Tuesday, 7 January 2020

Master of Malice - Final Artesans Trilogy Box Set




Cas lives in the lovely county of Hampshire, southern UK, where she was born. On leaving school she trained for two years before qualifying as horse-riding instructor. During this time she also learned to carriage-drive. She spent thirteen years in the British Civil Service before moving to Rome, Italy, where she and her husband, Dave, lived for three years. They enjoy returning whenever they can. Cas supports many animal charities and owns two rescue dogs. She has a large collection of cacti and loves gardening. She is also a folk singer/songwriter and is currently writing and recording nine folk-style songs to accompany each of her fantasy books. You can listen to and download all the songs from her website: www.caspeace.com 

See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here: http://www.caspeace.com/cas-peace/the-wheel-will-turn



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Pure evil rises once again in Albia…

Three years have passed since Baron Reen’s trial. A terrible accident on the island of his exile has transformed him into a nightmarish scarecrow creature with dark, mysterious powers. Staging his own suicide, Reen breaks free of his prison and, with the help of the former queen Sofira, embarks on a ruthless quest for vengeance against his worst enemy, the woman responsible for the overthrow of his schemes and his own ruination: Brynne Sullyan.

Sullyan is tasked with investigating Reen’s suicide. The missing body and a series of disasters in Port Loxton—a vicious murder, a brutal ambush, and a devastating fire—raise suspicions in her mind. She probes deeper, determined to uncover the truth, unsuspecting of the evil that’s about to be unleashed…


Reviews for this series:
Cas Peace's Artesans of Albia series immediately sweeps you away to a
world so deftly written. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly
real. Smart. Powerful. Compelling.

Janet E Morris: Bestselling sci-fi and fantasy author of: Thieves World,
The Sacred Band of Stepsons series; the Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun;
Outpassage; The Silistra Quartet; and editor of the Bangsian In Hell
series.


"A thoroughly believable and hauntingly evocative tale portraying one of
the best magical systems ever devised. What are you waiting for? Step
through the veil and immerse yourselves in the worlds of the Artesan
series."

Andrew P. Weston Author of the internationally bestselling "IX Series"

Universal Amazon Link ~ 


  
See the full set on Amazon below
    Trilogy 1         Trilogy 2          Trilogy 3

                         


Editorial Review of the Artesans of Albia series by bestselling US sci-fi and fantasy author, Janet E Morris
Cas Peace's Artesans of Albia trilogy immediately sweeps you away:  the drama starts with King's Envoy, continues unabated in King's Champion, and climaxes in King's Artesan, yet each volume is complete, satisfying.  The Artesan series  propels you into a world so deftly written that you see, feel, touch, and even smell each twist and turn. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly real.  Smart.  Powerful.  Compelling.  The trilogy teems with finely drawn characters, heroes and villains and societies worth knowing; with stories so organic and yet iconic you know you've found another home—in Albia.

Now there's a fourth book on Albia's horizon:  The Challenge, also Book One in Peace's forthcoming sub-series, the Circle of Conspiracy trilogy, proof of more Albian tales on the way.  So start reading now.  I, for one, can't wait to find out what will happen next.
Janet Morris: The Sacred Band of Stepsons; the Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun; Outpassage

Review of the Artesans of Albia series by Amazon reader David Shepherd:
"Excellent Fantasy Series" 5 Stars.
"A fabulous trilogy of fantasy adventure books set in a number of realms, sort of parallel universes, where some people have powers to influence nature. Strong lead female character sets this apart from most other books in this genre."

Review of the Artesans of Albia series by Amazon reader Mr David C Snell:
"A Brilliant Trilogy by Cas Peace" 5 Stars
"Cas Peace has the ability as a writer to transport the reader directly into the world she has created. Characters both believable and interesting, great descriptions of landscape, flora and fauna, and a great twisty plot to boot. A MUST read for all fantasy novel lovers"

