Holly Day: Vampire Food

Holly Day has a new release today! Celebrate National Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor’s Porch Day with a magic user, a vampire, and a mountain of zucchini!

Cover: Vampire Food by Holly Day

Vampire Food

MM Slow Burn, Hurt – Comfort, Size Difference, Found Family, Vampire, Magic User

  • Author: Holly Day
  • Editor: Lourenza Adlem
  • Release: 5th August 2023
  • Price: $4.99
  • ISBN: 9781685505202
  • ASIN: B0CD5LQ3TM
  • KU:      No
  • Wide:  Yes
  • Buy: AmazonJMS BooksUBLGoodreads

A former blood slave. A strapping vampire. More zucchinis than any man could eat.

Rue Yarrow was rescued from a blood bar and taken to a gated community of supernaturals. Haunted by nightmares and memories, he does his best to avoid people. His only solace is his garden, where he uses his magic to grow an abundance of vegetables. But one day, it isn’t the zucchinis greeting him, but a severed human head.

Noah Caramine wants as little drama as possible, and interfering with a vampire clan’s business is never a good idea. He’s never met a magic user and is curious about Rue, but he fears there will be consequences for stealing the blood slaves.

When body parts start popping up inside the walls, Noah doesn’t know if someone is trying to frame them for murder or distract them from keeping the blood slaves safe. Rue never believed he’d go near a vampire again, but when threats are drawing closer, he turns to Noah. Who better to keep him safe from vampires than a vampire?

A former blood slave A strapping vampire. More zucchinis than any man could eat! Out now!

About Holly Day

According to Holly Day, no day should go by uncelebrated and all of them deserve a story. If she’ll have the time to write them remains to be seen. She lives in rural Sweden with a husband, four children, more pets than most, and wouldn’t last a day without coffee. 

Holly gets up at the crack of dawn most days of the week to write gay romance stories. She believes in equality in fiction and in real life. Diversity matters. Representation matters. Visibility matters. We can change the world one story at the time. 

Connect with Holly on social media: Website :: Facebook :: Twitter :: Pinterest :: BookBub :: Goodreads :: Newsletter :: TikTok

