Publication Date: 18th April 2023 Publisher: Pompkin Press Series: Muskets Trilogy Page Length: 500 Genre: Historical Fiction / Historical Romance Synopsis Jack and Annalisa are married only five months when, enroute to France, a shipwreck separates them. On different shores, each believes the other dead. But when Annalisa learns Jack is alive, she returns to America and discovers much has changed. After a betrayal, she flees town as her alter ego, Benjamin Cavendish, and joins the Continental Army. Unbeknownst to Annalisa, Jack has also joined the Continentals, harboring shameful secrets from his days in mourning. Against the backdrop of war with Britain, façades mount between Jack and Annalisa, and the merry minuet of their adolescence dissolves into a masquerade of deceit, one which threatens to part them forever. Excerpt The discharge of muskets and fowlers resounded a deafening boom! Through the clouds of gun-smoke, the British and Hessians advanced. “Load your firelock,” George ordered. Any well-trained militiaman or soldier could fire three volleys a minute; that was what he’d taught Annalisa when they fired Bixby in the clearing beyond their house. Now, he must set an example with his men. “Make ready. Fire!” His militia assaulted again. Still, the Bloodybacks pressed on. George glanced about the fort for his superior, Colonel Magaw. Only he could give the command to surrender. “Load and prime, rogues,” George ordered. “Make ready. Fire!” His chest rattled with another eruption of musket-fire. “Colonel Magaw,” George called. “We can’t hold them off any longer, sir!” The colonel appeared through the thick gun-smoke, his chubby face sagging with defeat. “Retreat, men, retreat,” the colonel shouted. George turned to Bartlett, who stood by. “Bartlett, gather as many of our militia as you can. Colonel Magaw is surrendering. Any of us remaining will fall prisoner.” Bartlett rubbed his grime-covered face. “Where will we go, Captain?” “Across the river to Fort Lee. But I daresay, it won’t be for long. Go. Now!” Bartlett and eight others of their militia dashed toward the river, but Bartlett turned back for George. “Captain Howlett, you’re coming with us, no?” “Aye, I’ll be along presently. I need to gather the others of our militia. I’ll not abandon them. Now, make haste. ’Tis an order.” His friend delayed a moment, gripping his coat. “Aye, sir.” Bartlett fled after the others, down to the river. George turned his back on the river and hastened through the barracks. “Cogswell’s regiment,” he hollered. “Cogswell’s regiment!” John and Matthew Whipple, a father and son duo from Ipswich, sped toward him. “Captain Howlett?” the father asked. “Whipple, I’ve ordered our militia to cross the river to Fort Lee. Make haste, man. And bring any of ours you see along the way.” John Whipple’s harried stare darted across the encampment about to fall to British and Hessians. “Aye, sir.” George ventured deeper into the camp, seeking the rest of his militia. Gun-smoke ebbed through the air, and another round of musket-fire rumbled the barracks. “Cogswell’s regiment,” he bellowed over shouts and clamor. “Halt! Bleib wo du bist.” George started. Three Hessians breeched the redoubt, weapons engaged and aimed at him. His hand gripped his fowling piece. “Come at me, you dilberries.” “Stay where you are, Provincial.” A British officer, presumably a sergeant, joined the Hessians. “This way.” “’Tis Captain Howlett, you Bloodyback bastard.” George charged the sergeant. Two Hessians held him back, and the third joined the British officer, laughing. “My apologies, Captain Howlett,” the sergeant chuckled. “Militia, I presume? You wear no epaulets, Captain.” “Aye, reptile. I’m captain of Cogswell’s regiment, per General Washington himself. You’ll treat me with the dignity and privilege deserving of a field officer. Is that understood, Sergeant?” The sergeant shifted uncomfortably and glanced behind him. Higher ranking British officers, a colonel and a major, crested the mount, and entered Fort Washington. He nodded. “Yes, Captain, of course. Such are the rules of war, sir.” Though he clenched his jaw, George sighed, somewhat relieved. A prisoner of war, he was destined to one of their prison ships now docked in the harbor, but as a captured officer, he might be offered parole. Where to Purchase Universal Link Amazon AU : Amazon CA : Amazon UK : Amazon US : Barnes and Noble : Meet the Author LINDSEY S. FERA is a born and bred New Englander, hailing from the North Shore of Boston. As a member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets & Minuets, a planned trilogy. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Boston, she's nursing patients back to health. Muskets & Masquerades is her sophomore novel. Connect with Lindsey: Website : Twitter : Facebook : Instagram : Amazon Author Page : Goodreads Blog Tour Schedule Tour Schedule Page is HERE.