Review of the Artesans of Albia series by bestselling author of the IX series, Mr A Weston:
"An Excellent Read and Highly Recommended" 5 Stars
"I rather enjoyed this introductory tale to the realm of Albia, as it portrays a rather novel concept: think of one world arrayed on different levels – as in Dante’s depiction of hell. A place separated by astral schisms, collectively called, the veil. Travel between kingdoms can only be accomplished via special gateways, conjured by those possessing a rare and special elemental gift. Called Artesans, they devote their lives to the mastery of mind, body and the elements, and the acquiring of knowledge.
Our story begins in Albia, the fourth of five realms, and a land where sadly, the Artesan way of life is no longer valued. And that’s a problem for Taran Elijah. He is stalled as a Journeyman, the third of eight Artesan ranks with no one to help him progress.
Desperate to further his studies, Taran hits on a dangerous idea. He will travel to Andaryon, the fifth realm, where Artesans are plentiful. Surely there will be somebody there who might be willing to help him stretch his potential toward advancement?
Taran is stretched alright, though not in the way he would want. And instead of teachers, he finds nothing but hostility and an eagerness to see him dead. His endeavors set in motion a series of events that not only place Taran in danger, but the rest of Albia too, for a cancer has been quietly eating its way through Andaryan and Albian society that culminates with the fate of two worlds hanging in the balance.
Along the way, Taran discovers he hasn’t been told the whole truth about Artesans and what they can achieve, and while he gains access to powers beyond his wildest dreams, that power brings mortal terror in its wake. It would seem only a willingness to sacrifice everything might save the day.
I’ve got to say, the Artesans of Albia trilogy is a superb, tightly knit story that leads the reader through the trials and tribulations of a tight knit group of comrades and friends who discover just how treacherous life can be.
An excellent read and highly recommended."

Review of the Circle of Conspiracy trilogy by bestselling author of the IX series, Mr A Weston:
"One of the best magical systems I've seen in years" 5 Stars
"Though Lord Rykan is dead, his legacy of rebellion lives on. A legacy that not only threatens the safety of King Elias and Hierarch Pharikian, but the world itself.
But who would dare such an outlandish scheme? And why? Even worse, how might Colonel Sullyan’s own family be implicated?
One thing’s for sure, the poison of treachery runs deep on both sides of the veil, and it will be costly indeed to excise it forever.
The Circle of Conspiracy; a well-paced and delightful romp through the world of Artesans that grants you a deeper insight into one of the best magical systems I’ve seen in years. Not only does the story involve you from beginning to end, but it's great fun and well worth the effort of reading all three books in one go."


Snippet: Chapter One.
Lerric, aging client-king of Bordenn, stood in the dark doorway. A damp, noisome smell assailed his nose, the drip of water reached his ears. Lerric shivered, his reaction not wholly due to the chill in the air.
Deep within the lightless room he detected a hint of movement. Creaking leather, a hiss of pain. Lerric stepped one pace farther from the door’s protection and raised his lamp. As soon as the faint yellow light touched—and flinched from—the dark form huddled on the truckle bed along the far wall, a vicious curse sounded. A crooked hand flew up to shield eyes that could no longer bear good, honest light.
“Put that out, you bloody fool! Would you blind me entirely?”

“Ah … your pardon.”

Lerric shuttered the lamp and gloom reclaimed the cell. When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, the king assessed the cell’s lone occupant.
Habitually dapper and well-fed, his body had assumed scarecrow proportions. A parody of his former self. The fastidiously clean and expensive raiment was replaced by a thin, shabby robe of dusty black. A darker blot amid the shadows, it barely disguised the gaunt frame it covered.
Gone were the arrogant swagger and confident poise, replaced by a savage desire for revenge, a thirst for retribution. Three years of incarceration and hopelessness, of nursing raging grievances, hadn’t lessened the pious fervor and deeply-held beliefs. Thirty-six interminable months of imprisonment and deprivation had served only to deepen his determination to rid the land of those to whom he owed his life. Those without whose mercy he would have suffered a horrific and agonizing death.
His eyes, damaged and unable to focus, peered peevishly at his visitor as he levered his skeletal frame upright. The tortured creature that had once been Baron Hezra Reen stood, leaning on a wooden cane as gnarled and lined as the liverish skin of his face, and bared his yellow, decaying teeth at the well-dressed man by the door. His host.
“Well? Are you going to stand there all day gawping, Lerric?”

