Carries Book Reviews

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Title: The Housekeepers

Author: Alex Hay

Publisher: Graydon House

Publication Date: July 4, 2023

Page Count: 368

About the book:

The night of London’s grandest ball, a bold group of women downstairs launch a daring revenge heist against Mayfair society in this dazzling historical novel about power, gender, and class

Mrs. King is no ordinary housekeeper. Born into a world of con artists and thieves, she’s made herself respectable, running the grandest home in Mayfair. The place is packed with treasures, a glittering symbol of wealth and power, but dark secrets lurk in the shadows.

When Mrs. King is suddenly dismissed from her position, she recruits an eclectic group of women to join her in revenge: A black market queen out to settle her scores. An actress desperate for a magnificent part. A seamstress dreaming of a better life. And Mrs. King’s predecessor, with her own desire for vengeance.

Their plan? On the night of the house’s highly anticipated costume ball—set to be the most illustrious of the year—they will rob it of its every possession, right under the noses of the distinguished guests and their elusive heiress host. But there’s one thing Mrs. King wants even more than money: the truth. And she’ll run any risk to get it…

After all, one should never underestimate the women downstairs.

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Excerpt:

 1

Friday June 2, 1905 Park Lane, London

Mrs. King laid out all the knives on the kitchen table. She didn’t do it to frighten Mr. Shepherd, although she knew he would be frightened, but just to make the point. She kept good knives. She took excellent care of them. This was her kitchen.

They had scrubbed the room to within an inch of its life, as if to prevent contamination. The tabletop was still damp. She could feel the house straining, a mountain of marble and iron and glass, pipes shuddering overhead.

She reckoned she had twenty minutes until they threw her out. Madam was awake and on the prowl, up in the vast ivory stillness of the bedroom floor, and they were already late with breakfast. It was important that Mrs. King didn’t waste time. Or endanger anyone else. She didn’t care what they did to her—she was past caring about that—but troubles had a way of multiply­ing, sending out tendrils, catching other people. She moved fast, going from drawer to drawer, checking, rummaging. She was looking for a wrinkle in things, a missing piece, something out of place. But everything was in perfect order.

Too perfect, she thought, skin prickling.

A shadow fell across the wall.

“I’ll need your keys, please, Mrs. King.”

She could smell Mr. Shepherd standing behind her. It was the odor that came off his skin, the fried-up scent of grease and gentleman’s musk.

Breathe, she told herself. She turned to face him.

He made an excellent butler. But he’d have done even better as a priest. He had that air about him, so tremendously pious. He stared at her, feasting his eyes on her, loving every minute of this.

“Good morning, Mr. Shepherd,” she said, voice smooth, same as every morning.

Mrs. King’s rule was: choose your first move wisely, and you could steer things any way you liked. Choose it badly, and you’d get boxed into a corner, pummeled to pulp. Mr. Shepherd pursed his lips. He had a strange mouth, a nasty little rosebud.

“Keys,” he said, holding out his hand.

Straight to business, then. She circled him, making her approach. She wanted to capture a picture of his face in her mind. It would be very helpful later, once things were properly underway. It would give her all the encouragement she needed.

“I’m still doing my rounds, Mr. Shepherd,” she said.

He took a tiny step back, to preserve the distance between them. “No need for that now, Mrs. King,” he said, eyeing the door.

The other servants were eavesdropping in the kitchen pas­sage. She could feel them, folded just out of sight, contained in the shadows. She placed them like chess pieces in her mind. The chauffeur and the groomsman in the yard, the housemaids on the back stairs. Cook in the pantry, entirely agitated, twisting her handkerchief into indignant knots. William, sequestered in Mr. Shepherd’s office, under close guard. Alice Parker upstairs, keeping well out of trouble. Each of them watching the clock. The entire house was waiting, motion suspended.

“I never leave my work half-finished, Mr. Shepherd,” she said as she slid around him. “You know that.”

And she made for the door.

She saw figures scattering, ducking into pantries and offices. Her boots echoed hard on the flagstones. She felt the cold, damp breeze coming down from the back stairs and wondered, Will I miss it? The chill. The unforgiving scent of carbolic on the air. It wasn’t nice, not at all, but it was familiar. It was funny how you got used to things after so much time. Frightening, even.

