Book Title:  Dance of the Earth

Series:  N/a

Author Name: Anna M Holmes

Publication Date: 28 October 2025

Publisher: The Book Guild

Pages: 456

Genre: Historical Fiction

Any Triggers: war injury

Twitter Handles: @AnnaMHolmes_ @cathiedunn @marylschmidt

Instagram Handles: @annamholmeswriter @thecoffeepotbookclub @mschmidtphotography

Hashtags: #HistoricalFiction #BalletHistory #BalletsRusses #TheatreHistory #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/11/blog-tour-dance-of-earth-by-anna-m-holmes.html

Book Title & Author:

Dance of the Earth

by Anna M Holmes

Blurb:

From world stages to theatres of war, Dance of the Earth is a sweeping family saga.

Set against the backdrops of London’s gilded Alhambra music hall, Diaghilev’s dazzling Ballets Russes, and the upheavals of the First World War, Rose and her children, Nina and Walter, pursue their ambitions, loves, and dreams. Dance and music shape their identities, helping each to find their place in the world.

Spanning the years 1875 to 1921—an era of profound artistic and social change—fact and fiction interweave in this tapestry of birth, sacrifice, and renewal. Art—both serious and comic—is at the story’s beating heart.

EXTRACT 2:

DANCE OF THE EARTH.  ACT 1.

Rose is a front row dancer at the Alhambra Theatre.

Brandishing a folded copy of The Globe, Rose burst into her dressing room. ‘Look at this, will you!’

Tousled heads looked up – yawning girls preparing for class – then they clustered around. She pointed to the entertainment column’s description of Don Quixote. ‘And here he writes, “The ever-popular Miss Rose Banbury…” Hear that? My first mention!’ It was thrilling seeing her name in a newspaper. Promotion on the bill was only a matter of time.

‘He must’ve enjoyed your little turn as a lady of Spain,’ said Ivy.

‘Or your legs,’ came an envious voice.

‘Now, now.’ Evelyn raised a hand. ‘That’s lovely, Rose, happy for you. I know you want to get on. Me, I’m thinking of getting out.’

‘Out?’ Rose was startled. ‘But you love dancing.’

‘I’m fed up with the nights. Regular hours would be nice – selling hats or gloves. A department store, I’m thinking.’

Conversation turned to Evelyn’s potential departure while Rose searched for her scissors. She’d clip out the article for Molly to add to the scrapbook.

It wasn’t just The Globe reviewer noticing her. Across Mr Jacobi’s raised baton – their musical director looking immaculate in his dress suit, moustache and beard well-clipped – Rose spotted a man in a three-pound front row seat, top hat perched on lap, who seemed to enjoy looking at her. She began to look out for him.

It was early December, she’d just turned eighteen, when she saw him waiting outside, standing apart from other stage-door Johnnies. Poised, leaning on a cane, he ignored girls who’d paused to call saucily, ‘You waitin’ for me, darlin’? ‘I’m ready for a drink if you are.’

He caught her eye, tipping his silk top hat. He was tall, and not bad looking, if he did have a rather narrow face and longish nose. Despite the chilly evening his knee-length frock coat was open revealing a very nice silk cravat and pin at his throat and an equally nice double-breasted waistcoat. Rose’s eyes travelled down his length, taking in tailored striped trousers ending with polished shoes. She knew a thing or two about fashion and the cut of cloth, and this gentleman with a waxed moustache looked just the ticket, and he was looking at her.

‘Good evening, Miss,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed the show enormously, and your contribution to it.’

Rose was a quick learner: well-spoken, well dressed, ten or so years her senior.

‘You noticed me then?’ She postured, chin tilted, hip angled.

‘You shine across the footlights. I am only surprised you have not yet been promoted. A girl such as you…’ A kid-leather gloved hand waved vaguely.

She glanced at Ivy who raised an eyebrow in a “are-you-coming-or-not?” way, but the gentleman was in no rush to leave. Neither was she.

‘Arthur Roberts,’ he offered. ‘May I call tomorrow evening?’ There’s a club we might—’

‘We?’ Ivy chipped in. ‘Rose and me stick together.’

‘Delighted. I have discovered Miss Banbury’s name—’

‘Oh, have you!’ Rose looked at him under her lashes.

