About
Kieran:
Double Rita®-finalist and USA
Today bestseller Kieran Kramer is the author of the
lighthearted Regency historical
romance series, The Impossible Bachelors, published by
St. Martin’s Press. She has a
new six-book contract with St. Martin’s for another
Regency series called The House
of Brady, premiering in August 2012 with LOVING
LADY MARCIA. A former CIA
employee, journalist, and English teacher, Kieran’s also
a game show veteran, karaoke
enthusiast, and general adventurer. Without doubt her
greatest adventure, which she’s
taken hand-in-hand with her husband of 23 years, a
commander in the US Navy
Reserves, has been mothering their three children.
Kieran’s
tagline:
Love changes everything…
Links:
Loving
Lady Marcia back cover copy:
Marcia
gets schooled…
Of the three
Brady sisters, Lady Marcia has always seemed the girl most likely to lead a
perfectly charmed life. But after a handsome cad breaks her heart, she swears
off love and devotes her life to teaching girls at a private school. In spite
of her family’s wish for a London debut, Marcia is happy where she is—until
terrible news sends her back to the Brady clan…and into the arms of an
unexpected suitor.
On
the subject of love
A dark and
dashing earl who knows Marcia’s past, Duncan Lattimore is surprised by what a
fascinating and independent woman she’s become. Marcia, too, is surprised—by
the fiery attraction she feels for Duncan. But why—why—must he be the brother
of the scoundrel who broke her heart? Why must Marcia’s rival at school forbid
her from seeing him? How can this lady possibly resist this fellow—when they
know that it’s much more than a hunch…?
Buy
Links:
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/loving-lady-marcia-kieran-kramer/1107587200?ean=9781466805507&format=nook-book
iBooks:
http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/loving-lady-marcia/id525170892?mt=11Now that you've met Kieran, read on to get the first chapter of Loving Lady Marcia!
Chapter 1
1814
A girl knows when her life really
begins, and for fifteen-year-old Lady Marcia Sherwood, daughter of the Marquess
and Marchioness of Brady, it was the moment she met the two Lattimore brothers.
When the first one took his seat in
the Brady carriage, she had to clamp her teeth together to keep her mouth from
falling open. If her friends at school could only see him. They’d never
believe he was this handsome.
“I’m Finn,” he said. “Pleased to
meet you.” He gave a half-grin, his eyes gleaming with something.
He must guess. He must know she
found him attractive. Or perhaps he found her attractive.
Oh, dear. Could that be so?
That would make life so much more
interesting. The brothers were to be her traveling companions to Liverpool, and
then across the Irish Sea to Dublin, where she’d reunite with her family.
Marcia smiled, being careful to keep
her expression demure, but inside, her heart was pounding. “I’m Lady Marcia
Sherwood,” she said, feeling like an idiot. “But please--call me Marcia.”
Her maid nudged her in the side. “Lady
Marcia will do, young man.”
His clothes were of the finest
tailoring, setting off his good looks so well that Marcia had to wonder how he lived
with himself. Had he gotten used to
being so handsome?
“Right,” he said lightly, “of course,” and
smiled at her as if to say, When we’re alone, I’ll call you Marcia.
She already adored him.
A shadow fell across his face as
another figure entered the carriage. This young man was just as tall but more
solidly built and definitely the older of the two. Marcia had to move her knees
sideways to allow him proper room to settle. Once he had, he looked directly at
her.
He was striking in his own way, with
compelling dark brown eyes, but he lacked the charm—or should she say, the
obvious delight in his surroundings--that the younger brother exuded. In fact,
his tightly furrowed brow suggested he was slightly irritated before the trip
had even begun.
The very exciting, adventurous trip
she’d been looking forward to for ages.
“Good morning.” His imperturbable
gaze encompassed both her and her maid. “I’m Lord Chadwick,” he threw out in
bored tones, as if they should be very grateful he’d spoken at all.
“Good morning,” Marcia answered.
She did not like him. Her
body felt all prickly and hot, and it was clearly his fault.
