If a wedding marks the first day of the rest of your life, then the story starts with the dress.

It's 1936 and the streets of London's East End are grimy and brutal, but in one corner of Bethnal Green it is forever Hollywood...

Herbie Taylor's photography studio is nestled in the heart of bustling Green Street. Tomboy Stella and troubled Winnie work in Herbie's studio; their best friend and hopeless romantic Kitty works next door as an apprentice dressmaker. All life passes through the studio, wishing to capture that perfect moment in time.

Kitty works tirelessly to create magical bridal gowns, but with each stitch she wonders if she'll ever get a chance to wear a white dress. Stella and Winnie sprinkle a dusting of Hollywood glamour over happy newly-weds, but secretly dream of escaping the East End...

Community is strong on Green Street, but can it stand the ultimate test? As clouds of war brew on the horizon, danger looms over the East End. Will the Wedding Girls find their happy ever afters, before it's too late?

Why so excited: I have read and loved both of Kate Thompson's previous books and this one is shaping up to be a lovely read too. It's my current read and I'm really enjoying it.

Pre-order now! 

Mystery at Maplemead Castle by Kitty French - March 17th

Welcome to Chapelwick, a leafy English town in the hills of Shropshire, where chocolate pecan cookies come with a helping of sabotage.

Maplemead Castle is crawling with ghosts, and the new owners need them gone. When Melody Bittersweet and the Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency arrive on scene, they quickly identify the troublemakers swinging from the chandeliers… literally. 

A century ago, stunning trapeze artist Britannia Lovell plunged to her death, and has done every night since. But did she really just fall, or was there something more to her demise?

Forced to work with Leo Dark, her scoundrel ex, and infuriating, irresistible reporter Fletcher Gunn, Melody’s investigative powers are under strain (i.e. lost in a pink mist of lust and confusion). She needs her team on top form, but best friend Marina’s cake pipeline goes AWOL, assistant Artie’s distracted by a giant sausage roll, and the pug is scared witless by a lion.

Somewhere, hidden in the castle, is a heart-breaking secret, but what will it take to find it? And is there a chance it could set Britannia free, or is she doomed to repeat her last fateful act forever?

An utterly hilarious, gripping, spooktastic read for fans of HY Hanna, MC Beaton, Gina LaManna and Jana DeLeon.

Why so excited: 

Pre-order now!

The Returning Tide by Liz Fenwick - March 23rd

Two sisters and one betrayal that will carry across generations...

In wartime Cornwall, 1943, a story between two sisters begins - the story of Adele and Amelia, and the heart-breaking betrayal that will divide them forever. Decades later, the effects of one reckless act still echo - but how long will it be until their past returns?

The Returning Tide will sweep you away to the beautiful Cornish coast, full of secrets and mystery, and will be loved by fans of Kate Morton and Rachel Hore.

Why so excited: C. L. Taylor is my go-to writer for tense and addictive psychological thrillers and I cannot wait to start this one. If you haven't discovered her stories yet, you are really missing out. 

Pre-order now!

The Lemon Tree Cafe Part 1 - March 28th

This is Part One in a brand-new serial from bestselling author Cathy Bramley.

Rosie Featherstone loves her high-flying job at a social media firm. So what if she isn’t married and settled like her sister? A relationship would only get in the way of this workaholic’s hectic schedule! 

So when she unexpectedly finds herself at a loose end for a month, Rosie keeps busy by helping her Italian nonna serve espressos and biscotti at the Lemon Tree Café, a little slice of Italy nestled in the rolling hills of Derbyshire.

Worryingly though, the café’s fortunes seem to have taken a turn for the worse since Rosie last went home. But with Nonna blind to the truth and angry at the idea of anyone interfering, the two are soon at loggerheads. 

However, just when Rosie decides it’s time to head back to reality, an old acquaintance suddenly reappears, and the prospect of life at the Lemon Tree Café begins to seem more appetizing . . . 

The Lemon Tree Cafe is an irresistibly charming novel told in four parts – following the adventures of Rosie Featherstone in friendship, family and second chances. This is the first part.

