Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘A Splendid Defiance’ by Stella Riley”

A Splendid Defiance Tour BannerI am pleased to welcome Stella Riley to my blog today to share an excerpt from her novel, “A Splendid Defiance.” I would like to thank Stella Riley and the Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this blog tour.

Abby storms the castle

Considering that he had left his bed to dress hurriedly and come straight downstairs, the Captain’s room was remarkably tidy. A lot tidier, thought Abigail, with a faintly shocked sideways glance, than he was himself. It was also larger than she had expected, being situated at the top of the south-east turret and reached by means of a narrow spiral stair.

I shouldn’t be here, thought Abigail, in sudden panic.  Jonas will kill me if he finds out.

Justin deposited his sword in a corner.  Then, turning to pull the bedclothes into some semblance of order, he told her to sit down and demanded again to be informed what she wanted of him.

Abigail hovered and hesitated.

‘For God’s sake!’ exclaimed Justin, dropping irritably upon the bed and regarding her with acute disfavour.  ‘Sit down and stop being coy.  I’m not in the mood for it.’

She obeyed him rather quickly.  ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.  Just come to the point.’

His tone made this difficult but she did her best.

‘It’s my brother.  He was arrested in the Market Place this afternoon – but he didn’t do anything.  I mean, he wasn’t involved in the fighting in the way that others were.  So I came to ask you to please let him come home.’

Comprehension dawned slowly and the blurred gaze registered astonishment.

‘You mean he was taken for rioting?  No, no.  It’s too good to be true.’

Abigail stiffened.  ‘I’m afraid I don’t find it funny.’

The dark brows soared and his reply was deliberately blighting. 

‘My dear child, I’d be amazed if the members of your household found anything funny.  Quite apart from your religious persuasion, your appalling brother and his sour-faced wife are enough to kill anyone’s sense of humour.  However, if you’ve hauled me out of bed just to ask a favour for Jonas, I can only say that your nerve outstrips your intelligence.  To put it bluntly, I don’t care if he rots.’

Abigail dissected this remarkable speech before brushing it aside.

‘What has Jonas to do with it?  It isn’t him you’ve got.’  And then, staring at him, ‘Is that what you thought?’

‘Not being on intimate terms with your entire family, what else was I to think?’ he asked acidly.  ‘Well?’

‘I’m sorry.  I thought you’d realise …’ She paused.  ‘If it was Jonas, I wouldn’t be here.’

‘And I am supposed to know that because …?’  Captain Ambrose leaned back, brooding on her overfolded arms. ‘Mistress Radford.  My patience, as you may have noticed, is extremely limited and diminishing by the second. Will you please tell me, in plain language, just who the hell it is you came to rescue?’

A Splendid Defiance cover 2Blurb:

For two years England has been in the grip of the Civil War.  In Banbury, Oxfordshire, the Cavaliers hold the Castle, the Roundheads want it back and the town is full of zealous Puritans.

Consequently, the gulf between Captain Justin Ambrose and Abigail Radford, the sister of a fanatically religious shopkeeper, ought to be unbridgeable.

The key to both the fate of the Castle and that of Justin and Abigail lies in defiance.  But will it be enough?

A Splendid Defiance is a dramatic and enchanting story of forbidden love, set against the turmoil and anguish of the English Civil War.

Buy Link: 

Universal Buy Link:  https://books2read.com/u/bPzVNd

Stella RileyAuthor Bio:

Winner of four gold medals for historical romance and sixteen Book Readers’ Appreciation Medallions, Stella Riley lives in the beautiful medieval town of Sandwich in Kent.

She is fascinated by the English Civil Wars and has written six books set in that period. These, like the 7-book Rockliffe series, the Brandon Brothers trilogy, and, most recently The Shadow Earl, are all available in audio, performed by Alex Wyndham.

Stella enjoys travel, reading, theatre, Baroque music, and playing the harpsichord.  She also has a fondness for men with long hair – hence her 17th and 18th-century heroes.

Author Links:

Website: https://stellarileybooks.co.uk

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RileyStella

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stellariley.books

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/stellarileybooks/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/riley9631/stella-riley-books/

Book Bub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/stella-riley

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Stella-Riley/e/B0034PB7UU/ 

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40487661-a-splendid-defiance

Guest Post: “Excerpt and Recipe from the ‘Chateau de Verzat Series’ by Debra Borchert”

Chateau de Verzat Series BannerToday, I am pleased to welcome Debra Borchert to share an excerpt and a recipe from her series, “The Chateau de Verzat Series.” I want to thank Debra Borchert and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this tour. 

Her Own Legacy, Versailles, December 13, 1788

Joliette Meets Guillaume

Maman guided me toward a man so old, he could be my grandpapa. My arms tensed. She could not possibly think that old man appropriate. 

Papa strode toward us. “May I have your first dance, ma princesse?” 

Relief washed through me.

Maman frowned. “Bring her right back. She has many introductions.”

He took my hand and led me toward a group of dancers. 

“Merci, Papa,” I whispered.

He winked, led me to the lead position, and danced me about the Galerie. As the lead couple, we whirled with and between the dancers. Papa’s warm smile and strong leading steps relaxed me, and I enjoyed myself. He led me to greet the last couple. I turned to offer my hand to the next gentleman and his green eyes—bright as grapevines during bud break—startled me. 

I forgot the movement and faltered. I searched to locate Maman. Had she seen? She would have me dancing twelve hours a day after this. 

Without missing a beat, he rescued my wayward hand and adroitly led it to its next position. My hands grew moist inside my gloves. His steps and arms were strong, like Papa’s, but dancing with Papa had not made me breathless. The mirrors spun shards of light as he led me through the twisting rosettes. I dizzied as he returned me to Papa. Perspiration coated my face, and I fluttered my fan to dry it. 

The man wore a frock coat and breeches of pale lavender silk with tiny bouquets of violets—so delicate and fine I expected them to have a scent—embroidered along his cuffs and hem. His ensemble resembled that of our King, yet the silk puckered beneath the embroidery—the fabric was inferior. He was working hard to fit in at Court, yet every courtier would notice his black shoes—without red heels. He had not been presented. 

The allemande at an end, he turned to my father and bowed deeply. He unfurled from his bow and straightened to Papa’s height. “Comte de Verzat, I believe you are acquainted with my father, the Baron Pricaud?” 

Papa’s eyebrow rose. “Ah…oh, yes, you are…?”

“Guillaume Pricaud.” He bowed, again. “It is an honor to meet the man who produces the finest wines in France, if not the world, Monsieur le Comte.”

Finest in the world? I leaned closer. The sounds of conversations, laughter, music all faded. His eau de Cologne smelled woodsy with a hint of lime. 

Papa gave a tight smile. “May I present my daughter, Mademoiselle Joliette de Verzat?”

He bowed. My hand, of its own accord, sought his. As he held my fingers, his lips brushed my hand ever so gently. Damned protocol requiring gloves.

“Your mother’s beauty shines from within you, Mademoiselle.”

Words sat in my mouth like melting chocolate. I was supposed to thank him, but I could not summon a word. I held the fingers his lips had caressed.