‘…and yours is…? He smiled effortlessly at Ivy and Rose noticed his teeth weren’t snaggly. This gentleman, with a lovely warm voice, was entirely presentable and passed muster at the first hurdle.

She angled her hat and smiled. ‘A club, did you say?’

The following night, the show went well. From the wings she watched Mr Grais’s Baboon and Donkey circus act, amazed how well the pompadoured, striped-shirted showman trained his troupe of animals. He was a clever juggler too, rarely dropping a club. She hoped Mr Roberts was enjoying it. Then, with animals herded off, sweepers and cleaners moved on, bucket and mop in hand.

Taking her place on stage for Chicago – still running after all those months – she detected the lingering whiff of animals and disinfectant with top notes of floral perfumes she and other girls had doused themselves with. Rose tried to spot Mr Roberts, making sure a leg was artfully displayed through the high-cut slit of her costume when she posed.

In her dressing room, after smearing cold cream on her face and wiping off stage make up, Rose dressed carefully in a new red jacket with leg-of-mutton sleeves and tight waist. Her green woollen skirt was flared over a pale-yellow petticoat and bum roll, and her small hat, trimmed with flowers and stiff bows, was quite the thing. When she and Ivy stepped out of the stage door, she was fashionably attired – with a distinctive feel for colour that was all her own – with only the tips of her shoes peeping out with each step.

She waved. ‘Mr Roberts. Here we are!’

Arthur Roberts strode forward. ‘What a lucky man. Two ladies!’ Arm in arm, they walked in the direction of Soho and in Dean Street stopped at the iron railing outside Blacks. ‘Shall we?’ he said.

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link:   https://books2read.com/u/4ANrAN

Author Bio:

Stories with big themes written as page-turners are Anna M Holmes’s speciality.

With an extensive background in dance and theatre, Dance of the Earth is a story she has longed to write. Her novels—The Find, Wayward Voyage, and Blind Eye—are all typified by deep research.

Anna worked as a radio journalist before embarking on a career in arts management. Originally from New Zealand, she now lives in South-West London.

Author Links:

Website: https://www.annamholmes.com 

Twitter / X: https://x.com/AnnaMHolmes_ 

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/AnnaMHolmesWriter 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/annamholmeswriter/ 

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/annamholmes.bsky.social 

TikTok:  https://www.tiktok.com/@annamholmes_

Amazon Author Page:

Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21436051.Anna_M_Holmes

Book Title: Red Anemones

Sub title: A story of struggle, resistance, and hope

Author Name: Paula Dáil

Publication Date: 17 October 2025

Publisher: Historium Press

Pages: 449

Genre: Historical fiction

Any Triggers: No

Twitter Handle: @cathiedunn @marylschmidt

Instagram Handle: @thecoffeepotbookclub @mschmidtphotography

Hashtags:  #HistoricalFiction #FamilyLegacy #JewishHistory #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/12/blog-tour-red-anemones-by-paula-dail.html

Book Title and Author Name: 

Red Anemones

A story of struggle, resistance, and hope

by Paula Dáil

Blurb:

Moving among generations of a German-Jewish-American family, Red Anemones is a poignant exploration of the intricate bonds, untold secrets, and unspoken legacies our ancestors bestow upon us.

Natalie Barlow’s journey of self-discovery begins when her estranged mother’s sudden death releases a storm of unrevealed family secrets reaching back to pre-WWI Germany.

As Natalie navigates the complexities of her newly discovered Jewish identity and her ancestral heritage, she comes face-to-face with the early 20th-century German immigrant experience, which included strong anti-German sentiment and deep antisemitism that prevailed across America.

Through diaries and letters her mother saved, Natalie learns of the personal costs this ugly reality extracted from generations of her own family. Ultimately, she must confront the question of her own identity.

Like Israel’s red anemones carpeting the western Negev and Dvira Forest of the Judean foothills year after year, Natalie is determined, no matter the personal costs, to find the courage, resiliency, and passion to embrace the changes that bring new beginnings. Inspired by a true story.

Praise for Red Anemones:

““Red Anemones” by Paula Dáil weaves a powerful narrative inspired by a gripping true story, infusing the text with authenticity and emotional resonance. This book is an absolute must-read for fans of the genre, as it expertly blends enthralling storytelling with fully realised characters and a rich plot.”