Excerpt from Vampire Food

As he rounded the house, he came to a stop. The back side was bigger than the front. Damn.
Half a second later, someone walked into him from behind. Without thinking, he dropped the spade, reached around, and grabbed them, ready to tear their throat out.
Rue stared wide-eyed at him. “Sorry.”
Noah gentled his grip. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I was watching the trees. Not paying attention.”
Noah glanced at the trees. Apple and plum trees on this side of the garden. “The plums are almost ripe.”
Rue looked at the trees again.
“When you’re done feeling him up, can we get started?”
Rue stiffened at Asher’s call, and Noah let go of him in favor of giving Asher the finger, but he only got a grin and a wink in reply. Fucker.
“Right, let’s get to it.”
Gertrude moved to stand next to Rue. “Should we tell them to take their shirts off? We should have drinks and popcorn.” She bumped her shoulder against Rue’s.
Noah pretended not to listen but held his breath as he waited for Rue’s response.
“I should get back to the beans.”
No request to take his shirt off then. He hadn’t expected one.
“Let’s see if this rolling thing works first.” Gertrude crossed her arms over her chest.
Noah put the spade into the lawn and stepped on it to cut through the grass. Then he moved a blade length and did it again, and again, and again until he’d cut a line to the end of the garden. Then he did one more about a foot from the first line until he got a strip.
“The moment of truth.” He smiled at Rue and pushed the spade in under the grass edge. After a few tries, he got the edge to let go of the soil below. As he rolled, the grass separated from the ground.
“Oh, cool, it works.” Rue rushed forward. “I can do it, and you do another line.” He fell on his knees next to Noah, who let go when Rue touched the grass.
He got to his feet and reached for the spade. Before he started cutting the next line, Gertrude gave him a nod and a smile. “I’ll go help Chaton.”
Rue’s head whipped around. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”
“Not to worry, dear. I tried to save you from getting your hands dirty, but I see it was all in vain.” She grinned at him and walked away. Rue looked after her, some tension bleeding into his muscles, but then he shook his head and got rolling.
Asher worked at the other end of the lawn while Noah kept even steps with Rue. The roll grew rapidly, and soon Rue had to stand to roll it. They reached the end, only to start over again. After a few times, sweat was pearling and Rue was out of breath.
“Want to switch?” Stepping on a spade didn’t take too much effort.
“Yeah, maybe.”
They did one strip, but when they got about one-third into the second, Rue stopped. “There is something here.” Rue rammed the spade into the ground without any greater success. “It’s crunchy. I can’t get the blade down.” He hit the spade against the lawn again. Noah frowned as he took in the patch of dead grass. Strange.
“A stone maybe. Should I cut around it?”
Noah got to his feet, and Rue handed over the spade. There was something hard underneath, and the ground looked as if it had been disturbed, but only in a small space. Noah cut around it and pushed the spade in under the dried grass edge. As he got it loose, he grabbed it and pulled.
There, buried in the soil, was a mostly decomposed head. His gaze locked on the hair. It was dirty and mattered, but not dirty enough for him to miss the long blond strands with purple highlights. Fuck. “Gertrude!”
The stench of decay crawled into his nostrils, and he grimaced.
Rue gagged, and Noah reached for him. To his surprise, Rue turned into him, hiding his face against his chest. “Is that… is that…”
“A head, yes.”
“Madeline.”
Noah stared at the face. It was too decomposed to make out any specific features. Gertrude appeared by his side, followed by Chaton, who hissed.
“Madeline.” He turned to Rue, who was resting his forehead against Noah’s chest. “Did you kill Madeline?”
Rue shook his head, his entire body starting to tremble.
“Who’s Madeline?” Gertrude spoke in a low, soothing voice, but both Rue and Chaton were shaking their heads.
Asher looked at the head, then at Noah. “Where’s the rest?”
Oh, fuck. Were there more body parts hidden in the garden?

Buy Vampire Food: Amazon - JMS Books - UBL 

#RAtR: Seasonal Reads, yes or no?

Read Around the Rainbow

As you’re probably aware, #RAtR is a blogging project I am doing with a few friends who also write LGBTQIA romance. You can find everyone by clicking here or on the image to the right.

Morning! We had a quite a long rambling discussion about this topic when we were discussing what to write this month. It turns out the group is firmly divided in to “I love seasonal reads!” and “I hate seasonal reads!”.

I’m pretty firmly in the latter group; except when I started actually thinking about it, it’s more that I usually avoid stories about Christmas. This dovetails nicely with my not-much-liking-Christmas-generally thing, so I feel I understand myself better now 😊.

Summer reads though…are they books set in the summer? Or books you are supposed to read whilst lying on the beach?

I never do the latter and although I’m sat in my conservatory looking out at the garden, this British July day is full of grey drizzle, so to get in to a proper summer mood I would need to be reading something where the main characters are wearing waders and sou’westers.

I think it’s the flavour of the book that makes something reminiscent of a particular season for me. Cider With Rosie by Laurie Lee will forever be associated for me with the summer of my O-Levels where we studied it for English Lit. But also for the scene where he talks about the women bringing the men their dinner out to the fields and sitting and eating with them; and hanging the stone cider flagons in the stream before they started work to cool them down for dinner time. I don’t know why that resonated so strongly for me. But it did. I can’t remember that happening, although I can remember playing in and out of the rows of drying hay as a child—the smell, the feel of the sun on your skin, that sense of freedom—that’s the essence of summer for me.

Cover, Taking Stock

Perhaps that’s why I find it hard to make a list of books in the queer romance genre that I can put on a summer reads list? I like my romance with some angst, generally speaking. And angst tends not to vibe with long summer evenings and swifts dipping low over the river. Although perhaps I should see that as a challenge and try and write one. You could try Taking Stock, I guess? That does have kissing by the not-quite-magical pool and sun dappling the sheep shearers through the chestnut trees and lots and lots of angst, because Laurie has had a stroke and can’t farm his own farm any more; and Phil has been set up by his ex-boyfriend to take the fall for fraud.