His harsh tones lashed the older man. Lerric winced and pried his eyes from the cane clasped so tightly in the other’s hand, thinking—hoping—it must be a trick of the gloom that made it glow a gory red.
His daughter had convinced him that this withered being held the key to avenging her disgrace, yet Reen’s shocking physical aspect and aura of menace eroded Lerric’s confidence in the wisdom of allowing Sofira her way. How could she still profess to love this ill-tempered, wrinkled shell of a man, this ranting, obsessive bigot? He only had her word that the scarecrow’s mind was still sharp, undamaged by years of incarceration. After all, Sofira only had his letters on which to base her assertion.
It suddenly crossed Lerric’s mind that those letters could have been written by someone else purely to convince Sofira of the Baron’s sanity. Although who on that gods-forsaken island—or was that a contradiction in terms?—Reen could have found to write them for him, the aging king could not imagine. It was nothing less than a miracle he had even found a carrier for his messages, given his status as prisoner and traitor. But gold was gold, and there was always someone willing to risk the High King’s wrath for a price.
And even though he had played his part, Lerric had yet to learn the full story behind his unwelcome guest’s liberation.

Despite his curiosity, Lerric had been reluctant to make this visit. His own men had retrieved Reen from captivity, brought him south laboriously by boat and by land after plucking him, half-dead and raving, from the sucking arms of the sea. The operation had gone off without a hitch, yet something about their eyes and manner had alerted Lerric to the possibility not all was as it should be. His men had been unwilling—or unable—to speak of what disturbed them, and it had not escaped the king’s notice that none of them had come near him since. Two of them seemed to prefer the uncomfortable duties of the watchtower, while the third had not been seen at all. Remembering their furtive looks and uneasy shifting as they reported Reen’s arrival, Lerric experienced a shudder of unexplained fear.
Placing the shuttered lamp on the floor, he advanced into the cell. The scarecrow watched him approach, peering myopically, beckoning Lerric closer within range of his failing eyesight. Almost mesmerized, Lerric obeyed.
The unimaginable tortures Reen had suffered during his exile, agonies which had warped and twisted his body and rendered his skin painfully sensitive to daylight, had turned the once-arrogant little man into a human mole. Reclusive, given to fits of ranting interspersed with hours of religious chanting, he was a figure of nightmare. Lerric wondered what his daughter’s reaction would be when she finally saw the man she professed to still love. The man for whom Lerric had agreed to pawn his kingdom—and maybe, he thought with an icy shiver, his very life.
Sofira had assured her father she and Reen had long since forgiven each other their mutual betrayal at Reen’s sham of a trial. Reen understood she had only been trying to protect her position and her children. He knew she was only posturing when she had insisted upon his execution; she would never have let it be carried out. She would have rescinded the order had she retained her crown. And she knew, she avowed—although her father heard the hidden note of outrage quivering just below the surface—that Reen’s impeachment of her that was the cause of her losing her husband, her children, and the crown that was rightfully hers, had been forced from him under severe duress by their powerful and scheming archenemy. The enemy who was still riding high on the triumph of that success, and who still held the High King in the palm of her hand.
“Sit, sit,” grumbled the scarecrow, waving a bony claw toward the only chair in the room. Lerric sat, his aging bones aching in the moldy damp, feeling far less a king and more the supplicant under the fervid light in the other’s dark-gray eyes. Casting a look at the leather-sprung truckle bed as the wasted man sat once more, Lerric summoned the courage to speak.
“Are you sure this is what you want? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the palace, or even a private house? I have plenty. I could vacate one for you. No one need know you were there—”

“Fool!”

The cane’s heel struck the stone floor with such a violent crack it made Lerric jump. The word was spat with force and Lerric fell silent. The wizened claws gripping the cane turned white with the preternatural strength of their grip, and the lined, hawk-like face thrust close. The all but useless eyes, their whites now yellow and veined, snapped with anger and a thin line of spittle hung from the cracked lips.
“Have I not told you I must hide?” the dreadful voice wheezed. “Have I not told you the reason why I may never walk in daylight? Did I not tell you why I must languish like this, hidden deep in the rock of the earth? If I do not they will find me, Lerric; they will root me out like hounds on a scent and tear me to pieces. They are merciless. They are godless. They are vengeful heretics. I have told you all this, and yet you offer me your comforts? Pah!”
Lerric leaned away from the spray of spittle that accompanied this rant. There was an unholy light in the feral eyes, a sly twist to the mouth. He was surely unhinged. What had he done, thought Lerric, what had he unleashed by giving way to his daughter’s tearful pleading? Oh, but it was too late now—far too late.
“No,” the wheezing scarecrow went on, leaning back, the demonic glint fading, “I must stay well hidden. And I no longer need what you would call ‘comforts,’ not after three years of incarceration in a living hell. She saw to that. But the tables are turning. I have learned why I was seemingly abandoned by my God and left to rot. I am the stronger for it, believe me. I have learned secrets they’ve never even dreamed of. Secrets they wouldn’t want me to learn. Oh, yes.”
The emaciated form leant forward, crooking one long-nailed finger under Lerric’s nose. “I am the stronger now. Do you hear me? I have unlocked the powers granted me by God; granted me through suffering in order to do his will. I have the power to defeat them—to defeat her—and no one can stop me. With your support we can finally drive them out, rid our lands of their blasphemous ways, their unnatural powers, and restore your daughter—my Queen—to her rightful place. With me to guard and guide her, we will be invincible. No one will touch us, no one will harm us. You will see your daughter reign supreme and all Albia will revere her!
“Once she and I are wed—ah! Then, Lerric, then you will see!”