Why so excited: I think you must know by now that I love Cathy Bramley's stories. So a new story by her is always highly anticipated. And how beautiful is that cover?

Pre-order now!

Top Ten Tuesday is an original feature/weekly meme created at The Broke and the Bookish. This feature was created because they are particularly fond of lists over there at The Broke and the Bookish. And who doesn't love a good list?

Wenn du mich fragst, sag ich für immer by Holly Martin. This is the German edition of One Hundred Proposals, which is an amazing love story. 

And a couple of ebooks: 

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell. I haven't read anything by Rainbow Rowell yet and I am planning on rectifying it very soon. 

Blurb: There's an old Cornish saying: 'Save a stranger from the sea, he'll turn your enemy...'

When her reclusive grandmother becomes too frail to live alone, Gabriella Blythe moves into the remote waterside cabin on Frenchman's Creek which has been her grandmother's home for decades. Once a celebrated artist, Jaunty's days are coming to a close but she is still haunted by events in her past, particularly the sinking of Lancasteria during the war. 

Everything is fine until a handsome stranger arrives in a storm, seeking help. Finn has been left a family legacy: a delicate watercolour of a sailing boat which leads him to this beautiful stretch of Cornish water. As Finn begins to pick at the clues of the painting, he is drawn into the lives of Gabe and Jaunty, unraveling a remarkable story of identity and betrayal...

In her delightful new novel, Liz Fenwick weaves a spelling binding tale of romance and intrigue, set against the gorgeous Cornish coast.

First of all I would like to thank the publisher for sending me a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.*

Review: This is my first book by Liz Fenwick and it certainly won't be my last. She totally captured me with her descriptive style and complex characters. I thought A Cornish Stranger would be a light read to take my mind off for a couple of days but it couldn't be further from the truth, once I started reading, I couldn't stop. Liz created such an intricate story with so many secrets that I just wanted to know more.

The story centers around Gabriella, a talented opera singer that has decided, for some reason, to forget all about opera and focus on writing jingles. When we meet her, she has decided to move to Cornwall to be with her grandmother, who at ninety something is not as fit as she used to be. Both women hide their own secrets but when a gorgeous stranger enters their lives, everything changes. Ready or not, their time is running out and they have to face some truths to be able to move on.

Gabe was a really interesting character to read but the one who stole the show for me was her grandmother, Jaunty, a real survivor. As we learned more about her life, I could only wonder at what she had done and how she had fought to have the life she had. I certainly didn't expect at all some the secrets she finally unraveled. What a woman. I couldn't stop shading a tear or two reading about her.

I also enjoyed a lot learning more about the gorgeous stranger named Finn. It was clear from the beginning that he also had a fair share of secrets of his own and also had some kind of link with Jaunty and Gabe. But he slowly stole their hearts and mine too. 

All in all A Cornish Stranger was a fascinating read in a stunning setting. I've never been to Cornwall but with Liz's descriptions I could easily picture the atmospheric scenario and how it was such an important part of the story. This is certainly a book I would recommend to all readers as it has something for everyone, family, friendship, love, secrets, mystery, war tales, art, great settings... and the list could go on and on. 

Rating: 

Today is my stop on the Bumper Summer Blog Tour for Liz Fenwick celebrating all her books, all of which are displayed above! To celebrate I have an extract of the wonderful The Cornish Affair and a fantastic Giveaway. Don't miss your chance to win a book bundle with all Liz's books: 

Extract: The Cornish Affair

~ One ~

I stood in front of a full-length mirror and didn’t recognise the woman who appeared there.

‘Breathe out.’ Sophie, my best friend, instructed. ‘How much weight have you lost since the last fitting?’

‘I don’t know.’ The dress hung on me. ‘Can we stuff something in it to fill it out?’

Sophie reached into her dress and pulled out two gel objects. ‘Here, use these.’

I waited while she undid the buttons at the back of the dress. I was not a pretty sight, and not how I ever imagined I’d look on my wedding day. 

‘I just don’t understand why you are in this dress.’

‘Don’t go there. Mother wanted this one.’ 

Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘I was there. This dress would have suited Rose, or even your mother. It’s not you at all.’ 