I’m much happier with Halloween, which seems to be the next thing in the calendar people write around. I like Gregory Ashe’s DuPage Parish Mysteries, which are satisfactorily creepy but also funny in Ashe’s inimitable style. Wendigos, anyone? I’m also keen on The Pumpkin Patch by Darien Cox and Kade Boeme, which is the only time I’ve ever voluntarily picked up something I knew to be a Halloween story before I read it, largely because the cover is smothered in pumpkins! It’s still a murder-mystery, which is why I like it. Darien Cox is an auto-buy for me, which is what overcame what I like to think of my natural reticence to engage with what’s mostly a US-ian holiday :). I’ve also got my own sapphic Sleeping Dogs, which is a short story based on the Celtic myth of black dogs. It seemed like Halloween was a good time to release something creepy. It’s just come out of KU and should be making its way wide in the next couple of weeks.

As far as Christmas is concerned. Well. Don’t get me started. I hate the drama around the whole season! And I just don’t get the whole Christmas in July thing. However, as far as Christmas-themed stories go, I make an exception for Miss Claus by J. R. Hart, which is a lovely story of Santa Claus’ daughter which also happens to have excellent trans rep. Plus…who can forget Masters in This Hall by K. J. Charles, the third in the Lilywhite Boys series? If light-fingered thieves and fake-medieval Christmases are your thing, I recommend. And also… my own sapphic Surfacing Again is set over Christmas on the island of Lindisfarne. It’s kind of sad? But also it has a happy ending. And otters.

close up shot of otters

I hope that gives you something to get your teeth in to. I’m looking forward to reading my colleague’s recommendations for their ultimate summer reads and I’d love to hear your own favourites.

To read what my Read Around the Rainbow colleagues have written about seasonal reads, click through below!

Nell IrisOfelia Grand : Lillian Francis : Fiona Glass : Amy Spector : Ellie Thomas : Holly Day : K. L. Noone : Addison Albright

#ReadAroundtheRainbow: AI Versus the Writer

Read Around the Rainbow

As you’re probably aware, #RAtR is a blogging project I am doing with a few friends who also write LGBTQIA romance. You can find everyone by clicking here or on the image to the right.

So this month’s project is basically messing around with AI chatbots. Collectively, along with most other creatives, the Read Around the Rainbow group are very concerned with the way there seems to be a minority cohort who think AIs can replace human artists and writers. So we decided to write from a prompt ourselves; and then ask one of the Chatbot AIs to write from the same prompt, and compare the two.

person reaching out to a robot

The results are pretty hilarious and I honestly don’t think this generation of bots are going to replace us fiction writers. Am I concerned about ‘writers’ using them to generate whole books and dumping them on KU? Yes, yes I am.

However, I don’t think the work is going to compare, at least not with this iteration of bots, whether they are trained on the AO3 archive and free stories the creators have grabbed from Smashwords or stories they have scraped from elsewhere. A lot of AI models are trained on Bookcorpus, it turns out, which used fanfic and free Smashwords books as part of its dataset without the consent of the authors. You can read more about that here. This qualifies as stealing other people’s work, bigtime, so that’s yet another huge reason not to use an AI to churn out another quick 50k variation of Pride and Prejudice and make money from it.

As you know if you know me at all, I read a lot of science fiction. My imaginary future does not include a world where the robots do all the fun, creative, imaginary stuff and humans are still forced to do minimum-wage schtick to survive.

Apart from that major issue, I guess… my main question is, what’s the point? What’s the point of getting these language bots to write fiction, or produce art? Creative work is supposed to be fulfilling for both the creator and the people who interact with it. It’s supposed to prompt an emotional response and engagement from both sides. You create your piece, which gives you an emotional response. And if you choose to, you set it free in the world for other people to engage with and respond to.

