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A Missing Fiancé

Scandal in Mayfair: Earl Deserted by Promised Bride at Betrothal Ball 
–by a Lady of Quality

We’ve received a delicious piece of gossip for my followers of the ton:

Last night, at a ball held by the Lord and Lady F— to celebrate the engagement of their daughter C— to Lord S—, everything was perfection save for one minor detail.

Fully one half of the betrothed couple was missing.

The evening began as a triumph for the Baron and his lady wife. The crush of titled lords and ladies who attended in their elegant attire and glittering jewels all but guaranteed the soirée’s success.

However, at the appointed hour for the happy announcement to be made, no one could locate the bride-to-be. The Earl was left standing alone, with no fiancée by his side and no reason to accept the crowd’s felicitations.

Under rigorous questioning, the girl’s weeping maid admitted the truth: the Honorable Miss F— had fled her home! What’s worse, she did so by dressing as a boy and climbing out her bedroom window.

Revelers passing on the street that moonlit night told the night watchmen they observed a ragged boy scrambling down the outer wall of the Baron’s townhouse using a makeshift rope.

Furthermore, an ostler at the White Horse Cellar claims to have seen a young lad, dressed in the clothes described by the maid, enter the innyard late last evening.

The White Horse Cellar

Could this “boy” have been the wayward miss in her disreputable disguise? Indeed, though I never gamble, I would wager it was her.

The on-dit is that his Lordship’s marriage proposal is the first he ever tendered to any woman. It is no secret that the highly eligible Earl, having spent decades sowing his wild oats, is ready at last to wed and produce a legitimate heir. My sources say he picked the Baron’s young daughter for her beauty, her youth, and her sweet docility.

But as a gentleman might observe at a racecourse, the Earl clearly bet on the wrong horse!

Despite a frantic search undertaken by her distraught parents, the whereabouts of the runaway chit remain unknown at this time. Lord S— refuses to speak about the incident, but his butler let slip that his master is infuriated by this humiliating insult.

In my opinion, dear readers, it staggers belief that any young lady would turn down an Earl’s offer of marriage for any reason. Her desperate escape can only be a manifestation of a peculiar madness.

Although where the Honorable Miss F — has gone is a mystery, one thing about this affair is known only too well. Her impulsive actions will no doubt carry serious consequences for her and her parents, who certainly face social ruin because of their daughter’s hoydenish behavior.

When news of this disgraceful escapade gets thoroughly circulated, no high-born, eligible bachelor will be foolish enough to step forward to offer for the disgraced girl. Through her own rash imprudence, Miss F— may have indeed avoided one offer of marriage, but she is most unlikely ever to receive another.

About the Book

Lord Peter’s Page is a sweet Regency romance currently for sale at Amazon Books. Here is more about the story:

The match between Baron Finbury’s daughter Charlotte and Lord Satterly seems ideal to everyone but Charlotte. She longs for Cyril, the older brother of a friend. Desperate to escape the arranged marriage, Charlotte runs away from her parent’s Mayfair home on the night of a grand soirée to announce her engagement.

Disguised as a boy, she stows away in a carriage bound for Bath, where her sympathetic aunt lives. At the reins is Lord Peter Randolph, son of the Duke of Wickersham, and his friend Geordie. Hidden in the carriage, Charlotte hopes to get to Bath undetected by the men, but a carriage accident and an unplanned night at an inn makes that plan go awry.

Lord Peter soon sees through her disguise, but not before “the boy” proves to be a hopeless assistant, unable to polish a boot or tie a cravat. When Lord Peter discovers his clumsy page is a young miss, he goes to extraordinary lengths to protect her reputation, even bringing home to his family’s estate where she is accused of stealing the family rubies.

As Charlotte struggles to clear her name, she realizes the naïve affection she felt for Cyril is nothing compared to the passion she develops for Lord Peter. But is it too late for Lord Peter’s “page” to win his heart?

Buy link: Lord Peter’s Page: A Regency Romance – Kindle edition by Mackey, Maureen. Romance Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

~An Excerpt~ 

The placid water mirrored the leafy canopy of leaves and the blue skies above. The pool looked so cool and inviting! The inviting scene made Charlotte keenly aware of how hot and dirty she felt.

She clambered halfway up the bank, and saw where the men lay motionless, sleeping in the sun. Then she looked back to the serene water.

