Widows Gambit The
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The Widow's Gambit
Destitute Livia Neville adds several years to her age, invents a deceased husband, and becomes the respectable Widow Royce. She has no regrets about her lies . . . until she meets dashingly handsome Nicholas Warwick. And, all at once, Livia finds herself snared in a web of her own weaving. An enchanting tale of love and deception by the author of The Counterfeit Heart. Original Regency Romance.
The Widow's Curse
The funeral bells of St. Bartholomew's Church echoed across the moors like the wailing of lost souls, their bronze voices carrying news of death to every corner of Ravenshollow. Eleanor Whitmore stood at her bedroom window, watching the procession wind its way through the village below, a serpentine line of black-clad mourners following the ornate hearse that carried her beloved husband to his final rest. The October wind rattled the windowpanes of Whitmore Manor, as if the very house itself was shivering with grief. Eleanor pressed her pale hand against the cold glass, her reflection ghostlike in the autumn light. Three days had passed since Thomas had drawn his last breath in their marriage bed, three days since her world had crumbled into ash and shadow. "My lady," came a gentle voice from behind her. Mrs. Hartwell, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway with a tea service, her weathered face etched with concern. "You must eat something. You've taken nothing since..." "Since my husband was murdered," Eleanor finished, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned from the window, and Mrs. Hartwell gasped at the sight of her mistress. Eleanor's once-vibrant auburn hair hung limp about her shoulders, and her green eyes, once bright as spring leaves, now held the hollow darkness of winter nights. "My lady, please. The physician said it was his heart. A sudden seizure—" "The physician lies." Eleanor's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Thomas was in perfect health. He was only thirty-five years old, strong as an ox. Men like my husband do not simply die in their sleep." Mrs. Hartwell set down the tea service with trembling hands. In the three years she had served at Whitmore Manor, she had never seen her mistress in such a state. Eleanor had always been the picture of grace and composure, the perfect wife to the respected magistrate Thomas Whitmore. But grief, it seemed, had transformed her into something altogether different.
The Widow’s Bell
Each night in the seaside village of Greyhaven, a bell tolls from the tower of St. Elara’s Church. But the bell was removed and buried over a century ago—along with the widow who cursed it. When historian Clara Ashford arrives to catalog the church archives, she expects silence, not superstition. But on her first night, the fog thickens, and the impossible sound of a bell rolls through the village. By morning, a man is dead. As the nightly tolling continues, so does the body count—each death eerily mirroring those described in the diary of Miriam Kane, the widow executed for witchcraft in 1893. The villagers whisper that the curse has returned. Clara doesn’t believe in curses—until she finds her late husband’s name buried in the widow’s records, linking him to a secret that should have stayed hidden. With the help of Father Elias Ward, a priest wrestling with his own faith, Clara must uncover who—or what—is ringing the bell before she becomes the next to die. But the deeper she delves into Greyhaven’s history, the more she realizes the past isn’t buried at all—it’s waiting. And when the bell tolls thirteen times, it will not mourn the dead. It will summon them. Atmospheric, chilling, and irresistibly suspenseful, The Widow’s Bell is a gothic mystery where grief, faith, and vengeance collide—and where every echo from the past demands a life in return.