Firstly… these bots are not actually AI. They are language bots. They don’t remember interacting with you. They’re not people. They don’t have emotions. They aren’t engaged with what they produce on any level other than working out which word follows which in response to the prompt you give them within the guidelines of the dataset they’ve been trained on. So… that’s the biggest part of the creative process missing.

And secondly–the quality of what they are producing is just awful. I think you can get something vaguely workmanlike if you feed it the right prompts, but having looked at most of the pieces my #RAtR colleagues have generated for this… well. They all very much reminds me of the story I wrote for Mrs Lowe in Year 3, when my character went up a mountain and they climbed and climbed and climbed and climbed for about six lines and she told me off for repeating myself too much just to fill up the page.

These bots don’t have the depth of emotion, the life experience or the imagination that humans do. They don’t have feelings, they have simply have logical responses. If they were AIs in the sense that Iain M. Banks’ ‘Minds’ are, then that would be different. They’d be able to independently produce art and engage with what they produce on an emotional level. That would be as worthwhile as human creations.

However, when you aren’t interacting with it, Chat GPT (the one I used for this exercise) doesn’t do any thinking for itself. It doesn’t lie awake at night wondering what to write or paint next. It doesn’t feel sad if it can’t quite get the right word or colour. What it produces is a flat, featureless mish-mash of best-fit words without the context of human experience.

I’ve got a couple of examples here so you can see for yourself. First I asked it to write a 300 word gay romance story set in London in 1942.

In the midst of war-torn London in 1942, a clandestine love story unfolded against a backdrop of danger and uncertainty. Meet William and Thomas, two souls entangled in a forbidden romance that defied the confines of a society gripped by fear and prejudice.
William, a stoic and determined young man, found himself in the chaos of war as an air raid warden. His duty was to protect the city and its inhabitants from the relentless bombings, a responsibility that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, amidst the sirens and crumbling buildings, he discovered solace in an unexpected encounter.
Thomas, an artist with a gentle spirit, captured William's attention with his striking blue eyes and warm smile. They met in a quaint café tucked away in the heart of the city, seeking refuge from the harsh realities of their lives. Their connection was instantaneous, their hearts drawn together like magnets in a world tearing them apart.
As their relationship blossomed in the shadows, they found solace in stolen moments. Hand in hand, they explored the deserted streets of London, seeking sanctuary in hidden parks and forgotten alleyways. Their love grew amidst the rubble, fueled by whispered promises and stolen kisses that carried a weight of both passion and danger.
The nights they spent together were their refuge from the harshness of the war. In the flickering candlelight, they shared their hopes, dreams, and fears, weaving a tapestry of love and resilience. Their moments together became a sanctuary, a fleeting respite from the chaos that surrounded them.
But the war threatened to tear them apart. Duty called William away, and he found himself deployed to a distant battlefield. With each passing day, their hearts ached in longing, their love tested by the distance that separated them. Yet, their spirits remained intertwined, an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of war.
When the war finally drew to a close, William returned to London, his heart yearning for the one he loved. The scars of battle etched upon him, he searched for Thomas amidst the city's streets. And there, in the midst of a crowd, they found each other once again.
Their love, forged in the fires of war, stood strong against the trials they had endured. They vowed to build a future together, to create a world where their love could flourish without fear or prejudice. As London slowly rebuilt itself, William and Thomas wrote their own chapter of resilience and love, an enduring testament to the power of the human spirit.

It’s not quite so grim if you feed it back to itself and ask it to include dialogue:

