New Release – Page 2 – A. L. Lester

Guest Post: Mags Hayward and Sweet as Candy

New author Mags Hayward is here today to talk about her new release, Sweet as Candy and let you read an excerpt. Welcome, Mags!

Hi Ally, thank you so much for inviting me over to your blog. It’s the first time I’ve been here and I’m very excited.

My name is Mags Hayward and I’m a new author writing lesbian romance and erotic romance for JMS Books LLC. I’m here today to talk about my fourth publication, Sweet as Candy, which was written for the JMS Books sweet or spice submission call and published on February 19^th.

Sweet as Candy is a gentle lesbian romance centred on Kate, a nineteen-year-old student who’s never found love. Kate’s lost faith that she’ll ever find the one and certainly doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Meeting Candy, however, is about to change all that.

The story unfolds over one day, from morning ’till late, with the action taking place at a Pride festival organised by Kate’s best friend, Danny. It’s this festival I’d like to talk about.

Jubilee Park Pride is based on a Pride festival that took place in a town near my home in the UK Midlands in 2019. It was the first Pride event the town had staged and was a much anticipated event. I attended in the morning and did my favourite trick of wandering around, blending in invisibly, while people-watching and listening to chatter. I gathered that many of those attending had travelled miles to support the event, some obviously having never visited that town before. There were frequent where’s this, where can I find that questions being asked, all politely answered by the police and other emergency services workers who’d kindly volunteered to act as stewards for the event.

There were locals there too, of course, but I didn’t recognise as many faces as I’d expected. The weather may have been partially to blame. Unlike Jubilee Park Pride’s all-day blazing sunshine, the real 2019 event was plagued by heavy downpours of rain. It didn’t spoil the fun, and I remember everyone smiling and having a great time, but it may have reduced the number of last-minute attendees. Who knows? Anyway, for the purposes of my feel-good short story, I decided to let the sun shine all day.

The decorated shop fronts, outlandish costumes and live events such as the bands in the park and the pub drag night are all based on the real-life Pride festival. It was quite a party – a bright, colourful, rainbow party. Sadly, the 2020 repeat celebration, which was scheduled to be bigger and feature a carnival-style street parade, was cancelled thanks to Covid. The 2021 event was also cancelled. Again, I chose not to reflect this in my story. Jubilee Park got its second Pride festival as, I hope, the town that inspired it will in 2022.

As I said, Sweet as Candy is my fourth publication with JMS Books LLC. My first book, Sydney, One Way, is a lesbian erotic romance flash fiction published the same month as Leap of Faith, a longer sweet lesbian romance. My third book is also a ‘Hot Flash’ – lesbian paranormal romance this time. My next project is another short paranormal romance.

Thank you for reading. Best wishes, Mags x

Sweet as Candy by Mags Hayward

The first Jubilee Park Pride is in full swing and Kate’s soaking up the carnival atmosphere and energy of the flamboyant crowd. Although she’s there to support the event organiser, her best friend Danny, Pride has a special place in her heart.

She loves being a part of it—but doesn’t expect to find love. Never having had a girlfriend, Kate lacks confidence and can’t imagine meeting a girl and falling in love on the same day. That happens to other people. Certainly not to her.

But Candy’s different: beautiful, confident, yet down to earth and easy to talk to. Kate’s never met anyone like her. Has Fate brought her and Candy together—or will Kate be broken-hearted when the Festival ends?

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Read an Excerpt

Crossing the road, Kate ran ahead, eager to explore. Like the theatre, Jubilee Park was bigger than she’d expected, and the town’s first ever Pride—Danny’s debut as an event organiser—was buzzing. Bunting fluttered from anything tall enough to tie it to; stallholders lined the paths, selling everything you’d expect at a festival from handmade, tie-dyed clothing, to local honey, and sizzling ‘healthy alternatives’ fast food.
The park sloped downhill, and the lower area was filled with giant inflatable slides, bouncy castles, and kiddies’ roundabouts. Children’s shrieks and laughter cut through the pounding music pumping through speakers strapped to the trees. The park was alive with colour, music, delicious smells, and an atmosphere so joyous it brought a tear to Kate’s eye.
“Danny”—Kate flung her arms around Danny’s neck—“I’m so proud of you.”
“Aw, babes… Now get off me and take a proper look. The bands will be performing on the bandstand over there.”
“Where?”
“Step to your right. See it?”
Kate spotted a hexagonal structure in the centre of the park, partially hidden behind an ancient oak. She walked a few steps further to get a better view. With ornate pillars and intricate trellises around its conical roof, the bandstand was an impressive relic of Victoriana. The raised stage was piled high with speakers, drum kit, and keyboards, while a DJ had squeezed his equipment onto the top step. Wearing oversized headphones, he waved his arms to the beat, rallying the crowd.
Kate eyed the multitude already gathered around the bandstand and gasped, heart leaping into her mouth—the girl with the multi-coloured hair was right there. She was talking to the blond girl and three others, hands moving animatedly as she chatted. The girl suddenly threw back her head, coloured locks flying, then she swayed to the music, arms above her head, dancing like no one could see.

