COVER REVEAL - HISTORICAL - A STRANGER & TERRIBLE WONDER by Nichole Louise

A Strange & Terrible Wonder

by Nichole Louise

Publication date: August 18th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical

BLURB

Eleanor Dare, daughter of Roanoke’s Governor John White, has no choice but to accompany her overly ambitious husband Ananias and her idealist, yet inexperienced father to England’s new colony. Manteo of Croatoan wants nothing more than to cast off his association with the English and return home. Haunted by memories of an unexplainable event, he sets out to find the truth about what was brought to Roanoke by the English two years before as a weapon against the Spanish.

Based on real people who vanished from history, Eleanor and Manteo form a taboo friendship as they work against unseen forces to end the violent and otherworldly attacks upon the settlement. In the midst of this survival scenario, both Eleanor and Manteo—once powerless and marginalized in England, emerge as unlikely leaders of the ravaged colony.

Blending 16th century science, occult, and the impacts of early colonialism, A Strange and Terrible Wonder reimagines what became of the Lost Colony.

 

Author Info

Nichole Louise is a speculative historical fiction writer and book reviewer (NicholeLouise.com). Raven Rock (2023), a prequel to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, was recognized by Writer’s Digest, the Historical Fiction Company, and the CIBAs. Her articles and book reviews have appeared in the Journal of the American Revolution. Her second title, A Strange and Terrible Wonder (2026) is a historical folk horror tale exploring the Lost Colony of Roanoke. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, gaming, and volunteering at Philadelphia Animal Welfare Society.

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SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL MYSTERY - THE BEGRAVIA PHANTOM (The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries, #1) by Ellis Blackcwood

Victorian mystery fiction as you’ve never read it before 

– from well below stairs.

The Belgravia Phantom
The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries, #1
by Ellis Blackwood
Genre: Historical Victorian Mystery

How do you prove you didn’t scare Lady Pemberton to death with a phantom?

Such is Kate Quill’s quandary. The faked séance went horribly wrong, and now Inspector Hartwell of Scotland Yard has her in his sights.

Kate’s poor. Seamstress poor. But what she lacks in the pocket, she makes up for in allies.

There are her siblings. Daisy, the actress. Ned and Vi… There’s no way around this – they’re petty thieves.
There’s Mrs McGinty, their formidable Irish landlady. There are Vi’s Whitechapel Worthies, Little Till (adorable) and the Twins (quite odd).

And there is Frederick Page, former gentleman’s gentleman, chess aficionado, lover of puzzles, and now reluctant partner in an unlikely Victorian detective duo. Please, do not refer to him as Freddie, or he’ll be grasping for the smelling salts.

Can this glorious rabble somehow band together to investigate all those lofty lords and ladies who attended the séance?

And discover who really murdered Lady Dorothea Pemberton?

The Belgravia Phantom is the first in a series of irresistible Victorian murder mysteries from the acclaimed author of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries. Expect fiendish whodunits, singular characters and vivid history. Step into London’s gaslit and swirling pea-soupers, and hear those click-clack footsteps approach...

**New Release on July 31!**

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Ned and Vi belong to the evening, when the naphtha lamps of the costermongers’ stalls hiss and flare, and all between is subsumed in shadow. When the streets still throng with shoppers, and the trams and cabs and omnibuses are lit by oil - white light, oncoming; red light, receding - and Whitechapel Road feels interesting to know. When the cries of the chestnut roasters, the fried-fish sellers and the pie-men create a cacophony of distraction. 

This is when they thrive.

They have their stomachs set on the hawker of baked potatoes, with his lovingly polished can on four legs, its brass plaque proclaiming: “Old Original Baked Potatoes”. The old man who ran the stand for many a year lately died; his errant son has the business now, and shows rather less aptitude for vigilance.

While Ned lurks in the background, Vi sidles up. Her head tilts this way and that, apparently undecided. She plays with an unseen coin in her hand. The bait.

Glowing charcoal lights the lad’s face orange. He narrows eyes at her. Steam rises from his burner, and the earthy aroma of the treasure within.

“What can I have for a ha’penny?” she asks. It is all she could spare, but it should suffice if she plays it right.

He snorts. “On your way, missy. My prices start at a penny and no less.”

She glances up and down the road, where the sellers either side, of ham sandwiches, hot green peas and eels, have patrons queueing.

He kicks a heel. It has not been easy, taking over his father’s trade. The baker who roasts his hundredweights recently upped his fee, and the locals whose custom the old man relied upon have found new flavours elsewhere. Many deserted him for that other potato hawker in Spitalfields.