The maid smiled at the earl. Marcia
could tell she was gratified that he’d included a mere servant in his greeting.
But Marcia didn’t give him credit for it. She wouldn’t. He’d put her off.
The carriage rolled forward.
Lord Chadwick inclined his head at
her. “You must be Lady Marcia Sherwood.”
It was a statement, not a question.
And he said it as if he didn’t give a fig who she was.
“Indeed, I am.” Marcia forced a
corner of her mouth to tilt up--to please Mama. She’d been brought up with
manners, after all.
“I’ve heard much of your family.”
His tone was cordial but cool. He was
going through the motions of polite behavior, nothing more.
What would Mama do?
She’d probably say something
complimentary—and sincere--to put the person at ease, so Marcia wracked her
brains. “My parents and I are grateful for your escort all the way to Dublin.
That’s a trek.” She gave a little laugh.
His distracted gaze didn’t change. “It’s
no trouble.”
“Of course, it’s not,” Mr. Lattimore
interjected warmly. Thank God for him. He was like a knight in shining
armor sitting next to a knave. “Why not travel together? We’re going to the
wedding ourselves.”
His older brother didn’t bother
acknowledging the interruption. “I understand the rest of your family is
currently ensconced at your Irish estate?” he asked Marcia.
Poor Mr. Lattimore. To be treated
like…like a nobody. Yes, Gregory treated Peter that way, and Peter did
the same to Robert, but still! It must be humiliating, and Marcia was sure Lord
Chadwick was far worse a brother than any of hers.
“Lady Marcia?” Lord Chadwick asked.
“Oh, yes. You must mean Ballybrook.
It’s the greenest place you’ve ever seen. Daddy”—she pronounced it the Gaelic
way, Doddy—“and Mama retire there when Parliament isn’t in session.
Otherwise, they’re quite comfortable on Grosvenor Square in London. It’s a busy
life, but they say they have the best of both worlds. One green and
comfortable--and one sooty...but terribly elegant, all the same.”
There was a faint gleam of something
in Lord Chadwick’s eye. Was it amusement? And if so, why? Marcia felt
indignation surge in her breast, but of course, she wasn’t permitted to show
it.
Instead, she turned to look at Mr.
Lattimore and was gratified to see that he didn’t appear amused. He seemed to
understand her completely. His large amber eyes gazed into hers with utmost
sympathy, and she returned the look as discreetly as possible.
She was forced to look at his
brother, while Mr. Lattimore had to sit next to him.
It was hard to say who had it worse.
“She’s got a point.” Mr. Lattimore
elbowed the earl. “We can have the best of both worlds, too, now that you’ve
got the title. Why stay in Kent when we can be in Town?”
“Because the estate in Kent needs a
great deal of work.” Lord Chadwick’s tone was distinctly annoyed. “And I’m not
ready to take up my seat in Parliament. Not yet. I’ve a great deal of reading
to do on a host of topics. Not to mention that London soot is a bit
off-putting.”
“That’s not it at all,” Mr.
Lattimore stage-whispered to Marcia. “London’s too amusing for him. My brother
is all about duty.”
“As you should be, too,” Lord
Chadwick muttered, his eyes on the window.
The maid stopped knitting a moment.
“Well, then,” Marcia said brightly,
whereupon the maid’s needles began flashing in and out of a skein of wool once
more. “We have a long way to travel together, don’t we?”
“Indeed, we do.” The earl’s tone was
dry. He turned from the window to study her a brief moment then pulled a small
book out of his pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be reading much of the trip.”
“Not at all,” she said courteously.
Mama would be proud of her composure
in the face of such rudeness. Or grown-up-ness. Marcia couldn’t tell which was
which sometimes.
The title of the book was something
about the politics of war. Lord Chadwick cleared his throat and became immersed
in it immediately.
Marcia exchanged the briefest of
bemused glances with Mr. Lattimore. The earl thought to dismiss them as if they
were children, didn’t he?
She suppressed a sensation of pique.
Couldn’t he see that his younger brother was far from a child? And that she was
a young woman?