The temptation was irresistible.

She spread her shawl, along with the rest of her clothes, on a bush nearby. Peering around, she reassured herself she was alone, and stepped down into the water.

Oh, but it was glorious! The water was just as cool and fresh as it looked.

She didn’t want to stop but she dare not stay too long. Reluctantly she swam towards the bank, stepped in the soft mud and grabbed the long shawl from the bushes. She used the rough fabric to towel off and was resignedly pulling on the filthy trousers when she heard a twig snap.

She whirled around in horror. There, not five feet away was Lord Peter.

Quickly she whipped the shawl in front of her, clutching it tightly.

“How dare you!” gasped Charlotte. “Turn around! This instant!”

“Certainly, Master Charles. But then you had better be prepared to answer some questions. Though I believe I have discovered some answers already.”

Charlotte picked up one of her heavy shoes and threw it at him. It landed squarely in the middle of his back.

He staggered a step. “Ouch!”

“That is just the beginning. When my father finds out what you have done, why, he’ll curry your hide and hang it out to dry! Cyril will, too!”

“I think a light is dawning. I must congratulate you, Miss…”

“Finbury,” Charlotte replied, as haughtily as she could. “Miss Charlotte Finbury. My father is a Baron.”

“Miss Charlotte Finbury. This is the most elaborate ruse I have ever heard of to try to entrap a man into marriage. After spending a night with me in the same chamber at an inn, not to mention this little incident on the stream bank, you are well and truly compromised. Can I expect to see an irate father with a pistol, or perhaps a blunderbuss, coming around the bend?

“Entrap? Why, you conceited, arrogant coxcomb! As if I would go to all this trouble, not to mention discomfort and embarrassment, to force you to marry me! Why do you think I left London in the first place? If it was marriage I wanted, I could have stayed and gone along with my parents’ wishes.”

She took a deep breath, struggling to regain a modicum of control.

Lord Peter bent down and thoughtfully picked up the shoes she ‘d flung at him.

“If compromising yourself with me was not your aim, why did you threaten me with your father and brother just now?”

“My brother? Oh, you mean Cyril! He is not my brother. He is the man I intend to marry.”

“Poor devil,” murmured Lord Peter.

Ab0ut the Author

Maureen Mackey is an award-winning romance author who also writes mysteries. A California native, she earned degrees in English and journalism and worked as a reporter before getting the courage to pursue her real ambition, writing Regency romances. Now she and her husband live near Portland, Oregon, with their two grown sons and their families nearby. When she’s not working on a novel, writing blog posts, or researching her favorite era, she enjoys cooking, crocheting, and taking walks in the rain.

Links:

Website: www.maureenmackey.com

Blog: www.regencylookingglasscom

FB Page: (2) Facebook

 

 

Image info:

The Next Dance, by George Goodwin Kilburne

Hatchett’s, The White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, by James Pollard

Both images are in the public domain and sourced through Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

Shameful Fiance

The Teatime Tattler has just learned that the fiancé of a young duke (whose dukedom began with the letter N and who succumbed to horrible injuries sustained in a carriage accident only last week) has possibly chosen to entertain lucrative substitutes for her dead betrothed, rather than mourning her loss. The lady in question has been spotted in Bath shamefully making merry during this Christmastide season. Should we hope all is not as it seems?

About the Book:  Christmas on Scandal Lane

Including Scandal Beneath the Stars by Anna St. Claire

Slade Mason, the Earl of Drake receives an urgent missive demanding he return home. The second son of a duke, Slade left home to seek his fortune in India, building a small shipping company into a successful rival to the East India Company. Returning home, he discovers his father dead and his brother near death following a suspicious carriage accident. The list of suspects grows, while the killer remains at large.

Lady Bella Stewart finds her London Season lacking and realizes she continues to compare every suiter to her brother’s friend, who left years ago to find his fortune. While shopping for a book, she finds herself face to face with him.

While investigating the accident which claimed his father, Slade renews an acquaintance with Lady Bella, a young woman he had not seen since his eighteenth year. Her beauty and wit take his breath away and sparks fly as they rekindle their friendship.

The pursuit into his father’s death puts Slade and Bella in the crosshairs of a killer.

Can they survive the unseen dangers threatening his life and Bella’s? Will trust and love be enough to save them?