Welcome to a stop on the Coffee Pot Book Tour for Muskets and Masquerades by Lindsey Fera. This is book two of her American Revolution tri...

Follow the tour HERE Jack and Annalisa are married only five months when, enroute to France, a shipwreck separates them. On different shores, each believes the other dead. But when Annalisa learns Jack is alive, she returns to America and discovers much has changed. After a betrayal, she flees town as her alter ego, Benjamin Cavendish, and joins the Continental Army. Unbeknownst to Annalisa, Jack has also joined the Continentals, harboring shameful secrets from his days in mourning. Against the backdrop of war with Britain, façades mount between Jack and Annalisa, and the merry minuet of their adolescence dissolves into a masquerade of deceit, one which threatens to part them forever. Buy Links: Universal Link .•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮ ( ¸.•´✶ EXCERPT Annalisa awoke. The giant sea thundered upon the deck of their three-masted barque; a sea that sought to press her flat upon the ocean floor. She clutched her stomach from the roil of nausea made worse by the ship’s continuous heaving. In her bunk, she shivered violently. Near-frozen brine dripped onto her face, mingling with the cold sweat of fear beading at her temples. She reached for Jack beside her and felt space. Frantic, she leapt from her bunk. Her feet splashed into the frigid water swirling about her cabin. Sloshing through the seawater, she staggered into the dark passageway between other cabins at the stern of the barque. “Jack?” Annalisa wobbled and thudded against the bulkhead. She gripped the beam above as the ship pitched from port to starboard, its timbers giving a low, stressful groan. A lonely lantern swayed from its hook, the flame flickering in darkness. She stumbled and skidded into a barrel sprung from its harness. It rolled with each lurch of the creaking ship and knocked Annalisa to the deck. Her wool dress sodden, she crawled to the roped stair, which led to the upper deck. “Jack!” She clutched the rope as the vessel gave a stomach-loosening plunge. Her grip on the rope whitened her knuckles, and the dive of the barque propelled her upward. From above, strained voices shouted orders over the roar of the storm. “Reef the mainsail!” Trembling against the stair, she dipped a numbed hand into her pocket. Nestled deep within, her fingertips grazed the musket round that had embedded in her shoulder at Bunker Hill; at her neck, the wampum feather from her dear friend, Quinnapin. She drew in a sobering breath. Emboldened, she pushed against the heavy door. It did not budge. She heaved again, this time with as much force as she could conjure. It slowly shifted with a groan, and she crawled onto the poop deck. Annalisa’s face stung in the whipping wind. Hail undulated in sheets across the open deck. In the eerie, unnatural glow of early morning, the crew crawled along safety ropes, their shouts muffled by the roar of waves and gales. Jack would never hear her cries over such wrath. Keeping herself low, Annalisa crawled across the slippery wooden planking. When she reached the rail, she peered over the edge. The North Atlantic swelled. A wall of water, dreary green at its height, blended into iron-blue. Crests of white spume laced the peaks and lashed at her face. Her wet hair plastered to her forehead, she turned from the rail. Surely, they would capsize; surely, they would end here, forgotten in a deep, cold grave. “Annalisa!” Jack’s arm surrounded her waist and pulled her from the edge as a wave crashed down upon them. They rolled as one, flung against a stout wooden bollard. “This way.” Jack hurled them from the poop deck, down to the quarter deck, toward the helm. The captain shouted, “Abandon course! To point!” Huddled beneath the