She had brains. She could carry on
an adult conversation. Not that she wanted to about the politics of war,
of course. Perhaps something about the politics of fashion. There were
definite sides to be had on so many issues--bonnets, ribbons, sleeve
styles--although she could talk of war if she had to.
Lord Chadwick turned a page of his
book. The maid’s knitting needles clicked and clacked. Mr. Lattimore raised his
brows in a comical way and angled his eyes toward his brother.
Marcia stifled a giggle. She was too
grown up to giggle, of course. But Mr.
Lattimore was…well, he was simply adorable. He brought out the mischievous in
her.
Lord Chadwick looked up briefly, his
gaze neutral yet somehow intimidating. When he went back to reading, Mr.
Lattimore’s very expressive eyes expressed relief.
I’m sorry for you, her own
eyes said back.
We won’t let him ruin the trip,
she read in his.
Understanding swelled between them.
His mouth tilted up, just barely—a secret smile meant just for her. He leaned
forward, the sharp-eyed maid’s needles flashing close by. Close enough to
stab him in the thigh or arm if she so wishes, Marcia had the incongruous
thought.
Thankfully, Mr. Lattimore appeared
oblivious to any danger. And if he were aware of it at all, I suspect he’d
scoff at it, Marcia thought.
He was that sort of young man.
“Fine weather for traveling,” he
whispered to her.
His voice was like a caress.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
###
But the fine weather hadn’t lasted.
In fact, their carriage lost a wheel en route to Liverpool, in the midst of a
great, slashing storm. Thankfully, they’d been near enough a market town that
Lord Chadwick had walked there with the driver to procure another. But then
another deluge prevented any travel for several days.
When they finally managed to board a
packet to Ireland, Marcia was already head over heels for Finnian—Finn, she
called him. How else to explain that she
felt completely new? Joyful? Needy? And very, very confused?
But mainly joyful.
Although perhaps blissful was a
better word. Blissful and aching.
How she ached! Yet it was a blissful ache. Which made no sense—
Good Lord, she needed help. But she
couldn’t tell Mother what was going on. It was too…private at this
point.
Janice would be a lovely confidante,
but she’d have her two childhood friends with her at the wedding. She and
Marcia both would be distracted by the festivities—and Marcia needed a good,
long coze with her sister to explain what it felt like to fall in love. This
wasn’t something she could toss off in casual conversation.
There were her close friends at
school, of course—she could write them letters. Wouldn’t they read her story
avidly! But she didn’t feel comfortable revealing her feelings in a missive
that could possibly pass through many hands. What if her classmate Lysandra
read it? She and the two foolish minions she’d managed to recruit from among
the student body would make fun of her, and that Marcia couldn’t bear.
On the packet, she’d passed several
girls on deck her age, but even if she were to befriend them, who wanted to
reveal such deep passion to someone one had only just met?
Of course, she’d only just met Finn,
too, but that was different. They’d been through so much together already. He
wasn’t a stranger in the least. Riding together in a carriage for days on end
tended to make one familiar with someone rapidly.
Her heart warmed. And standing at
the prow of the sailing packet, she realized didn’t need any of her favorite
people’s advice or shoulders to lean on, much as she loved them.
She simply needed Finn.
It was a startling, exhilarating
conclusion, and she would bask in it in private, staring out at the sea and the
endless horizon, where the sun hung huge and low. Life was so much bigger than
she’d ever imagined it could be….
“There you are.” The deep, dark, and
now familiar voice of Duncan Lattimore, Lord Chadwick, intruded upon Marcia’s
thoughts, and he joined her at the bow, at her left.
She was shocked. Nay, astounded.
Why was he talking to her suddenly? He’d made no effort to speak to her the
entire trip, except when he’d been forced to at meal times. At dinner one night
in a respectable inn, he’d asked several other young ladies closer to his age
what they liked to do—what books they liked to read, for example—but he’d never
asked her anything.
He was too important to be bothered
with his younger brother’s friends, Finn had told her. That’s what happened
when one inherited a fortune, a title, and properties at a young age.
But perhaps she should give the earl
another chance.