Lerric hid his face in his hands to blot out the terrible sight of this gaunt figure, scrawny arms raised high, the thin and threadbare robe falling back from limbs devoid of muscle, skin devoid of life, bone devoid of blood. Horror stole over Lerric as he listened to the creature he had agreed to champion, and to whom his beloved daughter had pledged her body. For surely it was no longer human, this skeletal, ranting fanatic; and for one redeeming moment Lerric was sorely tempted to slide his dagger from its sheath and plunge it into the breast of the treacherous creature that had once called itself Baron Hezra Reen.
And maybe it would have saved Albia, Lerric, and many, many others much misery, anguish, and horror.






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Saturday, 21 December 2019

Master of Malice, Third Artesans Box Set



Cas lives in the lovely county of Hampshire, southern UK, where she was born. On leaving school she trained for two years before qualifying as horse-riding instructor. During this time she also learned to carriage-drive. She spent thirteen years in the British Civil Service before moving to Rome, Italy, where she and her husband, Dave, lived for three years. They enjoy returning whenever they can. Cas supports many animal charities and owns two rescue dogs. She has a large collection of cacti and loves gardening. She is also a folk singer/songwriter and is currently writing and recording nine folk-style songs to accompany each of her fantasy books. You can listen to and download all the songs from her website: www.caspeace.com 

See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here: http://www.caspeace.com/cas-peace/the-wheel-will-turn



Author Facebook ~

Facebook ~ Website ~


 ~ Blog ~ Amazon ~ Reverbnation ~



Pure evil rises once again in Albia…

Three years have passed since Baron Reen’s trial. A terrible accident on the island of his exile has transformed him into a nightmarish scarecrow creature with dark, mysterious powers. Staging his own suicide, Reen breaks free of his prison and, with the help of the former queen Sofira, embarks on a ruthless quest for vengeance against his worst enemy, the woman responsible for the overthrow of his schemes and his own ruination: Brynne Sullyan.

Sullyan is tasked with investigating Reen’s suicide. The missing body and a series of disasters in Port Loxton—a vicious murder, a brutal ambush, and a devastating fire—raise suspicions in her mind. She probes deeper, determined to uncover the truth, unsuspecting of the evil that’s about to be unleashed…



And now for the Cover

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Universal Amazon Link ~ 


  

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Friday, 20 December 2019

Lost Shepherd




“Who were THOSE shepherds, and why were they so favored?” That one question stirred the imagination of author Michael I. Judson and led to the creation of Lost Shepherd, the fictional backstory of the first witnesses to the birth of the precious Babe of Bethlehem. After you read Lost Shepherd, watch for his answers to other compelling questions (his next books!)

When he’s not writing, he has a large family to love, gardens to grow, fun places to see, ancestors to discover, and even chickens to raise! He also has a full-time job that occupies the bulk of his waking hours. Though still a few years off, retirement beckons with aspirations of writing (with all the fun imagining and discovery that goes with it) becoming his full-time pursuit.



