Friday with Friends ~ Amanda Kai

I am very happy to have Amanda on the blog today. I rarely tell my readers to peruse the WHOLE post, but I would be remiss if I did not encourage you to do that very thing. No spoilers! Read for yourself to find out why.

Without further ado, I give you Amanda Kai.

P.S.: I adored the excerpt...

~~~ooo0ooo~~~

Thanks so much for inviting me here today, Sue! I’m pleased to call you my friend and to be included in your Friday with Friends feature. 

Today, I’m sharing about my upcoming Pride and Prejudice variation “Sudden Awakenings”, which debuts on November 1, 2024. This is the third book in The Other Paths Collection of standalone Pride and Prejudice variations, each set in its own universe and featuring a different path to Happily Ever After for Darcy and Elizabeth.

Blurb:

What could be worse than awakening in the bed of the man you hate?

Elizabeth Bennet, haunted by a family history of sleepwalking, has spent her life navigating the challenges and eccentricities of her condition. 

A sudden encounter during a sleepwalking episode forces her and Mr. Darcy into a marriage of convenience. As they navigate their newfound relationship, their initial prejudices give way to unexpected feelings. 

However, Darcy's formidable aunt, Lady Catherine, opposes the match and schemes to break them apart. Can Elizabeth and Darcy overcome the obstacles placed before them and awaken to the realization of the love between them? 

This clean, heartwarming romance will leave you captivated and yearning for more. A unique Pride and Prejudice variation culminating in a happily ever after for Our Dear Couple.

Excerpt:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that sleepwalking runs in families. If both parents are afflicted, odds are two to one that their children will also suffer from some form of somnambulism or other troubled slumbers. It was a great misfortune then, that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, both suffered such a disorder at some time in their lives. 

Mr. Bennet outgrew the condition in his youth, and therefore never thought to mention it to his wife during their courtship. 

Mrs. Bennet’s sleepwalking proclivities were well known to her family at the time of her marriage, but her persistent denial of it and her family’s reluctance to speak of it, lest it frighten away her eligible suitor, enabled her condition to be kept secret. This carefully-crafted silence remained unbroken until one fateful night, not long after her marriage, when Mrs. Bennet, lost in her throes of slumber, ambled down to the larder, ate up all the jellies that were prepared for an upcoming dinner party, and returned to bed. 

Naturally, she denied having done so, insisting there was a thief among the servants. Mr. Bennet could not have believed it himself, but the hall boy, who had fallen asleep by the fire in the kitchen, reported he had awakened to see her gobbling up the freshly-made jellies, which, in turn, caused Mr. Bennet to recall that he himself had woken slightly when Mrs. Bennet returned to bed, and that she had peculiarly smelled of strawberries.

 Their children, with the exception of the eldest, also inherited their parents’ somnambulism. Though the three youngest daughters all outgrew their nocturnal perambulations before their tenth birthdays, Miss Elizabeth Bennet remained afflicted. Even at the mature age of twenty, she would, from time to time, rise from her slumber during the night and wander the house, performing various tasks, all the while remaining completely unconscious of her actions. 

Preventative measures had been taken to ensure her safety. They kept the kitchen knives locked away, the doors and windows secured, and a bell attached to each door to alert them if someone tried to leave the house during the night. Despite these measures, there were occasionally incidents which caused a stir at Longbourn. The occasional misplaced object or a peculiar nighttime disturbance were often a source of amusement, and at times exasperation, for members of the Bennet family.

On one such occasion, shortly before Michaelmas, the household had not been asleep for more than a few hours when one of the bells rang, alerting Mr. Bennet that somebody had managed to open a door. He glanced next to him to ensure that his wife still remained abed, her gentle snores undisturbed by this alarm. Concluding that it must be his daughter then, he rose from his bed and went down the stairs. His other daughters, also awakened by the sounds, followed him. 

“Is it Lizzy?” Lydia asked, her soft slippers padding on the polished floorboards. “Has she gone out of doors?”

“It would appear so,” Mr. Bennet answered. “Fetch your shoes, girls, in case you are needed.” 

They obeyed their father. It was not the first time they had needed to go in search of their sister.