mizzen-mast, Jack pulled her close. “Stay with me.” He kissed her and pressed his forehead to hers. A squeal and loud bang sent her shivering in his arms. She buried her face in his neck. Despite the salty wetness of his neckpiece, he still smelled of smoky amber. “Will we end here?” Her throat clogged as she heaved against him with the tossing of the ship. Jack brushed his lips across her dripping hair. His silence startled as the world around them clashed and clamored. “This journey. ’Tis my fault.” His voice wavered and cracked as if to weep, but she knew he would not, not when he must be strong for her. Though her mind drifted to her family’s farm for only a moment, she shouted over the roar of rain and wind, “If I must, I’m glad to perish in your arms.” Jack’s hold tightened. Fleeting thoughts of George, away with the Continental Army, emerged; her youngest siblings, Mary and Henry, and her pregnant older sister, Jane; poor William left behind at George’s tavern; and Abigail, her best friend and sister-in-law who awaited them on the other side of the angry Atlantic. They had much to live for, but it seemed divine Providence held other plans. “Lay out the sea anchor! Lay out all chains!” Another wave—it must’ve been miles high—swept over them. In the surge that flooded them, Annalisa barely heard Jack’s stifled voice as the violent sea pulled him from her. The reefed canvas sails tore from their lashing and spilled from the sky. A tangle of ropes and spars, and the top of the mizzen-mast, crashed around them. Lindsey S. Fera LINDSEY S. FERA is a born and bred New Englander, hailing from the North Shore of Boston. As a member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets & Minuets, a planned trilogy. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Boston, she's nursing patients back to health. Muskets & Masquerades is her sophomore novel. Social Media Links: Website Twitter Facebook Instagram Amazon Author Page Goodreads

Muskets and Masquerades By Lindsey S. Fera Jack and Annalisa are married only five months when, enroute to France, a shipwreck separates them. On different shores, each believes the other dead. But when Annalisa learns Jack is alive, she returns to America and discovers much has changed. After a betrayal, she flees town as her alter ego, Benjamin Cavendish, and joins the Continental Army. Unbeknownst to Annalisa, Jack has also joined the Continentals, harboring shameful secrets from his days in mourning. Against the backdrop of war with Britain, façades mount between Jack and Annalisa, and the merry minuet of their adolescence dissolves into a masquerade of deceit, one which threatens to part them forever. Publication Date: 18th April 2023 Publisher: Pompkin Press Page Length: 500 Genre: Historical Fiction / Historical Romance Grab a copy HERE! EXCERPT Abigail smiled, then looked toward her great stone mansion. “Charles can’t refute what I say, and for that, I’m thankful.” She paused. “But I’ve reason to suspect he’s not the man he says he is.” A gust of chilly air lifted the hat from Annalisa’s head. She bristled as she grabbed it, though was unsure if it was the breeze, or her friend’s ominous conjecture, puckering her skin. “Whatever do you mean?” Abigail removed two letters from her pocket. “I’ve been meaning to show you these for weeks but could never find the time to steal them from Charles’s desk.” She unfolded the pages and handed them to Annalisa, who scrutinized the broken seal. “The Prime Minister?” “Yes. Lord North.” “Why is Lord Essex in correspondence with Lord North?” Annalisa asked. “The Prime Minister is not a Whig.” “It says here,” Abigail reached for the second letter and read, “My old friend, I will do whatever you ask of me, so long as I have your support in Parliament.” She scoffed. “Is it not clear enough? North is vying for