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Meet Mags

Originally from North Wales, Mags Hayward lives in the UK Midlands with her family. Theatre Administrator by day, she started writing in 2012 and her debut novella, The Devil on Her Shoulder was published in January 2017. Mags is a hopeless romantic who’s forever daydreaming. She writes lesbian contemporary romance and erotic romance.

WordPress : JMS Books LLC Author Page : Amazon.com Author Page : Twitter

London Calling release day!

Today is the official release day of London Calling, the box set of my 1920s London Border Magic series! It comprises Lost in Time, Shadows on the Border & The Hunted and the Hind.

To celebrate I have a giveaway! Roll up, roll up! And read all about it!

London Calling Box Set

Queer British Lovecraftian historical romantic suspense set in 1920s London.

Lew Tyler is dragged from 2016 to 1920 by an accident with border magic whilst he’s searching for his missing friend. He’s struggling to get to grips with life a century before he was born. Detective Alec Carter is trying to solve gruesome murders in his patch of London, weighed down with exhaustion and a jaded attitude to most of his fellow humans after four years of war. In the middle of a murder investigation that involves wild magic, mysterious creatures and illegal sexual desire, will Alec and Lew work out who is safe to trust?

Sergeant Will Grant, Alec’s right-hand man, is drawn to the mysterious Fenn. Is Fenn a man or a woman? Does Will care? And Fenn…Fenn has a secret. They live beyond the border between 1920s London and the magical Outlands and they need to get home. Are they prepared to achieve that by double crossing Alec, Will and Lew?

Two couples hold the fabric of reality in their hands. Will it make them or break them?

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WIN!

To win a copies of the London Calling audiobooks, Lost in Time, Shadows on the Border & The Hunted and the Hind, pop on over to the Audiobook Draw and throw your hat in the ring! Id’ be really grateful if you could share it on social media once you’ve entered if you could bear to…you’ll get more chances to win and more people will see it! (You can also listen to excerpt and buy them here)