In the midst of war-torn London in 1942, a clandestine love story unfolded against a backdrop of danger and uncertainty. Meet William and Thomas, two souls entangled in a forbidden romance that defied the confines of a society gripped by fear and prejudice.
William, a stoic and determined young man, found himself in the chaos of war as an air raid warden. His duty was to protect the city and its inhabitants from the relentless bombings, a responsibility that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, amidst the sirens and crumbling buildings, he discovered solace in an unexpected encounter.
One evening, as William patrolled the streets, he noticed a figure sitting on a bench. Thomas, an artist with a gentle spirit, captured William's attention with his striking blue eyes and warm smile. Curiosity pulled William closer, and he cautiously approached.
"May I sit?" William asked, his voice laced with a mix of wariness and longing.
Thomas looked up, his smile widening. "Please, join me. It's a chaotic world out there."
Their connection was instantaneous, their hearts drawn together like magnets in a world tearing them apart.
As their relationship blossomed in the shadows, they found solace in stolen moments. Hand in hand, they explored the deserted streets of London, seeking sanctuary in hidden parks and forgotten alleyways. Their love grew amidst the rubble, fueled by whispered promises and stolen kisses that carried a weight of both passion and danger.
In the flickering candlelight of their secret nights together, they shared their hopes, dreams, and fears.
"I fear for what the future holds," William admitted, his voice laced with vulnerability.
Thomas squeezed his hand gently. "As long as we have each other, we'll find the strength to face it, my love."
Their moments together became a sanctuary, a fleeting respite from the chaos that surrounded them.
But the war threatened to tear them apart. Duty called William away, and he found himself deployed to a distant battlefield. With each passing day, their hearts ached in longing, their love tested by the distance that separated them.
When the war finally drew to a close, William returned to London, his heart yearning for the one he loved. The scars of battle etched upon him, he searched for Thomas amidst the city's streets. And there, in the midst of a crowd, they found each other once again.
Their eyes met, and a sense of relief washed over them.
"Thomas," William breathed, his voice filled with reverence and love.
Thomas smiled, tears glistening in his eyes. "You came back to me."
Their love, forged in the fires of war, stood strong against the trials they had endured. They vowed to build a future together, to create a world where their love could flourish without fear or prejudice. As London slowly rebuilt itself, William and Thomas wrote their own chapter of resilience and love, an enduring testament to the power of the human spirit.

It’s just… flat? I guess? And it’s not at all subtle, which is probably the main thing about it that makes my teeth itch. It’s a story, sure. But…it’s not, really, is it? There’s no depth to it, nothing underneath the surface. Also, wandering round London holding hands in 1942 would have been a recipe for both a kicking and a prison sentence. And I’m not sure what we’re doing with flickering candlelight; maybe the Blitz has knackered all the electricity though, so we’ll let that one pass.

Compare that to the beginning of the last chapter of my own An Irregular Arrangement. (10,500 words, free low-heat poly novella, starts just after WW1, finishes in WW2, download it here)

“Are you coming down this weekend?” Val asked Rupert, as they waited for the barman to fill their drinks. They were both propped comfortably against the polished oak of the bar, each with a foot resting on the brass rail. It was a cool early autumn evening, reminiscent of the one where they’d first met each other twenty years ago.
“I’m coming down for good, I think,” Rupert said. He was hunched a little in his overcoat and Val thought he looked tired. “My nerves are shredding. I can do more good down with you than I can up here being a bag of jelly. And people who are going to help financially know where we are after all this time, I don’t need to be up here touting for help like I was in the beginning.”
Val took the drinks and paid for them, nodding thanks to the landlord as they turned away and made for a table in the corner. It was quiet, early, and still light outside. The sirens hadn’t gone off yet.
“We’ve got a couple of dozen kids at the moment,” Val said. “They come and go, some of them. But it looks like most of them are with us for the long haul.”
“That’s good. The poor little buggers need some stability.” Rupert nodded at the street outside through the window heavily crisscrossed with blackout tape, as he chucked his hat onto the table and shrugged out of his heavy coat. “God knows there’s little enough out there.”
“Tim sends his love, as always,” Val said. “Flora said I was to tell you to get a move on.” They peered suspiciously over the table in the dim light of the pub as they sat. “Have you been talking to her about moving down?”
“I may have mentioned it. I didn’t want to tell Tim in case it got his hopes up and I decided not to. You know how he worries.”
Val nodded. “He’s been fine though. Missing you, obviously. He’ll be happy to have you down to help with the paperwork. We’ve got a system for their ration cards and what-not now, and it’s all quite organised, but you know how he hates that sort of thing. And Mrs Rathbone is the Evacuee Officer. If you can take that bit over for him, he’ll love you even more than he does already. She still hates him.”
Rupert laughed. “She must be about a hundred and five by now, surely?”
“Yes, but she’s still putting her nose in everywhere. She’s doing some good now though, she’s very efficient organising which children go where and she’s good with the kids themselves, which I didn’t expect.”