“You remember my father, Comte?”

“We knew each other many years ago, when we were your age.”

Pricaud reached into his frock coat and withdrew a thick blue leather purse. “He asked me to deliver this.” With both his hands, he held it out to Papa. “My father wishes me to express his humble gratitude for your patience.”

Papa put up his hands. “Eh…that was so long ago. All is forgotten.”

“Not by my father.” He continued to present the purse.

Why did Papa refuse him? Pricaud’s demeanor, his manners, his tenacity, all impeccable. Neither of my parents could find fault with Pricaud. Nor could I. He never glanced at the emeralds at my neck. He knew of the Verzat legacy. Why had I not seen him at Court before?

“There is no need.” Papa shook his head.

Maman’s skirts brushed against mine. “Pardon, Monsieur.” 

Pricaud withdrew the purse and dropped into a deep bow.

Maman inserted herself between me and Monsieur Pricaud, but she did not extend her hand. “My daughter and I have been summoned by the Queen.” She held my elbow and drew me away. “Forgive us, please.”

Joliette’s Chilled Fresh Pea Soup

While living in France, Joliette never cooked—she was far too busy fermenting wine. But when she and Henri arrived in America, she longed for dishes made by her beloved Cook. Joliette remembered afternoons, sitting at Cook’s battered wooden table, shelling peas for Cook’s sweet and velvety Chilled Fresh Pea Soup. This recipe is based on Joliette’s memories and my experimentations. 

Serves 6–8 

Ingredients

2 cups fresh or frozen peas sea salt (optional)

1 cup water fruity white balsamic vinegar (optional)*

a few sprigs of fresh mint

Process 

  1. Simmer peas in water until peas are tender. 
  2. Keeping the broth, drain peas and allow to cool. 
  3. Using an immersion blender, blitz the peas with enough of the cooking liquid for a consistency and thickness you like.
  4. Add salt to taste. Chill. 
  5. Serve with a mint spear and a drizzle of a fruity white balsamic vinegar. 

Notes

  1. *My favorite fruity white balsamic vinegar is OMG!’s D’Anjou Pear White Balsamic Vinegar. See the Resources page.
  2. This soup freezes well.

Blurb:

HER_OWN_LEGACY_COVERHer Own Legacy:

A Woman Fights for Her Legacy as the French Revolution Erupts

Determined to inherit her family’s vineyard, Countess Joliette de Verzat defies society’s rules, only to learn of her illegitimate half-brother, the rightful heir. 

Her Own Revolution:HER_OWN_Revolution__FINAL_COVER

A Woman Forges a Treacherous Path to Save Hundreds from the Guillotine

If Geneviève Fouquier-Tinville had the same rights as a man, she wouldn’t have to dress like one. A suspenseful page-turner led by a renegade heroine whose compassion for innocent people leads to both loss and love.

Buy Links:

*Her Own Legacy will be only 0.99 in the UK, CA, and AU stores from March 5th – 15th, 2024!*

Universal Buy Links:  

Her Own Legacy: https://books2read.com/u/bWYod1 

Her Own Revolution: https://books2read.com/u/m0aJVl 

Series Buy Links:

US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B9KN1536 

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0B9KN1536 

Debra Borchert 1Author Bio:

Debra is the author of the Château de Verzat series that follows headstrong and independent women and the four hundred loyal families who protect a Loire Valley château and vineyard, and its legacy of producing the finest wines in France during the French Revolution. Her Own Legacy published in 2022, Her Own Revolution published in 2023, and Her Own War will be published in 2024. A passionate cook, she also wrote a companion cookbook to the series: Soups of Château de Verzat, A Culinary Tribute to the French Revolution, 2023.

A graduate of the Fashion Institute of Technology, she weaves her knowledge of textiles and clothing design throughout her historical fiction. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family and standard poodle, named after a fine French Champagne. 

Author Links:

Website: https://debraborchert.com/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/debraborchert 

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

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/debra-borchert-10b8305/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/debraborchertauthor/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/debraborchert/ 

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/debra-borchert

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Debra-Borchert/author/B00CSW9MH0 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7787729.Debra_Borchert

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Twelve Nights’ by Penny Ingham”

Twelve Nights Tour BannerToday, I am pleased to welcome Penny Ingham to my blog to share an excerpt from her novel, “Twelve Nights.” I would like to thank The Coffee Pot Book Club and Penny Ingham for allowing me to be part of this blog tour.

Excerpt

‘Poison,’ Stow mused. ‘A woman’s weapon, is it not?’ He turned, fixing his piggy eyes upon Magdalen. “Tell me, why did you poison John Wood?’

Magdalen felt suddenly ice-cold as if she had plunged into the Thames in January as if every last gasp of air had been driven from her lungs. All around her, the players erupted in cries of outraged indignation.

‘I – I did not poison John!’ Magdalen stammered. ‘He is – he was, like a brother to me.’

‘You knew him well?’

‘Well enough, sir.’

‘You were intimately acquainted?’

‘No! I swear on my life!’

But the constable had a bit between his teeth. ‘Was it a lover’s quarrel? Did he spurn you for another? What do they say? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’

Magdalen was sinking deeper into the icy water, the glimmers of daylight above her head becoming fainter as she drifted down into the darkness. The players’ protests were growing louder and angrier by the minute but they sounded very far away. The constable banged the tip of his staff upon the boards, once, twice, three times, dragging her back to the surface of her unfolding nightmare.

‘I will have silence!’ Edmund Stow bellowed. ‘Tell me, Mistress Bisset, as his sister then, who were his enemies? Who bore him a grudge?’

Magdalen thought of Richard Cowley’s brawl with John earlier that day, the hatred in his eyes. Did he hate John enough to kill him? But she had no proof, and she knew she would never forgive herself if she falsely accused him. ‘Everyone liked John, sir. He didn’t have any enemies.’

‘Everyone has enemies,’ Stow replied. ‘You came to London from Hampshire, did you not?’ he added, eyeing her appraisingly. ‘You were raised on a farm. You understand plants, which will heal, and which will harm?’

Magdalen dug her fingernails into her palms, focussing on the pain rather than the panic threatening to overwhelm her. ‘I left Hampshire when I was eight years old. I have no knowledge of such things, sir.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I swear I am innocent, sir.’

‘Believe me, girl, the truth will be out.’ Edmund Stow glared at her for a long moment, perhaps hoping he might see into her very soul. She found herself staring back at him, held fast by his malevolent spell. When at last he released her from his gaze, her legs felt as wobbly as marrow jelly.

Stow’s eyes were sweeping across the stage, seeking a new target. They settled on Burbage and narrowed, taking aim. ‘It seems most likely John Wood was poisoned here at the Theatre.’

‘That is an outrageous accusation!’ Burbage shot back indignantly. ‘You cannot seriously believe one of us killed John?’

‘I believe whatever the evidence suggests, Master Burbage,’ Stow replied haughtily. ‘Tell me, what refreshments do you provide for the players?’

