Books set in London from Next Chapter [March 2023]
London is the capital city of England and the United Kingdom. With a population of over 8 million people, it is one of the most vibrant and diverse cities in the world. London is famous for its iconic landmarks such as Big Ben, the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, and the London Eye. The city is also known for its rich history, museums, and cultural events.
London has a thriving arts and entertainment scene, with numerous theaters, music venues, and galleries. The West End is home to some of the world's most famous theaters, including the Royal Opera House, the National Theatre, and the West End Theatre District. London is also a hub for music, with numerous venues hosting concerts by international stars and local talent.
London is also a food lover's paradise, with a wide range of restaurants and markets serving cuisines from all around the world. From traditional fish and chips to Michelin-starred restaurants, there is something for everyone. London's street food scene is also thriving, with numerous markets and festivals showcasing the best of British and international cuisine. With its rich history, cultural diversity, and endless attractions, London is a city that never fails to inspire and excite.
Below, we’ve collected five of the best books set in London from Next Chapter authors, now available from all major online bookstores. Whether it’s historical fiction, romance or mystery, we believe any of the books on this page will do!
We hope you enjoy the stories by our authors - and if you do, please don’t forget to leave the author a review! Don’t agree with our choices? Please leave a comment and let us know which book set in London is your favorite :)
Books featured on this page
The Atlantic Street Murder (Detective Watters Mysteries Book 2) by Malcolm Archibald
Colin's Conundrum (The Victorians Book 3) by Simone Beaudelaire
Love In The Spotlight (The Spotlight Series Book 1) by Julia Sutton
The London Tram Murders (Vance and Shepherd Mysteries Book 2) by John Broughton
The Atlantic Street Murder (Detective Watters Mysteries Book 2) by Malcolm Archibald
Book excerpt
Clouds had threatened London all day, but it was the night that dragged down torrents of rain that still failed to cleanse the sin from filthy streets. Watters stood at his living room window and sucked at his pipe, allowing the aromatic smoke to drift around his face and head.
‘Christmas Eve,’ he muttered as he surveyed the length of Easter Street below. ‘It should be snowing.’ He remembered the scene in Dicken’s Christmas Carol when Scrooge sat at his fireside on this very day and gave a short laugh. ‘Bah, humbug,’ he said.
People stood in the street below. He saw a family of three standing arm-in-arm, with the father laughing while the mother adjusted her daughter’s cape against the rain. A young gentleman hurried past them, with rain dripping from the brim of his tall hat and gold gleaming from the knob-handle of his cane. A sweep encouraged his climbing boy with hard pushes as he balanced his bundle of brushes over his shoulder and two stout matrons surveyed the sweep and the world through jaundiced eyes.
Young and old stepped away from the edge of the road as a carriage rushed past with the coachman huddled into his greatcoat as he cracked his whip to make his pair pull faster. A constant curtain of mud and water rose from the wheels to fall in a dirty patter onto the pavement, splashing the smart trousers of the businessman who marched past, unsmiling, and intent on the commercial realities that filled his world. Nobody spared a glance for the ragged woman who tried to keep warm within a shawl that was more holes than wool.
All human life passed his flat in Easter Street, Watters thought as he pressed tobacco to the bowl of his pipe and closed the shutters. He looked into the room with the tiny fire that barely raised a reflection from the brass coal-scuttle, the single chair at the battered table, the forlorn picture on the wall, the old leather chair beside the fire, and the bare floorboards that he swept daily. ‘I might well be Scrooge,’ he said, and again pulled on his pipe. ‘Everybody has somebody. Even William has his intended, God help her.’ He gave a sour grin. ‘I am happy alone; I can think better that way.’ On an impulse, he lifted Christmas Carol from his small bookshelf and leafed through the pages, shook his head, and put it down on the table. Instead, he spread out the foreign woman’s documents.
‘Let’s have another look then.’ Watters sat down and spread the papers in front of him, hoping that he could work something out. As he puzzled over the strange words, he bit into the bread-and-cheese he had made for himself and sipped at the mug of tea.
Colin's Conundrum (The Victorians Book 3) by Simone Beaudelaire
Book excerpt
Colin woke hungry. Nothing unusual in that, nor in the aches in his muscles from hard work. In contrast to his usual morning, however, he woke cradled in a comfortable mattress, not the lumpy reject he’d dragged from a forgotten corner of his crumbling home. An enticing smell wafting up the stairs set his mouth watering. No thin gruel. No watery tea. Smells like heaven. He stared up into the thatch of the attic bedroom’s ceiling as rosy sunrise filtered through a small window and cast lights and shadows over him. For a long moment, he luxuriated in the unfamiliar comfort of a homey morning. All over the world, people wake to this, he contemplated. No luxury or any expectation of it, only a day filled with toil and another day of the same, day after day, until life’s journey comes to an end, and yet, they find contentment in hot, tasty meals, peaceful slumber, evenings spent with friends and nights with their own willing woman. Simple, family life. In a way, it’s what Christopher and his brother have. They live at peace despite their labors.