I’m not a great writer. I’ll never be a great writer. But I’m an okay writer; I like what I create and I enjoy the process (mostly!). I think about it and I put my heart in to it. And I think that’s the difference. There’s depth to this piece–to all the pieces we’ve written between us for this blog prompt. The AI ones all seem to be a veneer of a story with nothing underneath.

So here’s my definitive list of reasons why using AI for creative stuff is bad.

  1. The results are frankly terrible. There’s no depth there, because AIs don’t experience human emotion. They’re just language generators. There’s no creative process behind them. Which takes me to point #2.
  2. There’s no creative value to the work. There’s literally no point to it other than the end result. That’s fine for management documentation and marketing articles. The end-result is the point. But half the point of a creative work is the creator’s interaction with it. That goes for students churning out academic essays too… What’s the point? Doing that work is to help them learn new skills and grow. The process is the point. If you don’t want to develop those skills; don’t go to college.
  3. These language and art bots have been trained on plagiarised work. They’ve taken other people’s stuff and used it without permission. They’re created through other people’s hard work and creativity. They’re stolen goods. People who use them, whether they pass that work off as their own or not, are using stolen work. Which leads us on to #4.
  4. AI creation… words, music, art… puts human creatives out of business. Living in an orange-box furnished garret whilst producing beautiful things is very romantic; but eating is nice too.

I’m hoping this whole AI thing will just be a fad, like NFTs and Crypto–yet another techbro thing that these people haven’t stopped to think deeply about.

Just because we can do it, does that mean we should? My answer is no.

Finally, there’s a good interview in The Guardian this week with Timnit Gebru, who was sacked by Google for her stance on AI. AI’s Dangers and Big Tech’s Biases is partly about how AIs are biased around the dataset they are trained on. It’s particularly interesting to me because one of the models Ellie Thomas tried out for this piece told her that it could not write her a gay romance story because that was offensive.

To read what my Read Around the Rainbow colleagues have written on the subject–and what they managed to get the AI to generate–click through below!

Nell IrisOfelia Grand : Lillian FrancisFiona Glass : Amy Spector : Ellie Thomas : Holly Day : K. L. Noone : Addison Albright

RAtR: As a reader, what’s more important to you, the story itself or the way it’s told?

I’m late to this one as Mr AL and I are trying, for the fifth time in twelve months, to have a holiday that doesn’t end in rearranging because we got COVID (May22), me turning yellow with Gallbladder issues (Also May 22) or flying home because Littlest is admitted to intensive care (Oct 22 and Jan 23). So far we are on day #3 and we’re good, though, so I feel I can turn my concentration to the topic!

For me, I think my enjoyment of a story is a mixture of plot and presentation. I could end the post very satisfactorily there and leave you hanging :). However for example… I will forgive eg proofing errors and awkward grammar if the plot is sufficiently gripping. I find it hard to read through those and concentrate on the story if it’s not got me by the heart. And clunky plotting is going to stop me reading even if the prose is lyrical in of itself. So I guess we conclude that plot is more important for me.

I’m not going to give examples of books I haven’t got on with, because that’s mean and there’s a strong personal preference involved. However, I’ve got some other preferences in my reading that I occasionally get completely turned around by and then question my whole self :).

For example…I would say I don’t usually like stories written in the first person. But I LOVE S. E. Harmon’s Spookology series. And Shattered Glass by Dani Alexander. And the Dalí series by E. M. Hamill. They are all extremely well told.