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Just who were the shepherds that were singled out from among earth's inhabitants to hear the angelic announcement of Christ's birth? What made them so special, or what uniquely qualified them to be His first witnesses? The Bible tells us very little about them. Now there is an answer!
Eleazar grows up awash in a culture of shepherding, but not among ordinary sheep. No, the flocks he and his companions tend are destined for sacrifice on the altar of the great temple at Jerusalem. Like his fathers before him, his life's work fuels the faith of a nation that tirelessly awaits the signs of their long-foretold Messiah. But unforeseen circumstances lead Eleazar away from his purposeful existence and onto a path of doubt and life-altering decisions that threaten to destroy both his faith and his future. Only the miraculous power of the Christ Child can reclaim him and restore to him to a life of hope and peace—and to an understanding of his importance as a shepherd in Israel.
Lost Shepherd is a tale of real hope and redemption, of faith lost and reclaimed. Let the story transport you back in time as you discover anew the timeless healing power found only in the Savior Jesus Christ.


~ Universal Amazon Link
    




Snippet:


Following the evening meal, Miriam and Eleazar would clear and wash the dishes and Jacob and Simeon would retire to a grove of gnarled olive trees behind the shepherd’s home to catch up on news from around the region. On this particular occasion, Jacob was especially keen on hearing Simeon’s take on the fate of one, Cornelius, a self-proclaimed prophet who had foolishly rushed Herod’s chariot as it passed, loudly proclaiming that the coming of Israel’s Deliverer was imminent.
“What do you think happened to him?” Simeon queried in return.
“Well he didn’t commit a crime that I’m aware of.”
“Perhaps not,” Simeon replied, “but he couldn’t have been much of a student of history, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he must not have remembered the failings of Herod’s father Antipater, whose leniency with the so-called Jewish rebellion earned him nothing but grief. It’s certain that Herod himself has not forgotten that lesson, judging from the way he has silenced every other threat to his rule.”
“So are you saying that Cornelius was imprisoned by Herod?”
“If he was, he should count himself blessed. Others committing lesser crimes have met with far greater consequences.”
Puzzled, Jacob commented: “Surely Herod is not as cruel as you say. After all, he re-built and maintains the temple and keeps Rome from further intruding into our way of life.”
“Be not deceived, old friend,” said the wise Levite. “Herod does only that which serves his own purposes. His pretended allegiance to Rome is no more real than his pretended affection for the Jews. What serves Herod is all that matters, and he is particularly wary of any mention of a successor. I fear in his mind he actually believes he will live and rule forever.”
“Hence the strong reaction to any mention of the Messiah,” Jacob accurately surmised.
“Now you’re beginning to understand—and you’re beginning to see why there have been such concessions made by Joazar ben Boethus, the high priest, and the rest of the temple elders. Herod is slowly making over all of Jerusalem in his own image.”
“But what of their faith?” Jacob questioned. “Surely the temple elders would not compromise where it really matters.”
“My friend, sometimes one must do what is required to survive. A temple of stone gives more hope to more people than one that exists only in memory. Besides, many yet find great fulfillment in worshipping there. I must admit, however, that I sorely miss the open conversations we once enjoyed on the subject of the Messiah. My how faith was strengthened when we could openly testify to one another of our feelings and impressions!”
“Well, Simeon, you are free to speak of your feelings here,” Jacob responded, sympathetically. “Tell me all about your thoughts of the Messiah and his coming. There are none here but a lowly shepherd and these olive trees to hear your confession.”
“None but a lowly shepherd, some olive trees and a curious, nine-year-old, would-be shepherd boy, you mean!”
With that, Eleazar sheepishly stepped out from behind the tree where he had been hiding.
“Ah, I wondered why the lights in the house hadn’t dimmed,” said Jacob, casting a disappointed look in the direction of Miriam’s flickering lamp. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, but mind you, young man, it is exceedingly bad form to eavesdrop on a private conversation. I expect you to apologize to Simeon and then head straight to your bed.”
“Oh don’t be so hard on the lad,” Simeon pleaded. “He owes me nothing. After all, he’s nearly old enough to join the other shepherds. If you can entrust him with that responsibility, I think he should be entitled to a bit of adult conversation.”
“All in good time, my friend. All in good time. For now, what this almost-shepherd needs is sleep.”
With that, young Eleazar was escorted to bed. Deciding he too was in need of rest, Simeon excused himself for the night.





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Thursday, 19 December 2019

The Gift of a Child






Award-winning author, wife, mother, grandmother, Harry Potter geek, Army veteran, karate black belt, and online gamer girl.









