and Vivi suspects it’s linked to the mysterious evacuee at the secluded house in the woods on his Kent estate.

As war continues to rage, Vivi battles her own grief and loneliness, and tries to find out the truth of the girl’s identity, uncovering a scandal from the past.

Is her love for Nathan strong enough to survive?

Purchase Link - https://amzn.to/3QgqLiu 

Catherine Law lives in Kent, 10 minutes from the sea, having grown up in Harrow. And ever since she was a child, she has loved to create stories. She writes romantic novels set in the first half of the 20th century, in and around the First and Second World Wars. Her books are inspired by the tales our mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers tell us, and the secrets they keep.  

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/catherinelawbooks 

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Bookbub profile: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/catherine-law 

My  Thoughts!

The book starts with a little boy who meets a girl who is from Margate, and she is collecting seaweed for her mother to use in her concoctions. The boy is with his parents on vacation to Margate.

Fast forward and we are introduced to Vivi Miles, an American heiress. Her father moves them from New York to England. There she meets and falls in love with a young Naval officer.  As there is a threat of war, they marry.  Nathan soon heads off to war but is injured in Dunkirk. He comes back a different man as most men do that have been in a war.

Vivi's parents died at the beginning of the war when the ship they were on heading back to New York was torpedoed by the Germans. She becomes a wealthy young woman and brings the home that she is now sharing with her mother-in-law, her father-in-law had died. The home is in need of repairs so she does what she can. 

In the meantime, Nathan is back home but still works for the Admiralty, spending a lot of time away. When he is home, he is aloof, living in his own mind. We circle back to the little boy at Margate, this was Nathan and the girl was the nurse. An affair starts and as a result of that affair, there is a child. That is as far as I will go in telling the story, it would leave spoilers if I continued.

This book is a story of WWII but more at the end and the lives of Vivi and Nathan span 18+ years culminating in a wonderful and poignant ending. I thoroughly enjoyed the story and would love to read more by Catherine Law in the future.

5 stars!!

I received a copy of the book for review from Rachel's Random Resources 





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