Lost in Time,. Shadows on the Border & The Hunted and the Hind audiobook covers

Read an Excerpt

Carter on his doorstep when he got home again was just taking the piss. All Lew wanted to do was climb into his bed and sleep and pretend he was in his comfortable flat-share in 2016 and could wake up and listen to his iPod.
He didn’t even bother to greet Carter this time, just wordlessly locked up the bike and opened the door into the flat so he could come inside. He was glowering again. Lew wished he could say it didn’t suit him. “Come in. Glowering doesn’t suit you.”
Carter grunted wordlessly and suddenly Lew had had enough of it.
“No, honestly. It makes your face all scrunched up—” he demonstrated, “—and I’m sure it’s bad for you. Wrinkles or something.” He couldn’t seem to shut up. Poking a bear would probably have been safer. He wanted to get through to him, though, he wanted to make him growl. The other day and being punched in the face had at least proved Carter had some emotion in there somewhere; he couldn’t feel anything from him, most of the time. He chucked his biking goggles onto the small settee and turned to the kitchen cupboard. “Do you want a drink? I’m having a drink. I’ve had a shit day so far...a shit week, in fact.” He paused, considering, “...maybe even a shitty two years. And so, I’m going to have a drink. You’re welcome to join me.”
He clattered the bottle and a couple of glasses out of the cupboard and smashed them unsteadily down on the counter top. He felt unsteady all over, actually, as if he’d already drunk too much. Adrenaline, and lack of sleep, probably.
He pulled the cork out of the bottle and started to slop spirit into the glasses. Then, all of a sudden, Carter moved to stand close behind him, still not speaking. He hadn’t been expecting it and it made him even more mentally off balance.
He could feel the warmth of the other man’s body through the back of his shirt, although they weren’t touching. He was boxed in by his arms, either side of him, hands flat on the counter. It was shockingly intimate, although Lew didn’t think Carter meant it to be. He meant it to be intimidating. The otherman said, softly, “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me what’s going on. Why have I got more dead men turning up with the same wounds as your friend Fornham?”
Bloody hell. More of them. That was very, very bad. “Get off me.” Lew spoke equally quietly.
There was a pause for a second. “No,” said Carter.
“You don’t know what you’re messing with. Get off me.” Again, that pause.
“No.” His voice was rougher this time.
Lew noticed Carter’s knuckles were white where he was holding the countertop either side of the whisky bottle and the glasses. He shivered.
Suddenly he could feel things coming off Carter after all: the want and the fear and the desperate sense of disgust at himself. The anger and the confusion he felt toward Lew because he wanted Lew and yet he didn’t trust him, with this or with anything, and it was all against his better judgement. The emotions hit him like a wall coming up out of the dark all at once and completely floored him; and he gasped.
Slowly, he pushed the bottle away from him—always with the drink when Carter was around, he absently thought—and turned around, careful not to touch him. They were nearly of a height—he didn’t have to tilt his head much to see that Carter’s eyes were green. Lashes long and dark. He didn’t pull back. It was mid-afternoon and his beard was coming through.
Lew swallowed. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
It came out rougher than he had intended and Carter’s eyes dropped to his mouth.
“Then don’t!” He pulled back angrily and turned away, hands shoving fiercely through his hair. “Tell me what’s going on!”
“Carter...Alistair...” He couldn’t bear the wave of confused anger and emotion coming off the man and he stepped forward and put his hand on his arm, turning him back toward him.
“Alec...”
Carter jerked back as if he’d been burned.

Buy London Calling

Nell Iris: Santa in Sweden

Today I have a post from my friend Nell Iris for you–and I need to apologise to both Nell and you, because it should have gone up yesterday and I forgot. Nell Iris, everyone…with The Santa Emergency.

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates, and happy random day in December for everyone else. A huge thanks to Ally who’s always so kind and generous and invites me when I have a new book to talk about.❤️ And I do have a new book to talk about: The Santa Emergency. It’s out today, and it’s perfect if you wanna buy yourself a little gift. And speaking of gifts, I’m here to talk about the Swedish Santa, and I’m kicking it off with a poem.

Midwinter’s nightly frost is hard,
Brightly the stars are beaming;
Fast asleep is the lonely yard,
All, at midnight, are dreaming.
Clear is the moon, and the snow-drifts shine,
Glistening white, on fir and pine,
Covers on rooflets making.
None but the Tomte is waking.
Poem by Swedish poet Viktor Rydberg, originally published in 1881, translated to English

Traditionally, the Swedish Santa, or tomten, wasn’t a jolly fella with a white beard who gave kids presents at Christmas. No, he was short and old and dressed in plain wadmal, gray clothing. He was the protector of the farms, he was rumored to be ill-tempered, and a sure way of angering him was to disrespect the farm or mistreat the animals. He was offended by rudeness and didn’t like changes, so it was important to follow traditions. When angered, his retributions ranged from small pranks all the way to maiming and killing the animals he was protecting.

But at the end of the 19^th century, the image of tomten changed, thanks to the poem above, and the illustration that accompanied it. Swedish painter, artist and illustrator, Jenny Nyström got the assignment to illustrate the poem, and it led to a long and successful career. She’s often referred to as the mother of Santa in Sweden, and with pictures like these it’s not difficult to understand why.

These days, our Swedish Santa looks a lot like jolly old Santa Claus, but there are a few differences:

• Tomten lives in a nearby forest, not at the North Pole,
• he has a family,
• he doesn’t come down the chimney at night, but knocks on the front door,
• he delivers presents directly to the children on Christmas Eve before the children go to bed, just like the yule goat did;
• before he hands over presents he asks, Finns det några snälla barn här? (Are there any good children here?),
• he normally walks with his sack, but if he rides in a sleigh it is drawn by reindeer across the snow – they don’t fly,
• he likes a bowl of porridge, not a mince pie and a glass of sherry

(list borrowed from here)