Mr. Shepherd followed her. He was like an eel, heavy and vi­cious, and he moved fast when he wanted to.

“Mrs. King,” he called, “we saw you in the gentlemen’s quar­ters last night.”

“I know,” said Mrs. King over her shoulder.

A steep staircase ran from the kitchen passage up to the front hall. She kept her eyes fixed on the green baize door at the top. It was a partition between worlds. On the other side the air thinned and the light became frosted around the edges. “Don’t go up there,” called Shepherd.

Mrs. King didn’t care for this. Being ordered about by Shep­herd made the inside of her nose itch. “I’ve things to check,” she said.

He continued to follow, sending a tremor through the stair­case.

Come on, thought Mrs. King, chase me.

“You stay right here,” he said, reaching to pull her back.

She stopped on the staircase. She wouldn’t run from Shepherd.

He got her by the wrist, his stubby fingers pressing into her veins. His breath smelled stale, but she didn’t recoil. She did the thing he hated most. Looked him straight in the eye.

He said, “What were you doing last night, Mrs. King?”

Shepherd had begun balding over the years, and all he had left were scrubby little hairs dotted right across his brow. Yet still he slicked them with oil. No doubt he waxed them every morning, one by one.

“Perhaps I was sleepwalking.”

“Perhaps?”

“Yes, perhaps.”

Mr. Shepherd loosened his grip slightly. She saw him calcu­lating. “Well. That might change things. I could explain that to Madam.”

“But, then again,” she said, “perhaps I was wide-awake.”

Mr. Shepherd pressed her wrist to the banister. “Keys, Mrs. King.”

She peered up at the green baize door. The house loomed over her, vast and unreachable. The answer she needed was up there. She knew it. Hidden, or sliced into bits, but there. Some­where. Waiting to be found.

I’ll just have to come back and get it, she thought.

She took him to the housekeeper’s room, her room, and he stood guard in the doorway, blocking the light. Already it seemed to belong to her past. It wasn’t cozy, just cramped. On the table was the master’s present to her. Four weeks before, she’d marked her birthday, her neat and tidy thirty-fifth. The master had given her a prayer book. He gave them all prayer books, gilt edging, satin ribbons.

She held her head up as she handed Mr. Shepherd the keys.

“Any others?”

She shook her head.

“We’ll see to your personal effects. You can come and collect them in…” He considered this. “In due course.”

Mrs. King shrugged. They could inspect her bedroom and sniff the sheets and lick the washbasin all they liked. Even give away her uniforms, if it pleased them. Serge dresses, plain rib­bons, tight collars. You could construct any sort of person with those. “Best to choose a new name,” they’d told her when she’d first arrived, and she chose King. They frowned, not liking it—but she held firm: she chose it because it made her feel strong, unassailable. The Mrs. came later, when she made housekeeper. There was no Mr. King, of course.

She kept her navy coat and her hatpins, and everything else she folded away into her black leather Gladstone. There was only one more thing she needed to remove. Pulling open a drawer in the bureau, she rummaged for a pack of papers.

She threw them on the fire. One neat move.

Mr. Shepherd took a step. “What are those?”

“The menus,” said Mrs. King, all the muscles in her chest tight.

The packet was held together with a ribbon, and she watched it darken on the fire. Red turning brown, then black.

“The what?” His eyes hurried around the room, disturbed, as if he were looking for things he’d missed, secrets stuffed and hidden in the walls.

“For Miss de Vries’s ball,” she said.

Mr. Shepherd stared at her. “Madam won’t like it that you did that.”

“I’ve settled all the arrangements,” Mrs. King said with a cool smile. “She can take it from here.”

She studied the ribbon on the grate. It was satin no longer, simply earth and ash. How quickly it changed, dematerialized. How completely it transformed.

Shepherd marched her through the servants’ hall to the mews yard, but he didn’t touch her again. They passed the portrait of the master hanging above the long table. The frame had been draped with black cloth. She wondered when Shepherd would replace the portrait, now that the funeral had passed, now he’d been buried. Would he put up one of Madam instead, something in soft oils and lavender? It would give everyone the willies if he did. That girl’s eyes were like pincers. She guessed Shepherd would delay as long as he could. He’d be mourning his master longer than anyone.

I hope you’re watching from heaven, she said inwardly, looking at the portrait. Or wherever you’ve landed. I hope you see it all play out. I hope they pin your eyes open so you have to watch what I do to this house.