And I would say I don’t like stories with neo-pronouns because my brain just has a sort of wobble and takes ages to process them, despite being quite happy using them IRL. However, I’m just re-reading Foz Meadows A Strange and Stubborn Endurance and I love it. And of course, there’s The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin, which is one of my desert island books.

And I don’t like Epistolary novels, which is ironic given I’m maybe writing one ATM and also that I love A Land So Wild by Elyssa Warkentin.

So… I think we can say it’s all about the story itself for me.

Finally, here’s an image of my current view.

If you’d like to read what the other members of the webring are writing about this month, for now please click on the #RAtR link on the right and follow the links to their blogs. I’m writing on my phone and adding all the links is a bit beyond me right now, although I’ll have another go later on.

Ellie Thomas visits with her new box set, Gentlemen in Love!

 Thank you so much, lovely Ally, for having me as a guest on your blog today. (You are most welcome, Ellie, I’m sorry I’m late posting!) I’m Ellie, and I write MM Historical Romance novellas. My first box set of previously published Regency stories is now on release, so I’ll be chatting about the six stories comprising Gentlemen in Love.

There are various settings in my collection of Regency romances. One Summer Night is set in Regency London. The story involves the politics of the ton and the weight of power in Whitehall, as civil servant Martin falls for aristocratic Will, after a heated chance encounter.

Then there’s the popular scene of the Regency country house party. Two of my stories, A Christmas Cotillion and A Midwinter Night’s Magic share that backdrop in contrasting ways. In A Christmas Cotillion, my MC Jonathan gradually comes to terms with past heartbreak as he considers the opportunity of a new relationship with farmer’s son, Nick.

A Midwinter Night’s Magic centres on forced proximity, where long-parted lovers, Matthew and Crispin, are stuck together at a country house party over Christmas due to snowfall, despite mutual hostility. To add insult to injury, they’re expected to engage in a recital of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It takes a bit of Shakespearian magic from Puck for these two to reconcile, which was a lot of fun to write with my copy of the play to hand!

There are more countryside settings in A Marriage for Three, which takes place in the Wiltshire country town of Marlborough and rural Worcestershire. Charlotte, an independent-minded young woman, is pressed to consider a practical offer of marriage from a close family friend Anthony, despite his long-term romantic involvement with his steward, Simon. I enjoyed exploring the ties of family and mores of country life in this story, together with three likeable characters.

Fashionable resorts are always a popular setting for Regency stories. As I grew up close to some of these in the West of England, it’s hardly surprising that I would pick familiar destinations. Shore Leave has a slightly earlier setting in the latter years of the 18th century, which coincides with Bath’s heyday. It was a delight to navigate the elegant streets and Assembly Rooms of Bath, where Jacob and Sebastian meet and gradually fall in love.

Again, I chose Regency Cheltenham for The Thrill of the Chase, Adrian and Guy’s story. It’s set in 1813, slightly before the building boom and the elegant terraces so familiar to us today. At that stage, apart from a few speculative developments and several spas, Cheltenham mainly consisted of the High Street, which makes it even more difficult for shy Adrian to avoid embarrassing confrontations with Guy, the forceful object of his unfulfilled desires.

Gentlemen in Love

Gentlemen in Love Box Set cover

In Regency England, whether about their daily business in London, attending a country house party or visiting a fashionable spa town, an array of gentlemen meet their match and attain a happy ever after.

Some couples find new love, while others rekindle a long-lost spark in this collection of six light-hearted MM Regency romances from Ellie Thomas, containing the following stories:

A Christmas Cotillion: Thirty-year-old Jonathan Cavendish has long given up any thought of romance. He grudgingly accompanies younger cousin Freddy to a Christmas country house party, as Freddy is infatuated with the lovely Belinda.

To his surprise, Jonathan catches the eye of Nick, a local farmer’s son. The initial attraction seems to be mutual, but can Nick break through Jonathan’s defences and teach him to love again?