~ Facebook ~ Website ~
~ Amazon





 "Recently widowed Rae Cavanaugh just survived the worst birthday of her life. She and her two young children must now face a holiday season filled with so many reminders of what they've lost. But when a coworker who’s raising his young nephew moves next door, Rae discovers that the support of a good friend, and the gift of a child, can bring back some of the joy of the season. 

**A Novelette**"










Snippet:


Shouldn’t the raw, open wound left by Mike’s loss have closed by now, even a little? Some days it hurt so badly Rae found it hard to believe people couldn’t tell she was bleeding out emotionally right in front of them.
But no, she had to put on a brave face. Grief was such a private thing. It made people uncomfortable if she showed it openly, like if she’d shown up to an event wearing only her undies. Rae had learned to wear the face they wanted to see, that of a resilient young widow with two small children who was moving on. But those people didn’t have to come home to an apartment every night that echoed with her late husband’s absence.





To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our   Official Event page Part 2 









Wednesday, 18 December 2019

MELODY, Angel Creek Christmas Brides book 7





Through a crazy twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not born on a Texas ranch. To compensate for this illogical error, she writes about handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains in a tiny office her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas cowboy country where they ride herd on their dog and three rescued indoor cats as well as providing nourishment outdoors for squirrels, birds, and other critters. 

The over fifty titles she has created in her pink cave have made her an Amazon bestselling author and won several awards. She writes sweet to sensual romances about the West, both historical and contemporary as well as time travel and mystery. Her series include the Kincaids, McClintocks, Stone Mountain Texas, Bride Brigade, Texas Time Travel, Texas Caprock Tales, Loving A Rancher, and Pearson Grove as well as numerous single titles and contributions to multi-author sets. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, reading her friends’ books, lunching with friends, browsing antique malls, checking Facebook, and taking the occasional nap.




~ Facebook ~ Website ~
~ Amazon





Such a tiny lie… 

Desperation drove her… 
She couldn’t know the risk… 


After the death of her grandmother, Melody Fraser must quickly leave what has been her home in South Carolina. There are those who think she murdered her Nana Fraser. She’s innocent but there’s talk about arrest and prosecution. To escape, this Southern Belle agrees to become a mail-order bride in far away Montana. Several of her friends will be living in the same town. Traveling so far to marry a man she’s never met is daunting. Surely things will work out, won’t they?
Nicholas “Nick” Walker is a doctor from Gettysburg whose wife and children were killed when mortar fire destroyed their home. Eager to escape the memories and ravages of the Civil War, he buys a medical practice in Montana Territory. He wants a competent nurse who can assist him with operations and care for patients as his plans expand for a hospital. He wants a well-organized wife to keep him company and start a family. With his usual efficiency, he combines the two into one job description when he requests a mail-order bride. What will it take to teach Nick that—although she isn’t what he expected—Melody is exactly what he needs?




Snippet:


Inside the small building, she sat at the table. The letter writer’s penmanship was well-formed and bold. She tilted the page toward the window and read the page again. 

 Dear Prospective Bride, My name is Nicholas Walker and I’m a thirty-year-old doctor. I have dark hair, blue eyes, reach just over six feet in height, and I’ve been told I’m not bad looking. I’m in need of a wife who has nursing experience and can help me with patients as well as manage our home. The clinic is only a few steps from the house, which makes the situation convenient. 
 I live in a three bedroom home that is quite Spartan. I’m sure a woman’s touch would remedy that. The clinic has room for only one patient but I am in the process of adding rooms for two more as well as expanding the treatment room. 
 No doubt you will wonder about my habits. I never have over two beers, don’t gamble, and have no outstanding debts. My health is good. I have never struck a woman and will never strike my wife. I intend to be a firm but loving father to any children we may have. 
No doubt you lost loved ones in the war. Although I won’t speak of it again, I must warn you that I lost my wife and two children when our home was destroyed by Confederates. I still miss my family every day. Because of the deep abiding love I hold for them, I can only offer fondness in our marriage. If you can accept my terms then I look forward to our union. 
Sincerely, 
Nicholas Walker 

 Melody studied the letter then re-read the page. He’d been married before and lost his wife and children. A man of his age would normally have wed. She lowered the letter and gazed out the window. 
 How badly did she want to escape Charleston? She wanted a husband and a family but wanted that husband’s love. On the other hand, she knew many couples lived long and happy married lives sharing only fondness. Could she link herself to a man who admitted he would never love her?





To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our   Official Event page Part 2