Since we’re all grown-ups, we know Santa isn’t real, but since the presents are hand delivered in Sweden, we need someone to play Santa for us, wearing masks like these. When I was a kid, my beloved uncle always went to the store to “buy a newspaper” every time Santa arrived. When my daughter was little, her uncle went to visit his friend who lived next door to “say hi” and sadly it collided with Santa’s appearance every year. One year, the last year she believed in Santa, she confided to us before Christmas that she was pretty sure that Santa wasn’t real, that it was in fact her uncle. And since we were mean and devious parents, we asked someone else to be Santa that year, and our daughter was very confused. 😁

Kristian in The Santa Emergency was tasked last minute to host his family’s Christmas celebrations, and he pulled it together nicely. With one tiny little problem: he forgot to ask someone to come play Santa. So when it’s less than an hour before Santa is supposed to knock on his door, he rushes over to his new neighbor with a plea. I have a Santa emergency and I desperately need your help.

The Santa Emergency

I have a Santa emergency and I desperately need your help.

Sigge isn’t exactly a grinch when it comes to Christmas, but he’s not a fan of the holiday either. So when his new neighbor Kristian shows up in a panic, begging him to help by donning a Santa suit, Sigge’s gut reaction is to say no. But Kristian is cute and funny, rendering Sigge powerless against his heartfelt plea—especially after a promise of spending more time together—so he agrees.

The instant connection deepens as they share mulled wine and conversation as easy as breathing. But is it just holiday magic swirling in the air, or is it something real? Something that will last into the new year and beyond?

M/M Contemporary / 13 816 words

Buy The Santa Emergency: JMS Books :: Amazon :: Books2Read

About Nell

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bonafide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.

Find Nell on social media:

Newsletter :: Webpage/blog :: Twitter :: Instagram :: Facebook Page :: Facebook Profile :: Goodreads :: Bookbub

Excerpt from The Santa Emergency

“My mom broke her leg two weeks ago. We always do Christmas at her house, and she wanted us to this year, too, despite her injury. But she’s not the kind of person to sit idly by and let other people do all the work, especially since she doesn’t let anyone into her kitchen. She’d insist on business as usual, and she’d exhaust herself and risk re-injuring her leg. So my sister came up with the idea of Christmas at my house since I’m the only one in the family besides Mom living in a house and not an apartment.” He rolls his eyes. “Because Santa would surely strike us down with a mighty hammer if we celebrated Christmas in an apartment, right? I know I’m mixing my metaphors, but I’m trying to say that I’m sure the world wouldn’t end. I love my sister to death, but she has the weirdest ideas.”

He speaks with his whole body; he gestures with his hands and his face is lively and animated, and I can easily read every emotion as he experiences them, even after only being in his presence for a few minutes. All that makes him even more irresistible. In a society where everything is about hiding the truth behind a pretty surface, meeting someone open is refreshing.

“Anyway,” he says, “that gave me two whole weeks to unpack my stuff and plan a party. Dammit, Sigge, I’m a copywriter, not a party planner!”

Holy crap. He’s paraphrasing Star Trek, too? Is he perfect?

“But I did all right. The food, the decorations, everything is perfect. Or you know…everything except that I forgot to convince someone to come play Santa. When my sister found out, she lectured me in her scariest hissing voice until I was overcome with the urge to run away from my own house. She said I must not love my nieces and nephews since I forgot about a Santa. Her blame game is on point.” He grimaces.

“I’d say.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, and Santa always comes after Donald Duck is over. I can’t believe I forgot. The kids reach meltdown level if someone needs to go to the bathroom after the TV is turned off, so I have exactly—” he looks at his watch and gasps “—thirty-five minutes until my sister declares me the worst uncle ever. You must help me. Pretty please with sugar on top.”

His eyes are wide and pleading, his eyebrows slumping sadly, and I swear I can detect a hint of a tremble in his lower lip. I reach out and ease the cup out of his hands and pour more mulled wine into it before handing it back to him. “Drink this.”

He nods and tosses it back like it’s a shot, and I hope he doesn’t choke on the almonds or burns his tongue. “Thank you,” he says, then slumps back on the couch, the corners of his mouth drawn down, his lower lip pouting a little.

“What do you need from me?” I ask.

“I need you to be Santa.”

I blink. I really should’ve seen that one coming, but I didn’t. “Huh?”

“I need a Santa or the kiddos will be heartbroken. You’re my only hope.”

“I can’t be your only hope. What if I hadn’t been at home?”

“I would have been seriously fucked. Everyone I know is knee-deep in their own celebrations. I could probably convince my best friend Anton to do it because he’s too nice for his own good, but he’s a new dad and I don’t want to tear him away from his baby girl on her first Christmas.”