The house. She’d admired it, once. It was bigger than any other on Park Lane. A sprawling mass of pillars and bays, seven floors high from cellars to attics. Newly built, all diamond money, glinting white. It obliterated the light, shriveled everything around it. The neighbors hated it.

Had any house in London ever been decorated in such sumptuous and stupendous style? Miles of ice-cold marble and gleaming parquet. Walls trimmed with French silks and rococo paneling and columns. Electricity everywhere, voltage throb­bing through the walls, electroliers as big as windmills. Enor­mous gas fires. Acres of glass, all smelling wildly of vinegar.

And everywhere, in every room, from floor to ceiling, such treasures: stupendous Van Dycks, giant crystal bowls stuffed with carnations. Objets d’art in gold and silver and jade, cherubs with rubies for eyes and emeralds for toenails. The zebra-hide sofas in the saloon, and the baccarat tables made of ivory and walnut, and the pink-and-onyx flamingos outside the bathrooms. That library, with the most expensive private collection in Mayfair. The Boiserie, the Red Parlor, the Oval Drawing Room, the ballroom: all dressed with peacock feathers and lapis lazuli and an endless supply of lilies.

They didn’t impress Mrs. King at all anymore.

She didn’t shake hands with Mr. Shepherd. “I shall keep you in my prayers, Mrs. King,” he said.

“Do.”

She supposed the upstairs servants were already clearing out her room. The girls would be scrubbing the floorboards with boiling water and soda crystals and taking the bedsheets to be laundered, eliminating any trace of her.

It was important that she didn’t look over her shoulder on the way out. The wrong look at the wrong person could betray her, spoil things when they were only just underway. A pigeon landed on the portico of the gigantic marbled mausoleum as she crossed the yard. She didn’t give it a second glance, didn’t dip her head in respect to the old master. She marched straight past instead.

She stepped into the mews lane, alone. Heard the distant rumble of motors, saw a clutch of wild poppies growing out of a crack in the paving stones. They were being neglected, trampled, yearning upward to the sky. She plucked one, pressed a fragile crimson petal in her palm, held it warm. She took it with her.

Her first theft.

Or, rather, the first correction. It wasn’t simply stealing, not at all.

Excerpted from The Housekeepers by Alex Hay. Copyright © 2023 by Alex Hay. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

About the author:

ALEX HAY grew up in the United Kingdom in Cambridge and Cardiff, and has been writing as long as he can remember. He studied history at the University of York, and wrote his dissertation on female power at royal courts, combing the archives for every scrap of drama and skulduggery he could find. He has worked in magazine publishing and the charity sector and lives with his husband in London. The Housekeepers is his debut novel and won the Caledonia Novel Award.

Author Website  /  Twitter  /  Instagram  /  Goodreads

 

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Smooth Hoperator
Sylvie Stewart
(Love on Tap, #2)
Publication date: July 6th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

SMOOTH HOPERATOR: A FAKE-RELATIONSHIP ROMANCE

After tanking my career in politics, I’m looking for new direction. But my GPS must be broken because it keeps leading me to a kooky librarian’s front steps.

It’s not easy, but I’m doing my best to let go of my old ambitions and embrace the simple life of slinging beer at my family’s brewery. But some powerful players from my past are determined to cause problems for me and my family.

When a chatty local librarian with the wardrobe of a third grader and the optimism of Spongebob begins sticking her nose into my business, I want to tell her to get lost. As fate would have it, though, Sunny and her ill-tempered grandfather are my only remaining option to get free of my past for good.

It will take some convincing to get this goofy, goat-loving librarian on board with my risky plan. But if she’ll do things my way, I’ll return the favor by playing her fake boyfriend to make her true love finally take notice and fall head over heels.

But the deeper we get into this venture, the more I realize there’s nothing fake about Sunny at all. Including the way I’m beginning to feel about her.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

My first indication that I’m not in the attic at home is the mattress spring digging into my back. The second is the warm hand on my junk that doesn’t belong to me. I may have just awoken this second, but my dick has beaten me to it by several minutes, at least.

When I blink my eyes open, sunlight filters through the closed curtains of the motel room, allowing enough illumination for me to make out the body of my bedmate—the very same one whose hand has wandered during the night. Sunny’s hair is splayed over my shoulder, and she’s using my chest as a pillow.