As his gaze follows Vi’s, he licks his lips. “S’pose I might be able to find a small one.”

He opens the wide half-lid, peers inside debating, and picks out the smallest spud he can find.

“Butter and salt?” she asks innocently.

“For a ha’penny? Don’t push yer luck.”

As he hands over the plain fare, she fumbles the coin. The tiniest flick of her thumb sends it skittering into a gutter, his attention trapped on its progress. By the time he has retrieved it, mumbling sourly, Ned has pounced and vanished, melting into the crowd. He moves slickly for a big lad, even one cradling stolen potatoes in an untucked shirt.

“Sorry. Butterfingers.” Vi smiles, savouring the spud’s warmth as she heads home.

Ellis Blackwood writes very British historical mysteries: fiendish whodunits packed with singular characters, vivid period detail and plenty of wit. His completed nine-book Samuel Pepys Mysteries series is set in 17th century London. He is currently working on the Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries, featuring a found family of East End misfits investigating the crimes of the upper classes who cast them out.

A former journalist, Ellis wrote features for the UK's most popular national newspapers and magazines before escaping to Cornwall with his wife, two daughters and Spike the dog. He holds an MA in Comedy Writing, which explains a lot.

He grew up on The Hardy Boys and Three Investigators, graduated to Sherlock Holmes, and has never quite recovered from Columbo. He prefers writing female sleuths, with the odd chap thrown in, and is firmly convinced that historical settings are simply more fascinating.

"Absolutely fabulous, reek of authenticity, full of intrigue and fun" – Amazon review of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries

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Presented by

BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL ROMANCE - HEARTH OR HEART (Bowman Girls, #1) by Emily Lane

Hearth or Heart

The Bowman Girls, #1

by Emily Lane

Publication date: July 13th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance, Romance

BLURB

After her father dies, Effie Bowman and her eight sisters are left penniless, homeless, and alone. Salvation comes in the form of the new custodian of the estate, Mr Thornaby. But the more she learns of Mr Thornaby, the more she realises he needs her discretion as much as she needs his security.

In her efforts to moderate the wild Mr Thornaby, she recruits the unlikely aid of ton society’s most determined widower, Sir John Callander.

As the season progresses and Effie pulls Sir John deeper into her desperate schemes to moderate Mr Thornaby, both are forced to wonder if Effie is attempting to tame the wrong gentleman.

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EXCERPT

Of all the consequences to befall a clutch of daughters belonging to an entailed estate, this one was quite outside the common.

‘£20 a month in pin money?!’ cried Effie.

‘Each.’

Mrs Thornaby, ensconced in a cream morning gown of twilled French silk that seemed to defy her age, smiled most becomingly upon her niece.

‘That is just for your frills and affects and whatever other small accoutrements you young girls require these days,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘Your dresses, gowns, and hats, of course, can be drawn against my son’s account.’

‘Ma’am, I could never.’

‘Oh, yes, you could,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘That boy has too much money.’

Effie’s eyes flashed, and she yanked her gaze down.

Grimacing, Mrs Thornaby said, ‘So, your mother has told you a little of it, I collect.’

‘She has, ma’am,’ Effie admitted.

Mrs Thornaby looked her up and down.

‘Your mother tells me you are an exceptionally good manager.’

Now the talk of money had faded, Effie’s calm, dark eyes levelled upon Mrs Thornaby once more.

‘Yes, ma’am, it’s true.’

‘I suppose with eight sisters, borne of a mother of my sister’s temperament, you, as the eldest, should rather be forced into such a role, even if it was not of your disposition.’

A smirk crossed Effie’s features as she declared, ‘That much is true, to be sure.’

‘But men and boys are a different matter indeed.’

Effie’s hands, trying to thread a needle, paused. She set her embroidery box down and took up her cup of tea.

‘I have no brothers.’

‘Clearly,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘And husbands? What thoughts have you on them?’

‘Not so many, ma’am. I can scarcely imagine having one, never mind plural!’

Mrs Thornaby did not laugh. Instead she set down her teacup with a clatter.

‘As you may have heard, my son returned last night from Brighton.’ She paused. ‘My son is… a particular kind of fellow.’

Effie’s brow arched. Having heard—during the small hours of the morning—this particular kind of fellow stumble through the upstairs hallway singing about the roast beef of Great Britain, she was inclined to agree with a great many insinuations that issued from that vague sobriquet.

‘Indeed?’

‘He is now, of course, the custodian of your late father’s estate—by some contortion of family lines.’

Society in the northeast of England was sparse. Somehow, Mrs Thornaby’s son had ended up taking title to the entail of her sister’s late husband’s estate.