By this time, Mr. Hill had also arisen and made his appearance in the hall. Helping his master into a dressing gown and boots, he offered him a lantern and the pair set out in search of Elizabeth. 

“She cannot have gone far, sir,” the old butler said. “I will check the gardens if you will check the barns.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, and they separated. Pulling his dressing gown tighter to ward off the cool night air, he tramped through the dewy grass towards the side yards where the barns lay. A faint luminescence gleamed from the doorway of the barn where the livestock were kept.Inside the barn, Elizabeth stood beside the pigpen, feeding an apple to a large pig. Her eyes were glazed over in a trance, and she did not appear to notice the happy snuffles of the animal nibbling from her hand. Mr. Bennet moved towards her slowly so as not to alarm her. A pungent aroma assailed his nostrils. The foul odors of the pigpen ought to be enough to wake anyone, he mused. Yet Elizabeth did not stir. 

Lydia and Kitty, ever the impetuous ones, rushed in, still in their nightdresses, each with a dressing gown hastily thrown over it. 

“Lizzy! What are you doing?” Kitty cried, grabbing her sister’s arm away from the pig and causing the remainder of the apple to drop to the ground outside the pen. The pig grunted, trying to get at it with his nose through the slats in his pen.

Lydia jumped back with a shriek, narrowly avoiding stepping in a pile of refuse. 

“Hush! Do not wake her,” Mr. Bennet cautioned. “She may become frightened if she awakens here. She is in no immediate danger. Let us lead her back to her bed.” He knew from experience that waking a sleepwalker often caused more harm than good, as the distress sometimes made them lash out in fear, potentially injuring themselves or others, before they could become fully aware of their surroundings. 

Gently, he took his daughter’s shoulders and began guiding her in the direction of the house. “It is time to go to bed, Lizzy,” he whispered. Elizabeth nodded, her feet following the path that she was led on, her eyes unblinking. They brought her safely into the confines of the house, sat her on her bed and watched as she instinctively laid down, her eyes slowly shutting. 

Jane drew the covers over her and kissed her forehead.“I daresay she will not remember this in the morning,” she murmured, before climbing back into bed next to Elizabeth. 

“If my experience tells me anything, no, she will not,” Mr. Bennet agreed.

Buy Link:

You can preorder Sudden Awakenings on Amazon, soon to be on Kindle Unlimited. Available November 1, 2024

About the Author:

Amanda Kai’s love of period dramas and classic literature inspires her historical and contemporary romances. She is the author of several stories inspired by Jane Austen, including Not In Want of a Wife, Elizabeth’s Secret Admirer, and Swipe Right for Mr. Darcy. Prior to becoming an author, Amanda enjoyed a career as a professional harpist, and danced ballet for twenty years. When she’s not diving into the realm of her imagination, Amanda lives out her own happily ever after in Texas with her husband and three children.

Game:

Let’s play “Would you rather”, Jane Austen style. Put your answers in the comments!

Would you rather…

1.      Marry Mr. Collins or marry Mr. Wickham?

2.      Take a holiday in Lyme or in Bath?

3.      Live in a tiny cottage or a haunted abbey?

4.      Have tea with Lady Catherine de Bourgh or with Mrs. Elton?

5.      Sail the world with Captain Wentworth or read poetry daily with Colonel Brandon?

6.      Dance at a ball with Mr. Knightey or with Mr. Tilney?

7.      Listen for a whole evening to Mrs. Jennings or Miss Bates?

Giveaway:

To celebrate the release of Sudden Awakenings, Amanda is giving away some fabulous prizes. Click here to enter. Giveaway ends Dec. 1, 2024.

Friday with Friends ~ Summer Hanford

I am very pleased to welcome Summer to my blog. We have an established social media friendship and one of these days I might make my way to one of the many JAFF and/or RAGT events she has attended and meet her in person. It's on my bucket list. Without further ado, I give you Summer Hanford and the adventures of one Miss Anne de Bourgh.

THE ADVENTURES OF MISS ANNE DE BOURGH OF ROSINGS

A PRIDE & PREJUDICE VARIATION PREQUEL TO MR. DARCY’S BOOKSHOP

v. II

Blurb

Please Note: This is a short novella of only 20,000 words.

