Hello, my friends! Today, I have a book review for you! It' been a long time since I've reviewed a book. But St. Martin's Press offered me an eCopy of The Bookbinder's Secret, and I took it! 😃
Sunday, January 11, 2026
The Bookbinder's Secret: A Novel by A.D. Bell ~ My Review
Wednesday, October 9, 2024
"Mr. Bingley: Just as a Gentleman Ought to Be" by Brandon Dragan ~ Blog Tour & Excerpt
Hello, my friends! I'm excited to be part of this book tour, Mr. Bingley: Just as a Gentleman Ought to Be by Brandon Dragan!
I hope you enjoy the excerpt below!
Excerpt
Two gentlemen sat across from each other in what would have been at that precise moment, and by no small measure, the most expensive coach in Hertfordshire. Both men were as rich as they were handsome and unattached. The first, his back pressed to the rear of the well-apportioned box, was lean and of greater-than-average height. His dark eyes, straight nose, and square jawline were softened by lips that curved delicately at the corners when he smiled. A tuft of hair the colour of chestnuts wafted across a broad and masculine forehead. This man carried himself with an air of confidence which was nearly as intimidating as it was attractive. The second man was an affable and lively man and also tall—though not as noticeably so as his friend. This one’s untamed and sandy-coloured curls matched with a winning smile to naturally draw the eye and may have had the unavoidable effect of masking a deceptively sturdy build. In the current moment, the second man found his naturally amiable disposition tested by his prudent friend’s calculated line of questioning.
“Darcy, for the life of me I cannot understand your constant aversion to all things quaint and charming.”
“And I cannot understand your insistence on taking a country home that will not suit you as a settled, permanent estate, particularly in a county such as Hertfordshire.”
Bingley sighed heavily and glanced out the carriage window. “The choice of an estate is an axial task for the future of my family, and great care must be exercised in its selection. I would be immensely regretful in my later life, had I made the selection of a heritable estate based upon youth and imprudence.”
“You may be young, Bingley, but you are certainly not imprudent,” Darcy answered him.
“I am well aware that the two may, in fact, be intimately connected.”
“Be that as it may, I still say I am not persuaded by your selection of this particular location. Certainly, the society cannot be much… refined.”
“I have heard, my dear man, that this county is home to some of the most splendid beauties in the whole of England—”
“And so that is your design in settling here—to find yourself a bride among the unconnected and bucolic ladies of the countryside?”
“Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so? However, I’ve always felt kindness and charm as particularly attractive qualities, and country girls are quite celebrated for both. Design! My aim at present, is to find a place where I may settle comfortably for a time, and the distance from here to town is not nearly as great an imposition as it is to Derbyshire. You must remember, Darcy, my father may have left me a fortune, but he did not leave me Pemberley. Thus, I feel it is my familial duty to make a sober and fully informed selection when I decide upon a permanent estate.”
Darcy only shifted in his seat and turned his gaze out the window.
“In addition, Netherfield has been vacant for some time, and if it lives up to its billing I may endeavour, with your aid of course, to achieve quite a bargain on its price.”
“A cheap house and pretty girls,” Darcy summed up his friend’s motivations such.
“An appealing price for a country home where I may,” Bingley shifted in his own seat, a strained smile quickly fading from his lips, “take refuge from the…demands of my business. And while the girls are not my specific cause for taking the place, there is the possibility that I may very well fall in love with one of them.”
“I might dare to predict it so much as a likelihood.”
“And you would censure me for falling in love?”
“Of course not. However, I would hold you to account if you were less scrupulous in the choice of a bride than you were in the selection of a family estate.”
The two friends locked eyes momentarily before turning their respective gazes out their respective windows as the carriage rumbled forward over bumpy country roads.
“Well, I thank you, yet again, for coming from town to see the place with me.”
“You need not thank me. It is my pleasure to accompany you.”
The carriage pulled round a bend and from Bingley’s seat the house came into view. “Oh, there it is—and what a fine prospect!”
Darcy turned and looked out the glass on Bingley’s side. He had not expected to be affected in such a positive manner by the home’s appearance, but he was genuinely pleased by it on first sight. “Very fine, indeed.” Bingley looked quickly to Darcy’s face to measure his friend’s sincerity. He was rather pleased that Darcy seemed to genuinely admire the place, and for this reason his unparalleled smile appeared.
About the Author
Connect with Brandon Dragan
Website • Facebook • Instagram • YouTube • Goodreads
Book Links
FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission, at no cost to you, if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!