My dick jumps because that’s what dicks do when they’re being felt up. It clearly remembers last night as well as I do. But instead of causing Sunny to withdraw her hand, the movement only appears to encourage her. She burrows her face into my chest and throws a bare leg over my thigh. In other words, she’s trying to kill me.

I’d love nothing more than to roll her onto her back and explore all the skin and curves I didn’t get to last night, but after her confession and that panicked exit, I can’t touch her until we talk. And I doubt she’ll be happy if she wakes up like this.

I try carefully sliding to the side so I can stand, but as soon as I start moving, she grabs onto me like a spider monkey and pulls me closer, using my dick as leverage. I bite down on my cheek to keep from howling.

“No,” she says, her tone scolding.

Here we go again with the sleep talking.

This time, I gently pry her hand from my junk, one finger at a time until I’m gripping her hand just above it. So, of course, that’s the moment she awakens.

I witness as each synapse fires and she comes fully awake to find me holding her hand over my obviously aroused dick. Thank God I’m still dressed at least.

“What are you doing?” She jerks her hand out of my grip.

“Nothing, I swear.”

She lifts her head from my chest and retreats until she’s back on her side of the bed. “It didn’t look like nothing.”

This is ridiculous. I was trying to be sensitive to her emotions, but she can’t honestly think… I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Look, I just woke up, and you were holding my junk and using me as a pillow. That’s all I know.”

She eyes me skeptically. “What happened to the covers?”

We both inspect the bedding and while my side of the bed is as tucked and neat as it was when I first lay on it last night, hers is a mess of twisted sheets and blankets, both pillows buried somewhere within.

“I have no idea.”

She glances around for a few more seconds and then untangles herself. “Oh. I guess I must have moved around a little in my sleep.”

“A little?”

Unfortunately, I still have the issue of the tent in my pants, and now that Sunny is fully awake, she is not shy about looking, which does nothing to help the problem.

“Did I…?” She trails off, pointing at it now. Jesus.

“While it does usually make its presence known first thing in the morning, it’s never this… cheerful.”

She tries and fails to hide her self-satisfied grin. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. I think I’ll survive.” My tone is as dry as my mouth is.

 

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Sylvie Stewart loves bad jokes, dirty rom-coms, country music, and baby skunks—preferably all at the same time. Most of her steamy contemporary and romantic comedy novels take place across her favorite state of North Carolina, and her characters never run out of snarky banter or snacks. When her laptop closes, Sylvie is a sucker for hugs from her twin boys and a good laugh with her hot-nerd hubby. If you love smart

Southern gals, hot blue-collar guys, and snort-laughing with characters who feel like your best friends, Sylvie’s your gal.

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Hott Shot
Serena Bell
Publication date: September 19th 2023
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Beauty salon… and the Beast

Quinn: Working at the family wedding resort wasn’t exactly on my Bingo card. But it’s the only way for my siblings and me to get our grandfather’s inheritance, so here I am, staffing the Hott Spot Spa and Salon front desk. It’s an absurd gig for a man who makes Oscar the Grouch look like a people-person.

Still, I’m a hard worker. I’ve made a fortune off my scientific discoveries, and if I can engineer groundbreaking drugs, I can do anything, right? Not according to Sonya Rossi, the spa’s smoking hot and relentlessly perky manager. My grumpy approach is testing even sunshine-y Sonya’s patience. Meanwhile, I’m not sure whether I want to rain on her parade—or kiss the smile off her face.

Then the universe throws another curveball, putting us under the same roof. The closer Sonya gets, the more I like it—and her. I want to get to know her better and let her see the side of me I never show people. Until now, I’ve only believed in what I can touch, sense, and prove. I definitely don’t believe in love… but Sonya’s making me wish I could.

A spicy, grumpy-sunshine, opposites attract, under-one-roof, forced proximity standalone romantic comedy set in the beloved small town of Rush Creek.

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Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Serena Bell writes contemporary romance with heat, heart, and humor. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen carefully, and you can often find her scribbling in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head.

Serena’s books have earned many honors, including an RT Reviewers ’Choice Award, Apple Books Best Book of the Month, and Amazon Best Book of the Year for Romance.