Miss Anne de Bourgh might be a girl, but that doesn’t stop her from hunting, shooting, riding, and fencing as well as her cousins, and when her cousin Richard is about to make a life-ruining mistake, Anne hatches a plot to put things right. But in order to do so, she’ll need to team up with her personal nemesis. 

That’s right, this time Anne must collude not against, but with, her least favorite cousin . . . Henry, heir to the Earl of Matlock.

The Adventures of Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings v. II is a short novella prequel to Mr. Darcy’s Bookshop and takes place about a year after The Adventures of Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings v. I. Enjoy!

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

 Late Summer, 1798, Matlock Estate in Derbyshire

Anne sat beside Mrs. Jenkinson in Sir Lewis’s spacious carriage and tried not to swing her feet. Apparently, young ladies of fifteen did not swing their feet. At least, not according to Mrs. Jenkinson, who had advised Anne that she was the beginning, middle, and end of any argument pertaining to manners. 

In her mind, Anne recited fencing poses, struggling to remain still, but energy reverberated through her. They’d been in her father’s carriage for hours. Days, really. The journey from Kent to Matlock wasn’t a short one, although her father seemed happy with their time.

Finally, they rolled to a halt outside Uncle Matlock’s big, old, gargoyle adorned manor house. Anne reached for the carriage door, eager to be free.

Mrs. Jenkinson’s voice halted her with, “Ladies wait for a footman to open the door and assist them down.”

“Ladies must be exceedingly lazy,” Anne countered and flung open the carriage door to the sight of a startled footman.

Recovering quickly, he extended a hand.

With a grumpy look for Mrs. Jenkinson and an amused-looking Sir Lewis, Anne permitted the footman to help her down. The moment her hessians touched the gravel drive, she encountered a new trial…the deep desire to run in absolutely any direction, simply to be moving.

Instead, she waited while Mrs. Jenkinson and her father disembarked, then walked decorously up the grand steps with them and into the equally ostentatious entrance hall.

“Uncle, Cousin, Mrs. Jenkinson,” Cousin Henry greeted with a bow as servants came forward to assist with their outerwear, little that they had in the late summer heat. “Father asked me to apologize as he is concluding some business. He will greet you all in the jade drawing room prior to supper, in two hours’ time. I am to tell you, as well, that your usual rooms have been made ready, and the sitting room attached to Anne’s chambers set aside for your private use.”

“Thank you, Henry. That suits us well.” Sir Lewis gestured up the staircase, his gaze shifting to take in Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson. “Ladies, shall we?”

“If I may borrow Anne, Richard asked to see her. He is working as well, in the library.”

Anne stepped forward eagerly. She had little use for her cousin Henry, but she looked forward to seeing Richard.

“Very well,” Mrs. Jenkinson said. “But do not tarry over long, Miss de Bourgh. You will need to change for dinner.” Her critical gaze swept over Anne’s travel gown, then dropped down to take in her boots.

“I will only exchange a quick greeting with my cousins,” Anne assured her companion, in no way meaning her words. In truth, Anne meant to do precisely as she pleased, be it ready for dinner or, hopefully, anything more entertaining.

Mrs. Jenkinson’s look of resignation clearly expressing what she thought of Anne’s reassurance, she nodded. She and Sir Lewis started up the stairs to their rooms.

Anne grabbed Henry’s arm and tugged him down the corridor, out of earshot, before demanding, “Why didn’t Richard come greet us?”

“That’s what I need to speak with you about.” Shaking free of her grip, Henry grabbed her arm in turn and yanked her into a dark little parlor.

Anne looked about, suspicious. Henry could be hiding any sort of prank in the near darkness. “Say what you have to say, then.”

“It’s Richard. He needs our help.”

Anne frowned, even more suspicious. What better way to lead her into a trap, possibly to a spot beneath a bucket of ink or some such, than to say that Richard needed her? “I thought you said he’s working in the library.”

“He is. He has been for weeks. It’s awful and we must help him.”

Anne raised her gaze in silent supplication. “You are making even less sense than usual, Henry.”