Many thanks to Christina Boyd for organizing and including me in this book tour.
So, friends, what are your thoughts? I love the thought of Mr. Bingley involved in a solving a mystery! There is more to the man than I thought!
Friday, June 7, 2024
"To Pledge Allegiance" by Robert W. Smith ~ Excerpt
Hello there, my friends! I've been missing for a while again, but I have a few upcoming posts, so stay tuned for that.
Today, I'm thrilled to bring you an excerpt from To Pledge Allegiance by Robert W. Smith.
Excerpt
It was nearly one in the afternoon when the funeral crowd began to trickle into the restaurant. Most had arrived by rail, making the short walk up Wolf Road to the restaurant. MoMo Storino, One-Ear Raimondi, even the recently paroled Irish thug, Lucky O’Leary, like the Litany of the Saints performed live on stage. The politicians in attendance were largely retired and immune to bad publicity. Conor spotted reporters and cops, lots of cops, with no way to distinguish among dirty cops, curious cops, and on-duty cops. A few might have attended only to be certain the gangster was dead.
The drinks were free after one-thirty, and around two o’clock the crowd began to mill upstairs for the luncheon. The meal officially began with Father Militello’s rendition of the Grace, an obligatory act of the Catholic mourners. The old priest’s manufactured tears and fond recollections of “a great and generous” man warranted a Jameson, but Conor decided against it. He was here for a reason. No doubt this cleric would miss his regular cut of the ill-gotten proceeds from the “great man.”
The disgustingly effusive speeches and stories carried beyond the antipasto, the minestrone, three types of pasta, and clear into the tiramisu until, at last, the gathering began to dissipate, and the mourners left or gathered in small groups at the bar. The drinks were still free, but Conor held it at three. He wasn’t here to drink any more than he was here to mourn.
Viviana came to him at the bar as he’d hoped, where they stood shoulder to shoulder without acknowledging one another. “Water,” she said to the bartender.
Conor didn’t turn to face her. “I need to talk with you.”
“I know,” she replied. “Let’s go outside. They have a few tables. It’s cold so we’ll be alone.”
Conor knew only too well how much she detested her father, at least he thought he did. He struggled to find the appropriate words. Keep it simple, nothing religious or hypocritical. “I’m sorry, Viviana. He was your father.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
“I saw in the papers you were performing in St. Louis when he died.”
She laughed gently. “Are you still stalking me?”
He shrugged. “I like to think I’m not but. . .”
Once outside, she said, “It’s time we talked.” Then she leaned back in the chair. “How would you like to do this? Would you like to ask me questions or should I give it to you all at once?”
“First let me take a guess. You have a three-month-old baby and I’m the father?”
She laughed as a waitress came out the back door. The woman seemed surprised to see them. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here. Too chilly. I just came out for some air. Can I get you folks something? Open bar closes in fifteen minutes.”
Conor waved her off. “No, thanks. We’re fine.”
Viviana turned back to Conor. “I wish that were the case. It would be simpler. Go ahead. Fire away.”
“This means you know more than you’re telling me.”
“Much more.”
He was afraid to go further down this road. Was he about to learn all the answers? How much did she know? Was she going to say she lied to him? He wondered how ugly this could get and that fact terrified him to his core. Alright, get to the heart of it and find out. “First off, I’d like to know who killed Mumbles.”
“It was my father’s dog, Lucchesi. It had to be. Lucchesi didn’t know my father was helping the Allies. It’s still possible the boy was meant to die from the beginning. But it doesn’t matter and it’s all my fault.”
“I don’t know about that. Remember, your father called the Bureau of Investigation to verify the identity of the agent who approached him with the British. He didn’t exist. Your father might have thought he was in trouble running a rogue operation for the British.”
“I still think Lucchesi was acting alone, as much as I believe my father capable.”
How would Viviana know that? She only knew what her mother told her. And why was it her fault? He tried to prepare himself to be shocked. “Why your fault? And what plan?”
“That’s complicated, but I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t alert the cops.”
She was fumbling. Why? It didn’t matter whether her father ordered the hit or not. He thought briefly about telling her to stop. Did he really need to know more? Mumbles was dead and Ruffulo was involved up to his ears. Now Ruffulo was dead. Game over. But it wasn’t over, not for Conor and not for Mumbles. He had to know for sure, and he had to know everything. Did this woman know the whole story? If so, what is she? Who is she? “I have time. How do you know all this? Does that mean everything else you told me was a lie? Even the personal . . . things?”