‘We have a pitcher of Malmsey in the ‘tiring house, and one cup.’ Burbage was visibly fighting to remain calm. ‘Before every performance, we share the cup and raise a toast. If someone had poisoned the wine, we would all be dead.’

‘Bring me the pitcher and the cup.’

Burbage glanced at Magdalen, but Stow shook his head. ‘No. She stays here. Send the boy.’

Peter soon returned with the pitcher and cup. Stow sniffed them both cautiously. ‘You have all drunk from this cup?’

The players nodded.

‘But you gave John a second drink, after the play had begun, didn’t you, Magdalen,’ Peter said brightly.

Stow’s beady eyes fixed upon Magdalen again. ‘Is this true?’

Magdalen opened her mouth but no words formed. Peter was right. She had offered John another drink, but only because he had looked so unwell. Will Kempe glared at Peter and rolled his eyes in disgust. Several other players shook their heads despairingly. Peter, suddenly comprehending the gravity of his careless words, fought back tears.

‘So, you do not deny giving the player another drink, Mistress Bisset?’ There was a gleam of triumph in the constable’s eye.

Twelve Nights coverBlurb:

1592. The Theatre, London.

When a player is murdered, suspicion falls on the wardrobe mistress, Magdalen Bisset, because everyone knows poison is a woman’s weapon. The coroner is convinced of her guilt. The scandal-pamphlets demonize her.

Magdalen is innocent, although few are willing to help her prove it. Only handsome Matthew Hilliard offers his assistance, but dare she trust him when nothing about him rings true?

With just two weeks until the inquest, Magdalen ignores anonymous threats to ‘leave it be’, and delves into the dangerous underworld of a city seething with religious and racial tension. As time runs out, she must risk everything in her search for the true killer – for all other roads lead to the gallows.

Buy Links:

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/bpYRlk

Penny Ingham 2Author Bio:

Penny has a degree in Classics, and a passion for archaeology – during the summer months, you will often find her on her ‘dig’ with a trowel in her hand. She has had a variety of jobs over the years, including ice cream seller, theatre PR, BBC local radio, and TV critic for a British Forces newspaper.

She has written four novels – ‘The King’s Daughter’ is the story of Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians. ‘The Saxon Wolves’ and ‘The Saxon Plague’ are set in the turbulent aftermath of Roman Britain. Her inspiration for Twelve Nights grew from her love of the theatre in general, and Shakespeare in particular.

Penny has two grown-up children and lives with her husband in Hampshire.

Author Links:

Website: Penny Ingham (wordpress.com)

Twitter: Penny Ingham (@pennyingham) / Twitter

Facebook: Penny Ingham Author Page | Facebook

Instagram: Penny Ingham (@penny.ingham) • Instagram photos and videos

Amazon Author Page: Amazon.co.uk: Penny Ingham: Books, Biography, Blogs, Audiobooks, Kindle

Goodreads: Penny Ingham (Author of The Saxon Wolves) | Goodreads

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘The Merchant’s Dilemma’ by Carolyn Hughes”

The Merchant's Dilemma Tour Banner

I am pleased to welcome Carolyn Hughes to my blog today to share an excerpt from her novel, “The Merchant’s Dilemma.” I would like to thank Carolyn Hughes and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this blog tour. 

From Chapter 2

Riccardo had found himself distracted most of the morning, even when in conversation with his client. It was fortunate there had been only one so, once they had shaken hands on an agreement, he was able to spend some time alone, walking and thinking through the situation, and what and how to tell Bea.

His heart swelled whenever he thought of her. It had never done so at the thought, or even sight, of Katherine. She was not an unattractive woman, but her nervous nature and seeming lack of interest in him discouraged him from even trying to love her. Even when he was lying next to her in bed, he had to steel himself to turn to face her. When he put out a hand to touch her breast, she would flinch, then when he rolled on top of her to complete the task – for “task” it did seem to be – Katherine would whimper, not with pleasure, he was certain, but with urgent longing for it to be over. It was scarcely surprising the so-called act of love with his wife was one he came to dread and even balk at. In truth, it was a wonder little Oliver had ever been conceived.

It had not been that way in those few months before his marriage when Bea had lived here with him. Their love-making had been full of delight and pleasure for them both. In that short time, he had grown to love her deeply. When he was obliged to marry Katherine, and effectively abandon the woman he adored, he had been distraught. He blamed himself, both then and now, for being the cause of Bea leaving Winchester. And, therefore, of the terrible events in Meonbridge that at length brought her back to the city, but as a homeless beggar. 

These past three months had been the happiest he could remember for a long while. His worry about Bea’s health aside, their easy, loving relationship – albeit they were sleeping apart until she was fully well – made each day one to look forward to. And to make his happiness complete surely Bea should no longer continue as his mistress, but become his wife.

Yet, marrying her would not be easy. For, if his father learned of Bea’s former life, he would refuse to sanction marriage to her and would almost certainly deny him his inheritance.

Finding himself in the cathedral precinct, Riccardo slipped into the building. At the main west entrance, scaffolding had been raised, and masons were dismantling some of the ancient stonework. He had heard that Bishop Edington had plans to alter the west end of the building, from the ancient Romanesque original to a more modern style. He looked forward to seeing their fine cathedral transformed into an even more magnificent monument to God, albeit he regretted the dust and noise that was the inevitable result. A result that would continue for many years.

But, despite the noise outside, inside was peaceful enough, if chilly, in stark contrast with the gentle warmth of the April day. He was not entirely alone: a few people, mostly aged women, were standing or kneeling before the high altar, mumbling prayers. He approached the altar too, but kept a distance. He dropped down onto one knee for a moment, then stood up again and, with bowed head, muttered a few prayerful words himself, asking for some sort of guidance in the awkward conversation he had ahead of him.

In truth, he did not feel he received an answer to his entreaty but hoped it might come to him if he thought the matter over a little further. Despite the coldness of the vast, high building, he made his way to the south transept, where there was a stone bench he could sit on for a while. 

He returned to thinking about his father. Would it matter if he was deprived of his inheritance? As the elder of the two Marchaunt sons, he was entitled to the principal Marchaunt estate and the greater proportion of his father’s wealth. Yet the money was not important, nor even the artifacts his father had acquired over the years, magnificent as many of them were. He had made such a success of his own business, he was more than prosperous enough to maintain a wife and family.

No, what really mattered had nothing to do with money.

His first concern was a matter of the heart. He really wanted to own Chilcumbe Hall, the splendid manor house a few miles outside the city. He had been looking forward to the time when he could raise his own children in the place where he and his brother spent such a happy childhood. How disappointing it would be if he lost that opportunity!

But the second concern was even more important. His father was much admired and respected amongst Winchester’s great and good. He had been a master of the guild, several times a city alderman, and was once elected mayor. Riccardo’s own success as a businessman was due partly to being his father’s son. If he was not his father’s principal heir – if he was known to have been cast aside – he would be disgraced, his standing in society ruined. 

There was so much to lose: not just the legacy, and his status as his father’s heir, but everything he had worked for, and even his authority to continue his career.