Middle-class life seemed a blessing he could only dream of. Nobility had provided precious few pleasures. No less toil, but much fewer rewards, and the burden of worrying about my tenants. Sitting up on the bed, he shook his head. Inheritance be damned. What wouldn’t I give to work in Chris’s factory?
Though such an option would never be available to him, he paused to imagine it for the briefest of minutes. Then, shaking off the dangerously appealing nonsense, he rose to his feet, dragged on his clothing, and washed his face and hands in an ewer of cool water, before descending the stairs, passing an entire floor of guest bedrooms, and arriving in the cozy kitchen.
Miss Granger stood before a cauldron suspended above a small fire, her back to the room. Colin allowed himself a moment to regard the womanly curve of her hip, where it flared below the string of her apron, before clearing his throat. “Good morning.”
She turned and grinned at him. “Mister Butler. I hope you passed a pleasant night?”
His lips curved in an unfamiliar sensation: a genuine smile. “Marvelous. I can scarcely recall feeling so well-rested.”
Her hazel eyes narrowed, and she seemed to search his face for a moment, reading his expression with discomfiting shrewdness.
Yes, my lady, my life is hard. Harder than I would like, and no sign of it ever easing. It’s the reason I cannot pursue this luscious flirtation, no matter how my heart and soul long to.
Unearthly compassion set the green in her eyes welling. Had he been less hardened, he might have wept at it. Mercifully, when she spoke, it was of the mundane. “I’m glad to hear it. Let us cap off a comfortable night with a hearty breakfast.”
Love In The Spotlight (The Spotlight Series Book 1) by Julia Sutton
Book excerpt
After devouring a sumptuous Christmas roast with all the trimmings, the four of them raised their glasses of Prosecco in a toast to each other’s health and happiness. Elizabeth then brought out an oozing chocolate gateaux and offered it round the table with thick cream. Bob loosened the catch on his trousers and declared that this was the finest Christmas lunch he’d ever consumed. The old fool said that every year, Elizabeth thought fondly. She offered a cracker to Mae, who laughed with delight at her toe nail clippers and pink party hat which had erupted with a bang.
‘I can’t even cut my own toe nails,’ she said with a sigh. ‘My rheumatism plays up terribly every time I bend over.’
‘Then how do you cope, our Mae?’ Bob asked, pulling at the ends of his moustache.
‘I pay for a chiropodist, of course.’ Mae winked at Elizabeth. ‘He’s only in his thirties, has big muscles and lovely nimble fingers. He’s very thorough, but he doesn’t half tickle.’
Elizabeth glanced at Annabel who was trying to control her laughter behind a red napkin.
‘No need to pay anyone,’ blustered Bob. ‘I’d do it for free, and did you know I’m a dab hand at back massages, too?’
Mae tittered before cuffing him playfully on his arm.
While there was a lull in the conversation, Elizabeth collected the dirty crockery. She had learnt from experience not to intervene when her dad was in one of his flirty moods. The old bugger didn’t need any encouragement, but neither did she want to dissuade him from having a bit of harmless fun, and from the twinkle in Mae’s eye, he seemed to be cheering her up considerably. She went into the kitchen and set about scraping the leftovers into the bin.
‘What are those two like?’ Annabel followed her through the doorway. ‘I feel like a gooseberry out there.’
‘Oh, that’s just his way,’ Elizabeth said over her shoulder. ‘You should see him in the care home, Mr Popular if ever I’ve seen one. I think he’s the staff’s favourite resident.’
Annabel leant against the door jamb, with her arms crossed across her chest and Elizabeth had a jolt of how much she resembled her dad.
‘So anyway,’ Annabel said lightly. ‘I’ve talked about my life, and Granddad and Mae have enlightened us about theirs. I want to know what my mum’s been up to.’
Elizabeth put the plates down and switched the hot water tap on.
‘Nothing interesting really,’ she replied. ‘Apart from being demoted and transferred at work, that is.’
‘Oh, no!’ Annabel gave her a concerned look. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it.’ Elizabeth passed her daughter a fresh tea towel and started to explain.
‘That is so unfair,’ Annabel said, when Elizabeth had finished her tale of woe. ‘You love it in women’s lingerie and you’re bloody brilliant at it, Mum. Could you complain to someone higher? Head office?’