“Of course not. I was as honest with you as I could be. It’s a long story.”
“I have time. I could even buy us a drink.”
About the Author
Bob was raised in Chicago, enlisting in the Air Force in 1968. Following four years of service as a Russian Linguist in the Security Service Command, a branch of the NSA, Bob attended DePaul University and The John Marshall Law School. With over thirty years of experience as a criminal defense lawyer in Chicago, Bob brings a lifetime of understanding and experience to his novels. His Running with Cannibals is the Grand Prize winner of the CIBA 2022 Hemingway Award for best 20th-century wartime fiction.
The author lives in the Chicago area.
Connect with Robert W. Smith
Buy Links
To Pledge Allegiance (Amazon paid link)
Also, by Robert W. Smith
A Long Way from Clare (Amazon - paid link)
FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission, at no cost to you, if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!
Many thanks to Robert W. Smith for stopping by with an excerpt and to Janet @ More Agreeably Engaged for organizing this book tour.
So, friends, what did you think of the excerpt? I'd love to know your thoughts!
Sunday, December 17, 2023
"Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Lord" by Celeste Connally ~ My Review
Hello, my friends! It's been a while since I've posted a review. This is more of a mini review, but I thought I'd post it anyway. 😃
Monday, April 3, 2023
"Death in Sensible Circumstances" by Riana Everly ~ Guest Post, Excerpt, & Giveaway
Hello, friends! Today, it's my pleasure to have Riana Everly visiting with us. Her new book, and the 4th in the Miss Mary Investigates Series, Death in Sensible Circumstance, was released on March 1, 2023. Riana is here with a fun word from Elinor Dashwood and an excerpt from the book! Plus, details for a giveaway are at the bottom of this page.
Good day, friends,
It is I, Elinor Dashwood, who am here to talk with you today. My friend, Miss Mary Bennet, had so hoped to join us, but she was called away on a most urgent matter, and begged me to entertain you in her stead. It was unavoidable and was, I believe, the sensible thing to do.
I recently made the acquaintance of Miss Bennet whilst we were both staying in London, she with her aunt and uncle, and I with a relation of sorts, a generous woman named Mrs Jennings. I had expected something of a tedious stay in Town, for my sister Marianne was in very low spirits. We had been invited as a diversion from the small society at home, but had Marianne hoped to find the suitor who had abandoned her there. Alas, when we did discover him, it was to learn that he was engaged to somebody else, and Marianne has been inconsolable since. I had resigned myself to months of tedium listening to my poor sister’s woes, when, to my delight, I happened across Mary Bennet at a bookshop.
What a delightful friend; so interesting and informed, and yet so sensible. I am very pleased to have met her.
How much more unusual still the summer became when, first, tragedy struck in the form of a most tragic death, and later, when I became involved in the pursuit of the killer. This unexpected turn of events was rendered more yet extraordinary when the man suspected of instigating the murder was somebody I… esteem greatly. And that is only the beginning of the how convoluted affairs became!
How clever my friend Mary was, to have solved this baffling mystery. She and her companion, a rather handsome investigator named Alexander Lyons, had all manner of tales to tell me when, at last, the killer was discovered.
But I shall not tell you that tale at the moment. Instead, here is an account of how all these adventures began, when first I made the acquaintance of Miss Mary Bennet.
From Death in Sensible Circumstances: A Sense and Sensibility Mystery
March 23, 1814
Mary Bennet could not name how many times she had walked past this particular shop on the corner. From the outside, it was an unassuming establishment, mere steps from the Bond Street Bazaar. Whilst walking down the street, one could see a small display of books in a window, but there was no apparent door, and a passerby might well believe the shop merely to be another of the booths in an arcade near The Exchange. But if one were to take a few strides down that other street—little more than a laneway, really—there one would find the green painted door that said At the Sign of the Phoenix.
Every time in the past, Mary would stare at the door and wonder what was inside, but had never entered. She was always on some errand for her aunt, or expected somewhere, or simply too unsure of herself to walk unescorted into an unknown establishment. She ought, she told herself, to know better. She was Mary Bennet! She had solved—with some help, of course—three murders! She was not some simpering and helpless chit to be scared of a bookshop. And yet she always found some reason not to take that final step and enter the establishment.
Today, however, was to be different. Aunt Gardiner had told her in no uncertain terms to go and enjoy herself, and had even given her a whole guinea to spend “on matters completely frivolous.” When added to the ten pounds her brother-in-law Darcy had sent her for her stay in London, she felt as rich as the Prince himself. Yes! Today she would enter the Phoenix and buy herself a book!