‘Yes.’

‘It is all that is natural, then,’ Mrs Thornaby went on. ‘That my son should marry you, to maintain my sister’s place at Barraton.’

What little of the sisterly rivalry that had been passed on to Effie permitted her to regard this piece of charity with deep suspicion. Her eyes cinched a touch.

‘With respect, ma’am, I fail to see why Mr Thornaby should want to marry me.’

‘I do not.’

Blushing, Effie picked up her embroidery box again. ‘I mean, ma’am, that Mr Thornaby must have a great many… um, admirers. I cannot see that he will mark me with any distinction.’

‘He will not, but I shall tell him he is to marry you. Likely, the novelty of it will tickle him, and he will entertain it for a while. Thereafter, it is your duty to… charm him.’

Effie touched her nose. She looked around the cavernous room.

It was an early, grey morning, but the shiny mahogany and silk furniture, glossy wallpapered walls, and great sash windows shone under the blaze of three gilded hearths.

‘Oh. I see.’

Mrs Thornaby’s eyes followed Effie’s, and she grimaced.

‘We are family, Miss Bowman. Now more than we ever were. My son represents Barraton. He is Barraton.’

Effie’s jaw quirked.

‘To put things plainly, my dear, it has lately come to my attention that my son is very much in need of the companionship, temperance, and governance that a wife must, to some unions, bring.’

Mrs Thornaby paused.

‘Now, am I saying that my son is bereft of the faculties required in choosing or acquiring a wife? I am not. But one cannot but put more faith in one’s own family, especially a family so interconnected.’

Effie bowed her head. ‘It would be in my best interests, indeed, to… govern Mr Thornaby—as a wife or no.’

‘But as a wife especially,’ Mrs Thornaby reiterated.

 

Author Bio:

Emily Lane writes sweet, clean Regency Romance perfect for fans of Georgette Heyer, Sophia Holloway, and Sophie Irwin. Hearth or Heart, her debut, launches July 13th. By day, Emily is a Management Consultant in the Lifesciences industry - she hopes her novels have just as much chemistry as her job! She lives in Thailand, which would be inconvenient but for the hot weather.

The Bowman Girls is Emily's first Regency romance series, with 3 books currently planned:

Hearth or Heart (out now)

Past or Promise (Late 2026)

Duty or Devotion (Late 2026)

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Presented by

SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - CRIME DRAMA - SAN QUENTIN EXODUS by Bill Smoot

What happens when a literature teacher channels her inner Nancy Drew to break an inmate out of America’s most famous prison?

San Quentin Exodus
by Bill Smoot
Genre: Historical Literary Fiction, Crime Drama

James, a still-water-runs-deep boy, struggles to navigate the rough streets of Oakland, California, in the 80s. His only friend is a pit bull he rescues from dog fighting. On the cusp of college, James commits a crime that results in a prison term of thirty to life.

Allison, a young Indiana girl obsessed with Nancy Drew novels, vows that her life’s mission will be to solve mysteries and help people. Introverted yet daring, Allison moves to Berkeley to teach prep school and volunteers as a tutor at San Quentin. She meets James when he is approaching fifty, learns his story, and after his parole denial, channels Nancy Drew to plan his improbable escape.

San Quentin Exodux is a braided novel about two people whose lives cross in a quest to reset an ill-fated life. It is a story infused with misfortune and pain, but also with hope and a fierce humanity.

 

“San Quentin Exodus, Bill Smoot’s deeply compelling novel, introduces readers to the world of prison but really to the much bigger world of his characters’ lives, inviting us to follow the trajectory of each as it unfolds with surprise and mystery, love and loss. Like all good literature, San Quentin Exodus ultimately asks us to reconsider everything we believe—or think we believe. Smoot is the consummate storyteller: restrained, wise, compassionate.”
—Lori Ostlund, author of Are You Happy?

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Prologue

 

Wings

In one week Allison Anderson will commit her first felony: section 4550 of the California Penal Code, helping someone escape from a state prison. Almost everyone who knows her would be stunned with disbelief. For her, it’s the ultimate realization of who she is.

One autumn evening six years ago, Allison entered San Quentin Prison as a volunteer tutor. Walking across the prison grounds, she gazed at the forty-foot walls, the spirals of razor-

wire, and the imposing guard towers. She wondered how an inmate might escape. It was her first time in a prison, and the question engaged her problem-solving mind. She did not know

that one day she would devise an escape plan. She did not know that she would put that plan into action. At the time, it was just a thought experiment, a challenge for a woman whose childhood heroine was Nancy Drew, girl sleuth.

