Writing The Key with Hearts was pure pleasure.
The words just poured onto the page, a flood of ideas that I barely could keep up with.
I had struggled with the previous novel, The Key for Spies. I hit a writing block with that one, swirled around not knowing what to do … then figured out a character was demanding a greater role in the story than I had anticipated. That novel turned out to be the longest of all 12 books in the Hearts in Hazard series.
I started The Key with Hearts with a bit of trepidation.
All writers starting completely new projects have a bit of trepidation: Do I remember how to write? Do I remember how to create likeable characters and an intriguing story? Is this story going to flow?
When we are writing after experiencing a block, the trepidation increases.
The Key with Hearts, though, had waited long enough. The words came so easily that a different worry attacked me. Is this novel as good as I think it is? Am I fooling myself?
My first readers enjoyed it, thank Heavens, crushing all those self doubts.
The Key with Hearts ~ Regency England. Suspense. Murder. Two hearts at odds.
Married for money, not for love.
A convenient marriage inconveniently causes murder.
Six months ago, Beth Corbett married Greville Myers. Her money saved his estate. His nobility raised her station. The couple have achieved an uneasy relationship, tepid and uncomfortable.
Then Beth is nearly killed in a failed attempt at murder.
Who wants her dead?
- *The woman who had expected to marry Greville?
- *The mother-in-law who hates her?
- *Someone unknown?
- *Or her husband, so he can keep her money and marry the woman he loves?
Who can Beth trust?
When the murderer strikes again and injures someone by mistake, how can Beth discover the truth? Or will she be the next victim?
Find the ebook and paperback at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07PBYZ9XZ
Worldwide, find the ebook here: https://books2read.com/u/mvZrA2
View the Trailer https://youtu.be/JyDlvYQf8ow
Here’s a Glimpse of the First Chapter.
Chapter 1
Friday, 3 September 1813 ~ Myers Buckland manor and estate in Wiltshire, England
The little dog nosed along the edge of the bricked planters. His white tail wagged, excitement quivering through his whole body. He sniffed at every speck, whether dirt or leaf or twig. Brightly colored ribbons, tied tightly together to create a long leash, trailed over his back and the terrace’s paving stones.
His sniffing increased. He growled. His short nose swept across the slate-colored pavers. He retreated several steps as he tracked the scent, then followed it back to the grass. The clipped grass tickled his nose. He strained against the ribbon leash as he dug at the stones, as if the pavers were the edge of a cairn hiding a vicious rodent. Then his head popped up. Ears pricked forward. Dark eyes stared at the high hedge with its thick branches of boxwoods.
He glanced behind him at the woman holding one end of his tether. They had ended their walk by traversing the maze. Throughout their tour of the garden, she seemed distracted, barely attending to his tugs on the leash. Now her gaze focused on the drive that swept from the parkland. The gravel turned into a gentle curve as it approached the manor’s forecourt. The little terrier sniffed the air. Then he lunged forward.
The leash held him back. He strained against it then lunged again, but his paws didn’t find grass beneath him. His claws scrabbled on the pavers. He barked.