~ Yarde Book Promotion, Editorial 5* Review

“Poignant, disturbing, and historically and dramatically riveting.”

~ Kirkus Reviews

“As I read, I found myself utterly taken by Dáil’s writing. Her prose has rhythm and patience, tight, deliberate, and quietly powerful. She writes with tenderness but never sentimentality, allowing emotion to rise naturally from her characters’ choices. I could almost feel the weight of Nathalie’s conflict between family duty and self-determination, between love and freedom. The language is lived-in, grounded, and full of quiet heat.”

~ Literary Titan, 5* Review

Excerpt 4:

Not long after seeing the newsreel, a woman who calls herself Hannah appears at the walk-in clinic, explaining that she has some knowledge of medicine and offering to volunteer. Desperate for any help we can get, Sister Mathilde and I ask few questions before accepting her offer, and within days are very impressed with her efficiency. Used to people whose English is less than perfect, we ignore her limits with the language.

Late one afternoon a few weeks later, I overhear her whispering to her husband in German when he comes to escort her home on the streetcar, which occurs each day she comes to us. They are a handsome couple, both slender, with dark hair, sad, fearful eyes and the quiet demeanor of gentle souls who keep to themselves and are determined to be invisible. Hannah works hard, dresses plainly, says little and is so capable we are soon depending on her to keep inventory straight, take care of the minimal bookkeeping we bother with, and help with anything else we ask of her. We are flooded with patients, and the more Hannah is able to do, the more time Sister Mathilde and I have to administer much needed direct patient care. Nevertheless, with my suspicions heightened after the rally. I’m not sure how much we should trust her, nor do I have any idea how to figure this out. Finally, at the end of a particularly busy day, I invite her to sit down and share a cup of tea.

“Perhaps I misunderstood, but I thought I overheard you speaking German the other day,” I begin, leaking the German accent I’m normally careful to mask. Suddenly pale and obviously frightened at being discovered, Hannah fearfully admits she is a native German speaker. After a great deal of encouragement and reassurance, she reluctantly reveals she is a trained nurse, which accounts for her remarkable efficiency in the dispensary. Her husband, Chaim, is a rabbi, and they escaped Nazi Germany through Shanghai two years ago, eventually landing on the West Coast of California. A learned man, Chaim has a job cataloging books at the Los Angeles public library and she is hoping to parlay her experience with us into a paying job, perhaps in private duty nursing, which doesn’t require a license. I compliment her bravery, determination, and abilities, then suggest we have tea together more often.

The next week, she brings a tin of mouthwatering homemade pfeffernüsse, which she places near the tea canister. Slowly, we grow more trusting of each other, then begin worrying together over the growing anti-Jewish sentiment overtaking Los Angeles. Without outwardly admitting I am also a Jew, I make it clear where my sympathies lay and that I fret greatly over the growing ugliness in the world, even here in America.

One Friday, she stays later than usual, asking to speak privately with me.

“There is an underground Nazi resistance movement in Los Angeles that relies on eyes and ears in the community for information. You are German-fluent, Charlotte, and you could help enormously to fight the anti-Jewish, pro-Nazi effort,” she says, eyes wider than I have ever seen them. Several seconds pass before I respond.

“I really would like to help, Hannah, but I am not likely to overhear very much. People living in both the encampments and the barrios are barely surviving; they don’t have time to get caught up in political movements.”

“This is not entirely true. You’ve heard about the German Bund?” she asks. I nod, explaining I’ve heard it mentioned but know little about it.

“It is a German-American pro-Nazi organization with many members. They are recruiting in the barrios and encampments, promising that if the men sign up, they’ll have paying jobs after the war ends. It is very a clever idea,” Hannah explains. I admit having heard rumors about this but am surprised they are true and have no idea how I can help combat the problem.

“There are ways…”

Buy Links:

Universal Buy Links:

Ebook:  https://geni.us/m6lqq

Paperback:  https://geni.us/oZtRC

Author Bio:

A native Californian, Paula Dáil is an emerita research professor of social welfare and public policy and award-winning author. Widely published in the social sciences, she has also been recognized for her non-fiction and fiction writing, both under her own name and her pen name, Avery Michael.