Allison’s most vivid memory of entering the prison that evening was the birds. When she and her group rounded the hospital building and walked across the yard, she saw geese and gulls scratching the ground on the baseball field. It was mere minutes before the October sun would set, and their white feathers glowed like gold. A single goose stretched his neck, dipped his thick body, and with a push from his feet and a flapping of his great wings, he rose from the ground and glided across the field, then soared over the wall. Other geese did the same, their necks piercing the air like arrows. Sea gulls followed. The walls and guard towers were mere landmarks below them, like trees or outcroppings of rock, obstacles they cleared with ease. They didn’t need an escape plan. They had wings.

 

The First Day and the Last

They say that the two days of prison an inmate remembers most vividly are his first and his last. Everything in between is a blur. James’ first day was 30 years ago. His last—maybe—will be in one week. If Hemingway’s character could walk away from war, James can declare his separate peace from prison. It’s time to move on, regardless of what the parole board has ruled. It’s necessary. An absolute must.

For society, James is a statistic, another Black man languishing in prison, costing the state $75,000 a year. His escape—if it succeeds—will save taxpayers money. For himself, it will be his personal exodus, his promised land of another chance at life. If things go according to plan, no one will know how he did it. He will just disappear, a man become a ghost. Allison is a smart young lady, and he can’t find any flaws in her plan, but he is haunted by that old saying: If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is.

James is filled with yearning and fear. The greater danger is not that he’ll get caught and have time added to his sentence—though that’s a real possibility—but that the hope he’s allowed himself to feel will die. That’s the greater risk. The loss of hope he could not bear.

He lies in his bunk, trying to conjure up positive images. The thought of freedom makes his skin prickle. The shadows of the bars cross his body, spill onto the concrete floor. He listens to the cell block tick with sound, as if the walls are straining to breathe. He imagines a sea gull soaring on the wind.

Bill Smoot grew up in Maysville, Kentucky, and attended Purdue University where he was editor of the campus newspaper, The Purdue Exponent. Fired as editor by the university president, he was reinstated after protest from students and faculty. He went on to graduate school at Northwestern University, where he received a PhD in philosophy. He has taught for four decades at levels ranging from sixth grade to university students. He currently teaches courses at Mount Tamalpais College at San Quentin and the Osher Institute for Lifelong Learning at UC-Berkeley. His essays and short stories have such publications as Ninth Letter, Crab Creek Review. The Nation, Literary Review, Crab Orchard Review, Western Humanities Review, Narrative, and Salon.com. His the author of Conversations with Great Teachers and a novel, Love: A Story. Mr. Smoot currently lives in Berkeley, California, with his dog Artemis. His website is https://billsmoot.net

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL MYSTERY - LADY PETRA AND THE WOLF (Lords Fall First, #2) by Anna Valleria

Lady Petra and the Wolf

Lords Fall First, #2

by Anna Valleria

Publication date: July 2nd 2026

Genres: Adult, Gothic, Historical, Mystery, Romance

BLURB

In Victorian London, Lady Petra, the daughter of the powerful and manipulative Earl of Kemberley, has spent her life as a silent pawn in her father’s political games. While the ton sees a perfectly poised debutante, Petra is secretly a woman of industry who runs a sanctuary for abused servants in a derelict London theatre.

Julian, the Viscount Wolfridge, known to the world as Wolf, is a cynical rake with a secret heart of gold and a childhood spent on the Bristol docks. When he proposes a fake courtship to Petra to stir her indifferent betrothed into action, he doesn’t realize he is stepping into a web of secrets far deeper than his own. As Petra’s world of mystery and Wolf’s path of redemption collide, they must decide if a marriage born of a trap can ever survive the truth.

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EXCERPT

She shut her mouth abruptly, the sparks in her eyes extinguished as she retreated once more into the mask of a composed, distant lady. He despised when this happened, as it did ever so often when he approached her. He lived for the moments he could tease her, to break her composure, to see those eyes light up, even if it was in disdain or scorn.

Wolf knew himself to be an unrepentant rake, undeserving of John’s friendship or loyalty. Despite this self-knowledge, a fierce, uncharacteristic longing arose in him at that moment: he wished for someone to argue so passionately on his behalf, to proclaim him a good man.

Remembering himself, Wolf discarded such a maudlin thought.

“I am not obligated to explain my motivations to you, Lord Wolfridge.” Her tone was meticulously polite, yet beneath the kindness, he detected a veiled reproach that ignited his blood.