Scandal Beneath the Stars is part of a new Christmas anthology set to release November 9. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08XN9NZRM/ref

About the Author

Anna St. Claire is a big believer that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself. She sprinkles her stories with laughter, romance, mystery, and lots of possibilities, adhering to the belief that goodness and love will win the day.

Anna is both an avid reader and author of American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their two dogs and often, their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, and Mimi—all life roles that Anna St. Claire relishes and feels blessed to still enjoy. And she loves her pets – dogs and cats alike, and often inserts them into her books as secondary characters. And she loves chocolate and popcorn, a definite nod to her need for sweet followed by salty…but not together—a tasty weakness!

Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, always encouraged Anna’s interest in writing, after discovering short stories she would write in her spare time.

As a child, she loved mysteries and checked out every Encyclopedia Brown story that came into the school library. Before too long, her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind, now a treasured, but weathered book from being read multiple times. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss,’ books, Shanna and Ashes In The Wind, Anna became hooked.

Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys almost any period in American and British history. She would love to connect with any of her readers on her website – www.annastclaire.com, through email—annastclaireauthor@gmail.com, BookBub – www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire,Twitter – @1AnnaStClaire, Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authorannastclaire/ or on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF?ref=  or Instagram @ annastclaire_author.

Join her newsletter (www.annastclaire.com) and receive a free book.

 

 

 

Elopement, Assault, and Questionable Dealings

Readers are warned that this extract, from correspondence between Miss Amabel Pryke and her friend, Letty, was sent to the ‘Tattler’ by one Aggie Whitshaw, a maid employed in Miss Pryke’s house. We cannot be certain, given the source that the contents are genuine or complete, and so we append the maid’s own missive to assure you she didn’t write extract.


My dear Letty,

You will not imagine in your wildest dreams the most Shocking and Scandalous goings on we have had, and my poor sister Sarah actually Assaulted! Yes, it is true – poor Sarah was escorting her latest pupil to school, and planned to come and live with me, offering music lessons to the pupils of the same school, as a visiting preceptress. Well, the first horror was the accident on the road, some miles short of York, and Sarah so fortunate as to be taken up into the coach of Lord Hesterley and his bride, having broken a leg, Sarah that is, not his Lordship nor his bride.  They kindly took her charge on to the school as well, and brought Sarey to me. Such a handsome young couple, and so kind!  And there was poor Sarey, lying on the day bed and that idiot maid let in some fellow who said he was from Bow Street, and he started pulling Sarey’s clothes off, if you please, and accusing her of being Hesterley!  And his colleague apparently tried to abduct Sarey’s charge, thinking her to be Lady Hesterley. It turns out that Lord and Lady Hesterley were no such thing or rather, she was not Lady Hesterley at the time for they were eloping and Sarey perfectly aware of it, and not ready to give them away!

Well, later, the lady’s proper bridegroom, who turned out to be a most improper bridegroom if you ask me, and not just because he is older than sin and twice as wicked… where was I? Oh yes, he broke into the ladies’ academy and was hit on the head by one of the little girls there, and serve him right.

So when you tell me how boring it is in York, let me assure you it is nothing of the kind.

Your dear friend,

Amabel


“So you see, Mr. Clemens, this is wot woz reelly going on when Lord Hesterley runned off with the heiress, affore there was such a to-do about how there was an attack on the yung cupple in London.  Oh, Mr. Clemens, does you think it might be a conspirrysee by the peeple wot said they was Bow St. Runners, trying to get their hands on Lord Hesterley’s rich bride, and that’s why they shot at him too? I read all about it in the paper, and then I remembered this letter wot my mistress got a few months before. Now you can see yore way to paying a pore girl a few guineas for something hot like this, can’t you?”

Aggie Whitshaw.

 About the Book: Elopement of Convenience

Laura is an heiress seeking to avoid forced marriage to her stepfather’s crony; Simon is an impoverished lord seeking an heiress. They plot to elope together, leaving Simon’s coachman, Ned, and his lady-love, Ellen, leading Laura’s stepfather on a wild goose chase.

Of course, things are never that simple … especially with Laura’s propensity for finding waifs and strays.