He closed his eyes a moment, contemplating what such a loss might mean. If all that happened, he supposed he could leave Winchester, and try to establish himself again elsewhere. But the prospect of doing that, at his age, was daunting. And not what he wanted.

Until three months ago, he had presumed he would at length find another wife, a woman from another respectable city family. Hopefully one with a pleasanter disposition than poor Katherine. But he had not been in any hurry. He had expected to find his bride himself, and would not approach his father for advice. Although he might have asked Mama if she knew of any suitable young women looking for a husband.

But that was all before he discovered Bea collapsed on his doorstep. Now, the only woman he wanted as his wife, and the mother to his children, was her. Yet, either marrying her or living with her in a sinful state, accepting their children would be illegitimate, would surely enrage his father. He would simply consider it unacceptable for his heir to sire children upon a woman such as Bea, whether or not they were legitimately man and wife. 

Riccardo sat upright and flexed his shoulders. His back was aching from the cold seeping from the stone bench up through his clothes. He pushed himself to his feet, ready to go home.

So, what was the answer? 

In truth, it was obvious, if disagreeable. He refused to give up Bea, but the consequences of losing his father’s favour were so serious, the only answer was to wait until the old man was no longer able to cast him aside.

He had to wait until his father died.

TMD-CoverBlurb

1362. Winchester. Seven months ago, accused of bringing plague and death from Winchester, Bea Ward was hounded out of Meonbridge by her former friends and neighbors. Finding food and shelter where she could, she struggled to make her way back to Winchester again.

Yet, once she arrived, she wondered why she’d come.

For her former lover – the love of her life – Riccardo Marchaunt, had married a year ago. And she no longer had the strength to go back to her old life on the streets. Frail, destitute, and homeless, she was reduced to begging. Then, in January, during a tumultuous and destructive storm, she found herself on Riccardo’s doorstep. She had no plan, beyond hoping he might help her, or at least provide a final resting place for her poor body.

When Bea awakes to find she’s lying in Riccardo’s bed once more, she’s thankful, thrilled, but mystified. But she soon learns that his wife died four months ago, along with their newborn son, and finds too that Riccardo loves her now as much as he ever did, and wants to make her his wife. But can he? And, even if he can, could she ever really be a proper merchant’s wife?

Riccardo could not have been more relieved to find Bea still alive when he thought he had lost her forever. She had been close to death but is now recovering her health. He adores her and wants her to be his wife. But how? His father would forbid such an “unfitting” match, on pain of denying him his inheritance. And what would his fellow merchants think of it? And their haughty wives?

Yet, Riccardo is determined that Bea will be his wife. He has to find a solution to his dilemma… With the help of his beloved mother, Emilia, and her close friend, Cecily, he hatches a plan to make it happen.

But even the best-laid plans sometimes go awry. And the path of love never did run smooth…

The Merchant’s Dilemma is a companion novel to the main series of MEONBRIDGE CHRONICLES, and continues the story of Bea and Riccardo after the end of the fourth Chronicle, Children’s Fate. It is a little more romantic and light-hearted than the other Chronicles but, if you’ve enjoyed reading about the lives of the characters of Meonbridge, you will almost certainly enjoy reading The Merchant’s Dilemma too!

Buy Links:

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/3RY7Yj 

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Merchants-Dilemma-Meonbridge-Chronicles-Companion-ebook/dp/B0CJJKJFT6/ 

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Merchants-Dilemma-Meonbridge-Chronicles-Companion-ebook/dp/B0CJJKJFT6/ 

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Merchants-Dilemma-Meonbridge-Chronicles-Companion-ebook/dp/B0CJJKJFT6/ 

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Merchants-Dilemma-Meonbridge-Chronicles-Companion-ebook/dp/B0CJJKJFT6/ 

Carolyn Hughes authorAuthor Bio:

Carolyn Hughes has lived much of her life in Hampshire. With a first degree in Classics and English, she started working life as a computer programmer, then a very new profession. But it was technical authoring that later proved her vocation, word-smithing for many different clients, including banks, an international hotel group, and medical instruments manufacturers.

Although she wrote creatively on and off for most of her adult life, it was not until her children flew the nest that writing historical fiction took center stage. But why historical fiction? Serendipity!

Seeking inspiration for what to write for her Creative Writing Masters, she discovered the handwritten draft, beginning in her twenties, of a novel, set in 14th-century rural England… Intrigued by the period and setting, she realized that, by writing a novel set in the period, she’d be able to both learn more about the medieval past and interpret it, which seemed like a thrilling thing to do. A few days later, the first Meonbridge Chronicle, Fortune’s Wheel, was underway.

Six published books later (with more to come), Carolyn does now think of herself as a Historical Novelist. And she wouldn’t have it any other way…

Carolyn has a Master’s in Creative Writing from Portsmouth University and a PhD from the University of Southampton.

You can connect with Carolyn through her website http://www.carolynhughesauthor.com and social media.

Author Links:

Website: http://www.carolynhughesauthor.com 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/writingcalliope 

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

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/carolyn-hughes 

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Carolyn-Hughes/e/B01MG5TWH1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16048212.Carolyn_Hughes 

Guest Post: “Origins of Anna of Cleves” by Heather R. Darsie

image002Today, I am pleased to welcome Heather R. Darsie to my blog to share an excerpt from her latest book, “Children of the House of Cleves: Anna and Her Siblings.” I would like to thank Heather R. Darsie and Amberley Publishing for allowing me to be part of this blog tour. \

Anna von der Mark and her siblings, deemed by their father to be known as being “of Cleves,” his family’s territory, came from a somewhat new line of ducal power. The Duchy of Cleves existed as a county for hundreds of years before becoming a duchy. From whom the dynasty descends is a bit of a mystery, but thankfully, they have a certain mythology to explain,

“The noble Von der Mark family traces their lineage from a princess named Beatrix and her hero, the mythical Swan Knight Elias Gral… Family lore held that …[it was] the [Roman] Orsini…arrived in Cleves …. Such tales of noble heritage were common in the Medieval to Early Modern period…

A family origin tale specific to the Von der Marks involves the young, beleaguered heiress Beatrix. Beatrix, heiress of Nijmegen and Cleves, married the legendary Swan Knight after he floated down the Rhine in his boat, pulled by a swan wearing a golden collar. At the time, according to legend, Beatrix was being aggressively pursued by her suitors. The Swan Knight, named Elias Gral, came to her rescue. He agreed to be Beatrix’s husband on the condition that she never ask about his origin. The couple was happily wed for some time and had three sons together. Beatrix convinced one of her sons to ask Elias about his background. Elias sorted what was going on and instantly disappeared. Beatrix died shortly after Elias’ disappearance.

…. Elias Gral … lived in the 8th century…, and served the Frankish leader Charles Martel. … Martel was imprisoned in Cologne around 714 by his stepmother Plectrude because Martel’s father died, and Plectrude wished for her son to be heir. Gral helped free Martel from prison in Cologne. In return, Martel raised the Bailiwick of Cleves to the status of county, creating Gral the first Count of Cleves.….