“And yet…” he went on as if he had not heard her. “Your white knight is not here. Nor has he been here in a very long time.” In her eyes, a battle of pride, hurt, and anger raged, and for a moment, he nearly regretted his casual cruelty. Yet, there was a purpose behind his malice.

“You more than anyone know he is busy.” Petra spoke quietly, her words clipped. “I have long wondered why you do not share the same sense of industry as Lord John.”

Indolent. The word lurked in their conversation and Wolf again regretted pushing this issue to the surface. A lord does not dirty his hands with work. He takes what he wants and leaves the work to others.

Ignoring his father’s tedious voice, which always stirred a confusing mix of feelings, he redirected his thoughts to his best friend, John Longley. John possessed all the virtues he lacked: he was honorable, kind, and diligent. He would despise him if John weren’t like a brother to him. Why did the notion of Lady Petra marrying John trouble him so much? It was none of his concern.

Yet, he couldn’t let it go.

“Has he not communicated that to you himself, Lady P?” he asked, relishing the way his lips popped on the P. He could swear he almost saw a tick of her jaw at his use of the sobriquet bestowed upon her by the gossip rags.

“As we have established, Lord John is very busy, my lord. He does not have time for frivolous goings on of the ton,” she said more firmly this time.

“And yet, my lady, I can see the small seed of doubt this might cause you.” He watched her jaw almost tick again, and for a brief moment, savored the victory of being right. “Does his absence not pain you, Lady P?” He wasn’t entirely certain of the outcome he wanted from his teasing, but he relished the rare opportunity to be able to read her expression.

Her eyes met his, and he was struck again by the intensity of her gaze as it searched his face. He felt her assessing his intent, seeking any hint of malice or desire to hurt her. In that moment, he understood that such an aim was entirely absent from his heart. Wolf could not quite articulate the purpose of his banter, but an instinct told him Petra and John would not suit. It was patently clear that John possessed not the slightest inkling of the gravity with which Petra had regarded their supposed understanding.

John’s ignorance was not due to neglect; in fact, he was one of the few gentlemen who didn’t seem inclined to constantly leave his wife behind. Rather, he had been distracted by some persistent, unspoken melancholy, as though his mind and heart were fixated entirely on someone or something else. Wolf suspected, however, that the cause of this melancholy was not Lady Petra, given that the look of longing vanished whenever her name was mentioned.

Staring into Petra’s mahogany eyes, a plan came to him. Devious, perhaps, a bit underhanded, but one that would prove to Petra that she and John would not suit.

“Let me court you,” he blurted out.

For once, Lady Petra’s entire face showed what she was thinking as her mouth fell into an almost perfect “O.”

She really was rather adorable. Where did that thought come from? “Adorable” was not in his lexicon. As she began to regain her composure and start to form a reply, Wolf followed his initial, impulsive request before she could respond. “Not a real courtship, mind you, just something to shake Lord John into the parson’s trap. Fearing he might lose you should hasten the nuptials, yes?”

In truth, this ruse would not hasten the betrothal, but help free John, and ultimately free Petra.

Why he wished her to be free, he was not going to examine too closely.

 

Author Info

Anna Valleria is an award-winning historical romance author who believes that everyone deserves to see themselves on the page. Her mission is to write steamy Regency and Victorian stories featuring socially active heroines and devoted heroes that reflect windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors for all readers, including characters of different sizes, backgrounds, abilities, and neurodiversities. Her novel The Baron Takes a Wife was the 2025 winner of the Hearts Through History Romance Through the Ages Contest in the published Georgian/Victorian category.

Currently residing in a beautiful, historic city in the southeastern U.S. with her family and a rescue pup. If she's not writing, she's likely in a coffee shop, walking with her son or dog, or trivia with her team, Stone Cold Jane Austen.

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL - THE SIRENS'S DAUGHTER by Claire Fuge

The Siren’s Daughter

by Claire Fuge

Publication date: June 28th 2026

Genres: Historical

BLURB

1126. The Norman conquest grips Wales. Rebellion stirs. And one woman’s choice could ignite it all.

Nineteen-year-old Angharad, the daughter of a Norman knight and a captive Welsh princess, arrives at Aberteifi Castle for her mother’s arranged marriage. But her new stepfather, the merciless Norman commander of the castle, has other plans. He demands that Angharad expose her mother, Nesta, as a secret rebel or be cast out to die.

To survive, Angharad presses Nesta to reveal the truth about her past: as a Welsh princess stolen by invaders, the victim of wars and betrayals, the seductress of kings and princes. As Nesta’s story unfolds, Angharad discovers a legacy more dangerous than she could have imagined, and must decide whether to protect her mother or herself…

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EXCERPT

In 1066, Duke Guillaume of Normandy, known to the English as William the Conqueror, won the Battle of Hastings and was crowned King of England.