She is the recipient of first or second place Readers Favorite, Reader’s Choice, Independent Publisher, Bookfest and Literary Titan awards, a Booklist Starred Review and several other five-star reviews, including Goodreads, The Book Commentary, and Independent Book Review. Two of her books received the Non-fiction Book of the Year Award from the Council for Wisconsin Writers. She holds a PhD from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and lives with her husband and dog in the Great Lakes Region of the Upper Midwest.

Red Anemones is her tenth book.

Author Links:

Website: www.paula-dail.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pauladailbooks

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Paula-W.-Dail/author/B005W7EZ34

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/737907.Paula_Dail 

Book Link

From Amazon:

“Shifting Directions” is a final instalment of the Neglected Merge trilogy. It is a fantasy futuristic drama with thriller elements.

The Wingless and the Winged Ones make progress on their way to convergence. But the progress is slow. They seek common ground and find it, involving people from both sides of the border in political and everyday activities.

It is never easy to be growing up in times of big changes. “Shifting Directions” is a coming-of-age journey of one of the most likeable characters readers meet in the second book “Tangle of Choices”.

One person is trying to shake the foundations of equilibrium, having not found a way to enjoy the obvious benefits of society. He manages to attract attention. How far is he ready to go in his quest for the truth as he sees it? And who is he ready to hurt? Maybe this is just an innocent youthful protest out of hooligan motives. But maybe it will escalate into serious threats to innocent people’s life and health. Should someone interfere until it is too late?

The dilemma of resolving the situation so that no one gets hurt is often doomed to failure.

Who will be the victim and who will enjoy a happy ending?

My Review:

I found this book a superb ending to the trilogy. The fantasy world that Eve Coguce continues with the Winged ones and the non-winged ones. Eve wove in new characters mixed with the older ones that readers already know. It is full of substance, pain, nuturing, love, questions, change. Change is always the hardest in an environment such as this story. I found the ending to be palpable and complete. Thanks, Eve. Well done!

Book Title:                 Therein Lies the Pearl

Series:                        n/a

Author:                      Catherine Hughes

Publication Date:      January 19, 2026

Publisher:                  Historium Press

Pages:                                     474

Genre:                                    Historical Fiction

Any Triggers:                        n/a

Twitter Handle:        @cathiedunn @marylschmidt

Instagram Handle:   @cathyhughes22 @thecoffeepotbookclub @mschmidtphotography

Bluesky:                     @cathiedunn.bsky.social

Hashtags:                   #HistoricalFiction #NormanConquest #MedievalHistory #AngloSaxonHistory #EarlyMedieval #StMargaret #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2026/01/blog-tour-therein-lies-the-pearl-by-catherine-hughes.html

Book Title and Author Name:

Therein Lies the Pearl

by Catherine Hughes

Blurb:

Normandy, 1064 

Celia Campion, a girl of humble background, finds herself caught in a web of intrigue when Duke William commands her to work as his spy, holding her younger sister hostage. Her mission: to sail across the sea to Wilton Abbey and convince Margaret, daughter of Edward the Exile, to take final vows rather than form a marriage alliance with the newly crowned king to the North, Malcolm III of Scotland. Preventing a union between the Saxons and Scots is critical to the success of the Duke’s plan to take England, and more importantly for Celia, it is the only way to keep her sister alive. 

In this sweeping epic that spans the years before and after the Conquest, two women from opposite sides of the English Channel whisper across the chasm of time to tell their story of the tumultuous days that eventually changed the course of history.  As they struggle to survive in a world marked by danger, loss, and betrayal, their lives intersect, and they soon come to realize they are both searching for the same thing–someone they can trust amidst the treachery that surrounds them. 

Together, their voices form a narrative never before told.

Excerpt 4:

By this time, Margaret had moved closer to the pair, coming to stand behind the kneeling man. Edgar was the first to heed her presence. His eyes lifted up toward her as if to ask what he should do.

This change in the boy’s gaze did not go unnoticed by Malcolm, a warrior trained to detect signs of danger. Immediately, he withdrew his extended hand, snatched the dirk from his belt, and swung round to confront the intruder.

Margaret squealed and jumped backwards, her eyes fixed upon the knife. In that instant, she could not know she was not the victim here. For although she stood before him without weapons or war gear, he was the one who had lost. Without shedding a single droplet of blood, he knew he had been conquered by a pair of emerald eyes that bore into his heart deeper than any dagger.