Henry paced away in the dark room, pushing both hands through his hair. “It started this summer. This thing with Richard and Missy Steepleton, the parson’s daughter.”

“Sissy Missy?” Anne was familiar with the scrawny blonde girl, perhaps a year older than her, who used to try to play with them but who was always too afraid to do anything fun. Missy wouldn’t hold frogs. Missy wouldn’t climb trees. Missy squealed if mud touched her hem. “Richard has a…a thing with Missy?” The idea was absurd. Missy Steepleton was worthless as a companion. 

But Henry paused his pacing, nodding with grave seriousness. “He fancies he’s in love with her.”

Anne wrinkled her nose. “Ug. How horrible.”

Henry eyed her curiously. “Love in general or with Missy Steepleton in specific?”

“Both.” Anne could think of few things worse than being afflicted with love, but being afflicted with love for someone who grew queasy at the sight of a fish being gutted or a pheasant being plucked was one of them. “How did this happen?”

Henry shrugged. “The usual way. Lately Missy, you know…” He trailed off, making an hourglass sort of gesture. “She—” 

“So help me, if you say ‘blossomed,’ I will punch you in the face.”

Henry smirked. “You’re just afraid because it’s bound to happen to you.”

At fifteen, Anne was acutely aware that it was happening to her, but no amount of blossoming would keep her from riding, fishing, hunting, and fencing. She imagined becoming a young lady hadn’t changed Missy much, either. She probably still fainted at the sight of blood, even rabbit blood, and enjoyed needlepoint, or some such. Anne had never troubled to find out Missy’s passions. 

Because it was none of her business what Missy enjoyed, or of Henry’s. “As useless as Missy is, it’s not truly our concern. It is not as if we can dictate who Richard fancies.” 

“I don’t care who Richard fancies,” Henry said in an offensively exasperated voice, for it was not Anne’s fault that her cousin could not properly convey information. “I care about the bargain Richard struck with Father.”

“What bargain?”

“Remember how, last year, you and Richard and Darcy dumped ink on me?”

Anne grinned. “I do.”

Henry cast her a sour look. “Well, remember how Father said he would buy Richard a commission because he’s obviously not suited for the priesthood?”

Anne’s smugness grew, for she’d been quite pleased with that. Richard had always wanted to serve in the regulars, but hadn’t, until then, been able to convince his father to agree with the notion. Healthy as Henry was, Richard was the spare, and the earl seemed inclined to keep him safe in case he was needed. “I remember that, too.”

“Well, Richard has it in his head that he’s in love with Missy and wants to marry her.”

Anne gasped. It was one thing to be enamored with a girl, but another altogether to leap into a union with her. “What? He’s too young to marry. Surely Uncle Matlock said no.”

“He did, and not only because Richard is only seventeen. He said a son of his can do better than a parson’s daughter, too.”

Relief washed through Anne. “So there’s no trouble. Richard will enter into service soon, and while he’s off fighting for the King, he’ll forget all about Missy.”

But Henry was shaking his head. “Ever since that night you inked me, Father has regretted his words. He’s tried to talk Richard back into the priesthood.”

“But Richard has always wanted to serve.”

“Will you let me talk?” Henry demanded.

Anne pulled a face at him, but nodded.

“So,” Henry paused, glaring at her to test if she would interrupt. After a moment, he continued, “So Richard made Father a deal. He says he will become a priest if Father will let him marry Missy.”

“Uncle Matlock agreed to that?” The words burst out of Anne, full of incredulousness, and she clamped her hands over her mouth. She cast a quick look over her shoulder at the open parlor doorway, hoping no one was near enough to hear her. In a lower voice, she hissed, “How could he?”

“I guess he would rather have a live son who married beneath him than a dead one,” Henry said quietly. With a sigh of resignation, he dropped down onto a settee that appeared too delicate for his thick limbs.

“Richard will not die if he serves,” Anne said firmly. “He will be an excellent officer. The sort our nation needs. He will do great things and come home a hero, and be able to do much better, indeed, than Missy Steepleton.”

“All I know is that he’s constantly in the library studying and he says he’s off to Cambridge this autumn.”