“I don’t even know how to be Santa.”

“Of course, you do. Everyone knows how to be Santa. All you have to do is be jolly, say ho-ho-ho, and ask if there are any good children in the house. Then you give presents to the kids whether they say yes or no. But if my sister says she deserves a gift, don’t believe her. She doesn’t. Not after the lecture she gave me.”

Of course, I know how a Santa behaves. In theory. There was no Santa when I was a kid, rarely any presents, so all encounters I’ve had with him come from TV and movies. I know it’s not like he’s asking me to do an in-depth interpretation of a complex character, but my instinct is to say no. I have little experience with kids, I’m awkward around people, and I don’t do Christmas.

“Oh.” He sits up straight. “Are you…religious? I mean…did I offend your religious beliefs with my request? If so, I’m sorry; I didn’t think before barging into your home. I mean, you haven’t decorated, and—”

“Kristian, please.”

He snaps his mouth shut and looks at me with his eyes full of concern.

“I’m not religious. That’s not why I’m hesitating.” It’s because you’re cute and I don’t want to look like a fool in front of you, my brain adds, but luckily I’m able to stop the words from spilling out of my mouth.

“Whew.” He relaxes his stiff posture “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with my new neighbors. And you’re really cute.” His eyes widen and he sucks his lips into his mouth as though he’s trying to stuff back the words from whence they came.

Cute? He thinks I’m cute? No one’s ever called me cute before. Scary or intimidating, yes. Even hot. But not cute. “Thank you,” I say, unable to fight a smile taking over my face.

“Thank you?”

“Yes. I’m…uh…flattered you think so.” Flattered is an understatement, but I don’t want to tell him about the tickle in my belly caused by his words.

“Flattered?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He looks at me from under fluttering eyelashes, a content smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay.”

A quick glance at his chunky watch snaps his focus back to where it belongs. “So…Santa?”

Buy The Santa Emergency: JMS Books :: Amazon :: Books2Read

Announcing The Quid Pro Quo

So, here’s some news! The Quid Pro Quo will be out on the 20th November and here’s the cover and an excerpt!

It’s the second in the Bradfield trilogy following The Fog of War and stars Walter, Sylvia’s nurse-friend; and Simon, a local detective who visits Bradfield to investigate a murder.

The Quid Pro Quo

Village nurse Walter Kennett is content with his makeshift found-family in tiny Bradfield. However one midsummer morning a body is found floating in the village duck pond, dead by magical means.
Detective Simon Frost arrives in Bradfield to investigate a inexplicable murder. The evidence seems to point to Lucille Hall-Bridges, who lives with doctor Sylvia Marks and nurse Walter Kennett at Courtfield House. Simon isn’t happy—he doesn’t believe Lucy is a murderer but he’s sure the three of them are hiding something. In the meantime, the draw he feels toward Walter takes him by surprise.

Walter is in a dilemma, concealing Sylvia and Lucy’s relationship and not knowing how much to tell Frost about the paranormal possibilities of the murder. He isn’t interested in going to bed with anyone—he’s got a complicated life and has to know someone really well before he falls between the sheets. He’s taken aback by his own attraction to Detective Frost and angry when Frost appears to twist the spark between them to something transactional in nature.

Will Walter be satisfied to stay on the periphery of Lucy and Sylvia’s love affair, a welcome friend but never quite included? Or is it time for him to strike out and embark on a relationship of his own?

The second in the Bradfield trilogy, set in the Border Magic universe. With a transm/m couple. Read The Fog of War first and/or add The Quid Pro Quo to Goodreads.

As Simon was replacing the device on the telephone table a pretty young woman put her head out of a door at toward the end of the hall. “Sylv!” she said, “Do you want tea? I’ve boiled the kettle.” and then when she realised he wasn’t who she thought he was, “Oh, I do beg your pardon! I thought you were Dr Marks!”.

“She’s still in the surgery,” Simon nodded across the hall.

The woman emerged into the hall. “Lucille Hall-Bridges,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m a friend of Sylvia’s. I help with the house.”

Simon took her hand in his. Her grip was sure and warm. “Detective Frost,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hall-Bridges. She had a recent bruise running from her jaw to just below her eye, entering the black-and-purple stage.

“I’ve made a pot of tea,” she was saying. “I don’t know whether anyone will want any, but I do like to feel useful and tea is so…normal-making, isn’t it?”