His hand trembled as the sunlight flashed erratically off the unsteadiness of his blade. Matching her look of shock with one of astonishment, Malcolm witnessed the young maiden falter, a move that coincided with the soft flutter of her pages drifting to the ground.

She paid no mind as to how they had slipped from her fingers so carelessly. His gaze held her captive. The connection between them held fast, like a rope encircling and cinching them together. Neither moved nor breathed.

Margaret broke the spell first when she leaned down to gather up the fallen pages that lay beside her feet. Before she could get very far, Malcolm was again on his knee, raising the sheets to her in offering.

“I am so verra, verra sorry, my lass,” he apologized in earnest. “I had no’ thought ‘twas a fine lady such as yerself who was movin’ behind me.” His hands shook and the pages rippled as he held them out toward her.

She cleared her throat that seemed clogged with emotion. “Thank you … Malcolm, son of Duncan.” Her eyes rested on the scarred hand and thick knuckles that clasped her writing before she reached out toward him to accept this token. Her fingertips lightly brushed against his as the exchange was completed.

“‘Tis my pleasure, milady.” He felt tongue-tied and foolish before this young girl and wondered if she could detect his frailty. He stood up and then bowed to her in deference. “Let it be said that I would be obliged to be o’ service to ye in more important ways beyond the mere retrieval of yer book.”

Looking around to acknowledge the splendor of their surroundings, he smiled amusedly and said, “And what ‘tis this great work that ye are writin’ that can rival the message o’ nature’s beauty in a meadow such as this? Surely, it must be o’ great import fer ye to choose to study dry pages rather gaze upon yon windin’ river and the billowy clouds above?”

Margaret found more of her voice. “Oh, yes, milord. Nature’s bounty is glorious, but God’s word surpasses all temporal glamour. For these scenes will come and go,” she swept her hand over the landscape, “they will enthrall and disappoint, but His message endures forever.”

Malcolm’s eyes flashed with interest at the depth of her faith. He wanted to linger here with her, all afternoon if he could, just to be in her presence. The melody of her voice charmed him, her words like velvet so soft upon his ears. He felt himself drifting into a kind of reverie just listening to it.

Everything about her was perfect. Her green eyes gazed freely into his, rich and full of innocence, and her lips turned up at the corners in a look of perpetual joy. The two long braids that hung down on either side of her face had loosened, allowing a few stray strands to float around like wisps of yellow silk. She wore no shawl or covering, so he could see the beginning contours of her shoulders as well as her long, delicate neck, accentuating her vulnerability even more. He longed to touch her, to let his finger trace a path from her face to her neck to the more private places that lay hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. He imagined a future intimacy between them where he would hold her in his arms, taste her lips, and ultimately have her as his own. Such thoughts were improper to consider, for she was too sweet, too angelic to be claimed. What had he done to deserve an encounter such as this, a chance meeting with so divine a creature? How he wished he could take this moment and make it his forever!

Edgar’s footfall went unnoticed. He marched over toward the two, feeling rather disgruntled at having been supplanted by his sister. He wondered what it was about Margaret that was distracting this man who had so recently been interested only in him. Displaced and out of sorts, he sat down cross-legged in a huff, and when the two continued to pay him no mind, he began to gather up a few stray leaves that had drifted to the ground, pulling apart the stems of pairs that had landed together.

In his full posture, Malcolm stood before Margaret like a column of stone that dwarfed her in size. The crown of her head came barely to his collarbone, and her frame seemed incredibly fragile next to the width of his chest and the spread of his shoulders. Speaking with a gentleness in stark contrast to his physique, he asked, “Would ye read somethin’ o’ it to me?”

At first, she doubted his sincerity and thought perhaps that he was mocking her piety. But after peering more closely into his eyes, she found reassurance and began to turn the pages. “Of course. This is from Matthew’s gospel. ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it…’”

As the soft breeze tickled the reeds at the water’s edge, so too did her words dance lightly upon his own thoughts. When she paused to look up at him, their eyes met again. Tacitly, she asked if she should continue. He could form no words. He had lost the power to speak. So taken he was with her beauty and virtue. Assuming his silence was her answer, she started to fold up her pages.

