#PublicationDayPush #RachelsRandomResources @rararesources / #PromoPost : Snow-Kissed Proposals – Jenni Fletcher @JenniAuthor and Elisabeth Hobbes @ElisabethHobbes @MillsandBoon @HarlequinBooks

– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –

Today I’m on the ‘Snow-Kissed Proposals’ blogtour, organized by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote this book I have a some ‘basic’ information for you.

About the Author(s) :

Jenni Fletcher is the award-winning author of 15 historical romances. She has been nominated for 4 RoNA Awards and won the Libertà Books Shorter Romantic Novel Award in 2020. She lives in Yorkshire with her family and can be contacted via Twitter.

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Elisabeth’s writing career began when she finished in third place in Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write contest in 2013. She was offered a two-book contract and consequently had to admit secret writing was why the house was such a tip. She is the author of numerous historical romances with Harlequin Mills & Boon covering the Medieval period to Victorian England, and a Second World War romantic historical with One More Chapter. She lives in Cheshire because the car broke down there in 1999 and she never left.

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Synopsis :

A snowy Victorian Christmas
Two festive short stories!
In The Christmas Runaway by Jenni Fletcher: willful, independent heiress, Fiona MacKay, impulsively runs away to a remote Scottish tower where she’s trapped in the snow with equally headstrong, deliciously disheveled Angus Drummond.
In Their Snowbound Reunion by Elisabeth Hobbes: fifteen years ago, Amy Munroe and Anthony Matthews were cruelly parted, and each blames the other. When Amy becomes Anthony’s new housekeeper, their passion is reawakened!

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The Magic of Wor(l)ds

#PublicationDayPush #RachelsRandomResources @rararesources / #Excerpt : The Duke’s Runaway Bride – Jenni Fletcher @JenniAuthor @MillsandBoon @HarlequinBooks

– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –

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Today I’m on the ‘The Duke’s Runaway Bride’ blogtour, organized by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.

About the Author :

FWWY6CXAJenni Fletcher was born in Scotland and now lives in Yorkshire where she writes historical romance novels ranging from the Roman to late Victorian eras. She studied English at Cambridge and Hull and has been nominated for 4 RoNA awards, winning for Short Romantic Fiction in 2020. She teaches Creative Writing at a university in the north of England and her favourite hobbies are baking and, of course, reading.

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Synopsis :

IMGEFurgFrom shopkeeper…
To Duke’s wife
When Beatrix, Duchess of Howden, writes to her estranged husband offering a divorce, she’s stunned when he arrives on her doorstep with a different proposition: a six-week marriage trial! Quinton Roxbury seems cold and inscrutable, but Beatrix gradually realises his rough exterior hides a heavy burden. As their connection deepens, dare she trust him with her own scandalous past and risk the marriage she never knew she wanted?

Purchase Links:
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Excerpt :

In this extract, the newly reunited Beatrix and Quin have just returned to his ducal home, Howden Hall, where his little sister Helen has a habit of hiding under tables…