The London Tram Murders (Vance and Shepherd Mysteries Book 2) by John Broughton
Book excerpt
New Scotland Yard and Belgravia, London
Back at headquarters, Vance passed Max Wright’s work station and enquired casually, “Any progress, pal?”
“I’ve made contact with the Registrar’s Office in Richmond upon Thames, sir. They are digitalising their archives, so they’re not open to me at the moment. I spoke with a very helpful clerk, though, and asked her a set of questions that she’s prepared to answer as and when she can.”
“I hope that you impressed on her how urgent our investigation is. That as and when sounds too lackadaisical for my liking.”
“I’m sure she’ll do her best. She seemed very pleasant on the phone.”
“Give her half an hour. If she hasn’t got back to you by then, threaten her with obstructing a murder inquiry. That should put a rocket up her proverbial! If need be, I’ll get a search warrant.”
Max Wright rolled his eyes at someone behind the detective and grinned. Vance spun around to stare into the pleasant, beaming features of Miriam Walker.
“Our killer would be delighted to see you so tense, Detective Inspector.”
“Damn it, Doc, we have three dead and six deaths pending, and we’ve made almost no progress!”
“Jacob, you know better than I, a case like this often hinges on the smallest mistake on the part of the perpetrator or an apparently unimportant detail, either of which could give you the breakthrough you need.”
“I sincerely hope so, Miriam. I was just on my way to ring you for your opinion. Have you got a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Max, allow no more than half an hour for that registrar woman, got it?”
“If I haven’t heard from her,” he glanced at the clock on his desktop, “by 12.32, I’ll call her, sir.”
Vance smiled at the psychologist. “Must have been his potty training,” he quipped obscurely. “Come on, we’ll have a chat in my office over a coffee.”
Vance switched on the coffee machine in his room, opened a biscuit tin where he kept the espresso capsules and grumbled, “I can’t believe it! Only six. I’d better place an order straight away. Excuse me a minute, Doc. We have two priorities in this department: solving murders and maintaining coffee supplies.”
She chuckled and shot back, “I guess that the two are inseparably intertwined.”
“Too true! There are criminals behind bars who would be walking free today, but for our little friend here. He patted the machine and inserted a capsule, positioning a cup to receive the steady brown flow of liquid. “Sugar?”
The Titian Portrait by Derek Ansell
Book excerpt
I let them stand for a while. I am in no hurry, nor indeed have I any desire to make them feel particularly comfortable. It is late in the day and I have no stomach for affairs of state at this hour. Gardiner is tall and stately with dark brown hair and beard but not particularly pleasing to the eye in appearance. Francis Englefield, I have always liked and found a wise and considerate adviser. He has soft blue eyes and light brown hair. He too is tall, smart in general demeanour and appearance and I would never allow either of them to be upstanding when I myself am standing; my diminutive stature gives me an unpleasant disadvantage. Renard, the Spanish ambassador, is not tall but rotund with very dark hair and beard and, I think, a somewhat sour expression.
“Please be seated, gentlemen,” I say when I have composed myself.
“Your Majesty, I regret this intrusion at such an hour, but I must request that you make an immediate decision regarding the Lady Jane Dudley, as she is now styled, presently languishing in the Tower of London,” Gardiner states flatly.
“I know well enough where she is, Stephen,” I state acidly. “As to a decision concerning her fate, I will make that at my convenience, nobody else’s.”
“Of course, of course,” he agrees, looking uncomfortable. “But things move on apace. You know I have repeated many times that she is seen as a figurehead to those who would usurp the crown and return us to the misery of the English church and ruin the good work you are engaged upon in fully restoring us all to the legitimate Roman church.”
“Have I not dealt with the recent uprising and ordered the execution of Wyatt and his fellow conspirators, including the girl Dudley’s father?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Gardiner states, looking pained. “Yet the maid, his daughter, still lives.”
I wave him away impatiently and remind him yet again that I have always been inclined towards showing mercy to young Jane. She is but a slip of a girl, just 16 years of age and no possible danger to anybody on this earth. I also remind him, once again, that she is of royal blood and my cousin.
“It didn’t stop her accepting the crown of England for herself,” he replies heatedly, “and leaving you to the mercy of the notorious Duke of Northumberland.”
“Your description of Northumberland is accurate indeed,” I tell him. “He is the real villain here. He sought to take control of the throne himself by marrying his son Dudley to young Jane and he almost got away with it, I may remind you. Jane was just a pawn in his vile treachery.”
There you go: five great books set in London from Next Chapter in 03/2023. If you enjoy one of the books on this page, please leave a comment below, or a review in Goodreads or your favorite store. We’d love to hear from you!
Praesent id libero id metus varius consectetur ac eget diam. Nulla felis nunc, consequat laoreet lacus id.