Thursday, May 16, 2019



Can a broken engagement ignite the spark of true love?

Sylvia Dowder had almost made it to the altar when her fiancĂ© unexpectedly became a viscount, and dropped her like a stale crumpet to make a more “suitable” match. Though Sylvia’s heart has been crushed, her spirit has not. She puts her wits and social savvy to use as a secret gossip columnist—and as the Everton Domestic Society’s party planner to the ton. Luckily, she’s not in danger of ever falling for an aristocrat again . . . 

Especially not one like Anthony Braighton, Earl of Grafton. Raised in America, Anthony sees no reason to marry when he can enjoy all the perks of being an eligible earl. Determined to convince his family he doesn’t need a wife, he hires Sylvia to act as hostess and decorator for upcoming parties. Yet Sylvia is as adept at captivating his interest as she is at beautifying his home. And despite this Everton lady’s aversion to titled men, some attractions can’t be denied—and love rarely does go where it’s told . . .

Book Details:

Title: A Lady’s Virtue

Author’s name: A.S. Fenichel

Genre: Regency Historical Romance

Series: Everton Domestic Society

Publisher: Kensington Books/Lyrical Press (March 19, 2019)

Print length: 225 pages

On tour with: Pump Up Your Book



A few of your favorite things: my husband, my cat, my phone, a nice purse, my books.
Things you need to throw out: old books (let’s say donate), clothes that don’t fit, old stacks of research papers. 

Things you need in order to write: my computer, scrap paper, an expired day planner for plotting, my current day planner for scheduling.
Things that hamper your writing: my phone, social media, drama on SM, my sweet husband. 

Things you love about writing: the blank page before I write the first word; creating a world and developing a great story in that worldl the voices in my head.
Things you hate about writing: the stress of finding a publisher, the first round of editing, the point in every book where I doubt myself.

Things you never want to run out of: wine, coffee, chocolate.
Things you wish you’d never bought: fancy wine glasses, the brown dishes, chocolate.

Words that describe you: tenacious, passionate, smart.
Words that describe you but you wish they didn’t: loud, shy, middle-aged.

Favorite foods: anything Italian, spinach, cucumbers, steak, cheese, chocolate.
Things that make you want to throw up: beets, raw tomatoes, kale.

Favorite beverage: wine, water, tea, coffee.

Something that gives you a pickle face: Kombucha.

Favorite smell: lilacs. 

Something that makes you hold your nose: any kind of musty smell.

Things you always put in your books: empowered women.

Things you never put in your books: domination shown in a positive light.

Things to say to an author: a specific thing you liked in the book.

Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book: “You should write my story, it would be better than anything you can dream up.”

Favorite places you’ve been: Italy.

Places you never want to go to again: Chicago in winter.

Favorite things to do: cook.

Things you’d run through a fire wearing gasoline pants to get out of doing: dust.

Things that make you happy: my cat, finding new treasures for my house. 

Things that drive you crazy: the news, gossip.

Most daring thing you’ve ever done: ziplining.

Something you chickened out from doing: rollercoaster.


Late again, Sylvia Dowder ran down the stairs at the Everton Domestic Society as if her skirts were on fire. It was impossible to read her handwritten pages while moving at such a pace, but she needed to send her article to the Weekly Whisper’s editor before the day was out. She’d been late last month and nearly lost her post at the newspaper.
At the bottom of the stairs, she noted her failure to sign the article. Quill in hand, she dripped ink on her brown skirt, leaned on the banister and scribbled Mable Tattler at the bottom. She would ask Gray to have  a footman carry it to Free Market Square. Jumping down the last step brought her up against a wall that toppled her to the floor.
Stunned, she lay still with her papers strewn around her and the light from the transom windows blocked by whatever had felled her.
A masculine, ungloved hand reached toward her. “I’m terribly sorry, miss. Entirely my fault. Are you hurt?” His accent was strange, American perhaps. Having no gloves on, she was hesitant to touch him, but there was no help for it. She couldn’t remain on her back like a turtle. The warmth of his skin traveled up her arm, and her cheeks heated. His fingers were strong and rough. This was no gentleman’s hand. She stood as he eased her to her feet. “Not at all,” she said. “I was distracted.”
He towered over her. At her full height of barely over five feet, she craned her neck and was frozen by the most stunning pair of golden eyes, olive skin and full lips. She blinked to focus on the whole rather than the parts. “Anthony Braighton?”
He bowed over her hand, which he still held firmly in his. “Lady Serena or Sylvia? I’m afraid I don’t know.”
The mention of her twin’s name brought reality crashing back on Sylvia. She pulled her hand back and made a curtsy. “A common mistake, sir. I am Sylvia Dowder. My sister is still living at home.”
Cocking his head, he gawked at her. “And you are now living here at Everton House, Miss Dowder?”
“I have joined the Society.” While he seemed only curious, it still rubbed her wrong, and she forced herself not to defend her decisions. Anthony Braighton was just a rich gentleman from America. His opinion didn’t mean anything.
“Because of Lord March?” The problem with Americans was they said exactly what they thought rather than keeping a conversation polite. Sylvia bit down on the inside of her cheek. The last thing she wanted was to recount the demise of her engagement to Hunter Gautier, the current Viscount of March. She had been so close to the altar before disaster struck. No. She wouldn’t think about that anymore. “My reasons are not your concern, Mr. Braighton. If you’ll excuse me, I have to see the butler.” His eyes were wide. “Have I been rude, Miss Dowder? I assure you, it was not my intention. I only meant to convey that March’s treatment of you was abominable and no one blames you.”
Despite his effort to make things better, his mention of what everyone in London knew of her life and failure only exacerbated her mortification. Still, she could see he was sincere, if mistaken. “There is no harm, Mr. Braighton. I am uninjured.”
“I am pleased to hear that. It seems I have a bad habit of offending the English with regularity.” His smile created the most charming dimple in his left cheek, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.
If she were honest, she did not mind looking at Anthony Braighton.
Best not to be too honest. “I am made of tougher stuff than most.” “Indeed.” That dimple deepened, and he raised an eyebrow. Looking at the pages in her hand, he said, “I’m keeping you from something. Forgive me. I was on my way to see Lady Jane Everton.”
Curiosity over what troubles might bring a rich young man to the Everton Domestic Society warred with her need to have her article delivered to her editor before her deadline passed. Her training as a lady won the battle. She gestured toward the hallway, which led behind the stairs. “Lady Jane’s office is the first door on the right.”
“Thank you, Miss Dowder. Very nice to see you again.”
“And you, Mr. Braighton. If you will excuse me.”
He bowed, and she rushed from the foyer to find Gray, the Evertons’ aging butler.

Excerpt from by A.S. Fenichel.  Copyright © 2018 by A.S. Fenichel. Reproduced with permission from A.S. Fenichel. All rights reserved.


A.S. Fenichel gave up a successful IT career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She's never looked back. 

A.S. adores writing stories filled with love, passion, desire, magic, and maybe a little mayhem tossed in for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape, and she still relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.

Originally from New York, she grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in Missouri with her real life hero, her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing she enjoys cooking, travel, history, and puttering in her garden.

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