I took a deep breath and shoved the inserts into the corset. My boobs popped up but not really out. Sophie buttoned me up again. I knew exactly what she meant about the dress. It was fussy, and I looked like a coat hanger wearing a meringue. 

‘Sorry to mention Rose.’ 

‘It’s OK.’ 

Sophie gave me a swift hug, both of us blinking away emotion. I was wearing far too much mascara to cry. 

‘Are you ready?’ My mother, Jane, walked into the room without knocking. She studied me from head to toe. I held my breath. 

‘You look ...’ Mother came up to me and adjusted the neckline of the gown over the bolstered curve of my bust. ‘Perfect.’ 

‘Thanks.’ Another glance in the mirror confirmed her words were a lie. Mother stood beside me, gazing at our reflections. I towered over her delicate frame. Her lilac dress set off her blond hair. The only similarity between us was our mouth; I had her full lips. Rose had been the image of Mother, where I was gangly and dark. 

‘I knew I was right about the dress. It’s far better on you than the one you preferred.’ 

I nodded. There was no point in disagreeing at this stage; I’d left it too late. 

The leaves on the birch trees surrounding the church were still. It was as if time had stopped, yet I heard the chatter inside. I stood at the porch and tried to breathe. The air was heavy, threatening. Despite the haze, the temperature was over a hundred degrees. How could it be so hot on Cape Cod in early June?

‘OK?’ Dad asked as he appeared from behind and took my elbow. 

I frowned, but then turned and gave him a grin. 

‘Nervous?’ He glanced at his watch. It was three o’clock. Any moment now the music would change and I would begin my last walk as a single woman. I looked through the door and down the aisle. The church was filled with pink flowers – hundreds of lilies, to be precise. The altar was barely visible for all the massed blooms in every shade of the wretched colour; particularly pale pink. I’ve always hated pink. I should have said so, but I hadn’t. 

Beside the altar stood my fiancé, John: tall, blond and gorgeous, but even he hadn’t escaped the colour. His waistcoat matched the flower girls’ dresses. Like dolls, they spun around my knees with pink, stinking lilies clutched in their fists. 

I held my bouquet away from me. The scent of lilies was overpowering at any time, but in the heat it was worse, unlike the fragrance of some other flowers. I looked up into Dad’s eyes. 

‘What’s on your mind, Jude?’ 

I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder for a second. ‘The garden we created in Abu Dhabi.’ 

‘It was this hot too.’ 

‘Yes, it was.’ Abu Dhabi had been special. Rose had still been well when we’d lived there, Mother less frantic, and the garden was sublime. The fragrance of frangipani and night-scented jasmine came to mind. ‘I loved that garden.’ 

‘Me too.’ Dad straightened his waistcoat. The heat was bad enough in my dress. It must have been unbearable in a morning coat. 

‘It was the first one we made from scratch.’ 

‘A long time ago now.’ He put his hand on my arm. 

‘Almost twenty years.’ The music stopped. I felt the pressure of Dad’s grasp increase on my arm. My mouth went dry. 

‘Ready?’ he asked. 

I nodded, but then I saw Mother signalling to the choir loft. ‘False alarm.’ Dad took a hankie out of his pocket and wiped his brow. The rosebud in his buttonhole had gone limp. I touched it. 

‘Not made for this heat, me or the rose.’ He put his hankie away. 

‘I love roses, though.’ A lump formed in my throat. 

‘She’d love all of this.’ His glance made a broad sweep of the church. ‘She’s with us in spirit.’ He found my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Your mother’s walking back down the aisle. I’d better go see what the delay is.’ 

He moved quickly and led Mother back to her seat. The church was packed with five hundred people all in their finest. Between John and me we might know half of them, but only a hundred could be called friends. My parents had splashed out, and I hadn’t the heart to rein them in. After all, this was their one chance. I was their only child now, and had been for eighteen years. It was all I could do. They would never see Rose’s wedding day, so mine was their only chance to throw a big party. 

My parents stood beside the front pew with their heads together. Around them the congregation buzzed with hushed discussions. The simple lines of the church were obscured with all the decorations. No detail had been too small for Mother’s attention. 