When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also of how often she changes her hobbies and how passionately she embraces the new ones. These days, it’s stand-up paddle boarding, board-gaming, meditation, and long walks with good friends.

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Wicked Desires
Nancy Brown
(Wicked Series, #2)
Publication date: August 8th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

He’s a rock star in need of a girlfriend. She’s an attorney in need of a husband. What could possibly go wrong?

Victoria Davison has had her heart shattered. She’s has sworn off men forever, a plan that has worked stunningly well until about five minutes ago, when she found out she needs to be married before her thirty-second birthday if she wants access to the one hundred-million-dollar trust fund her grandfather set up for her.

Grayson Pierce is the devastatingly seductive, illegally gorgeous front man for Ruin. He’s the hedonistic saint of sin, wrapped in leather, whiskey, and fame… He’s living the dream until his record company tells him he needs to clean up his image or he’s done.

Their worlds collide. Electricity sizzles in the air between them. Tori tells herself she’s immune to his lethal charms when she walks away.

Love maker.

Heartbreaker

Unable to get her out of his head, Grayson makes Tori a tantalizing offer: act as his girlfriend for six months while he promotes his new album. This could be the solution she has been looking for. Tori counters with a proposal of her own.

A contract is signed.

This is for convenience only…with a time stamped expiry date.

Love is strictly out of bounds.

But when music’s crown prince of mayhem touches her, sparks fly.

Tori’s not about to trust her heart to rock’s most legendary lover. Her body, though? Maybe.

As it turns out, pretending to fall in love is incredibly sexy…

And falling in love for real, with a man she promised not to fall for?

Irresistible.

Goodreads / Amazon

 

Author Bio:

Nancy Carolyn Brown is an author of contemporary romance, fond of writing love stories about hunky badass men endowed with massive hearts, and strong heroines with just the right

mix of sweet and sass… flaming hot chemistry and thrilling nail biting suspense is always guaranteed!

She loves cosmos and chocolate and a swoony good book with a strong storyline.

She lives in sunny southern Alberta, Canada with her high school sweetheart husband and naughty Bengal cat. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys the simple things in life like spending time with family and friends, reading and running with her favorite playlist blasting in her ears.

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Overruling Judgment
Liz Ellyn
Publication date: July 7th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotica, Romance

Ian refuses to allow an explosive night of passion to derail his desire to make partner at the law firm. But, her tempting presence in the office, along with her alluring scent, mocks his resolve.

JD’s the hot art teacher with the body and stamina of a former professional hockey player. He’s a creative master, in and out of the bedroom, who captures the affection of the brilliant young attorney, but he second-guesses if he’s enough for her.

Sasha won’t settle for less in her career or love life. It’s all or nothing. After a twist of fate and a proclamation of love, Sasha escapes choosing between Ian and JD. The alternative is far more arousing.

With careers in flux and hearts on the line, how will they all find the fortitude to come out on top?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

Ian started talking. Of course, he initiated control of the conversation just like he dominated legal negotiations. “We understand that you aren’t inclined to choose either one of us. We aren’t pressing you to do that now.” The tenderness in Ian’s voice and the concern in JD’s eyes alarmed her.

Sasha’s chin began to quiver as a feeling of doom swept through her. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you both here for closure’s sake?”

“Fuck no!” JD swore, clasping her hand more securely. “I have no desire to end things with you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. Sasha started biting her lip. Did JD think she was going to choose him over Ian? Her head started to spin. Nausea brewed in her belly.

Ian leaned in closer. “Neither of us wants to end things with you. Well, I suppose our case is a little different.” Ian extended an open hand. Her free hand itched to reach out and accept Ian’s offer. Uncertainty made her hesitate.

“I’m totally confused.” Sasha looked back and forth between the two. Neither of their faces gave her a clue. What were they suggesting?

 

Author Bio:

INDULGE IN LIFE’S GUILTY PLEASURES!

Liz Ellyn nourishes people’s cravings for the irresistible. Like the decadent desserts she delivers, she creates alluring characters deserving of happy endings.

With degrees in both engineering and law, she argues that the positive energy gained by indulging in one’s guilty pleasure appropriately counterbalances the serious forces of daily life.

When she isn’t writing or devouring steamy romance books, she spoils her family, including her two dogs, Boomer and Tanner.

Bon Appetite and Happy Reading!

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