And of course, a journey shows the best and worst of people. Whether Simon and Laura draw closer and find love, or discover that they loathe each other cordially will be tested.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B093DJYFB5

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093DJYFB5

An excerpt~

Two couples on their way to Gretna, one decoy couple but planning to wed anyway, Ned and Ellen:

The two routes north

Ellen was not impressed by Manchester. Smoke hung over the ugly blackened buildings in a foetid miasma of foul feculence, making everywhere grimy. The grime settled on the skin, got up the nose with the stink of soot, and invaded the mouth with a gritty, sour feeling and taste.

“It’s even grimier than London,” she said, severely.

“It’ll be the mills,” said Grimshaw. He was not impressed either, but saw no point complaining.

“Ooh, Ned! It’s just like Mr. Blake’s pome!” said Ellen, who was a dissenter.

Fortunately Grimshaw was familiar with ‘Jerusalem’, which Ellen had quoted before, and was not, therefore, confused by a poem written by a dissenter, and not widely known outside the poet’s own circle. Not, that is, beyond the reasonable confusion of a plain man for the symbolism in the poem and its connections to the story of Elijah and to Revelations.

“’Dark satanic mills’ it is, me girl,” he said. “But don’t you go expecting me to lark abaht wiv a bow o’ burnin’ gold nor arrers of desire like some overgrown cupid, and how that would solve matters in any case beats me.”

“Oh, Ned, it’s an allegory,” said Ellen.

“I seen one o’ them at the menagerie at the tower, all big teeth and scales,” said Ned. “I don’t think an allegory set loose on the mill owners would help neither.”

And the couple learning whether they want to be a couple or not, Simon and Laura:

“My lord, I think it would be appropriate for you to be less business like about things and to … to start to woo me so that the marriage bed is less of a … a shock.”

“By Jove!” said Simon. “Well, if you don’t mind, I should like of all things to stop and remove that fetching, but provocative bonnet, and kiss you.”

Laura’s flush deepened.

“I believe I might like that,” she said.

Simon found a cart track on which to get mostly off the road and carefully undid the strings of Laura’s bonnet. He would have dropped it, but she took it firmly from his hand and laid it down.

“It is my only bonnet at the moment, my lord,” she said, sternly.

“Oh, yes, quite. My apologies,” said Simon. He cupped her chin in one hand and put the other behind her head to draw her to him, and brushed her lips with his.

Laura felt her lips cling to his, opening slightly and she reached up to capture his head. The kiss was lingering but fairly chaste.

Laura was faintly disappointed when it was over.

“I hope that did not disappoint?” asked Simon.

“Oh no! It was most pleasant,” said Laura. “I hope we might do it again … and for longer.”

About the Author

Sarah Waldock grew up in Suffolk and still resides there, in charge of a husband, and under the ownership of sundry cats. All Sarah’s cats are rescue cats and many of them have special needs. They like to help her write and may be found engaging in such helpful pastimes as turning the screen display upside-down, or typing random messages in kittycode into her computer.

Sarah writes largely historical novels, in order to retain some hold on sanity in an increasingly insane world. There are some writers who claim to write because they have some control over their fictional worlds, but Sarah admits to being thoroughly bullied by her characters who do their own thing and often refuse to comply with her ideas. It makes life more interesting, and she enjoys the surprises they spring on her. Her characters’ surprises are usually less messy [and much less noisy] than the surprises her cats spring.

Sarah has tried most of the crafts and avocations which she mentions in her books, on the principle that it is easier to write about what you know. She does not ride horses, since the Good Lord in his mercy saw fit to invent Gottleib Daimler to save her from that experience; and she has not tried blacksmithing. She would like to wave cheerily at anyone in any security services who wonder about middle aged women who read up about  gunpowder and poisonous plants.

 

Appalling Upstart Attempts Assault on York Society

To the Countess of Arglay

April 1817, York

Dearest sister

I have just had the most appalling shock, and in church of all places! The nerve of the woman! I could not believe my eyes! I thought she was safely tucked back into the obscure little village from whence she came, never to bother us again, but there she was! And all those useless females with her!

But I get ahead of myself, Drusilla, and you will not wonder at it when I tell you. Let me start again, and tell you in order this time.

You will remember that, when my beloved Seahaven inherited his title from that awful old profligate, we discovered that the old earl had left his daughters mostly unprovided for. And so many of them, Drusilla! Not only his daughters, but the jumped-up baker’s daughter he took as his fifth wife. A tradeswoman as Countess of Seahaven! Have you ever heard the like? It is true that there is no fool like an old fool, and after four marriages and nine daughters, I imagine he was desperate, or–more likely–she trapped him for his title. She was pretty enough, the little chit. Just eighteen, too, when they met, and men do like them young.