The Von der Mark dynasty, thought to have arisen from servants of the Grals, was established when Margaretha [of Cleves] married Count Adolf von der Mark. Through the right of Margaretha, Adolf and Margaretha’s children became counts and countesses of the combined Duchy of Cleves and County of Mark, simply called Cleves-Mark…

Margaretha’s and Count Adolf von der Mark’s son, also named Adolf, greatly expanded the territories under Cleves-Mark’s control. Adolf of Cleves-Mark had his own son, whom he also named Adolf. This second Adolf of Cleves-Mark was the last Count of Mark and first Duke of Cleves.… Duke Adolf … married Marie of Burgundy in 1406. Marie was a daughter of John the Fearless, and sister of Philip the Good. Marie was only about thirteen years old when she married Adolf. Marie did not move to Cleves until 1415, when she was around twenty-two years old.

Duke Adolf and Marie of Burgundy had a lasting impact on the court culture in Cleves. Marie popularized the concept of the Frauenzimmer, which is directly translated as, “women’s room”, but was more like a women’s shadow court of the main masculine court. Women occupied the offices necessary to administering the Frauenzimmer. …

Marie of Burgundy and Duke Adolf of Cleves-Mark had eight children together, all of whom lived to adulthood and married well. It is through Marie’s and Adolf’s children that Mary, Queen of Scots and Louis XII of France were related to Anna of Cleves and her siblings.”

Anna’s family was known to be very supportive of the Holy Roman Emperor throughout the 15th century and on into the 16th. Unfortunately, her brother Wilhelm’s unreasonable behavior

41A37E73-B422-4A02-98BB-38C4C023055CIf this excerpt piqued your interest, consider reading Children of the House of Cleves: Anna and Her Siblings, set for release in the UK on 15 June 2023 and in the US/Internationally on 12 September 2023. Can’t wait until September? The US Kindle version is released on 15 June, too! You might also like to read Heather R. Darsie’s biography on Anna of Cleves, the first researched and written from the German perspective, Anna, Duchess of Cleves: The King’s Beloved Sister. Links below.

Amazon UK

Children of the House of Cleves, Anna and Her Siblings hardcover (15 June 2023): https://www.amazon.co.uk/Children-House-Cleves-Anna-Siblings/dp/1445699427/ref=sr_1_1?crid=19OOEUO2EX5PV&keywords=heather+darsie&qid=1686571230&sprefix=heather+darsi%2Caps%2C190&sr=8-1

Children of the House of Cleves, Anna and Her Siblings Kindle (15 June 2023): https://www.amazon.co.uk/Children-House-Cleves-Anna-Siblings-ebook/dp/B0C74VTCR3/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1686571230&sr=8-1

Amazon US

Children of the House of Cleves, Anna and Her Siblings hardcover (12 September 2023): https://www.amazon.com/Children-House-Cleves-Anna-Siblings/dp/1445699427/ref=sr_1_1?crid=5K793F0IN117&keywords=heather+darsie&qid=1686571143&sprefix=heather+darsie%2Caps%2C87&sr=8-1

Children of the House of Cleves, Anna and Her Siblings Kindle (15 June 2023): https://www.amazon.com/Children-House-Cleves-Anna-Siblings-ebook/dp/B0C74VTCR3/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1686571143&sr=8-1

IMG_0659Heather R. Darsie works as an attorney in the US. Along with her Juris Doctorate, she has a BA in German, which was of great value in her research. She completed multiple graduate-level courses in Early Modern History, with her primary focus being the Holy Roman Empire under Charles V. She runs the website MaidensAndManuscripts.com and is a co-host of the Tudors Dynasty podcast.

Sources & Suggested Reading

Darsie, Heather R. Children of the House of Cleves: Anna and Her Siblings. Stroud: Amberley (2023).

Darsie, Heather R. Anna, Duchess of Cleves: The King’s Beloved Sister. Stroud: Amberley (2019).

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Close Your Eyes- A Fairy Tale’ by Chris Tomasini

Close Your Eyes A Fairy Tale Tour BannerI am pleased to welcome Chris Tomasini to my blog today to share an excerpt from his novel, “Close Your Eyes- A Fairy Tale.” I would like to thank Chris Tomasini and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this tour. 

Tycho

The first year Tycho spent with us at Gora, he was like a child running frenzied through a kitchen full of Christmas delicacies. The gossip which arose about him was voluminous. I often sat in the castle kitchen, a mug of beer in my hand, listening to what the women said about the boy. What amused me most, as I watched them roll their eyes when his name was again mentioned in a less than lustrous light, was that they adored Tycho. They pretended they didn’t, not wishing to be teased, but I could see it in their eyes, in their rapt attention when the boy walked into a room, in their troubled breathing when he touched his hands to their shoulders or hair.

I don’t know what drew them to him, but it was much more than his youth and good looks. He was playful and irreverent, and the aura of foreign lands hung about him. Tycho could speak a dozen languages fluently, he could tell those magical stories, twinkle his eyes seemingly at will, and when they twinkled for you, it felt like you were sharing something with him, a sort of blissful astonishment at being alive.

It was also in the way he moved. Tycho eased through a room like a breeze across a field. He was around you; you raised your face to allow the wind to sweep close, and then he was gone, around a table, talking to someone else. He was here and there, here and gone, coming and going, a smile for you, a smile for someone else, and from watching him in the kitchen, in the dining hall, amongst crowds, I think what made him so sought after was that people felt a need to be alone with him, to possess him unreservedly, if only for a few short moments.

I have spoken, in the years since he left, to many people about Tycho. I asked the women why they chased him, why they desired him when he was unabashedly a scamp who was sleeping with every woman in the castle. I asked other of our friends why it felt such a privilege to be alone with him, and I think we all knew, unconsciously, that the road was not yet done with Tycho and that he had only been given to us for a short time.

Ahab has spoken to me of a Greek historian named Herodotus and of his fascination with a people named the Scythians, who lived around the Black Sea. Ahab thought that Tycho resembled these people, who did not live in cities or settle farms, but rather followed their herds of cattle across endless prairies, riding on wagons, carrying their tents with them. The Greek word for this way of life was aporia – to be a nomad, to be without a home, to be inaccessible to others.

I have been a child of the road. I lived that life for three years, and Ahab, with his delight in things ancient, things intellectual, did not grasp the fundamental difference between Tycho and the Scythians. To be a Scythian, I imagine, was to carry your life with you – your family, your belongings, your past, your history. But Tycho was a single boy, an orphan, alone upon a road.

The road forces you to decide if your destination is worth the hardship – making this decision is the traveler’s burden. But Tycho was more than a traveler. He was a wanderer who did not even have a destination. I think it was this sadness which many of us saw in the boy beneath the charm and the winning smile. We saw the sadness of a soul which would forever be in transit, which would never know a home, and which would forever be apart.

Close Your Eyes CoverBlurb:

Set in early 1400s Europe, Close Your Eyes is a sincere yet light-hearted and lustful ode to love. As Samuel, the court jester, struggles to describe why his friends, Agnieszka, the cook, and Tycho, the storyteller, fled the King of Gora’s service, he learns that love was the beating heart behind everything that happened in the castle. 