Abruptly, he gathered himself and croaked the word, “Wait.” He opened his hand toward her. “Please. Dinna’ stop.” He swallowed purposefully so that his speech could flow more freely. “I know nothin’ o’ heaven nor hell, but I do know what it may feel like to come across a pearl o’ great price. Fer that is just what has happened this day to me. What is yer name, milady?” He made no move toward her save with his eyes which reached across the gap between them to touch her soul.

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bolgZa

Author Bio:

Award winning writer, Catherine Hughes, is a first-time author who, from her earliest years, immersed herself in reading. Historical fiction is her genre of choice, and her bookshelves are stocked with selections from ancient, Medieval, and Renaissance Europe as well as those involving New England settlements and pioneer life in America. After double-majoring in English and business management on the undergraduate level, Catherine completed her Master’s degree in British literature at Drew University and then entered the classroom where she has been teaching American, British, and World Literature at the high school level for the last thirty years.

Aside from teaching and reading, Catherine can often be found outdoors, drawing beauty and inspiration from the world of nature. Taking the words of Thoreau to heart, “It is the marriage of the soul with nature that makes the intellect fruitful,” Catherine sets aside time every day to lace up her sneakers and run with her dog in pre-dawn or late afternoon hours on the beaches of Long Island. When her furry companion isn’t busy chasing seagulls or digging up remnants of dead fish, she soaks in the tranquility of the ocean setting, freeing her mind to tap into its deepest recesses where creativity and imagination preside.

In Silence Cries the Heart, Hughes’s first book, received the Gold Medal in Romance for the Feathered Quill 2024 Book of the Year contest, the Gold Medal for Fiction in the 2024 Literary Titan competition, and the 2024 International Impact Book Award for Historical Fiction. In addition, the Historical Fiction Company gave it a five star rating and a Silver Medal in the category of Historical Fiction Romance. The book was also featured in the February 2024 Issue 31 of the Historical Times magazine and was listed as one of the Best Historical Fiction Books of 2024 by the History Bards Podcast. Therein Lies the Pearl is her second venture into the world of historical fiction.

Author Links:

Website:         www.catherinehughesauthor.com

Facebook:      https://www.facebook.com/cathy.hughes.5036

Instagram:     https://www.instagram.com/cathyhughes22/

Amazon Author Page:           

Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/49501263.Catherine_Hughes

Book Link

From Amazon:

Ophthalmologist secretary, Ava Beckenridge goes overboard on the exercise regimen and passes out at the gym. Dr. Keith Miles, OB/GYN stages a rescue when she falls. There’s an undercurrent of animosity between them from a spat they had earlier over a treadmill, but now there’s something else to go with it – an attraction neither one expected. He’s cocky. She’s stubborn. Their pasts keep them guarded and cause trust issues. In the midst of all that madness, they both claim to see something that may or may not be there – she says he has severe eye strain, he says he can see she’s with child. The humor is plentiful. The path to happiness is rugged. Will two more Miles fix everything?

My Review:

Mary Schmidt

5.0 out of 5 stars Lovely read

Reviewed in the United States on January 18, 2026

Format: Kindle

This is a lovely romance filled with love and angst here and there. Between misunderstandings and burning hot kisses, their love never wavered even when each thought the other had broken off their relationship.

Book Link

From Amazon:

The Love Mentalist: A Heartfelt Romance About Second Chances and the Science of Love

Samantha Page is Australia’s most celebrated love guru, a relationship expert who helped thousands find their perfect match through her unique blend of psychology, intuition, and body language secrets. Her bestselling seminars made her famous. Her charisma made her unforgettable.

But there’s one thing Samantha can’t seem to master… love itself.

When Samantha take America by storm, the media crowns her The Love Mentalist. Yet behind the confidence and success lies a dark secret from her past, one that keeps her heart carefully guarded.

Enter Chris Hayes, a man who doesn’t believe in coincidences, but in possibilities. The moment he meets Samantha, he knows she’s the one. She, however, sees him as just another admirer, until fate throws them together in the most unexpected way.

One chance encounter.
One misunderstanding that changes everything.
And a second chance that might rewrite both their stories.

As sparks fly and secrets unravel, Samantha must finally put her own advice to the test:

“You just have to imagine the possibilities of what ifs.”

My Review:

I found this story to be a great premise and idea to write about in a romance novel. Ms Chase brings to light all of the things most people don’t take note of around others. People watching and mannerisms come into play and those with preconceived ideas might have to adjust their way of thinking in order to truly find their own special someone.