A Marriage for Three: When Anthony Wallace proposes to Charlotte Grenville, she is shocked. Lottie has always seen him as an older brother, and she is also aware of his romantic devotion to his Anglo-Indian estate manager, Simon Walker. Should she accept this financial arrangement merely to support her ailing family? And will her growing attraction to Simon be a threat to all their happiness?

A Midwinter Night’s Magic: Matthew Lewis is trapped at a Christmas country house party by snowy weather and forced to take part in a reading of a Midsummer Night’s Dream. To make things worse, his lost love Crispin Marley, to whom he has sworn undying hatred, is among the guests. Can some fairy magic from Puck help the estranged couple to make amends for once and all?

The Thrill of the Chase: In 1813, when modest Adrian Lethbridge visits fashionable Cheltenham to help launch his young cousins into society, to his surprise, he catches the roving eye of Captain Guy Ransome. The ex-army officer is everything Adrian yearns to be; devilishly handsome, experienced and confident. So Adrian is in disbelief that the attraction is mutual. But can he summon the courage to act on his desires?

One Summer Night: After a passionate encounter with a stranger in an alleyway one summer night in 1801, Whitehall clerk Martin Dunne is shocked when he encounters the object of his desire at a society function, complete with a powerful father and a pretty bride-to-be. Is his seducer not to be trusted? And have Martin’s dreams of future encounters and possible romance crumbled to nothing?

Shore Leave: Jacob Longley, Naval Lieutenant, is all at sea in the fashionable Bath Spa. As he attempts to steer his younger sister Letty through the social whirl with a close eye on her reputation, his striking looks can’t help but catch the attention of the exquisite Sebastian Fforde. Will either man break through the other’s reserve? And could their mutual attraction blossom into love?

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Excerpt from A Christmas Cotillion

Mr Hammond’s chance came when Jonathan was on the dance floor, already partnered for the next dance. Belinda, for once, was unaccompanied but still standing up, as though eager to join in. Mr Hammond was near her, but unfortunately looking in the other direction.

Jonathan glanced over in helpless frustration, not wanting to abandon his young dance partner in the middle of the floor just as the music was about to start. As he again looked from one to the other, he caught the eye of the handsome farmer’s son. He was serving refreshments amongst those who had taken part in the last set of dances. He followed his direction of Jonathan’s scrutiny clearly with a sharply raised eyebrow.

As if receiving intelligence, he nodded at Jonathan decisively, put down his tray on a side table and eased the few yards through the gaggle of couples approaching the dance floor and tapped Mr Hammond on the shoulder.

Luckily, just then the music started and Jonathan saw his expressive face indicating a social dilemma. He nodded towards Belinda and then pointed to the momentarily abandoned tray as if explaining why he could not partner the young lady for himself. When all had been made clear to Mr Hammond, he received a grateful smile from the young man, as though Mr Hammond was doing the favour. He then turned back to collect the tray and offered the contents to the thirsty crowd.

It was neatly done, with Mr Hammond now obliged by his very good manners to ask the young lady to dance. Mr Hammond braced himself and made his way to Belinda, face flushed with embarrassment as though expecting a rebuff. Instead, he received her hand and a warm smile. Jonathan didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the couple reached the floor, unimpeded.

After a hectic country dance, Jonathan and his puffing partner retired from the fray. He was satisfied to see Mr Hammond and Belinda remain on the floor for the next set of dances, now conversing with apparent ease. As he looked at this with a feeling of pleasure, a glass of sparkling wine was placed in his hand with a murmured, “That was a good notion.”

He looked around in surprise to see the farmer’s son right next to him. Close up, his eyes were very blue indeed and his wide mouth was curved in that increasing familiar smile. Jonathan felt as tongue-tied as Mr Hammond had been previously in Belinda’s presence as he stiffly thanked the young man for his assistance. He seemed unfazed by Jonathan’s constraint.

“Just call me Cupid, or rather Nicholas, or even Nick, if you prefer,” he said with another dazzling grin, before turning gracefully to serve refreshments to the guests behind Jonathan.

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About Ellie

Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical gay romance.

Ellie also writes historical erotic romance as L. E. Thomas.

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