He nodded, slightly bemused at her chatter. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “Very normal.”

She gave a perfunctory tap on the surgery door, opened it and disappeared inside without waiting for a response. “Sylv, Walter, I’ve made tea. Would you and your detective like to come into the drawing room?” Her voice faded, presumably as she joined them in the examination room.

There was a pause. Then, “Oh!” he heard her say. “Oh.” She sounded a little shocked. “What’s happened to her hands?” she asked.

“Scraped on the bottom on the pond I think,” Simon heard Dr Marks say. “She was face-down in the water.”

“Oh.” Miss Hall-Bridges’ voice was small. “Sylvia…there’s…she’s…I can feel…do you think…?” Her voice trailed off and Dr Marks spoke over her, clearly away they might be overhead.

“Let’s not worry about that now, shall we? The policeman is sending her down to Taunton to a postmortem. You go and take the tea-things into the drawing room. We’ll just cover her up.”

The Quid Pro Quo by A. L. Lester. Trans MC, historical, paranormal, 1920s England.

Ellie Thomas: A Marriage for Three

Today Ellie Thomas visits to talk about some of the history behind her new eighteenth century release A Marriage for Three! Welcome, Ellie.

Thank you so much, Ally, for having me as your guest today! I’m Ellie Thomas, and I write Historical Gay Romance. In this blog, I’ll be chatting about my latest story with JMS Books, released on September 4th. It’s a novella entitled A Marriage for Three.

A Marriage for Three, New Post by Ellie Thomas

I first got the idea for this story from a submissions call about ‘moresomes’ or relationships between more than two people. As I write historical romance, what sprang to my mind was a trio, at the heart of which is a settled gay relationship complicated by an arranged marriage.

The setting is rural southwest England in the final years of the eighteenth century. As this is familiar territory for me, I didn’t need to consult my bookshelves too much for reminders of geographical locations. However, I did get the chance to peruse one of my books on historical costume for my female character. I couldn’t quite remember when waistlines rose from natural level to the under the bust silhouette of the Empire Line and checked Costume in Detail by Nancy Bradfield. This wonderful book doesn’t contain the usual sketches from contemporary fashion plates but illustrations of real garments worn by real people (now very fragile and carefully guarded in private collections).

I found a detailed picture of a cotton dress from the last decade of the eighteenth century, where the waistline was carefully unpicked and altered to emulate the new high-waisted fashion. Throughout writing this story, I had the book open at that page, thinking of my character sewing a similar dress.

My plot evolved from several questions. What would cause a gay man with a loving partner to offer a woman marriage? Why would she be obliged to accept such an offer? In what ways might that affect the central relationship? How would my trio resolve that dilemma and still have a happy ever after?

The character who causes the relationship upheaval is Anthony Wallace, a wealthy, independent young man and landowner. He’s a gentleman scholar, more comfortable with books than people. I picture him as an absent-minded professor who thinks he can arrange other people’s lives as neatly as the books in his study. For Anthony, proposing to Charlotte, the Grenvilles’ eldest daughter, is a practical solution for financial hardship in a family he regards as almost his own.

Warm-hearted Simon, his Anglo-Indian estate manager and life partner, more than makes up for Anthony’s lack of sensitivity. Simon knows Anthony’s intentions are genuine, but also that it would not occur to his partner to consider the emotional consequences of his edicts.

For the romantic plot to evolve, Charlotte must be aware that Anthony and Simon are a couple. However, the late eighteenth century was a different world in terms of sexual awareness. In wanting to make Charlotte a woman of her own time, rather than jarringly modern, I had to devise reasons for her understanding. Her tactless loud-mouthed older brother, Anthony’s closest friend from childhood, is a partial solution to her worldly knowledge. Also, Charlotte’s own recent life experience, working as a superior domestic servant and ladies’ companion since her family’s loss of fortune, would inevitably broaden her outlook.

At first, Charlotte rejects Anthony’s proposal out of hand. It is only when her family’s circumstances worsen that she reconsiders his offer.

What engaged me about this storyline was that my three characters, although very different, are all decent people who respect and care deeply about each other. It was enjoyable to put my mismatched trio under the same roof; autocratic Anthony, kindly Simon and selfless Charlotte, and observe how they work things through together.

A Marriage for Three

At twenty-three years old, Charlotte Grenville has resigned herself to spinsterhood. With no dowry, she works as a lady’s companion to support her widowed mother and younger siblings who live in the country town of Marlborough in Wiltshire. When, out of the blue, she receives a proposal from a family friend, Anthony Wallace, she is perplexed.

