11 Nov Samantha Ward-Smith Ravenscourt #HistoricalRomance #HistoricalFiction #GothicRomance #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @SammyJoAstro @cathiedunn

FEATURED AUTHOR: SAMANTHA WARD-SMITH

It’s my pleasure to introduce Samantha Ward-Smith as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held between November 10th – 21st, 2025. Samantha Ward-Smith is the author of the Historical Fiction / Gothic Romance, Ravenscourt, published by Mabel and Stanley Publishing on October 23rd, 2025 (343 pages). 

Below are highlights of Ravenscourt, Samantha Ward-Smith’s author bio, and an excerpt from the book. 

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/10/blog-tour-ravenscourt-by-samantha-ward-smith.html

HIGHLIGHTS: RAVENSCOURT

Ravenscourt
By Samantha Ward-Smith

Blurb:

He wanted to be gone from the dark enclosing room, with its mocking misery, to be gone from this house of nightmares, of shattered dreams, and discovered secrets which could not be put back in the box.

Venice, 1880.

Alexander, Viscount Dundarran, seeks refuge from scandal amidst the fading grandeur of crumbling palazzos during the infamous Carnival in the city. There he encounters the enigmatic Lady Arabella Pembrook—a young, beautiful widow. Both are scarred by their pasts but find solace in each other and a chance at redemption.

But when duty calls Alexander back to England upon his father’s death, a darker journey begins. Travelling to Ravenscourt, the decaying estate once belonging to Arabella’s late husband, Alexander must confront the house’s disturbing legacy which has echoed through the generations. Within its walls lie secrets that refuse to stay buried and will threaten everything he thought he knew. But can Alex uncover the truth in time?

Any Triggers: Sexual content / references to domestic abuse

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mvJLpV

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

AUTHOR BIO: SAMANTHA WARD-SMITH

Samantha Ward-Smith is the author of Tower of Vengeance, her debut historical novel set in the Tower of London during the 13th century, and the forthcoming Ravenscourt, a Victorian Gothic tale unfolding across Venice, London, and the windswept Lancashire moors. She lived in London for over three decades, building a career in investment banking while also pursuing a PhD in English at Birkbeck.

For the past 13 years she has volunteered at the Tower of London, an experience that provided invaluable historical insight and directly shaped her writing. Now based in Kent by the sea, Samantha continues to explore the intersections of history, place, and story, writing in the company of her two cats, Belle and Rudy.

Author Links:

Website     Twitter / X     Facebook     Instagram     Threads

Bluesky     TikTok     Amazon Author Page     Goodreads

EXCERPT: RAVENSCOURT

Alex found himself in a small formal room off the main portego, talking to a group of masked women, all seemingly competing for his attention and laughing eagerly at his every word although he said very little. They pressed upon him endless information regarding the delights of Venice, the best shops, the best coffee places, and of course more invitations to visit their own Palazzos and their upcoming soirees as part of the Season’s festivities. Eager to distract himself, he glanced up and discovered a beautiful ceiling covered entirely with fruit trees, flowers, and numerous birds. In one corner of the magnificent fresco, he spotted an owl carrying off a smaller bird, and he envied the unfortunate bird, wishing he too could be carried off away from the gabble of women congregated around him. The heat of the room pressed down on him and he swayed slightly, feeling it all becoming too much.

‘Ladies, please excuse me,’ he said with a bow and, giving no further explanation, abruptly turned away from them, pushing through the other guests, desperate to get away from the noise. He spotted a closed door at the end of the room and made his way towards it, hoping it was empty so that he could escape the maddening crowd if only for a little while. He eased open the heavy door and inside the room only a few lights flickered. As he closed the door behind him, the noise receded and in the semi-gloom he could see a few of the classical sculptures the Grimani family were famous for. He leant against the door and closed his eyes in respite.

He was startled by a polite cough and opened his eyes to find he was not alone after all. Sitting on a small, padded bench between two statues at the end of the room, which he vaguely recognised as Diana the huntress and Venus the goddess of love, was a woman. She had been shadowy in the faint light of the room but now, as he moved towards her and she gazed directly at him, he could see an incredibly striking young woman. Her face could have been sculpted by the man who had made the Diana next to her, and he was stunned to see such beauty.

‘I apologise, my Lady. I thought the room was empty.’ He was tentative now, aware of the impropriety of being alone with her.

‘Please do not apologise. I too needed a moment away from the crowd.’ She smiled politely at him as his eyes widened at the sound of her American accent.

Not a Roman goddess after all, he thought.

As Alex studied her further, it was as if she was a female version of himself. She had the same thick black hair as he, although hers was swept back into a fashionable bun with curls that framed her face, seeming natural and not made with artifice. Her cheekbones could have been etched from the same bone structure as his, but it was the eyes which mirrored his own the most – a deep brown colour which appeared almost black and edged with an abundance of lashes. Her skin too was pale, translucent even, and similar to him, she had faint dark circles under her beautiful eyes. There was an aura of sadness around her which gave an air of fragility. Then he noticed the black crepe of her dress, the lack of adornment which contrasted with the gaudy, colourful costumes of the other ladies and the heavy mourning ring on her gloved hand.

‘Forgive me, you are in mourning.’ He bowed his head at the realisation.

‘Yes.’ Her voice was soft. ‘It is a year since I lost my husband, Charles. But I am now allowing myself to come back into company. Tomorrow I may even wear lilac, which is wrong of me apparently, but I can’t bear black any longer, especially not in a city that is filled with so much colour.’ She gave him a weak smile, although he could see her struggling to hide her emotions. ‘My aunt insisted I come out tonight. My name is Lady Arabella Pembrook.’ Alex thought he knew the name but could not place it.

‘Alexander FitzOsbern, Viscount Dundarran, my Lady,’ he said, reaching out and kissing her delicate, gloved hand. ‘But you hardly look old enough to be a widow, may I say.’

‘You sir are too kind!’ She smiled. ‘I am nearly thirty. I also have two stepchildren who are seventeen and twenty years old, would you believe?’ She sighed quietly.

Alex was unsure of how to act around her or what to say in response. She broke the awkward silence by standing up and gesturing towards an open door at the far end of the room.

‘Have you seen the famous Tribune room?’

Alex looked at her blankly.

‘It’s our host’s most important collection and not to be missed,’ she admonished, teasing him. As they walked towards it, he noticed she matched him in height, though she was far more graceful and poised. As they entered the room, he gasped.

‘It’s stunning, isn’t it?’ she whispered in his ear.

Suspended from the highly decorated ceiling was the most spectacular sculpture Alex had ever seen. A naked youth was clasped in the grip of a large eagle, who was carrying him upwards to the window which appeared high in the ceiling above them. Only the moonlight lit the room, making the sculpture eerily luminous. The rest of the collection was in the shadows, insignificant to the entwined figures. It was a masterpiece of theatre and sent a shiver down his spine.

‘The abduction of Ganymede?’ he asked in wonder.

‘Yes, that most beautiful of mortals who was taken by Zeus, disguised as an eagle, to serve the gods. I find it sad how this gorgeous young boy was made to serve a much older man. Such is the way of the world. Art such as this is frivolous in my eyes,’ she remarked.

There was silence as they both stood studying it for a few moments. When Alex turned at last to speak to Arabella, he noticed tears in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry, I am banishing ghosts,’ she said in a hushed voice, quickly wiping her eyes, and turning from the room.

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