Charles’s support in Parliament.” Annalisa bit her lip. “In my time at Devonshire House, I learned from the duke’s Whig Party dinners, Lord North is wildly unpopular these days. Perhaps he’s merely trying to gain votes by whatever means possible.” “La!” Abigail groaned. “But why write to Charles? Think you ’tis possible North’s written similar letters to other Whigs? Think you the Duke of Devonshire holds a similar note?” “I know not. The duke is rather taciturn. But I should think Lord North, a man in danger of losing his popularity, and hence, his position of power, would do anything necessary to secure himself.” Annalisa reached for Abigail’s hand. “Be not too quick to render your husband a traitor to his party.” Looking quite uncomfortable, Abigail diverted her gaze. “Perhaps you’re right. But I’ve a sour feeling about it.” Annalisa glanced at the house. “Is Lord Essex hunting all day today?” “Yes.” They both stared at the mansion. “Care to peruse his study with me?” Abigail asked. Inside, they dallied on the first floor until the nursemaid ascended the stairs with Louisa, then slipped down the hall. Abigail led them through a wide, white painted corridor affixed with bronzed sconces, until she reached Lord Essex’s study. She lifted the latch and closed the door behind them. With floor to ceiling windows and white bookcases, natural light bathed the space in unusual brightness, far unlike the dark mahogany study Annalisa had imagined it to be. “I’ll search his desk if you look through that ledger,” Abigail said. Annalisa took the large leather book from his desk to an oak Windsor chair and sat, setting the tome on her lap. She flipped through the pages, all of which had written numbers upon them. “These are his accounts.” Her brows knit. “Wish you to know the expenditure of his estate and finances?” “No. Charles assures me I may buy whatever I like—” “He’s in debt.” Annalisa looked up to meet her friend’s anxious stare. Abigail, seated at the desk, faced her. “I beg your pardon?” Annalisa rose from the chair and took the ledger to the desk. “Look, his account can barely afford this house. Pray, who is his bookkeeper, his estate manager?” “La!” Abigail cupped her mouth. “Whatever could he be spending his money on? He’s assured me countless times…how could I have been so foolish?” “Don’t be too harsh on yourself.” Annalisa returned to her chair. “How could you have known? He probably wishes not to worry you.” She read another page and scratched her head. “But he may have to let this house. I can’t see how you can continue living beyond your means.” “Let the house?” Abigail looked as though she would weep. Frantically, she reached for another letter from the pile upon the desk. “This estate has been in his family for hundreds of years…Mr. Darby has been the estate manager since Charles’s father was alive. I can’t imagine he’d lead Charles astray.” She unfolded another letter, and her gaze darted across the page. Her face grew wan. “Abbie, what is it?” The page wavered in Abigail’s hands. “A letter from George.” Annalisa rose from her seat. “What does it say?” “He wrote of his position within the Continental Army.” With a wistful upturn of her lips, added, “He’s a captain now…they’re in New York.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Zounds!” “You frighten me. What is it?” Abigail’s eyes rounded with disbelief, and she whispered, “Jack’s alive.” LINDSEY S. FERA is a born and bred New Englander, hailing from the North Shore of Boston. As a member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets & Minuets, a planned trilogy. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Boston, she's nursing patients back to health. Muskets & Masquerades is her sophomore novel. Website • Twitter • Facebook • Instagram • Amazon Author Page • Goodreads Follow the tour HERE!