Not only does Anthony have the habit of ordering everyone around, convinced it is in their best interests, but he is also devoted to his Anglo-Indian partner and estate manager, Simon Walker.

Lottie is aware that this prospective marriage is purely a business arrangement to rescue her and her family from financial hardship. But should she accept? And will her growing attraction to Simon destroy the delicate balance between the trio?

Buy A Marriage for Three

Read an extract!

Simon knocked on the door and as he entered, Anthony was muffled in a clean shirt. Simon had a tantalising glimpse of his lover’s taut pale belly, that tempting arrow of dark hair leading down to his breeches before it was covered with the linen garment and Anthony’s head emerged.

Simon leaned against the bedpost as Anthony reached for a fresh neckcloth.

“How are the Grenvilles?” He asked.

Anthony frowned. “Well enough, but the cottage is in a poor state. There’s still damp in the parlour and Mrs. Grenville says the roof is leaking again.”

Simon made soothing noises. “We don’t have to rush away, do we? Even if I have to return to the manor, you can always stay for a while longer to organise repairs.”

Anthony grunted something that might have been assent as he concentrated on his reflection in the mirror. While tying the knot in his cravat he said, “Lottie’s home again.”

Simon smiled, “How lovely. It will be good to see her.”

Anthony finished the straightforward arrangement of his neckcloth and frowned. “She’s looking hagged,” he said. “That succession of awful women she’s been attending has dragged her down. I’m surprised she hasn’t been foundered under it all.”

Simon opened his mouth to voice his concern when Anthony blithely continued, “So I’ve asked her to marry me. It seemed the best solution.”

Simon was initially stunned. Then, as so often following his beloved’s more outrageous statements, he closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, Anthony was grappling with the buttons of his waistcoat.

“The best solution for what?” he asked with deceptive calm.

Anthony turned to look at him with that direct blue gaze. “For the whole family,” he replied impatiently. “Lottie won’t have to exist in servitude any longer. She’ll only be twenty miles away from Marlborough so she can visit her mother whenever she wants. Finally, no one can object if I move Mrs G. and the children away from that poky cottage and into a suitable house. There’s one available just off the High Street that I have in mind.”

Simon resisted rubbing his hand wearily over his eyes. “So where are you going to put Lottie once you’ve married her?”

Anthony looked perplexed. “What do you mean? She’ll be in the manor house with us, of course.”

“Doing what?” Simon persisted.

Anthony looked uncertain for a moment and then his expression brightened. “She can reorganise the family library. Father left it in an awful state and it requires someone with a good mind like Lottie to sort it out.” He looked extremely pleased with himself at that suggestion.

“Marvellous,” Simon said flatly. “That will keep her busy for a year. And what is she expected to do for the following fifty-nine?”

Anthony looked blank as Simon inexorably continued, “And naturally, Lottie will want children.”

With a horrified countenance, Anthony exclaimed, “Oh no! There won’t be any of that!”

“Have you informed Lottie?” Simon asked sharply before carrying on in the same tone, “Then, of course, I will have to hand in my notice and look for a new situation as it would be unfair on Lottie for me to crowd your new marriage.”

For the first time, the consequences of his rash proposal seemed to permeate and Anthony appeared almost scared. “You can’t leave me, Simon,” he said. “I can’t manage without you,” he almost pleaded.

Simon relented and sighed. “My dear Tony,” he said more mildly. “You can’t move people about like they are collections of statuary or pieces on a chessboard. We do have our own opinions, you know.”

Anthony said nothing, gazing anxiously as Simon continued, “I can see that, in theory, your marrying Lottie would be a way out of the Grenvilles’ problems. No one could doubt your good intentions. But you haven’t considered what this would mean for Lottie. She might be more comfortable and secure than in her current situation, but would she be happy in the kind of marriage you are suggesting?”

Anthony frowned before saying, “Well, she refused me anyway.”

“I always knew she was a sensible woman,” Simon said with a wry smile.

Anthony blinked at him uncomprehendingly then was saved by St. Mary’s Church clock striking two.

Snagging his coat and making his escape from the uncomfortable conversation, he said, “We’d better be going. They’re expecting us.”

“This is not finished. We will speak about it later,” warned Simon at Anthony’s back as he reached the door.

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Meet 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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