I closed my eyes, wondering what was up. I fiddled with my charm bracelet. The hump on the camel should have been worn off because of all the times I had rubbed it, wishing that Rose were still with me. Seven years my senior, I had adored her. If she were here, if the kidney disease hadn’t killed her, I wouldn’t be nervous and Mother wouldn’t be fussing. 

The music changed and I opened my eyes. Where was Dad? Shouldn’t we be walking down the aisle? Searching the church, I found him settling Mother. He pressed a kiss to her temple and began to pull away. 

A car drew up to the bottom of the church steps and I recognised the thick ankle that was emerging. I dashed to help Great-Aunt Agnes out of the car. She batted me away with her walking stick as her driver came round to help. 

‘I’m pleased I’m not late.’ She grabbed the other stick from the driver and made for the steps. I walked beside her, ready to steady her. She was ninety-four and still lived independently, despite everyone except me trying to push her into a home. 

‘No need to fuss, Jude.’ She turned to me. ‘I’ve managed to stay alive until your wedding day, so I can damn well make my own way into the church.’ 

I loved her spirit. Despite Agnes’ insistence on walking in alone, I glanced about for one of the ushers. It wasn’t tradition for a bride to seat her guests, but Agnes was special, so I might risk Mother’s ire and do just that. 

We reached the church door and she took a few breaths while she studied me from head to toe. ‘Nice shoes. Ghastly dress. Your mother’s choice, I expect. She’s always got her own way.’ I opened my mouth to reply but then shut it. 

‘You’re a dear girl, but have always been too biddable for my taste. Keep wondering where the Warren backbone is in you.’ Her voice rang out, and I wondered if she had forgotten to turn on her hearing aids. I placed a hand on her arm. ‘Mind you, your father seems to be missing it too. Your mother’s always had him by the balls, from what I can tell.’ 

I glanced around, hoping that no one could hear her over the organ. Clasping her elbow, I began to lead her into the church when Sophie’s boyfriend Tim came to my rescue. ‘Handsome boy.’ Agnes took his arm, then turned to me and winked. 

I back-stepped to the lobby, feeling Mother’s wrath as her gaze burned into me. A drop of sweat trickled down my bolstered cleavage. A breeze swept past, stirring the delicate birch leaves. Only a thunderstorm could relieve the oppressive atmosphere. 

Peering down the aisle, I caught a glimpse of John standing with his best man. He looked so distant, so formal. His glance met mine and he smiled. It would be all right. Nerves were normal. 

‘Hasn’t Jane done well with Judith marrying John? This is what she’s been trying to achieve for years.’ A woman spoke over the music. 

‘I know. The Stewarts are such a good family, and he’s already a partner in the firm. But I have to say I still wonder what he sees in the Warren girl. She’s nothing like Jane, has none of her style. Jane did well to marry her off.’ They looked at my mother as she resumed her seat at the front. 

I didn’t know either woman, but they knew me, or more precisely, Mother. Mother had been over the moon when I had begun dating John, and thinking about it now, moving me towards this day from that moment. Was John my choice or hers? 

The bouquet I held reached the floor with its cascade and, almost as if I weren’t really there, I watched my hands tremble so much that I dropped the candyfloss mess. One of the flower girls dived to retrieve it and I extended my hand, looking at the artful design of the arrangement. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t me. This whole thing was wrong. I dropped my hand, then I ran as fast as my shoes would let me, never looking back. 

The incoming tide lapped over my red toenails and wet the brilliant white froth of my wedding gown. Tears caused it all to blur to pink, reminding me of the wretched lilies. That was hours ago, and now the salty water of the Gulf Stream had removed the stiffness from the skirt so that it collapsed against my legs. Finally I felt at peace with the damn dress. 