“Hello, Lord Chadwick,” she said
now, attempting to feel charitable toward him. She focused on the one day on
their journey when a wheel had broken on the carriage, and he’d walked through
rain and mud to a village to procure help.
“Have you seen my brother?” he asked
her without preamble.
Her friendlier feelings dissolved.
“No,” she said, “but I was hoping he’d make an appearance above decks soon.”
Hoping was a puny word. Praying
was more like it.
“He’s not in our cabin,” Lord
Chadwick said in that distracted way he had, as if he had more important things
to do than speak to her.
Marcia felt another wave of dislike.
Didn’t he even notice that the sea was awe-inspiring? That she was wearing a
pretty bonnet that deserved to be complimented?
That she was also a skilled conversationalist, if he’d give her a
chance?
“I don’t know where Mr. Lattimore
is,” she admitted, “but if I should see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for
him.”
“Very good,” he said, but made no
motion to leave.
Perhaps he stayed because they were
leaning over the prow, a compelling spot to be in those pressing few minutes
between dusk and night at sea. It was a place to show fortitude--and a time
that drew people to stand together against the vastness of the ocean and the
impending darkness, sharing confessions they otherwise might not share.
Marcia felt no such affinity with
Lord Chadwick, however. No desire to find solace in his company, no curiosity
to know him any better than she already did.
But as the seconds passed in silence
and the rising waves and sharpening wind pressed upon her to be as bold as
they, she blurted out, “You don’t like me, do you? I’m that silly girl involved
with your brother—“
A gust of wind lifted Lord
Chadwick’s dark brown hair. “Involved?”
She noticed that he was handsome.
He’d always been but in an understated way. Not like golden-haired Finn, who
turned feminine heads in every tap room they’d entered, in every street they’d
walked.
Marcia lifted her chin. “Surely,
you’ve observed we’ve spent time together.”
“Of course, I have. Haven’t we all?”
They watched a cresting wave break
into foam, then two more.
“True,” she said.
“Just don’t get too attached to
him,” the earl replied in his nonchalant way.
She held fast to the railing, keenly
aware that he hadn’t bothered to answer her original question. Not that she cared
if he liked her. But she felt a frisson of annoyance—and fear—at his last
remark. “What do you mean?” She attempted to sound careless. Inside, she felt anything
but.
“My brother’s got obligations.” The
earl kept his eyes on the horizon. “He sometimes forgets that his job is to
become a man, not sharpen his skills of flirtation.”
The implication being that she was
nothing more than another girl for Finn to charm.
The insult came just as a rogue wave
slapped the hull, sending spray on Marcia’s face. But she ignored the salt
water trickling down her cheek, barely even felt it, in fact. Her middle
churned with anger, with a need to put this man in his place.
“You’re rude.” The wind flung her
words out to sea, frustrating her enough that she leaned closer, demanding that
he turn his head to look at her. “You’ve been rude to me since the first moment
I met you. Why? What have I ever done to you?”
“Me? Rude?” The earl’s face
registered disbelief.
“You don’t speak to me.”
He gave a short laugh. “You’re fifteen.”
“Almost sixteen,” she replied
airily. “And I happen to know how to hold a good conversation. Not only that,
I’m friends with your younger brother.”
“Lady Marcia,” the earl said in
steely tones. “I’m a busy man. I have much on my mind. And yes, I’ve observed
that you’re carrying on a flirtation with Finn—surely, his attentions are
enough to occupy you.”
“It’s not simply a
flirtation.” She felt her voice crack and was mortified. “And I’m not a spoiled
child, demanding excess attention. All I ask is common courtesy. And respect.”
Lord Chadwick drew in a deep breath
and looked steadily at her. “I’ve obviously disappointed you, for which I apologize.
But I’ve no inclination to spar with you this evening or any other.” He turned
and made his way down the empty deck.
It was the dinner hour. But she’d no
appetite. For days, she’d had none. Love had taken it away.
She grabbed onto a swinging line.
“You’re wrong about Finn and me!” she yelled after the earl. “But you can’t see
that, can you?” She knew she shouldn’t be saying such shocking things, but she
couldn’t seem to stop herself. “It’s because you miss out on so much of life.