When the old earl died, That Woman was with child, as you will recall. I have never prayed so fervently in my life. My prayers were answered and she was delivered of the old fool’s tenth daughter.

By then, Seahaven and I had discovered that his predecessor had left the care and guardianship of his daughters to the baker’s daughter. “Let her have them,” I said to my lord. “What use are they, after all. They will eat us out of hearth and home, and expect us to puff them off, at great expense, on the marriage mart.”

We turned them out, of course. The baker and his wife died just a few days after the little brat was born, so it was not as if they had nowhere to go. That Woman took all ten girls and moved into her parents’ cottage, and I thought that was the last I saw of them.

But Drusilla, on Sunday, I arrived at York Minster–you must know that Seahaven and I have come to York to enjoy the Season and so that Seahaven can indulge his fondness for what he endearingly calls the ‘geegees’. At York Minster, as I was saying, what did I see but That Woman and all of those girls (though some of them are ape-leaders, and one calls them girls only by courtesy, since they are well into their dotage).

It is true, dearest. That Woman led them down the aisle to a front pew, every one of them turned out in the highest fashion. Where did she get the money? That is what I would like to know. How have they been living? I tell you, Drusilla, there is only one way that a woman of that kind could earn enough to give all of those daughters a Season, even in York. And it is not one that ladies like you and I would ever mention.

The upstart and the daughters are being seen everywhere. She is a distant connection of the St Aubyns, and is trading on their name and her dead husband’s title in the most shameless manner, puffing herself and the daughters off before every title and banknote in York. A number of hostesses have been taken in, and Lady Twisden even gave me the most unpleasant set down when I tried to put a group of ladies right about the imposter’s real nature and lack of class. How was I to know that Lady Twisden was herself a St Aubyn, and sister to That Woman’s mother before she disgraced herself and her class and ran off with a baker.

I do not know what That Woman hopes to achieve. She cannot imagine that any man would be fool enough to link himself to females who are the next best thing to destitute, especially when several of them have been heard to declare that any suitors must love their sisters and their stepmama as well as themselves.

I have no patience with such nonsense, Drusilla. As our parents so rightly taught us, marriage at our level of society is about linking two families of quality to the benefit of each. Nattering about love is precisely the sort of lower-class drivel I would expect from That Woman.

You can be sure I shall do everything I can to open the eyes of any man who allows That Women or her protegees to tempt him away from his duty to marry for the right reasons.

I shall keep you informed in my next.

 

Your loving sister

Marjorie Seahaven

 

Patience, Dowager Countess of Seahaven is only twenty-two, and has been head of her household of stepdaughters since she was nineteen. When she is given free use of a townhouse in York, she seizes the chance to give her adult stepdaughters a season. With everyone in the household doing their best to disguise their impoverished circumstances and make a splash on the York scene, they hope to at least find a match for the youngest of the adults, Josefina and the twins, Ivy and Iris.

Look for Desperate Daughters, the next Bluestocking Belles and Friends collection, nine stories in which the Countess, her stepdaughters, and other family members find a happily ever after. Available for prerelease soon, and published in May 2022.

A Notorious Gossip Speaks

Lady St. James, one of London Town’s most notorious gossips, takes a moment to pen a quick letter to her eldest daughter, Elizabeth. 

October, 2021, 1816

My darling Lizzie,

I am simply bursting to tell you the latest news! The Duke of Aldridge has acquired a ward. Her name is Kendra Donovan. I know what you must be thinking, dearest—that she is Irish given her surname. However, it is much worse—she is an American! I dare say that is why she is the most peculiar creature. I can confide in you that Caro—Aldridge’s sister, who, as you may recall, is one of my dearest friends—is quite beside herself over her brother’s association with this female.