“It is only Cambridge,” Anne mused, dropping into a chair. “He can forget about her there, too, and still have plenty of time to take a commission.”

Henry shook his head. “Father is having a contract drawn up. His side says that he will agree to an engagement when Richard leaves for Cambridge, and that they may be married as soon as Richard has the signatures of three respected theologians approving him to be ordained. Richard’s part says that in exchange, he will never take a commission. Father is with his lawyers now, working on the details.”

“Now?” Anne surged to her feet. Why hadn’t Henry mentioned the matter was urgent? “I must speak with Richard.”

Anne rushed from the room, knowing the way to the library quite well. She could hear Henry’s heavier tread following but didn’t slow so he could catch up. A part of her still worried this was some sort of trick. After all, Richard had longed to serve since they were small. He wouldn’t give up his life’s dream for a bit of muslin clad fluff.

Would he?

Anne burst into the library to the sight of Richard at a long table, surrounded by books. He stared at her, a pen in hand, poised over notes he’d obviously been writing. With a huff he blew out air to dislodge a swath of too-long brown locks from his eyes. His gaze went to the mantel clock.

Returning his attention to her, he smiled. “Anne. My apologies. I did not realize you had arrived. It is good to see you.”

Noting that he did not put up his pen, she barreled up to the table. “Richard. Whatever are you doing?”

He looked down at the books, open and closed, and the messy pages before him, most scribbled on illegibly. “I’m studying. I’m going to be ordained. Like father wants.” A drop of ink fell from the pen tip to splash down on the page before him. “Drat.”

“Why under the sun would you want to be ordained?” Anne demanded.

Richard raised his gaze from the blot of ink. “So I can be married. Congratulations are in order. I will be engaged soon.” He grinned foolishly.

This was worse than she’d thought. She’d never seen Richard appear so addlebrained. Not even when they’d stolen a bottle of brandy so they could learn to drink properly, like their father’s did. “I suppose congratulations are in order, then. Who is the wonderful miss soon to be your betrothed?”

“Miss Melissa Steepleton.” Richard let out a long sigh, appearing even more lacking in sense than before.

“Missy Steepleton? The girl who cast up her breakfast on your new boots when you tried to show her a trout you’d caught?” Which hadn’t been as large as the trout Anne caught at all, as she recalled.

“The very one. I love her.”

“I see.” She could tell by his horrendously besotted expression that there would be no reasoning with him, but still she ventured, “But what about taking a commission in the regulars? What about serving King and Country and visiting far away lands, and fighting the French?”

Richard plunked the pen down on the blotter, his expression suddenly glum. “Well, I truly did want to do that. You know being an officer embodies everything I care about. Well, that is, everything I used to care about. Now I care about Missy.”

“Yes. Well, I am certain that is important, too.”

Dejectedly, Richard added, “And she likes a man in regimentals. She told me she’d much rather marry a soldier than a priest, especially as her papa is one.”

“So go be a soldier,” Anne urged.

Richard shook his head, his face taking on a firm, set look. “No. If I do that, my father won’t give me permission to marry. Missy and I would have to wait until I’m one and twenty, or maybe even until she is. That’s another five years.”

“What are five years if you are in love?”

Richard cast her an incredulous look. “I cannot imagine you waiting for anything for five years, de Bourgh.”

“Yes, but you are far more reasonable than I am.”

Richard capped the inkwell, then reached for a cloth to clean the pen. “Not in this. Missy and I are in love and we want to be married, and that is the end of it.”

“But your dream of—” 

“I said that is the end of it,” Richard reiterated firmly.

That most certainly was not the end of it, but Anne could see she would do no more good arguing with Richard about it now. “Very well, then. I am happy you have found love.”

“Thank you,” Richard said gravely. 

Henry took that moment to finally enter, though he must have reached the library on Anne’s heels. “There you two are,” he said blithely. “It is time to ready for supper.”

“You aren’t my keeper,” Richard replied, but he set down the cleaned pen and stood.

Anne followed her cousins from the library and up the front staircase. Something definitely had to be done. She would not permit Richard to throw away his dreams. Not on Missy Steepleton or any other girl. And to stop him, she would come up with the perfect plan.