Publication Date: 18th April 2023 Publisher: Pompkin Press Series: Muskets Trilogy Page Length: 500 Genre: Historical Fiction / Historical Romance Synopsis Jack and Annalisa are married only five months when, enroute to France, a shipwreck separates them. On different shores, each believes the other dead. But when Annalisa learns Jack is alive, she returns to America and discovers much has changed. After a betrayal, she flees town as her alter ego, Benjamin Cavendish, and joins the Continental Army. Unbeknownst to Annalisa, Jack has also joined the Continentals, harboring shameful secrets from his days in mourning. Against the backdrop of war with Britain, façades mount between Jack and Annalisa, and the merry minuet of their adolescence dissolves into a masquerade of deceit, one which threatens to part them forever. Excerpt The discharge of muskets and fowlers resounded a deafening boom! Through the clouds of gun-smoke, the British and Hessians advanced. “Load your firelock,” George ordered. Any well-trained militiaman or soldier could fire three volleys a minute; that was what he’d taught Annalisa when they fired Bixby in the clearing beyond their house. Now, he must set an example with his men. “Make ready. Fire!” His militia assaulted again. Still, the Bloodybacks pressed on. George glanced about the fort for his superior, Colonel Magaw. Only he could give the command to surrender. “Load and prime, rogues,” George ordered. “Make ready. Fire!” His chest rattled with another eruption of musket-fire. “Colonel Magaw,” George called. “We can’t hold them off any longer, sir!” The colonel appeared through the thick gun-smoke, his chubby face sagging with defeat. “Retreat, men, retreat,” the colonel shouted. George turned to Bartlett, who stood by. “Bartlett, gather as many of our militia as you can. Colonel Magaw is surrendering. Any of us remaining will fall prisoner.” Bartlett rubbed his grime-covered face. “Where will we go, Captain?” “Across the river to Fort Lee. But I daresay, it won’t be for long. Go. Now!” Bartlett and eight others of their militia dashed toward the river, but Bartlett turned back for George. “Captain Howlett, you’re coming with us, no?” “Aye, I’ll be along presently. I need to gather the others of our militia. I’ll not abandon them. Now, make haste. ’Tis an order.” His friend delayed a moment, gripping his coat. “Aye, sir.” Bartlett fled after the others, down to the river. George turned his back on the river and hastened through the barracks. “Cogswell’s regiment,” he hollered. “Cogswell’s regiment!” John and Matthew Whipple, a father and son duo from Ipswich, sped toward him. “Captain Howlett?” the father asked. “Whipple, I’ve ordered our militia to cross the river to Fort Lee. Make haste, man. And bring any of ours you see along the way.” John Whipple’s harried stare darted across the encampment about to fall to British and Hessians. “Aye, sir.” George ventured deeper into the camp, seeking the rest of his militia. Gun-smoke ebbed through the air, and another round of musket-fire rumbled the barracks. “Cogswell’s regiment,” he bellowed over shouts and clamor. “Halt! Bleib wo du bist.” George started. Three Hessians breeched the redoubt, weapons engaged and aimed at him. His hand gripped his fowling piece. “Come at me, you dilberries.” “Stay where you are, Provincial.” A British officer, presumably a sergeant, joined the Hessians. “This way.” “’Tis Captain Howlett, you Bloodyback bastard.” George charged the sergeant. Two Hessians held him back, and the third joined the British officer, laughing. “My apologies, Captain Howlett,” the sergeant chuckled. “Militia, I presume? You wear no epaulets, Captain.” “Aye, reptile. I’m captain of Cogswell’s regiment, per General Washington himself. You’ll treat me with the dignity and privilege deserving of a field officer. Is that understood, Sergeant?” The sergeant shifted uncomfortably and glanced behind him. Higher ranking British officers, a colonel and a major, crested the mount, and entered Fort Washington. He nodded. “Yes, Captain, of course. Such are the rules of war, sir.” Though he clenched his jaw, George sighed, somewhat relieved. A prisoner of war, he was destined to one of their prison ships now docked in the harbor, but as a captured officer, he might be offered parole. Where to Purchase Universal Link Amazon AU : Amazon CA : Amazon UK : Amazon US : Barnes and Noble : Meet the Author LINDSEY S. FERA is a born and bred New Englander, hailing from the North Shore of Boston. As a member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets & Minuets, a planned trilogy. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Boston, she's nursing patients back to health. Muskets & Masquerades is her sophomore novel. Connect with Lindsey: Website : Twitter : Facebook : Instagram : Amazon Author Page : Goodreads Blog Tour Schedule Tour Schedule Page is HERE.

Welcome to a stop on the Coffee Pot Book Tour for Muskets and Masquerades by Lindsey Fera. This is book two of her American Revolution tri...