In 1087, the Norman barons began their invasion of Wales.

By 1126, after countless deaths amongst the thorn-infested hills, swamps, and forests, the Normans had managed to subdue all five Welsh kingdoms. More or less.

Chapter 1. HOMECOMING

All Hallows’ Eve, 1126. West Wales

When the castle loomed out of the hailstorm above her, Angharad was careful not to crane her head upwards in awe as her Norman guards did. Her mother had commanded her to uphold her dignity, no matter what, so she kept her back straight and sat rigid in her saddle. Although the steepness of the hill made her feel as if spikes of ice were being hurled down at her by the castle itself, she didn’t cower. She pretended not to hear the guards cursing about having to drag a pair of heathen women out of the Welsh wildlands. She alone would be her mother’s last, unfailing support.

Angharad’s mother, Nesta, rode alongside, her imperious glare fixed on the track ahead, ignoring the water that streamed from her claw-black hair onto her horse’s flank. Even dressed in threadbare travelling clothes, Nesta didn’t look like the prisoner she was, finally recaptured by the Normans after three years of threats, bribes, and attempted ambushes. She didn’t look like a new bride either, although she was bound to marry the Constable of the castle; the contract had been sealed. No. What Nesta looked like, in the arrogant line of her jaw, in the resolute set of her flawless face, was what she was born to be.

Royalty.

During her nineteen years of life, Angharad had been reminded daily that her mother was the last living princess of Deheubarth, once the most renowned of the Welsh kingdoms. Angharad’s bloodline was the only wealth she possessed; she must look the part.

‘Amongst wolves,’ Nesta had said – and many wolves lived in the cloud-draped forests of these lands – ‘you can tell the leader of the pack from the way he draws every eye towards him. My father looked like a king from two arrowshots away, even when he was wounded from the endless wars, even when he was starving and freezing and caked in mud. Whatever fate we meet in this castle, I refuse to grovel before them. Hold your head high, Angharad. We must not disgrace the memory of our glorious ancestors.’

Luckily, deception was one of Angharad’s talents: Nesta had trained her in it since she was a child. Angharad had the skill of appearing haughty whilst at her most powerless.

When Nesta dismounted on the crest of the hill, Angharad copied, stifling a wince at the cramp in her thighs. Sixty miles they had travelled from the open meadows where they had spent their years of sanctuary amongst the Welsh: a journey of three days and nights, riding and walking through a wasteland of swamps and brambles, the Norman guards watchful behind them, bloodhounds running at their flanks to warn them of rebels and outlaws, with every hamlet full of hostile eyes and nothing to buy and almost nothing to steal. But here they were, at last.

 

Author Info

Claire Fuge writes historical fiction inspired by medieval Wales, the Tewdwr family and the women whose lives were shaped by conquest, loyalty and survival. Her work explores the spaces where history leaves silence, and where storytelling can bring forgotten voices back to life.

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL - FOR LIBERTY AND LOVE (Petticoats & Patriots, #1) by Shanna Hatfield

For Liberty and Love

Petticoats & Patriots, #1

by Shanna Hatfield

Publication date: June 16th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical Romance

BLURB

Courage built a nation. Love made it worth fighting for.

Throughout 250 years of American history, a well-loved locket finds its way into the hands of eight spirited heroines—each standing at the crossroads of love and destiny, and each inspired by a true patriot. As it journeys from one heart to the next, these stories unfold with sweet romance, unwavering hope, and a deep love of country, proving that even in uncertain times, love is always worth the risk. Start reading the Petticoats & Patriots series today!

She never intended to become a spy … or fall for one.
Philadelphia, 1776

As whispers of revolution turn swell into a roar for freedom, Lucy Carlson is no longer content to simply watch from behind the counter of her father’s jewelry shop. When a mysterious woman—none other than Martha Washington—leaves behind a locket, Lucy discovers the piece is more than a pretty keepsake. The necklace is a secret vessel for the revolution that carries the promise of love.

Drawn into a dangerous spy ring, Lucy begins crafting coded messages concealed within the locket’s clever design, living a secret double life and risking everything she holds dear in a time of sacrifice and war.

Continental soldier Branch Barton is a man defined by duty. Tasked with rooting out traitors, he moves through the shadowed world of deception and divided loyalties. He’s trained to trust no one, yet he finds himself drawn into a slow-burning connection with the jeweler’s spirited daughter.

But when Lucy begins to suspect Branch may be a Redcoat in disguise, their fragile bond is tested by mistaken identity, growing mistrust, and the threat of betrayal.