You read books instead of getting to know people sitting across from you in
carriages.”
Lord Chadwick stopped and turned to
face her, his expression inscrutable.
“You adjourn to your room early,”
she continued unabashedly, “to look at account books rather than stay up late
and tell stories by the fire. And right now you don’t even seem to notice how
breathtaking the sunset is. Someday you’ll be sorry you were ever so smug. And
someday I’ll prove to you there is such a thing as a perfect love.”
He looked over the railing at the
blood red sun, then back at her. “There is no perfect love, nor a perfect
life,” he said, his eyes dark, his gaze boring into hers. “So give up wishing,
will you? It would be a shame to see you hurt. Good evening, Lady Marcia.”
And he resumed walking.
Oh, if only she could throw him
overboard!
Finn appeared at the prow, thank
God, a few moments later. “What’s wrong?”
Instantly, she felt better. “Your
brother—he tried to—“
“Tried to what?” The concern in his
eyes made her care for him all the more.
“He tried to warn me against you. He
said…he said you’re sharpening your skills of flirtation rather than working on
your obligations.” She felt some of her anger dissipate when he pulled her into
his arms.
She’d been dreaming of such a moment.
“What man wouldn’t fall head over
heels for you?” he said into her hair. “And put aside work to be with you?”
“You’re kind to say so,” she said,
daring to remain in his arms.
“I’m not kind; I’m truthful.” He
pulled back to look at her, his hands leaving fire where he touched her
shoulders. “I’m sorry Duncan was rude.”
Night was close. No one was looking.
Amazing how on a small packet, one could get away with so much.
“If it means we’ll do this”--she
leaned against his chest--“I hope he’ll be rude to me again.”
“Marcia,” Finnian whispered.
“Finn,” she whispered back, and
closed her eyes, reveling in the knowledge that she could both feel and hear
his beating heart.
He pulled back and lifted her chin.
“I don’t know how it happened so fast.”
“I don’t, either.” She saw that
yearning in his eyes, the same one she’d seen in other boys and men in the
village in Surrey and on her school trips to Brighton and London. It was a
mystery to her no more. She knew it was desire.
But she wanted him just as much.
Wanted him to hold her, to kiss her.
Please, she thought.
“I’m falling in love with you.” His
voice was rough.
“And I with you,” she answered.
She already had. Everything was
Finn. Except for that one, small corner of her mind where she saw his brother
telling her not to get attached. And then walking away as if she were a
nuisance he was glad to leave.
Duncan Lattimore obviously liked to
ruin things. But she wouldn’t let him ruin this.
The arc of the wind-filled jib sail obscured
her and Finnian from view. She put a tentative hand on the side of his face. He
leaned into her palm, caressing it with his jaw, an act so tender, her eyes
began to sting. And then he drew her hand down, clutched it in his own, and
kissed her.
It was perfect. So perfect
she knew in that moment that love was hers for the taking.
“I must see you as often as
possible,” Finn said, as if she were the greatest treasure on earth.
“I’m leaving my school,” she replied
without preamble. “I must be in London. Near you.”
“Yes. I like London. Much better
than the estate in Kent. Or Oxford.” He kissed her again, a possessive,
lingering seal of their mutual promise.
This time his hand came so close to
the underside of her breast, she shivered.
The words she’d thrown like a
gauntlet to Lord Chadwick came back to her: And someday I’ll prove to you
there is such a thing as a perfect love.
With Finn, Marcia knew it could be
so.
It was so.
Already.
###
It had been a whirlwind two weeks in
Dublin. She’d spent every possible moment she could with Finn. Janice was
completely oblivious to her strong feelings for him, caught up as she was in
the excitement of being in Dublin with two of her oldest and best friends.
And now it was the night of Marcia’s
sixteenth birthday.
Her family had rented a private
residence on Dublin’s Southside with a beautiful conservatory attached. Long
after the rest of the family had gone to bed, in the deepest, stillest part of
the night, she and Finn lay on their backs, cradled in each other’s arms, and
looked up through the glass ceiling at the stars barely visible—“but still
there,” Finn insisted—through the clouds.