Book Title: Storks in a Blue Sky

Series: n/a

Author Name: Carol Anne Dobson

Publication Date: January 12th, 2011

Publisher: Appledrane Books

Pages: 280

Genre: Historical Romance / Family Saga

Any Triggers: n/a

Twitter Handle: @cathiedunn @marylschmidt

Instagram Handle: @thecoffeepotbookclub @mschmidtphotography

Hashtags: #HistoricalRomance #HistoricalFiction #Devon #Alsace #TheCoffeePotBookClub #BlogTour

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/12/blog-tour-storks-in-a-blue-sky-by-carol-anne-dobson.html

Book Title and Author Name:

Storks in a Blue Sky

Carol Anne Dobson

Blurb:

A historical romance played out between the wild coast and moors of North Devon and the mountains and river-crossed plain of Alsace.

The beautiful, red-haired Sarah Durrant is an uneducated servant who takes the place of her mistress when she suddenly dies at Lynmouth as they are travelling across the remote wilderness of 18th century Exmoor. Her origins are a mystery. She only knows she is illegitimate and possesses a gold locket which contains a miniature of a woman who resembles her.

North Devon at first proves a sanctuary from the violence of her past but then the French aristocrat, Jean Luc de Delacroix, a soldier and a scientist, arrives from the New World; the local activities of smuggling and wrecking surface; her life becomes a tangle of love, deception and fear.

Excerpt 3:

She woke with a start in the middle of the night. From the hall came the roughness of men’s voices, the trampling of boots and dull thuds. Wind gusted under the ill-fitting door, rattling the window panes. She listened intently, straining her ears to try and discover what was happening.

‘Is it smugglers again?’ she wondered uneasily.

She crept across the cold carpet, gently opened the door and cautiously ventured out onto the landing.

A scene of near-pandemonium greeted her. Candles flickered in the gale blowing violently from the wide-open main door, casting moving shadows over a thronging mass of men, bristling with pistols and knives and carrying crates and boxes. Their clothes appeared outlandish and foreign to her eyes. Rows of metal or gold buttons decorated waistcoats and coats, many of which were red. They all wore boots and reminded her of soldiers, even although they were not in uniform. Several were carrying wide hats of black felt, which they had evidently removed in order to enter the house.

A tall, well-built man with grey hair, whom she took to be the leader, was standing stiffly next to Mrs Yelland. He was holding a fur hat, his coat was also made of fur and he was looking dourly around him. She could see that Mrs Yelland was very flustered; her cheeks were blotched pink and although she was dressed, her night mob cap was still on her head.

Snatches of a foreign language drifted up to her and in a corner an animal was squealing and spitting aggressively. The rising sense of panic beginning to seize her was momentarily forgotten as she gazed at one of the strangest creatures she had ever seen. It was about the size of a large cat and had thick, grey fur. Its tail was ringed with black and white and its pointed, fox-like face had a broad black band across its eyes, which resembled a highwayman’s mask. It suddenly shot across the hall and disappeared into the garden, pursued by several of the men. She burst out laughing and the man who had been kneeling next to it, stood up and turned towards her.

She abruptly realised she had been mistaken. This man was the leader of the group. His coat glowed a deep purple in the shadowy half-light. Rows of lace decorated his pockets and cuffs, and rings gleamed on his fingers. He looked up at her and she saw with horror the same dark eyes, strong jaw and aquiline nose she had so often noticed in the painting on the library wall. He stared at her, expressionless, and she trembled in her thin night gown, as the chilled air rushed in from the wintry night.

His familiar features blurred. The blood ran ice-cold in her veins and she clenched the wooden balustrade with both hands to keep herself upright. Her red curls were caught by draughts of wind and she felt an overwhelming desire to escape into the night, as the masked animal had done.

She stumbled back to her room and hid under the covers of her bed, realising that she was at least safe until morning.

Jean Luc, Duke de Delacroix, watched her go and for a few minutes continued to stare at where she had stood, an expression on his face almost of disbelief. Then he picked up a lantern and went outside to hunt for the raccoon he had brought back from Louisiana.

She tossed and turned restlessly throughout the long night, considering, over and over again, the questions which had tormented her in her first weeks at Wildercombe House.