Buy links:

Mr. Darcy’s Bookshop: https://getbook.at/MrDarcysBookshop

Sale: Mr. Darcy’s Bookshop is an amazon.com and amazon.ca Kindle Deal for October – 

On Sale for just $2.49 (https://getbook.at/MrDarcysBookshop)

The Adventures of Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings v.I: https://getbook.at/AdventuresAnnedeBourgh

The Adventures of Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings v.II: https://getbook.at/AnnesAdventuresvII 

Up for pre-sale: The Adventures of Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings v. II - A Pride and Prejudice Prequel to Mr. Darcy's Bookshop (https://getbook.at/AnnesAdventuresvII)

About the Author

Summer Hanford writes swashbuckling Historical Romance, best-selling Pride and Prejudice retellings, and gripping Epic Fantasy. She lives in the Finger Lakes Region of New York with her husband and compulsory, deliberately spoiled, cat. The newest addition to their household, an energetic setter-shepherd mix, has been trying, and failing, for six years to gain acceptance from the cat, but is adored by the humans.

Since the moment she read her first novel, Summer’s passion has always been writing. As a child growing up on a dairy farm, she built castles made of hay and wielded swords made of fence posts. She is also passionate about animals, travel, and organizing her closet. Nothing pleases her more than a row of tops broken down by sleeve length and ordered by color…except working on her latest novel with her cat in her lap, her dog lounging on the rug dreaming of squirrels, and a cup of tea at hand. 

For more about Summer, visit www.summerhanford.com.

Email: summer@summerhanford.com 

Social Media Links

Website: https://summerhanford.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSummerHanford/ 

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Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/summerhanford/?hl=en

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@summerhanford 

Follow Links:

Amazon: https://viewauthor.at/PridePrejudiceSummer 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6627686.Summer_Hanford 

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/summer-hanford 

Friday with Friends ~ MJ Stratton

  

I am thrilled to have as my guest today, MJ Stratton. I gobbled up her book Thwarted and now have another lovely story to read. How many times can you clap your hands and declare, "Oh, goodie!"

Blurb:

In 1812, Elizabeth Bennet, eager for her first visit to the seaside, accompanies her beloved sister Jane and her new brother, Charles Bingley, to Ramsgate. Their retreat, the Lake House, offers an ideal location for Mrs. Bingley, whose delicate condition requires rest and care by the sea.

When Jane’s condition worsens, Elizabeth steps into the role of mistress of the house, managing the servants, overseeing the menus, and even attending to her brother’s correspondence. One letter, intended for the solicitor who arranged the lease, unexpectedly draws a shocking reply from Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Stunned by Mr Darcy’s accusations and confused by his claim that it is 1810 and that he owns the Lake House, which he has never leased in his lifetime, Elizabeth responds with sharp, cutting words. As their correspondence continues, it becomes clear that neither has lost their senses; instead, they find themselves caught in a connection that transcends time.

 As love blooms, Darcy and Elizabeth resolve to meet, but they soon realise that appearances can be deceiving. Together, they must unravel the mystery of the Lake House and discover who—or what—is conspiring to keep them apart.

Excerpt:

December 1800

Cliff Cottage

Ramsgate

“Come closer, child,” the withered old lady said, beckoning her great-grandson nearer. “I am not long for this world and have much to tell you.”

The man drew closer, seating himself on a chair beside the bed where his great-grandmother lay, propped up by several down pillows. She was his only remaining family, having outlived her son and grandchildren, and had raised him since his parents’ death when he was twelve years old. When his great-grandmother retired, she received a pension and Cliff Cottage, a small but quaint abode by the sea in Ramsgate, near to the Lake House where she had served since she was a young girl.

“I am here,” he said quietly, taking her withered hand in his. 

“How is your wife?” she rasped. Though her eyes seemed focused on him, they had long since dimmed, and she had been blind for the last five years. “How goes her work at the Lake House?” She chuckled softly. “Bless Fitzwilliam for his childish insistence long ago that it be called ‘the’ Lake House. The memory still makes me smile.”

Young master Darcy had never learned to call the seaside home by its proper name. “Martha is well,” he replied with a broad smile. “She felt the quickening only yesterday.”