In a war where even allies can become enemies, Lucy and Branch must navigate a world of hidden truths and guarded hearts. With the fate of the colonies—and their hearts—hanging in the balance as Lucy delivers a message in enemy territory, will they find the courage to trust each other and choose love?

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EXCERPT

Lucy rushed into the shop and drew up short at the sight of the man who had stood across the street earlier, leaning against her workbench. Despite being so taken aback by his presence, she couldn’t help but admire his muscular form and his handsome features.

When he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely, her gaze fell on the sun-kissed golden hair of his head, traveled down to expressive brows that raised slightly at her perusal, and hesitated at soulful eyes the color of moss caught in a beam of sunshine. His full lips and defined jawline added to his masculine allure. As he straightened and stepped toward her, she had the fleeting thought that he moved with strength and purpose, as though he was in full control of himself and his surroundings.

“Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said in a soft, deep voice that made Lucy’s knees feel unexpectedly weak.

Or perhaps the weakness came from realizing she’d stupidly left the ledger open and out in plain sight for anyone to read the entries. Not that she nor her father had anything to hide, but she didn’t think the tall man with a commanding bearing had any right to know who purchased merchandise in their store.

“May I help you, sir?” Lucy asked in a crisp tone as she strode behind the workbench, closed the ledger, and slid it onto the shelf where her father kept it.

“I came to retrieve something my…” He hesitated just long enough for Lucy to grow suspicious of his intentions and motives. “… aunt left here. A pair of gloves. Aunt Patsy sent me to retrieve them.”

Lucy could have easily handed over the gloves, which were sitting next to her tools just inches from where she stood, but she didn’t. Surely, he had to know she’d seen him lingering across the street, watching for Patsy.

Did the man mistake her for a complete dunce? Or did he think his attractive features and a voice that rumbled like a summer thunderstorm wrapped in velvet would leave her so captivated that she would bow to his every whim and wish?

Affronted, she stiffened and lifted her chin. “I will give … Patsy the gloves when I next see her. If that is not her preference, then please bring a note from her to indicate otherwise.”

“I assure you, Miss Carlson, I mean no harm. My aunt was quite distressed to realize she’d misplaced her gloves. They were a gift from someone quite dear to her heart, and it would be a tragedy for her to lose them.”

“And I assure you, Mister …” She paused, since the man had failed to introduce himself.

“Barton. Burwell Barton at your service,” he said with a bow, then offered her a boyish grin that caused her stomach to flutter. “But my friends call me Branch.”

“Branch,” she repeated, wondering if the name had anything to do with the series of barely noticeable moles on his left cheek that were shaped like a curved tree branch.

As though he could read her thoughts, his fingers brushed over his cheek. “A mark from birth, I suppose. Now, may I please have my aunt’s gloves?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, you may not. I intend to place them into her hands myself, sir. Now, unless I can interest you in a set of buckles or perhaps a snuff box, then I’ll have to ask that you depart. My family is waiting for me.”

“My apologies, Miss Carlson.” He backed toward the door. “My intent was not to insult or upset anyone.”

“Yes, well, I …” When she looked up into his face and caught him smiling, it was as though all the words she’d planned to say fell back down her throat. Mercy, but he was handsome with those sharp cheekbones and a bottom lip that seemed designed for passionate kisses.

Passionate kisses? Heavens above! What was she thinking? For all she knew, this man could be one of the king’s spies.

 

Author Info

USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes sweet romances rich with relatable characters, small town settings that feel like home, humor, and hope.

Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

When this farm girl isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. She also experiments with recipes, snaps photos of her adorable nephew, and caters to the whims of a cranky cat named Drooley.

To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her website http://shannahatfield.com or find out more about her here: linktr.ee/ShannaHatfield

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SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL COZY MYSTERY - THE NIGHTINGALE DETECTIVE AGENCY (Charlotte Van Elsbert Mystery, #1) by Denise Devine

In 1926 St. Paul, a determined female private investigator uncovers deadly secrets behind a debutante’s suspicious death in this twisty Prohibition-era cozy mystery.

The Nightingale Detective Agency
A Charlotte Van Elsberg Mystery, #1
by Denise Devine
Genre: 1920’s Historical Cozy Mystery

St. Paul, 1926—where ambition comes at a cost, especially for a woman.

Charlotte Van Elsberg is determined to become the city’s first female private investigator and help women in need. She’s already landed her first case: a grieving mother who wants answers about her daughter, Eleanor Kimball, a debutante killed in a suspicious car crash. Was it truly an accident or something more sinister? Char intends to find out. There’s just one hitch—Char’s husband.