‘Lady Sophie Throgmorton cannot just disappear. I will be caught and hanged. In any case, where can I go to? I have no family or friends.’

It comforted her somewhat as she recalled Mrs Yelland saying that the Duke had only visited the house once since the war against the French had started and also as she recalled that he lived in France and had never seen Sophie.

She abandoned her bed and roamed backwards and forwards, oblivious to the cold and dark, her thoughts screaming at her. The room, which had originally seemed so forbidding, was now her sanctuary. She pressed her face against the window pane and gazed blindly out at the mysterious, magic wood. She reached towards the walnut dresser and ran her hands over her stones, shells and drawings, placed neatly in piles. In her heart she knew what she would do.

‘Fate has smiled on me so far. I will keep calm and remain as Lady Sophie Throgmorton while I can and attempt to find a way out of my predicament. Hopefully this man will not stay long and I will try to see as little of him as possible.’

At dawn, she watched a twin sun and moon grace the lightening sky together and as she looked out at the garden a black and white striped tail, curled round a branch high up in the horse chestnut tree, caught her eye. “We’re both fugitives,” she murmured.

She summoned Jenny and questioned her about the visitors.

“Didn’t ee know, milady? That’s ’is Grace, the Duke. Ee’s been praying in the chapel since before sunrise and ’as been out searching for that fox. They be saying the war with France has finished. Perhaps that’s why ee’s come.” She bit her lip as though unsure whether to say any more and muttered, “In Ilfracombe there be talk of the Delacroix family……”

Sarah was flayed by despair and hopelessness and, in an instant, saw her new life smothered just as it was beginning. For a fleeting moment she realised she knew almost nothing about her previously absent benefactor and wondered where he had come from and if he had now returned to live in North Devon. ‘Will I be found out today? Will I be exposed?’ Her hand trembled violently as she chose a lemon silk dress to wear.

Reluctantly she walked down the staircase, trying to push images of capture and imprisonment from her mind. Her shoes tapped sharply against the stone steps, reminding her of the drum beat at executions. Her wasp-waisted bodice was choking the breath from her body; the lemon silk floating out around her, its frills and lace contrasting almost mockingly, it seemed to her, with the gravity of her situation. There had unfortunately been no more cosmetic powder that morning and she felt very much at a disadvantage with her own natural complexion and hair, unable to hide behind her usual white concealment. The months spent at Wildercombe House resembled a dream which was now shattering into a sickening, ghastly nightmare. Her sins had caught up with her.

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/312lD6

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Author Bio:

Carol Anne Dobson is a qualified teacher and librarian with a B.A. in English, French and Russian. She has lived in Devon for most of her life, and North Devon provides the setting for much of Storks in a Blue Sky.

Alsace in France came to be a second home when her daughter lived there for six years and it is this Germanic region of France which also features in the novel.

In 2009 Storks in a Blue Sky won the David St John Thomas Fiction Award.

Author Links:

Website: https://www.carolannedobson.info/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/carolanne.dobson.5

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Carol-Anne-Dobson/author/B0034NYKP6

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6851252.Carol_Anne_Dobson

Book Link

From Amazon:

Can poetry be memories from a previous life?

Friends is the fifth book in the series Memories from another Lifetime.

Several of the poems in Friends were written at a turbulent time in Vanita’s life, and they present a highly idealised and youthful expression of friendship. Yet they also witness the complex and often conflicting emotions in a friendship – love, devotion, hurt, insecurity, and even jealousy.

Memories from another Lifetime is a collection of very personal and hauntingly beautiful poems about love, desire, friendship, heartbreak, betrayal, hurt, and denial. They go to the core of raw and visceral emotions, perhaps from another lifetime. A powerful and moving experience.

‘I am the window
Through which sunshine
Can enter
The dark room of your Life –
If only you will hold
My outstretched hand of friendship
And lift the curtains
Of your mind.’

From ‘The Saviour’, Vanita Shukla Hork, 1983

My Review:

Mary Schmidt

5.0 out of 5 stars Another winner

Reviewed in the United States on January 15, 2026

Format: KindleVerified Purchase

This is yet again another winner of poetry by Ms Hork. How could poems about friendship not be touching to one’s heart? For in the heart, the words settle, whether sadness of a great friend loss, or happiness derived from a dear one. Friends bring out both preferred and negative qualities and this book of poems does that expertly.