Miss Donovan is quite comely, even if her coloring—raven hair and eyes as black as any gypsy—is not at all fashionable. She is far too thin, with none of the plumpness that we ladies aspire to. Still, there is no denying that Aldridge’s nephew, Lord Sutcliffe, seems to be quite transfixed by her, even though she is practically on the shelf at six and twenty. It is difficult to imagine that someone like the marquis, so devilishly handsome and with his impeccable linage, could have his head turned by this American upstart. I can tell you that most of the matrons in the Ton are dismayed, fearing that their daughters may be losing such a prime catch to the parson’s mousetrap! And it is especially galling to lose to a commoner who lacks all the social graces and appears to care naught for London society. Caro has even lamented to me that Miss Donovan resists—yes, resists! —shopping or going to her modiste. Who doesn’t desire another new gown?

Still, it is not Miss Donovan’s looks, age, lack of pedigree or manners that really have tongues wagging in the Polite World. The woman has an unnatural interest in the criminal world! I know, my dearest, that you cannot fathom such a thing. I confess that it is shocking, but at the same time…well, I cannot help but be intrigued. You must remember me writing to you about the horrendous events that took place a month ago during Caro’s famous house party at Aldridge Castle, when a young girl was found dead in a lake near the picnic that Caro had arranged. Murdered!

The ladies were quite rightly rounded up and led away from the ghastly sight. But Miss Donovan? The chit actually ran towards the scene! Can you imagine? A proper miss ought to have been swooning, but Miss Donovan began issuing orders like she was the Duke of Wellington himself! Even more outrageous, Miss Donovan was a mere servant at the time. Indeed, we were only introduced to her when Lady Rebecca took on Miss Donovan as her companion. And now the Duke is claiming her as his ward! He has put out the Banbury Tale that she is the daughter of friends who emigrated to America years ago. Complete poppycock, of course. But no one would dare call out the Duke on this farce. He is too powerful. One can only assume this is part of his eccentricities. I have heard that he installed a telescope on the battlements of Aldridge Castle. I believe it has been well-documented that the moon can bring out a certain lunacy, and there was a full moon on the first night of the house party. This is something, perhaps, to ponder.

Given Miss Donovan’s odd penchant for solving murders (yes, the on dit is that she uncovered the monster who killed that poor girl in the lake) I suspect that I shall be writing to you again about the American. Until then…

Your loving Mama

The In Time series where Jane Austen meets CSI with a dash of Doctor Who.

About the Book

A MURDER IN TIME introduces Kendra Donovan, a beautiful, brilliant FBI agent, who goes rogue when half her team is killed in a botched mission. Determined to get justice, Kendra travels to Aldridge Castle to find the man responsible. However, her plan goes awry when an assassin forces her to flee through a hidden passageway. Stumbling out again, she realizes she’s in the same place, but in a different time—1816, to be precise. Mistaken as a servant, Kendra tries to navigate the intricacies of the Regency, and find a way back to her own time. Yet when the body of a young girl is found in the lake, Kendra believes her involuntary time travel has a purpose, especially since only she—an FBI profiler—recognizes that they are dealing with a serial killer. Pitting her skills—without the aid of modern technology—against a cunning madman is difficult. But it’s nothing compared to living in the Regency era, a time when women are relegated to second-class citizen, without even the right to vote. Thankfully, the powerful Duke of Aldridge—a man of Science—takes her under his wing. Stuck in the past, Kendra’s criminal expertise comes in handy again in A TWIST IN TIME, CAUGHT IN TIME, BETRAYAL IN TIME, and SHADOWS IN TIME…and Kendra realizes that when it comes to human nature, murder is timeless.

The Kendra Donovan In Time series is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and independent bookstores nationwide.

About the Author

Julie McElwain is a national award-winning journalist. Her first novel in her genre-bending time-travel/mystery series, A MURDER IN TIME, was one of the top 10 picks by the National Librarian Association for its April 2016 book list, and was selected as the mystery to read in 2016 by OverDrive Inc., serving more than 34,000 libraries around the world. The novel was also a finalist for the 2016 Goodreads’ readers’ choice awards in the Sci-fi category, and made Bustle’s list of 9 Most Addictive Mystery series for 2017. A MURDER IN TIME, A TWIST IN TIME, CAUGHT IN TIME, BETRAYAL IN TIME, and SHADOWS IN TIME have been optioned for television/movie development. McElwain currently lives in North Dakota, working on the latest installment of the Kendra Donovan series. Connect to Julie McElwain through her author’s Facebook page: www.facebook.com/Juliemcelwain; twitter: @JulieMcElwain; or website: Juliemcelwainauthor.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

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