Friday, 29 March 2019

A Country Rivalry - blog tour



BLOG TOUR

A Country Rivalry by Sasha Morgan

About the author
Sasha lives in a rural, coastal village in Lancashire with her husband and Labrador dog. She has always written stories from a very young age and finds her fictional world so much more exciting than the real one.

Follow Sasha:
Twitter: @SashaMorgan_
Facebook: @SashaMorganAuthor

About the book
Life in the beautiful Cotswolds village of Treweham could never be described as boring, but the arrival of a documentary film crew means that things are even busier than normal.
For the ever-so dashing Lord of the Manor Tobias Cavendish-Blake and his new wife Megan, it’s a great advertising opportunity as they’ve recently opened up their home, Treweham Hall, to the public. And for the chef at the local pub The Templar, Finula, the arrival of the brooding director Marcus Devlin, means her love life is looking up. Whilst at the racing stables, jockey and trainer Dylan Delaney is hoping the exposure will help him find new owners and horses for him and his partner Flora to train. But there is more to Marcus Devlin than meets the eye, and he has very personal reasons for heading to the Cotswolds. 
And once his plans become clear, life in Treweham may never be the same again. 

Buy Links:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2TT9MEN
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2BGcKW5
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2Nbjj7K
iBooks: https://apple.co/2NcjNup
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EXTRACT

The quaint country inn of Treweham village was still recovering. The Templar was 
well used to playing host to its local celebs and all the hullabaloo that entailed, but the village’s latest event had taken its toll on the sixteenth-century coaching inn. Lord Cavendish-Blake’s wedding had caused utter mayhem, attracting local and national press, not to mention the public, who had flocked to Treweham to capture anything they could of this momentous occasion. Dermot O’Grady, landlord of The Templar, wasn’t complaining, though: business had boomed and profits had soared. He made sure his staff had reaped the rewards, giving them hefty bonuses as well as the tips they’d earned.
Finula, his daughter and chef at The Templar, was worn out. He could see she 
needed a break and was going to suggest she take a few days off. He knew she missed her best friend, Megan, who had worked alongside her in the pub. Now that Megan was the new Lady Cavendish-Blake and had a role in the revamp of Treweham Hall, he doubted Finula would see her as much, which was a shame as he’d enjoyed the camaraderie between the two of them.
Dermot bent down to pick up the post that had been delivered that morning and 
noticed a cream envelope addressed to Finula. It was thick good-quality paper and 
had bold black writing in fountain pen. Dermot frowned; whose handwriting could 
that be? He walked through to the bar area, where the traditional wooden benches, 
oak panelling and stone floor gave it real character. Finula was behind the bar.
‘Fancy a coffee, Dad?’
He nodded. ‘Thanks, Fin. You’ve got a letter.’ He held up the cream envelope 
before passing it to her.Finula looked at it curiously. She didn’t recognise the curvy handwriting. Choosing to open it later, alone, she passed Dermot his coffee and made herself one.
‘Finula, I’ve been thinking.’ He eyed his daughter thoughtfully.
‘About what?’ She sipped her cappuccino and winced as it burnt her lips.
‘Maybe you should take a break. Have a few days away from this place.’
‘But what would you do?’ she answered, surprised at his suggestion.
‘I can always get help in, no one’s indispensable.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Thanks.’

Now you know what I mean,’ he gently reproached. ‘You know I think you’re the best chef ever, but seriously, Fin, you need a rest.’
She couldn’t argue with that. The last week had certainly been taxing, working long hours to accommodate the fully booked inn. Only now was normal life gradually returning, although being Megan’s bridesmaid and having the media buzz on her own doorstep was an experience Finula would never forget. The day had been wildly thrilling. She’d worn a beautiful bronze dress and had been driven in a horse-drawn carriage to Treweham Hall. Reporters, journalists, and the public had lined the country footpaths, waving as Dylan had gently guided the two carriage horses through the cheering crowds. It had felt surreal, and once the carriage had made its way through the security of the cast-iron gates of Treweham Hall, Finula had sighed with relief.
Even now she couldn’t help smiling when she thought of it. She smiled when she thought about a certain guest who had stayed at The Templar last week, too. 
Originally assuming he had been a reporter, she had been corrected by her dad, who had informed her that he was in fact a film producer called Marcus Devlin. From the short conversation she had had with him, Finula immediately realised he was from the same county as her dad, Roscommon, which was clear from his soft, Irish lilt. Dermot had soon struck up a rapport with their guest, exchanging tales from their home turf. 
Finula tried to deny her attraction to Marcus, knowing he’d be gone all too soon, but that hadn’t stopped her looking him up on the internet. Marcus Devlin apparently was an up-and-coming documentary producer with vision, flair and plenty of grit. Finula had admired his profile picture, the way his green eyes with amber flecks had stared broodingly into the camera. They reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place who. His dark stubble and hair looked slightly unkempt, which gave him a rugged look. Finula read that he had been born in Roscommon thirty-two years ago, had attended the Institute of Art, Design and Technology in Dún Laoghaire, County 
Dublin, obtaining a BA Hons Degree in Film and Television Production, and thereafter had gone from strength to strength. He’d started out as a runner, quickly climbing up the career ladder to production assistant, director, then finally to the award-winning documentary producer he now was.
‘When I’m making a documentary, I live with it twenty-four hours a day,’ he’d 
stated in an interview. ‘It takes over my life.

He certainly looked intense, thought Finula, as her interest continued to grow. 
He’d lived in London, but had recently moved to Shropshire, taking a liking to it 
whilst filming on location there.

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