The old woman sighed contentedly. “Then our line will not end with you,” she said, her tone pleased. To command his complete attention, she squeezed his hand as tightly as she could manage. “It is vital that it does not end. Our family’s purpose—our task—must never fail.”

“I do not know what you mean.” The man was perplexed, briefly wondering if his grandmother had finally lost her wits. But that thought was absurd. Great-Gran Hannah’s memory was as sharp as ever, despite her being nearly five-and-ninety years.

“Your new position at the Lake House will serve you well in the years to come, should your services be required,” she continued, ignoring his confusion. “Just as mine served me. It is quite the tale, and knowing you as I do, I would wager you will believe me addled. But I beg you to suspend your disbelief and listen with an open mind.”

He nodded, and recalling she could not see him, he promised, “I will do as you ask.”

Great-Gran settled back into her pillows. “The Lake House is no ordinary place,” she began. “The origin of its unique properties remains shrouded in mystery, and our family’s original connection to it is now lost to time. Yet, since the early 1500s when the first owner built it, someone from our family has always served the family who lived or visited there, which is no small feat.” 

She paused for a moment to cough, and her companion quickly offered her a drink from the glass on the table beside the bed. Once she quenched her thirst and her throat soothed, she continued. 

“The Lake House is a temporal anomaly, a place where the fabric of time is unusually thin. Many of our ancestors have speculated that the location of the house may be the cause, though nothing—or no one—has ever confirmed it to me. The first of our family to serve as steward of the house discovered this peculiar phenomenon when the years 1540 and 1544 collided. His name was Samuel Simmons, and at first, he believed he was losing his sanity. After some initial confusion as he experienced both years simultaneously, Samuel began to unravel what he was witnessing.

“He discovered that, instead of perceiving events as a sequence, he saw the years layered upon each other, like the pages of a book. This unique perspective allowed him to travel through different times within the house as though they were all occurring at once. In his journals, he described moving through the years as akin to walking through different rooms in the same residence, and he noted that the anomaly was restricted within the boundaries of the Lake House. No one else seemed affected by this strange occurrence, and so he kept the knowledge to himself, fearing that others might brand him a sorcerer and burned at the stake.”

The man shifted uneasily in his chair. Great-Gran seemed as lucid as ever, yet the tale she spun was as fantastical as she had implied it would be. 

“I can sense your doubt, even from here.” Gran chuckled and gestured towards the glass on the table once more. He handed it to her, and she drank deeply. “I was just as skeptical when my father told me the same story. But then, it happened to me.”

He stiffened, and she gently squeezed his hand. “Let me finish, and I shall answer your questions afterwards.”

“Our ancestors spent many years at the Lake House and discovered that they were given abilities for a specific purpose—to guide and protect those within its walls. Not every member of our line possesses this gift. To exist outside the bounds of time is a profound responsibility the house bestows. In exchange, we are to protect those we serve, lending aid when the house tells us it is necessary.”

“When the house tells us?” he repeated. Incredulity coloured his voice, and he shook his head in bewilderment.

“Let me finish,” she repeated patiently. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, expression distant, as if lost in memory. “I was two-and-twenty when I first experienced the phenomena,” she continued. “My father related all I now tell you on his deathbed, and, like you, I was skeptical. At the time, I was just newly promoted to housekeeper. The former housekeeper, old Mrs Tilney, trained me as her replacement. My new position came sooner than I had anticipated when she decided to join her daughter in America.

“The Lake family visited every summer. Mr and Mrs Lake delighted in the seaside, and their children were scarcely less enthusiastic. The eldest child, Amelia, was of an age with me, and before my promotion, Mrs Tilney had assigned me to Miss Lake as her lady’s maid. Despite the difference in our respective stations, we became fast friends, often confiding in one another. Miss Lake despaired of ever finding a suitor in town. She had endured four seasons and was unimpressed with the pompous gentlemen she encountered in London. Her dowry was attractive, and she often felt as though she was being hunted rather than courted. But I digress.”