Will Van Elsberg, a seasoned investigator, knows the job too well. It’s no profession for a petite young lady, and he’s not about to let his wife charge headfirst into danger. Char has other ideas. She agrees to hire bodyguards to satisfy his objections.

However, despite the addition of her “new team,” she soon learns that this job is a lot harder than it appears. Doors slam in her face, alibis don’t add up, and everyone appears to be hiding something. Does she have the grit and determination it takes to solve this case?

The more she digs into Eleanor’s carefully polished life, the more she uncovers the young woman’s secrets. Hidden truths that someone is desperate to keep buried. Evidence worth killing for. Now that Char is asking questions, who is determined to stop her from revealing the missing pieces?

If you love Prohibition-era intrigue and twisty whodunits, dive into this 1920s cozy mystery filled with clever clues, hidden secrets, and a bold female sleuth. Grab your copy today and start sleuthing!

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“Last night went well,” Will said, commenting on my new bodyguards the next morning as we lingered over strong black coffee in the breakfast room. Golden sunlight filtered through the tall windows from the sun streaming between the mature oaks on the edge of our property. “Sean and Alice seemed to get along fine. What do you think?”

Sean’s manners had come across as overly polite compared to his outburst in the den and I suspected that he was playing to an audience of one. The real test would come when Alice was alone with him. Would he be respectful or try to boss her around? I had my doubts about the former.

“I think I need to let them two sort it out and get going on my investigation,” I replied staring into my glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. “The truth is, I don’t know where to start.”

“Get to know your victim,” Will offered. “Learn everything you can about her—where she lived, her friends and relatives, the places she liked to frequent. The information will provide valuable clues about her life and possibly reveal why she was killed.”

Will set down his cup and leaned back as Gerard approached the table and placed a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast in front of him. Will looked at me curiously. “You said she was engaged?” He paused to grab a bottle of Heinz Tomato Ketchup.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Gerard wincing at the idea of smothering one’s eggs with that vile concoction. I agreed but kept my opinion to myself. Will loved ketchup, especially this brand, and poured it on his breakfast nearly every morning.

“Take a good look at her fiancé,” Will said seriously. He shook the bottle, poring ketchup all over his eggs and filling the air with a pungent tomato aroma. “In my experience, when you’re investigating the murder of a woman, the guilty party is quite often someone close to the victim. That doesn’t make the fiancé automatically guilty, but it does make him a primary suspect until your investigation proves otherwise.”

“Okay,” I said, jotting down his instructions in my journal as Gerard set a plate of poached eggs and toast in front of me. Interviewing everyone who knew the deceased would be a huge undertaking. Was I up to the task? More importantly, would I gain anything useful from it? The thought exhausted me, and I hadn’t started yet.

“Go back to the scene of the crime,” Will continued and scooped up a forkful of eggs. “Study it, leaving no stone unturned. No detail is too small. Sometimes I find evidence that the police missed.”

I picked up a slice of toast and concentrated on smothering it with Welch’s Grape Jelly to avoid watching Will eat his red eggs. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Read the autopsy report,” he added as he picked up a crisp piece of bacon with his fingers. “The family might have requested their private physician to look it over and interpret it for them but unless they knew medical terms they wouldn’t have a copy of it themselves. You need to grease a palm or two at the coroner’s office to obtain a look at it.”

Oh sure, I’ll just drive to downtown Minneapolis and find someone in the coroner’s office to give me a look-see at that report.

I let out a sigh and took a bite of my toast, pondering how I would actually go about getting someone in the coroner’s office to give me access to the report, much less interpret it for me. I had no idea. “Do I need to read the autopsy report? Is it imperative to my case?”

“It’s another piece of the puzzle, darling,” Will said, his voice softening at my frustration. “If the police ruled her death an accident, the family would want to know if she’d suffered a medical issue at the time, causing her to lose control of the car. If there is a report, you should find out what’s in it.”

Folding my arms, I sat back and stared at him as discouragement began to seep into my mood. Had I made a mistake wanting to become an investigator? The job was clearly more than I’d bargained for.

Denise Devine is a USA Today bestselling author who has had a passion for books since the second grade when she discovered Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. She wrote her first book, a mystery, at age thirteen and has been writing ever since. She loves all animals, especially dogs, cats, and horses, and they often find their way into her books.

She has written twenty-two books, including books in the Beach Brides series, Moonshine Madness series, and West Loon Bay series. Her books have hit the Top 100 Bestseller list on Amazon and she has been listed on Amazon’s Top 100 Authors.

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