Book Recommendations Historical Fiction Novels & Stories

It was my first time visiting a library, but I was extremely bored, and in the past, reading had cured my boredom. When I was younger, around the age of fifteen, I was housed with a couple who loved reading. They had a room in their home that was solely dedicated to their books. Three out of the four walls were lined corner-to-corner with built-in bookshelves, and one of the walls was solely for my foster mother. On her shelves was where I found my favorite genre, historical romance. The fourth wall was a reading nook, and I found myself sitting on the nook, my legs tucked underneath me, encaptured by novels written by Johanna Lindsey, Lisa Kleypas, Julia Quinn, and Julia Garwood, just to na

be. “What are you reading?” I asked, my gaze drifting to the book she’d set aside. She glanced at it, her fingers brushing over the cover before she answered. “It’s just a novel about a historical figure, nothing too exciting.” I leaned in a bit, intrigued despite myself. “You like history?” She chuckled softly. “I suppose I do. It’s just that... I find it fascinating how much we can learn from the past. There are so many lessons hidden in the stories of those who came before us.”

I say. I hope so. I really hope he’s right. I look at the clock on the wall and it says 1:48PM. I open my laptop and I start to read. The book I have to read is actually a historical book based on arts and crafts in the 18th century. It’s not a romance novel, so forgive me if I’m not very excited to read it. I could read 600 pages of a romance or horror novel, but my reading assignments are just not inviting enough.

Audrey didn’t quite understand him, “what do you mean?” Nathan’s lips curved into a mocking smile as he sat up, “I was thinking there was a book for the likes of you but it seems you don’t have it” She heaved a sigh, he was Making mockery of her again. “I have Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, 1991. I also have Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston, 2019,Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, 1813. And Seven Days in June by Tia Williams which was written two years ago then I also have love hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood which was also written two years ago”

I asked. “Another one of his historical smuts.” Henry replied, raising his voice to grab Ron’s attention. “This is fine historical literature not smut.” I snorted at that. “Fine historical literature my ass.” Henry said. Hen was right. I had once searched for a book in Ron’s vast library that did not involve a Duke being wickedly seduced by a temptress or a Highlander spilling his seeds into a moaning fair maiden and had not found any. Not that I was complaining, they were quite educative.

The air was heavy with the scent of parchment and dust, the large shelves stretching high up to the ceilings, stacked with books too old to even remember their authors. I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, scanning the titles. Ancient Clan Wars. The First Kingdoms. Blood and Silver: The History of Alpha Dynasties. None of these were what I needed. I sighed, moving deeper into the archives. There had to be something here. I spent hours flipping through books, scanning old texts, piecing together fragments of history that barely made sense. Just when I was about to give up, my fingers brushed against a large, worn-out book hidden behind several others.

If she could be surrounded by books all day every day, she would. June spent so much time around the books that she was one of the smartest people Emily had ever met. Over the years she had probably read every single book in that place. And it was a huge building with thousands of books. She had read all the medical and scientific books, every nonfiction book they had, and encyclopedias. She also read all the history books. Not just the human history, but the werewolf history too. But even June would say the smutty books were still her favorite.

Better than I like my mother, but that's a story that sucks so you don't need to hear it. I'm out on the deck in front of the house on one of the lounges. It's the only place dad and I haven't had sex, yet. I've got a pretty conservative swimsuit on, not rockin the g-string today, and reading a really good book about two girls in World War Two. I love historical fiction and fantasy, which of course, the men I choose know nothing about. Sports, that's pretty much it, oh, and fucking, they seem to know something about fucking, if you ask them. I don't recommend getting a second opinion. "Excuse me?"

A reader? I feel drawn to the shelf like a moth to a flame. My fingers trail over the spines — classic literature, philosophy, ancient history. Lost in the titles, my eyes land on a beautiful leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights. I rise onto my toes, straining, my fingers just brushing its edge. It wobbles and then falls from the shelf with a heavy thud that sends a cloud of dust into the air making me sneeze twice.

Afrah didn't bother to ask how he knew her shoe size. While he worked, Afrah engrossed herself in her book. While her body remained in the hotel suite, her mind was riding a horse through the hills of Scotland with Micheal Stirling - Kilmartin, rather - and Francesca Bridgerton-Stirling. Though she was dry, the rain which was beating on their backs felt like it was trickling down her own back as well. That was the beauty of reading; it was like watching a movie in one's head. When He Was Wicked was the first book Afrah had fallen in love with, and she read it nearly twice every year. Julia Quinn held a dear spot in her heart, though Danielle Steel and J.K. Rowling held their own special spo