She turned the corner and reached for the door. It swung open easily in her hand and she stepped through. And then her eyes widened and she gasped. Never had she expected this!
The room, though not large, was larger than the outside promised, and was stacked from the floor to ceiling with books! More shelves than she could count crossed the floor from the side walls, all filled almost to bursting with every manner of tome. Here and there, scattered with no seeming sense of pattern, a chair leaned near a wall, a few occupied by an avid reader, and in the scant open space between shelves, a handful of small tables supported piles of what looked to be several copies of the same title. As Mary gaped, a ginger cat wound itself about her ankles and drew her forward a few steps, where she could now see, at the far end of the shop, a staircase leading upwards, with a sign that read More Upstairs. It was an emporium of books!
Heaven, Mary mused, must be exactly like this, and then she chastised herself for having such improper thoughts about the nature of God’s heaven.
The cat rubbed itself up the backs of her shins and she stepped forward again. Now she could see a little desk in one corner, behind which sat a man of indeterminate years, neither young nor old, with thinning hair and spectacles. He peered at her through narrow eyes and gave a brief nod. He must be the bookshop’s proprietor. She nodded in return and hoped she looked friendly and trustworthy enough to be allowed in his establishment.
“May I help you?” the man asked in hushed tones.
She swallowed and her face flushed hot. Could she voice her request to this unknown man? He would surely judge her most lacking. A serious, sensible young woman like herself ought to be reading a certain sort of literature. Improving manuals, for example, or sermons on the proper deportment of young ladies, or edifying poetry perhaps. But what Mary really wanted, and what she was going to buy with her small fortune of coins if her courage did not fail her, was a novel. Perhaps something horrid, like Regina Maria Roche’s The Monastery of St. Columb. Or Mary Brunton’s Discipline, perhaps. She had heard this latter had all manner of Highland scenes, which interested her greatly, although it really ought not to do so at all.
There was Mrs. Roche’s book. She picked up a copy and turned to the first page. Was it horrible, like Clermont? Or worse, like The Mysteries of Udolfo? She had never dared to read something as scandalous as Udolfo, but she had heard so much about it… Still, she could not stop herself from reading the first page or two, or perhaps five, oblivious to the rest of the world.
Perhaps she would do better with Mrs. Brunton’s Discipline. She replaced the copy of The Monastery of St. Columb and reached for Discipline instead, her eyes full of the stacks about her. But rather than her hand alighting upon the cool hard cover of a book, she touched soft flesh instead. She pulled her hand back as if burned, only to see another young woman do exactly the same thing.
“Please forgive me,” Mary blurted out, as the other woman exclaimed, “Oh, I am so sorry!”
Then both of them smiled and both began to laugh, which brought the shopkeeper around to ask them to please be a little quieter.
“Have you read Mrs. Brunton’s book?” Mary asked the other lady, her voice now low.
“No, although I do wish to. But I must hide it from my sister. She thinks me far too serious to read novels! I saw you looking at The Monastery. Do you like the Gothick stories?”
Mary felt herself blush and hoped the red did not go badly with her mustard yellow pelisse. “Oh no! That is, I ought not… I dare not. I am far too sober-minded for that! Although I must confess, I would like to see what it is about…”
The other lady began to laugh again and then quickly quietened down to a delicate titter. “We are much alike then. Which shall you buy?”
Mary pinched her lips together and frowned. “I cannot say! I would like to read both, but really must not spend that amount of money.”
“And I likewise.” Her companion shook her head and sighed.
“Ah, wait! I have a grand idea.” Mary beamed. She felt a great connection with this unknown lady, who seemed so similar to her and who had such excellent taste in books. “Perhaps I can buy the one and you the other, and when we have read them through, we might meet and lend each other our books so we can read both.”
“How very clever! Here, may I introduce myself? It is not quite the thing, and yet there is no one else to do the honours, and we are hardly at a ball or an at-home. It must be excusable. My name is Elinor Dashwood, and I am staying in town with my cousin for some months.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Dashwood. I am Mary Bennet and I am staying with my aunt and uncle. What fun this is!”
Before long, the two ladies had made their purchases and, seeing there was ample time before either needed to return home, they decided to take tea at an elegant tea shop by The Exchange. They talked of this and that and the other, and by the time both had to depart, they had become fast friends.