‘Good morning,’ Quinton announced to the empty-looking breakfast room, making his way to the sideboard and preparing two plates of scrambled egg, mushroom, sausages and bacon and then carrying them both back to the table. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a pleasant day.’
No answer.
‘I’d rather hoped you’d be outside with the others yesterday.’ He slid one of the plates under the tablecloth, waiting until it was plucked from his fingers before continuing. ‘I know you’re shy around new people, but there’s no need to worry about meeting Beatrix. She’s very nice, trust me.’ He almost smiled at the words. They were true. She was very nice, if a little unconventional for a duchess. ‘In any case, I’d be grateful if you could make an appearance at luncheon. You don’t have to eat with us, just show your face. Will that be all right?’
A small bump on the table answered in the affirmative.
‘Good. Now, do you want toast?’
Another bump.
‘Butter and marmalade?’
Two bumps.
‘Just butter, then?’
One bump.
‘Quinton?’
He lifted his head at the sound of his wife’s voice. She was standing just inside the doorway, regarding him with an expression of perplexity mixed with alarm as he pushed a piece of bread under the table.
‘Beatrix?’ Fortunately, the toast was pulled from his fingers at that moment, allowing him to stand up and make a small bow. ‘You’re awake early.’
‘I got used to early hours at Belles.’ She seemed somewhat reluctant to come any closer, looking from him to the table and back again. ‘Who were you talking to? Is there a dog under there?’
‘No-o, no dog.’ He gave a small cough. ‘Can I fetch you anything?’
‘Um…no, thank you. I can manage.’ She regarded him suspiciously for another moment before reaching for a plate, appetite obviously outweighing caution. ‘Don’t let your own breakfast get cold.’
‘You slept well, I trust?’ He sat down again, wondering how to explain.
‘Very well, thank you. And you?’
‘Not bad,’ he lied. Truthfully, he’d had a wretched night, kept awake by a combination of anger at his intractable, ill-mannered family and a sleep-thwarting awareness of her on the other side of the wall. If she was on the other side of the wall, that was. He still hadn’t asked Mrs Hastings. For all he knew, he’d been lusting after a completely empty bedchamber…
‘Can I pour you some coffee?’
‘Please.’ She took a seat beside him. ‘So…why were you just talking to the table?’
‘Ah. Well, about that… I wasn’t talking to the table exactly.’ He passed her a small silver milk jug. ‘Beatrix, meet my youngest sister, Helen.’
‘Your sister?’ Her eyes widened, flashing with something like panic.
‘Again, not the table. The little girl sitting under it. She’s a little reserved.’
‘Oh…’ Beatrix lifted a hand and pointed a finger downwards. ‘So I shouldn’t…?’
‘It’s usually best to wait until she comes out. I’m afraid it might take a few days before she actually says anything.’
‘I see. Well, then, it’s very nice to meet you, Helen. I’m Beatrix.’
There was a momentary pause, followed by a faint bump.
‘I hope that we’re going to be friends.’ She leaned towards Quinton, lowering her voice slightly. ‘How old is she?’
Ten bumps, one after the other, answered for him.
‘Thank you.’ She laughed delightedly, her face lighting up in a way that was completely different to all the tight, forced smiles she’d given him so far. She looked transformed. Radiant. Captivating. Beautiful. Enough to make him forget all about the piece of bacon he’d been about to pop into his mouth. People rarely smiled like that at Howden. Or anywhere, come to think of it. The sight seemed to warm his insides. And as for her laugh…
‘What’s the matter?’ To his dismay, the smile faded as her eyebrows lifted instead.
‘Nothing.’ He gave his head a small shake, returning his attention to the bacon. ‘It just occurred to me that I’ve never heard you laugh before.’
‘I’ve never heard you laugh either, but then I suppose we haven’t had a great deal to laugh about together so far, have we?’
‘True. Although to be honest, I don’t remember the last time I laughed at all.’
‘Hmm.’ She looked thoughtful rather than shocked by the observation. ‘I suppose I never used to laugh much either. There was a time, when I lived with my uncle and aunt, when I wasn’t even sure that I could. Of course, that was before I met Nancy.’
‘She’s amusing?’
‘Very, although not always intentionally. She has the worst temper and biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.’ She chuckled quietly to herself before bending down to speak under the table. ‘Would you like anything else, Helen?’
Two bumps.
‘That means no,’ Quinton interpreted. ‘I gave her a full plate earlier.’
‘Ah. What a kind brother you have.’
A single thud, louder this time.
‘So…’ He gave a small cough of embarrassment. ‘I was hoping to show you the park this morning, but I’m afraid there’s a problem with the roof that requires my attention. Perhaps we might take a ride after luncheon instead?’

The Magic of Wor(l)ds

#OneDayBlogBlitz #RachelsRandomResources @rararesources / #Excerpt : Tudor Christmas Tidings – Blythe Gifford @BlytheGifford , Amanda McCabe @AmandaMcCabe01 and Jenni Fletcher @JenniAuthor @MillsandBoon @HarlequinBooks

– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –

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Today I’m on the ‘Tudor Christmas Tidings’ blogtour, organised by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.

About the Authors :

gq3A_mGgJenni Fletcher is from the north coast of Scotland and now lives in Yorkshire where she writes historical romance novels. She studied English at Cambridge University before doing a PhD on Edwardian literature & psychology at Hull. She has been nominated for 4 RoNA awards and won for Short Romantic Fiction in 2020. In her spare time she loves baking and, of course, reading.

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Tudor - Blythe Gifford Photo WebAfter many years in public relations, advertising, and marketing, Blythe Gifford started writing seriously after a corporate layoff. Ten years and one layoff later, she became an overnight success when she sold to the Harlequin Historical line. Her books, set in the 14th to 17th centuries, typically incorporate real historical events and characters. The Chicago Tribune has called her work “the perfect balance between history and romance.” Blythe lives and works along Chicago’s lakefront.

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721ab4461717a549bada135e16c0e01c_400x400Amanda wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen–a vast historical epic starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class (and her parents wondered why math was not her strongest subject…)
She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA Award, the Romantic Times BOOKReviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Santa Fe with a Poodle, a cat, a wonderful husband, and a very and far too many books and royal memorabilia collections.
When not writing or reading, she loves taking dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network–even though she doesn’t cook.
Amanda also writes as Laurel McKee for Grand Central Publishing, the Elizabethan Mystery Series as Amanda Carmack, and the Manor Cat Mystery Series as Eliza Casey.

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Synopsis :

4RX6HNWwMake Merry at Court
… with three Tudor Christmas stories!
In Christmas at Court Sir John Talbot and Lady Alice’s secret betrothal must wait until Henry Tudor claims the throne. Next in Secrets of the Queen’s Lady the lady-in-waiting to Anne of Cleves is unexpectedly reunited with a handsome—younger—diplomat at the palace’s festivities! And in His Mistletoe Lady Catherine seeks help from a mysterious Spaniard to free her father in time for Christmas!