Great-Gran sighed, a small smile gracing her lips. “It was a sunny afternoon when the first letter appeared on the salver. I can scarcely describe the feeling—it was as if a string was pulling me closer until I found it. The post had been delivered earlier that day, so it was curious to see a letter waiting there for one of the household. Someone with masculine handwriting had addressed it to A. Lake. At first, I assumed it was for the master—he shared initials with his daughter, as you know—but something urged me to place the letter in Miss Lake’s hands. I did so and watched as fury descended upon her. I do not know what the letter contained, but she muttered constantly for days about gentlemen importuning her. She penned a reply and bid me place it on the salver.

“As I descended the stairs to carry out her instruction, I noticed an unfamiliar man in the house. His presence would not have been so strange had I encountered him in the public rooms, but he was exiting the master’s suite, acting as though he belonged there. He nodded to me as he walked by, and I trailed after him, shocked by his audacity.”

Great-Gran grinned mischievously. “He had a newspaper tucked under his arm, and the footman who met him at the door addressed him as Mr Darcy. The gentleman dropped the newspaper on the side table in the entrance hall, right next to the salver before he donned his outerwear and left. I went to the table and looked down at the front page, and to my shock, I noted the date was two years in the future. All my father’s words to me before he died came rushing back.

While holding the mistress’s letter, I observed that the painting above the Hepplewhite side table was slightly crooked. I reached out to straighten the seascape, but before I could touch it, the painting unexpectedly shifted on its own and fell forward, landing on the table with a heavy thud. I immediately focused on the wall behind it, where a post box, embedded in the wall and previously hidden, became clearly visible.

“My curiosity piqued, I leaned forward and carefully examined the post box. Crafted from rich mahogany, its surface adorned with intricate carvings of seashells, waves, and starfish—echoes of the nearby coast and the house’s connection to the sea. Oddly, it also had sprigs of lavender carved along its edge. I never did understand why, since there was no lavender anywhere near the Lake House. The painting had concealed the box, even though it was a beautifully made feature of the house, entirely hidden away from prying eyes. As I touched the inside of the box, understanding filled me. It was then I understood that this was no ordinary receptacle. The house itself facilitated these exchanges, and only those who served the house were privy to its secret.

“I placed the letter in the post box, adjusted the painting, and walked away, my mind racing with what I had uncovered. After that, I paid closer attention to the comings and goings in the house. People I had never seen before passed through, and then… my mistress received a reply to her letter just two days later.”

Great-Gran paused once more. “You know, of course, that Amelia Lake married Gregor Darcy. I flatter myself by saying that the Lake House and I, as its faithful steward, facilitated their romance. I now pass this responsibility to you. From what family records can ascertain, only one of us holds the privilege of navigating the Lake House’s temporal intricacies at any given moment. My tenure is nearly at an end, which means you are the next. There is no other.”

“How can you believe such nonsense?” the man asked, struggling to keep the derision out of his voice. Great-Gran did not deserve such censure.

“It is as real as you and I,” she insisted. 

“Why, then, did you wait so long to tell me?” he asked. 

“There was always some reason to delay—the death of my son, your grandfather… and then, your parents… But as I grew older, I began to fear that you were not ready, that you needed more time to live your life without the burden of this knowledge. When I retired to Cliff Cottage, I believed the Lake House had finished with me, that my time was truly over, and perhaps the secret could rest as well. Yet the years passed, and as I watched you grow into your own, I knew I could not leave this world without passing on what I knew. I waited because the post box had not yet called to you, and because there had been no pressing need. But now, I feel the time is near. The Lake House will guide you when the moment comes.” She grew agitated, and as she sat up, her grip on his hand tightened until it hurt. “Promise me you will do this.”

He sought to soothe her. “I promise, Gran,” he said. “You may rest easy.”

She nodded, her grip loosening as she lay back against her pillows. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep, never waking again.

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About the Author:

MJ Stratton is a long-time lover of Jane Austen and her works, whose much-beloved aunt introduced her to Pride and Prejudice at the age of sixteen. The subsequent discovery of Austenesque fiction sealed her fate. After beta reading and editing for others for nearly a decade, MJ started publishing her own work in 2022. MJ balances being a wife and mother with writing, gardening, sewing, and many other favorite pastimes. She lives with her husband and four children in the small, rural town where she grew up.