A seagull dive-bombed into the water. I wiped my eyes so that I could see if it was successful. It was, and I smiled. At least someone had gotten what he wanted. But then, the gull knew what it wanted, and I hadn’t. Big difference. I had only discovered what I hadn’t wanted at the worst possible moment. It was an effort to stand. My legs had gone a bit dead. I’d lost count of how long I’d been sitting staring at the water. It didn’t hold any answers, and now I had to go back and face everyone. The sun had set, and by rights I should be on my way to Boston for my wedding night, then onto Maine to start my honeymoon, not standing by an empty lifeguard tower. 

Looking at the sea again, the enormity of what I’d done hit me. I needed to talk to John, but I had no words, or none that could begin to make amends for what I had done to him. 

I brushed the sand off as best I could, wishing I had a phone. All I had was a soaking dress, a veil and a useless pair of highheeled shoes. My progress across the beach was slow. The dress hindered my movement. It hadn’t been light to begin with, but Mother had been so excited, and I’d wanted to make her happy if I could. In a way, this was to have been her day as much as mine. 

My legs ached. The walk felt endless. A car’s horn sounded as it whooshed past me. I knew I looked a sight, and the sooner I could change the better. The house came into view and I stopped. 

The flowerbeds at the front of the house were a riot of colour with the orange Hemerocallis, or daylilies, shouting for attention over the soft tones of the white peonies. Dad had thrown his heart and soul into making sure the garden would be beautiful for my day. My day ... I squeezed my eyes shut. Those happy moments when John and I had worked with Dad seemed ages ago, but it was only a few weeks. 

Caterers came out, and I hid in the shadow of a large pine. Once they’d gone back inside, I limped onto the lawn and studied the one constant in what had been my peripatetic life: a weatherboard house with dark green shutters. We had come here every summer, and when Dad retired it had become our permanent home. I didn’t want to go in. Mother would be in a state; and why wouldn’t she? 

Standing by the house, it appeared so peaceful, but that could be deceptive. It didn’t look as if it was on the water from this angle, but it was. From here it could be in the woods, but walk through the door and the house opened out to reveal Eel River. It was originally built by my great-grandfather as a summer cabin in the 1920s when summer cabins were ambitious, with room for servants, and you came to Cape Cod on the train with steamer trunks. 

I had let all of them down, past and present, by not walking up the aisle. Everything was so clear in my mind, but how could I explain to everyone without hurting them more? Now, hours later, I was facing what I’d done as lights shone out of all the windows of the house. It looked happy. It was dressed for a party, my party, and I hadn’t turned up until it was over. The cost of the whole thing made my eyes water. 

Pushing aside these thoughts, I knew that what held me in the shadows was not fear of Mother’s huge displeasure, but of Dad’s disappointment. How was I going to explain to my rock why I had bolted? 

I moved towards my car. It was parked out of the way, waiting for my return from honeymoon. What was John doing? Getting drunk, I should imagine. That sounded appealing, but before I could do that, or anything else, I needed to get out of this damn dress. As quietly as I could, I moved to the side door where the sounds of chairs being stacked and orders given almost drowned out my mother’s voice. I stood still and listened. 

‘What was that child thinking?’ Her English accent was always more pronounced when she was angry. Her words carried on the night air. 

Child? Thirty is not a child. I began to walk out of the shadows, but stopped as she continued. 

‘Such stupidity.’ 

‘Jane.’ Dad cut her off. 

‘Leaving John at the altar was such an overdramatic, asinine thing to do.’ Mother paused. ‘Did you see Mary’s face? There was her beloved son, standing at the altar looking like a fool and our daughter was the cause. I doubt they will ever speak to us again.’ 

‘It was terrible.’ Dad’s voice broke. 

‘I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life.’ Jane sighed. ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to show my face again.’ 

I couldn’t see my father, and whether he agreed with her or not. ‘You’re tired. You put so much work into making this day wonderful for her.’ His voice trailed away. ‘Where the hell is she?’ 

Jane sighed. ‘I’m sure she’s fine and thinking only of herself, and not of John or his parents or even us. Hasn’t that always been the way with her? I’m so disappointed.’ 

‘Me too.’ 

‘Rose would never have done this. She was so thoughtful, and not at all selfish.’ Jane sobbed. 

I remained in the shadows. I couldn’t move. Mother’s words echoed in my head. She was right. Rose would never have done this.