He learns as well that more ghosts than he knew of walked the midnight halls and that the spirit of Jeanne d’Arc haunted his friend and once slid into bed with Tycho, daring him to leave – to take to the cold roads of Europe, where he had once wandered orphaned and alone, and find his destiny there.

Buy Links:

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4DJN6g 

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09NRYXDM9

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09NRYXDM9

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Close-Your-Eyes-Fairy-Tale/dp/B09NRK3ZQH

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Close-Your-Eyes-Fairy-Tale/dp/B09NRK3ZQH

Chris Tomasini

Author Bio:

Chris Tomasini lives in Ontario, Canada. He has studied creative writing via Humber College’s “Correspondence Program in Creative Writing” and through the University of Toronto School of Continuing Studies. 

In the 1990s, Chris taught English as a Second Language and had stops in England, Poland, and Japan.

Since 2000, Chris has worked in bookstores, publishing, and libraries.

Chris is married with two children and can often be found (though not very easily) on a bicycle on country roads in central Ontario.

Social Media Links:

Website: http://www.christomasini.ca/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/chrisfindsthelight/

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@chrisfindsthelight

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/chris-tomasini

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B019NO9NO2

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14814659.Chris_Tomasini

Guest Post: Excerpt from “The King’s Inquisitor” by Tonya Ulynn Brown

The King's Inquisitor Tour BannerToday, I welcome Tonya Ulynn Brown to my blog to share an excerpt from her latest historical fiction novel, “The King’s Inquisitor.” I want to thank The Coffee Pot Book Club and Tonya Ulynn Brown for allowing me to be part of this blog tour. 

Sheepshearer held up his hand to silence the belligerent man. The king adjusted his seat but did not speak. Instead, Sheepshearer asked, “Where is this mark ye have found?” 

The offended man jerked the woman by the arm and pulled her hair up to expose her neck. “There,” he pointed with a stubby finger. James and I both leaned closer to get a better look at the mark. Sheepshearer stepped closer, taking out a small lens and holding it in front of his eye. He didn’t speak for a moment, then pulled a small leather pouch from inside his coat and walked to the table where we sat.  

I stared in fascination. I had never seen a witch pricker do his work. I admit that was one of the reasons I had agreed to accompany James this evening. I was intrigued at the method of determining who was a witch and who wasn’t.  

The witch pricker removed his coat, then untied a thin strap and unrolled the pouch. Inside were all manner of instruments. Needles of various lengths, pointed rods, some straight and some curved, several surgeon’s lancets with differing widths, a crude sort of pinching device, and a small rod with a severe hook on the end. I shivered as he selected his instrument of choice, then turned and faced the woman. 

“It looks like a lover’s mark to me,” I whispered to James. I eyed him to see if he understood my meaning. He was a recently married man, after all, but the queen was the only woman he had been with in his twenty-four years. She had performed her duty, but whether it had been with enjoyment was not something he had shared with even me.

“Perhaps,” he finally said. Yet, he did not move to stop Sheepshearer. I, on the other hand, shifted in my seat. I might have put a lover’s mark or two on a woman. I shuddered at the thought that any woman I had been with would be subjected to such treatment. Still, any woman worth her weight in ale would never allow a bruise to be discovered. Apparently, Geillis Duncan had no choice.  

He had chosen a straight blade. The likes of which a man would use to shave the hair from his face. Surely, he did not intend to filet her alive?

At the sight of the chosen instrument, Geillis, too, reacted. She tried to jerk her arm away from Seton, but he held fast. Curling her toes in an attempt to dig her bare feet into the wooden floor, she pushed against Seton, bowing her back and poking a boney elbow into his side. He almost lost hold of her until Sheepshearer motioned for Marley, who up until now had remained uninvolved in the shadows, to come forth and help restrain her.  

Once subdued, the woman stiffened her body, straight as a branding rod. There was no pleading, no entreating for mercy, nor cry of innocence. She simply stood, looking straight ahead. The darkness that had overshadowed her face earlier seemed to have settled into a permanent mien.   

The_Kings_Inquisitor_Book CoverBlurb

The queen of Scotland is dead. Her almoner’s son, William Broune, has fulfilled his father’s wish that he should serve the king, James VI, at court. William finds himself caught between loyalty to the king or loyalty to his conscience. As William is forced to serve as the king’s inquisitor in the North Berwick witch trials, he must make a decision. Will he do what the king asks and earn the wife, title, and prestige he has always desired, or will he let a bold Scottish lass influence him to follow his heart and do the right thing?

If William doesn’t make the right choice, he may be among the accused.

Trigger warnings: Some violent imagery.

Buy Links

This book is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4NjWD

Amazon UK: https://tinyurl.com/TheKingsInquisitorAmazonUK

Amazon US: https://tinyurl.com/TheKingsInquisitorAmazonUS

Amazon CA: https://tinyurl.com/TheKingsInquisitorAmazonCA

Amazon AU: https://tinyurl.com/TheKingsInquisitorAmazonAU

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kings-inquisitor-tonya-ulynn-brown/1141654694

Tonya_Ulynn_Brown PicAuthor Bio  

Tonya Ulynn Brown

Tonya Ulynn Brown is an elementary school teacher. She holds a Master’s degree in Teaching and uses her love of history and reading to encourage the same love in her students. Tonya finds inspiration in the historical figures she has studied, and in the places, she has traveled. Her interest in medieval and early modern British history influences her writing. She resides in rural southeastern Ohio, USA, with her husband, Stephen, two boys, Garren and Gabriel, and a very naughty Springer Spaniel. 

Social Media Links:

Website: http://www.tonyaubrown.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/mrsbrownee2u

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tonyaubrown

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/tonya-littell-brown-4b58b0b1/

Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/tonyaubrown

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/tonyaulynnbrown

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tonya-ulynn-brown

Amazon Author Page: https://tinyurl.com/AmazonAuthorTonyaUlynnBrown

Goodreads: https://tinyurl.com/GoodReadsAuthorTonyaUlynnBrown

Guest Post: Excerpt from “Raleigh: Tudor Adventurer by Tony Riches”

Raleigh Tudor Adventurer Tour BannerToday, it is my pleasure to welcome back to the blog Tony Riches to share an excerpt from his latest Elizabethan novel, “Raleigh: Tudor Adventurer. I want to thank Tony Riches and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this tour. 

Excerpt

I’d never seen the presence chamber so crowded. The queen sat on her gilded throne, flanked on both sides by her ladies in their best gowns. Every space was filled with courtiers, and I was pleased to see all the members of the Privy Council, including Lord Burghley and my nemesis, Sir Christopher Hatton.

There were gasps and muttered comments as we entered. I’d been right. Her Majesty’s newest subjects were the talk of London, and I had become the center of attention. I strode forwards and bowed, relishing the moment.

‘Your Majesty, I present Manteo and Wanchese, from the New World, now claimed as the empire of Virginia.’