“You only have to be sixteen to
marry in Scotland,” he murmured against her hair.
She almost stopped breathing.
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said, and ran his hand
down her flank. “When we get back to England, we’re going to run away. To
Gretna Green.”
“Yes,”
she whispered, and held tighter to him, suddenly feeling small.
This was genuine, their love. All too
genuine. And although most of the time, she embraced it bravely and with great
joy, like a feather dancing in the wind, at the moment she felt its
all-consuming power, its potential to sweep her away to parts unknown.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered back,
and kissed her, his mouth tender upon her own.
No. She wouldn’t be.
He pulled her ties loose at her
back, gently pushing her sleeves and bodice down while he murmured sweet
nothings in her ear.
That
night, Marcia let love take her where it would. She gave Finn everything. Everything.
In the dark, their coupling was
awkward. Fast. The fear of discovery was strong between them. And then much to
Marcia’s surprise, there had been pain. Blood.
More awkwardness.
But as was typical with Finn, he
didn’t dwell on unpleasantness.
After she’d fumbled about and
restored herself to order, he merely pulled her close again. “Right,” he said,
and released a long sigh.
She waited a few seconds. They’d
given themselves to each other. It was a profound moment. But when Finn didn’t
speak, she realized he might be nervous. Her father and mother slept nearby, as
did her siblings. If they were discovered, there’d be hell to pay.
“I love you,” she reassured him and
snuggled close. “You’re the one and only man I will ever love.”
He stroked her hair a few moments.
“We’re splendid together,” he said after a few seconds. “More than splendid.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“We’re perfect,” she sighed, and
looked up at him with a grin.
He grinned back and kissed her once
more—a long, lingering kiss--then pulled her to her feet from the extremely
crude bed they’d made of pillows stolen from a few chairs.
“And now I must go,” he said,
sounding nervous, as she’d guessed he must be. “We can’t be found out.”
“I know.” She clung to him. “But I
wish you didn’t have to go.”
This was their last night together.
Tomorrow, she’d be off to Ballybrook, and he’d travel to Cork with Lord
Chadwick to visit friends and then take a packet back across the Irish Sea to
England.
Soon, though, they’d be together
forever.
“Where and when will we meet to go
to Gretna?” she asked him.
“I’ll plan it all out when I get
back to England and write you a letter, of course.” He pinched her cheek.
“Silly.” And then he laughed.
She did, too. She couldn’t help it.
Seeing him laugh made her happier than anything else in the world.
She was still brimming over with it
when the next morning dawned cold and gray. Her first thought wasn’t even a
thought—it was a feeling that ran like a slow, lazy, warm, wonderful river
through her body: Love.
Love, love, love.
She smiled at the ceiling, rubbed
her lips together, remembering how Finn had kissed her. Ran her hands over her
belly, and lower. He’d been there. He’d been everywhere.
He was a part of her now.
But then tears blurred her vision
when she remembered that she wouldn’t be seeing him that day. She wouldn’t be
seeing him for weeks. She lingered in her room, feigning a
headache—utterly miserable, ready to snap at anyone who dared speak to her,
almost hoping she could, because then she could cry openly, and everyone would
think it was because she was sorry for being a shrew. But that wouldn’t be why
she’d be crying. Oh, no. She’d be crying because she didn’t belong anywhere
Finn wasn’t.
She was in the midst of packing for
the journey to Ballybrook—as if she cared anymore about the new wing Daddy had
designed!--when she received a note from Finn.
Finn.
Finn, Finn, Finn.
She wanted to hug the servant who’d
brought the stiff envelope. She sniffed it. It smelled of him. Suddenly, her
world was sunshine-y again.
She pressed the paper over her heart
and seated herself at her dressing table, luxuriating in the knowledge that she
was Finn’s and that a message had come from her beloved.