Purchase Links:
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Amazon US
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Excerpt :

Christmas at Court

Thanks so much for having me!
When we use the term “world-building” we often think of it as a science fiction/fantasy/paranormal world. But building a believable historical world can be a challenge as well. It is the mindset, not just the manners, the writer tries to understand.
Here, my heroine, Lady Alice of Oakshire, has been sent to Christmas court to represent the family. Once there, she is surprised to be told she is to be betrothed to Sir John, son of the Earl of Stanson. But things are not what they seem…

As she entered the hall, uncertain laughter, out of harmony, clashed with the music. No one knew what to expect from this celebration, the new King’s first Christmas.
Last year the former King, joyous, generous and draped in a robe trimmed with sable, had fed two thousand people at Christmas. Surrounded by his wife and children, he had kept the season with perhaps more celebration than religion, but to little complaint.
The new King could not afford such generosity. As they gathered at the table to break Advent fast, conversation was hushed. Lute and harp and recorder played softly, and if some silver and plate items were missing, sold to raise ready money to pay for the celebrations, well, it would not be wise to mention it.
Even though he had been crowned five months before, King Richard still looked uncomfortable on his perch at the high table. With reason. Only a few months ago, his most trusted supporter had turned against him, fighting to remove Richard and put Henry Tudor on the throne.
Why? Had the man’s conscience finally caught up with him or was he just angry that he had not been more fully rewarded? No one was sure, not even her father, who knew more than he said. But when Richard defeated and beheaded his former friend, many who had joined the rebellion fled across the channel to rally around Henry Tudor, living in exile in Brittany.
Many around her family’s Oakshire lands in south-east England had taken up arms. Her father, thankfully, had not, so was spared punishment and exile, but the King still had his suspicions about the Earl’s loyalties.
With more reason than she wanted Richard to know.
So when the King summoned her to him after the meal, she took a breath and kept her smile steady.
‘Your father is not here, Lady Alice.’ A frown showed his displeasure.
‘You are our only child. You must represent us.’
She hid her shaking fingers in the folds of her skirt and bent her knee before the King.
‘To his sorrow and regret, Your Grace. My mother fell ill and my father stayed to tend her. They sent me to pay our homage.’ She held her breath. Had she spoken aright? It must be clear that their absence meant no disloyalty, though even loyalty was no protection from this King.
Richard’s Queen reached to touch Alice’s hand. ‘I hope it is not serious. I had to leave my son…he is ill…’
Alice murmured something comforting. The couple had only one son.
Only one heir to the throne.
‘I understand,’ the King said, interrupting, ‘that your family wishes you to join with the Earl of Stanson’s son.’
She swallowed and nodded, trying to gather her wits. So the King did know. Had she alone been ignorant?
My involvement must remain secret.
She must measure each word. ‘It is time for me to wed, Your Grace.’ A statement of fact. Only the disruption of the year had kept her from being promised earlier. ‘With the permission of Your Grace, of course.’
And if it did not come…?
A frown. ‘Stanson has been unfailingly loyal. I hope your family will be the same.’
‘Do not let there be a question of that, Your Grace.’ Certainly she must do nothing to raise one. Her father had found little to admire in King Richard, but he had, for the most part, held his tongue.
Dangerous to do otherwise.
‘Ah!’ The King looked up, distracted. ‘There’s Sir John. It is time to hang the holly and ivy. You will want to help him.’
She wanted no such thing, but she forced a smile and turned to greet him, only to see the man dressed in new garb. Neither doctor nor squire nor even knight—this time, he wore a rich blue-brocade doublet and woollen hose.
Was this really the man any more than the squire or the physician she had seen before?
But the King was not finished. ‘After the greenery is hung, it will be time for prayer. None of the licentiousness we have seen in Christmas past. See to it, Sir John.’
Having handed her to an ‘unfailingly loyal’ man, Richard moved off, leaving them alone.
John took her hand, his grip strong and sure as if he already possessed her.
‘He knows,’ she whispered. ‘Of our betrothal.’
‘You mentioned it?’ As if she should not have.
‘No, he did, but he approves,’ she added, ‘as you said.’
Unfailingly loyal. Did the King suspect her family was not? Was this man, loyal to the King, sent to spy on them?
He smiled. ‘Cause for celebration, then. Yet you look ill at ease, Lady Alice.’
Trying to read her thoughts. Succeeding.
Well, if they were to be married, he would have to learn to hear her speak freely.
‘I had hoped,’ she murmured, softly, so she would not be overheard, ‘for a season of joy and dancing and merriness before I became a wife. Instead, I have only tonight and that is to be filled with vigil, fasting and masses. After that, we shall be betrothed and I will be ever bound by whatever your desires might be.’
The word desires echoed between them.
She bit her tongue.
His hand was warm on hers, but his hard, sharp gaze assessed her as if she were an enemy. ‘We do not always get what we desire. Come. A basket of holly awaits. There are a few ways we can spend the coming hours pleasantly.’
She shivered. This man, this John who would be her husband—was he as ruthless as the King? Who could be trusted now? Her parents? The former Queen? The current King?
Or this silent man who continued to slip into disguises?

© 2020 Wendy Blythe Gifford

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The Magic of Wor(l)ds