Although we’d provided them with warmer clothing, as they suffered with the cold of London in autumn, they were bare-chested and bare-footed, showing their tattooed bodies. With iridescent feathers in their plaited hair, they dressed in loincloths, with black furs draped over their shoulders, increasing their wild appearance.

As prepared in our rehearsal at Durham House, they marched confidently through the crowded chamber and fell to their knees before the queen. Manteo greeted her in his own language, then Wanchese opened a small box containing the bracelet of pearls.

The queen stared at her visitors with open curiosity, then took the pearl bracelet and turned to me. ‘We wish to thank them. Do they understand any English?’

‘These men are chieftains of their people, and the bracelets are a gift from their queen, Your Majesty. Chief Manteo is learning a little English, and Master Thomas Harriot is learning what he can of their language.’

‘Tell Master Harriot to explain that we thank their queen for her gift, and commend their bravery in making the journey to England.’ She turned the pearl bracelet in the light and looked up at me. ‘Did your men discover gold or jewels?’

‘What they found is worth more than gold or jewels, Your Majesty.’ I paused and looked around the chamber, aware of my new status. ‘They discovered rich, fertile land, stretching as far as they could see, and claimed it in the gracious name of Your Majesty.’ I pointed to Manteo and Wanchese. ‘These men made my captains most welcome, and will help us understand the opportunities of the country of Virginia for the benefit of your colonists.’

* * *

The first of my rewards proved a surprise. I’d been appointed the junior Member of Parliament for Devon. Parliament had not met for twelve years, and my tax on broadcloth exports was unpopular with influential wool merchants in Exeter, so my new appointment was unexpected.

Sir Francis Walsingham was quick to explain. ‘This is the fifth meeting of the queen’s reign, which the Privy Council has recommended to discuss national security.’

‘There is talk at court that the Throckmorton Plot is only part of a wider Catholic conspiracy.’

Sir Francis nodded. ‘My informers on the Continent discovered plans for an invasion of England led by Henry, Duke of Guise, financed by the Spanish and the Vatican.’ He frowned. ‘We have to do whatever we can to prevent a simultaneous revolt of English Catholics.’

‘Do you think they might try?’ With a jolt, I realized how quickly everything I’d built up could vanish, like a morning mist.

‘You’ve seen the seditious pamphlet they call Leicester’s Commonwealth?’

‘I have, but no one, apart perhaps from the Earl of Leicester, takes it too seriously—’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Master Raleigh. The Catholic faction draws encouragement from such works, and there are thousands of copies in circulation on the Continent. The pamphlet is a threat to our queen. We mustn’t forget Prince William of Orange was murdered by a man he trusted, a Catholic named Balthasar Gérard, who used a pistol at close range.’ Sir Francis shook his head. ‘He was assassinated at dinner in his own house, a reminder why we have to be prepared for anything.’

‘What do you wish me to do?’

‘A new act is to be put before Parliament, for the safety of the queen, to prevent any open invasion or rebellion, or any attempt to injure Her Majesty. Any person found guilty will be disbarred from inheriting the throne, and sentenced to death for treason.’

‘Including the queen’s cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots?’

He nodded. ‘Catholic sympathizers in Parliament will do all they can to delay, so use your influence to ensure the act is passed.’

I looked at him in surprise. I had no experience of politics or as a Member of Parliament and hadn’t seen myself as capable of political influence. Sir Francis Walsingham sat like a spider in the complex web of court, and his words proved that, at last, I’d achieved my ambition.

Raleigh coverRaleigh – Tudor Adventurer

(The Elizabethan Series, Book 3)

By Tony Riches

Blurb

Tudor adventurer, courtier, explorer, and poet Sir Walter Raleigh has been called the last true Elizabethan.

He didn’t dance or joust, didn’t come from a noble family, or marry into one. So how did an impoverished law student become a favorite of the queen and Captain of the Guard?

The story, which began with the best-selling Tudor trilogy, follows Walter Raleigh from his first days at the Elizabethan Court to the end of the Tudor dynasty.

Buy Links:

Available on #KindleUnlimited.

Universal Link: mybook. to/Raleigh

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09Z98J183

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09Z98J183

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09Z98J183

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B09Z98J183

Tony Riches Author (1)Author Bio:

Tony Riches

Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales, and is a specialist in the lives of the Tudors. He also runs the popular Stories of the Tudors Podcast’ podcast and posts book reviews and guest posts at his blog, The Writing Desk. For more information, visit his website tonyriches.com and find him on Facebook and Twitter @tonyriches.

Social Media Links:

Blog: https://tonyriches.blogspot.com/

Website: https://www.tonyriches.com/

Podcast: https://tonyriches.podbean.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tonyriches

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tonyriches.author

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tonyriches.author/

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/tonyriches

Guest Post: Excerpt from “The Usurper King: The Plantagenet Legacy Book 3” by Mercedes Rochelle

The Usurper King Tour BannerToday, I am pleased to welcome Mercedes Rochelle to my blog to share an excerpt from her book “The Usurper King: The Plantagenet Legacy Book 3”. This passage is when Prince Hal has to tell Queen Isabella about Richard’s death. I would like to thank Mercedes Rochelle and The Coffee Pot Book Club for inviting me to partake in this blog tour. 

Excerpt

Isabella of Valois was probably the only person in England who did not know about Richard’s funeral. She was fourteen now and kept in close confinement at Havering-atte-Bower, where she was taken after the failed rebellion. Her prison was an old royal palace to the northeast of London, modest but comfortable. She knew Richard’s life was in danger and was worried sick about him. Alas, no matter how much she cried and demanded to visit her husband, she was politely refused. So she was relieved when the Prince of Wales was announced, for of all King Henry’s children he was closest to her in age and they had gotten along well before he went to Ireland. Before her life fell apart.

Hal came in by himself and knelt before her—a gesture sorely lacking these many months. He had grown much taller since she last saw him, and his shoulders had filled out from training. Unsurprisingly, his stiff posture had not relaxed, nor had his eyes softened; they were guarded as usual. 

Blinking back tears, she held out her hands. “You are a welcome sight, my lord. Thank you for visiting me.”

Slowly he stood and together they walked over to a window seat. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she smiled self-consciously. It had been so long since she had a visitor, she was not dressed like a princess. Hal didn’t seem to care. 

“Do you have everything you need?” he said, trying to find a good place to start a conversation.

Isabella nodded. She knew that’s not why he was here. “I had hoped to see my husband,” she said softly. She knew this was none of his doing, but she had to make her feelings known to somebody.

At least Hal had the grace to look embarrassed. “I loved King Richard like a father,” he said earnestly, trying to take her hand. “He was very good to me.”

“Loved?” Her eyes narrowed. “You love him no longer?”

He sighed. There was no easy way to say this. “My lady, there is something I must tell you.”

She pulled her hand away, panic spreading over her face. “What has happened to him?”

As he struggled to find the words, Isabella broke into tears. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She covered her face with her hands. “My poor Richard. How could you do this to him?”

Stricken, Hal fell to his knees. “I swear to you, I am overcome with anguish. I didn’t even know where he was kept.”