It would be a love note to tide her
over until she got back to her school in Surrey, a missive she’d keep under her
pillow. And perhaps in the letter he’d write about when they could next…be
together. Perhaps he had a plan for that. Gretna couldn’t come soon enough. She
could hardly breathe, thinking of the risks they were taking.
Being in love, she decided, was not
for the fainthearted.
When she finished the note, she
stared at her reflection in the looking glass. The woman that she’d become
overnight looked back at her. But whereas moments ago, that woman had been
flush with love, her heart brimming over with it, in fact, the person looking
back at her now was an empty shell.
Finn had written that he was shocked
to hear he’d be sailing not back to England from Ireland but to America—in
accordance with his brother’s wishes.
“He’s sending me to a property of
ours in Virginia for an apprenticeship in land management,” Finn wrote, “but I
know the real reason I’m going. He wants to keep us apart.”
There was a blob of ink, as if he’d
forgotten to sign it--as if his hectoring sibling were standing at his
bedchamber door with an open trunk demanding that Finn throw his breeches and
cravats into it then and there.
It was the last note Marcia would
ever receive from him.
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14-Aug My Secret Romance First Chapter
14-Aug Live To Read First Chapter
15-Aug Melissa's Eclectic Bookshelf Spot Light
15-Aug Romancing Rakes For The Love of Romance Spot Light,
Interview
15-Aug Romance Book Junkies Spot Light
16-Aug LilyElement Book Reviews First Chapter
16-Aug Love to Read Romance Spot Light
17-Aug Red Headed Bookworm Spot Light, Interview, First Chapter
17-Aug Sapphyria's Steamy Book Reviews First Chapter
20-Aug My World Spot Light
20-Aug Ramblings From This Chick First Chapter
21-Aug Books, Books, and More Books Interview
21-Aug Ramblings of an Amateur Writer Spot Light
21-Aug SOS Aloha Guest Post
22-Aug Lissette E. Manning First Chapter
23-Aug Adventures of Frugal Mom Interview
24-Aug Words I Write Crazy First Chapter
24-Aug The Self-Taught Cook Spot Light
26-Aug The Rockville 8 Interview
27-Aug The Popculture Divas Spot Light and First Chapter
27-Aug Bunnie Reviews Spot Light, Interview, First Chapter
28-Aug Release Day Blitz
29-Aug Reviewing Shelf Spot Light
29-Aug The Lucky Ladybug First Chapter
30-Aug Live To Read Spot Light
30-Aug My Secret Romance Spot Light
31-Aug A Night's Dream of Books Interview
31-Aug Cocktails and Books Spot Light and First Chapter
3-Sep ¡Miraculous! Spot Light
3-Sep Bibliophilia, Please First Chapter
4-Sep Ramblings From This Chick Spot Light
5-Sep Reading Between the Wines Spot Light, First Chapter
6-Sep My Cozie Corner Interview
7-Sep T B R Spot Light, interview
10-Sep A Date with a Book First Chapter
11-Sep Ramblings of an Amateur Writer First Chapter
12-Sep Mission to Read Interview
13-Sep Crossroads Spot LIght, Review
14-Sep Always a Booklover Spot Light
14-Sep Reader Girls Spot Light
Considering I have been following your blog tour and read how you came about this series, I can't believe it finally dawned on me the heroine's name. Do you use the other names of the Brady kids for her sibling? Can't wait to read it the book
ReplyDeleteYes, I do, Ora!!! The next book belongs to Gregory, Marcia's big brother. Then Janice will have a book, followed by Peter, Robert, and Cynthia!!!!
ReplyDeleteHeather, I'm so happy to be here. Thank you for being a wonderful hostess. :>)
You are very welcome! Thanks for allowing me to host your wonderful book!
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ReplyDeleteOops, I duplicated the comment! So since I'm back, I wanted to let y'all know the title of Gregory's book, THE EARL IS MINE!!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for hosting Kieran!
ReplyDeleteI have so enjoyed the blog tour. Now, I really feel like a Kieran Groupie!! Cannot wait to read "Loving Lady Marcia!"
ReplyDeleteConnie, I'm so grateful to you for stopping by! Thanks bunches!!! XOXO
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