Lowering her hands, she looked at him doubtfully. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

Hal shook his head. “I am not privy to my father’s decisions.”

“How can that be?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. “It seems my father trusts no one, except for the archbishop. And perhaps his inner circle. We were never close.”

She was not convinced. However, there was no point in arguing. “How did Richard die?” Her voice was so soft he barely heard her. 

“It is said that after the rebellion, he stopped eating. This went on for almost two weeks when they sent a confessor to reason with him. Relenting, he tried to eat but by then he was unable to swallow. Sadly, he expired shortly thereafter.”

“Dear God, he starved to death?”

“That is what I am told.” This sounded weak, even to him. What could he do? Richard’s death was shrouded in mystery. 

“Do you believe this?” Isabella’s voice was harsh. 

“Of course I do.” Hal tried to sound sincere. 

“I expect to attend his funeral,” she said firmly. Once again, he hesitated and she couldn’t restrain her tears. “You wouldn’t stop me, would you?”

Hal had to fight back his rage at his father. He was furious to discover Isabella hadn’t been told about the funeral and insisted he be the one to break the tidings to her. Now he regretted it. 

“It’s too late, Isabella. The king thought it best for you not to attend.”

“Not to attend?” Her voice rose to a shriek. 

Hal stood, stepping back. “He sent me to tell you. He thought it would be best for you to hear from my lips.” 

Did she even heed him? Turning away, she threw herself onto the cushion, crying uncontrollably. Looking around the room, Hal went over to a sideboard and poured a cup of water. He knelt by her side, holding it out.

“Here, drink this.”

Hiccoughing, she sat obediently, accepting the water. 

“I promise you, I will do my best to see you are well taken care of,” he said.

She stopped drinking. “What does it matter? I’ve lost everything I care about.”

Defeated, Hal got up to leave.

“Wait.” 

He stopped, his back to her.

“When?”

He was hoping she wouldn’t ask. Turning, Hal wiped his hands on his sides. “The funeral was the twelfth of March.” 

“That was months ago!” 

He waited for her to start wailing again and she surprised him by her restraint. “I see how it is,” she said sadly. “Once again I am a pawn in your game. I am not supposed to have feelings. I must do what I am told for I have no choice.”

She was breaking his heart. “My dear friend, you are not the only one.”

Henry’s response gave her pause. She cocked her head, considering him for a moment. “I am sorry we are enemies,” she said. “In another world we might have been friends. Please, Hal. Help me go home.”

The Usurper King cover(Blurb)

From Outlaw to Usurper, Henry Bolingbroke fought one rebellion after another.

First, he led his uprising. Gathering support the day he returned from exile, Henry marched across the country and vanquished the forsaken Richard II. Little did he realize that his problems were only just beginning. How does a usurper prove his legitimacy? What to do with the deposed king? Only three months after he took the crown, Henry IV had to face a rebellion led by Richard’s disgruntled favorites. Worse yet, he was harassed by rumors of Richard’s return to claim the throne. His supporters were turning against him. How to control the overweening Percies, who were already demanding more than he could give? What to do with the rebellious Welsh? After only three years, the horrific Battle of Shrewsbury nearly cost him the throne—and his life. It didn’t take long for Henry to discover that that having the kingship was much less rewarding than striving for it.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B08YLFMVPZ

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08YLFMVPZ

Mercedes RochelleAuthor Bio:

Mercedes Rochelle

Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. Her first four books cover eleventh-century Britain and events surrounding the Norman Conquest of England. The next series is called The Plantagenet Legacy about the struggles and abdication of Richard II, leading to the troubled reigns of the Lancastrian Kings. She also writes a blog: HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story. Born in St. Louis, MO, she received her BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St. Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended! Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.

Social Media Links:

Website: https://mercedesrochelle.com/

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Guest Post: “Forsaking All Other” Excerpt by Catherine Meyrick

Forsaking All Other. Tour BannerpngToday, it is my pleasure to welcome Catherine Meyrick to my blog to share an excerpt from her novel, “Forsaking All Other”. I would like to thank Catherine Meyrick and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to take part in this blog tour. 

Excerpt

Wyard studied Lucy Torrington. Was this the manner of woman his mother thought would suit him best? She was well-dowered and, no doubt, malleable. But she was not to his taste, insipid was probably the best way to describe her. It had been a mistake to allow Eloise to talk him into coming here, he should have gone straight to Bucklings Hall.

He glanced at Bess Stoughton. Of all the women present she was the most appealing. Despite his initial misgivings, she seemed honest and sensible. She was not predatory or flirtatious, nothing like that bold piece who had tried to get him to dance last night. Perhaps Bess Stoughton’s relationship with that serving man was some sort of protection—life could be difficult for a widow. And she looked at him with neither pity nor revulsion.

‘You know Mistress Torrington well?’

‘As well as any. Lucy is a good and gentle girl who deserves to be treated with kindness and respect.’

‘Who does not?’

Her eyelashes fluttered as if surprised at his comment. ‘Lucy would bloom best married to someone who loved her.’

‘Few have that blessing. Kindness and respect are the best that most of us can hope for.’

She bit her lip, frowning. ‘Are you considering marrying Lucy?’

Wyard shrugged, ‘She is one of a number of young women my mother thinks would make a suitable bride.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘It may be more accurate to say would make a suitable good-daughter.’

‘Do you have a list of requirements—number of hands high, girth, teeth, temperament? A list such as you would take to a horse market.’

It sounded ridiculous the way she described it. He gave a sudden bark of laughter. ‘In truth, I have no list.’

‘Do you always do as your mother wishes?’

‘Rarely, but it is probably time I married and she fears that, left to my own devices, I will either never marry or choose someone highly unsuitable.’

‘Who would be unsuitable?’

‘From my mother’s position, someone without money or connections.’

‘And from your own?’

‘I have not thought so far.’ If you could not marry the best, the most loving woman you had ever met, it really did not matter.

‘Well you should. Can you imagine what it is like for a woman married to a man who is forcing himself to his duty, who does not like her company or her person, who married her simply because his mother or his father told him to?’

He had never thought of it from a woman’s point of view. ‘Was your own marriage like that?’

‘You lack courtesy, Master Wyard.’

‘But you sound as if you speak from experience.’

‘That is none of your business,’ she snapped, colour flooding her cheeks. ‘If I were a man, if I had your freedom, I would do exactly as I pleased. I would never accept a bride who had been bundled up for me by my mother.’ She glared at him, ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’ She swept away towards the group of singers, her back straight and her head held high.

Wyard wanted to stop her, to explain it was never so easy. He watched her go, wondering why he had never imagined he could truly do as he wished.

Forsaking All Other by Catherine Meyrick(Blurb)

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.

 

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Catherine MeyrickAuthor Bio:

Catherine Meyrick

Catherine Meyrick is a writer of historical fiction with a particular love of Elizabethan England. Her stories weave fictional characters into the gaps within the historical record – tales of ordinary people who are very much men and women of their time, yet in so many ways are like us today. These are people with the same hopes and longings as we have to find both love and their own place in a troubled world.

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.

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