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.


Buy Link:

Click HERE to grab your own copy of MJ's latest release.

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.



Friday with Friends ~ E.M. Storm-Smith

 

I am so pleased to have Emily Storm-Smith on my blog to talk about her books. I have read both of these lovely stories featured above and have not one bad thing to say about them except they were too short! Isn't that how it is when we become immersed in the story? Without further ado, let's get to the blurbs and links to where you can find out more.

Reputation An Easy Thing to Lose

What if Mr. Bennet died in a duel with Wickham after Lydia eloped, just as Mrs. Bennet feared? Would Elizabeth and Darcy still find their happily-ever-after if the Bennet women lost their reputation and their home?

Nearly four months ago, Elizabeth Bennet hotly rejected Fitzwilliam Darcy’s marriage proposal. Now she wonders if that was the biggest mistake of her life. Orphaned and living with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in London, Elizabeth is determined to take a position as a governess or companion; Darcy could never renew his attentions to her after her family’s disgrace. Which is a shame because she just may be in love with him.

Fitzwilliam Darcy would do anything for Elizabeth. As soon as he learned of Lydia Bennet’s elopement, he rushed to London to try to put everything to rights. But his journey was fruitless: Mr. Bennet died of his wounds before Darcy could bring a doctor. Now, he must convince Elizabeth to forgive and marry him before she is beyond his reach forever.

When an illegitimate child makes Lydia’s shame complete, Elizabeth and Darcy are left to try to salvage what is left of their reputations and relationship. Follow our favourite Austen lovers through sacrifice, misunderstandings, disrespect, a secret marriage, and a whole lot of shenanigans from the marriage minded ladies of London.

Cause to Repine

Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy come from two different worlds. She loves her country estate existence. He was born for London's high society. If his aunts have anything to say about it (and they always do), Darcy's future depends on finding a bride with connections to the nobility.

Can Darcy and Elizabeth overcome their families, fears, and the constant berating of London's gossipmongers to follow their hearts?

All buy links and more information about E.M. can be found on the homesite of Storm Haus Publishing website. You can also connect with her on Facebook.

About the author



E.M. Storm-Smith is a mother, wife, attorney, former engineer, and literature lover. A lifelong obsession for books drove her to create stories of her own. Several years into the journey of writing about characters she loved, E.M. decided to take her passions to the world and see what happened. When she’s not writing, E.M. is spending her time reading others’ books – preferably somewhere with lots of sunshine, traveling, and cooking things with chocolate as a primary ingredient. In her day job, E.M. works with nonprofit organizations to increase their reach, meet their financial goals, invest in impact sectors, and secure their future mission.

Weekend Writing Warriors #90

 


I thought I had completely missed joining this blog hop, and had a bit of a panic moment. Almost a 'my bad' moment. Life has a funny way of intruding and before you blink twice, the week is almost over. Ah, well, if that is the only thing I can complain about, I have a pretty good life.

Anyway, we shall continue with an excerpt from A Rose By Any Other Name. We left off with:

Father found me injured and bedraggled in the river Derwent and claimed me as his own. That is, until… if… we ever find my true family. He had been riding his estate, of which the Derwent flows through a vast portion. Thank goodness it was a beautiful sunny day, or I might not have survived, because the sun glinted off my amber cross necklace and that is what drew him to the river’s edge, whereupon he discovered me draped across a large log which had gotten snagged on an exposed root of a willow tree.

Continuing with:

He waded into the river, forever ruining his favorite Hessians - to his valet’s eternal disgust - and carried me up the bank. With the help of his son, Eric, he managed to not only wrap me in his jacket but hoist me onto that great beast he calls a horse and - as he said - rode like the hounds of hell were on his heels to bring me to the manor house, called Briwood.

I have no memory of the next few weeks, but I have been told it was very unsettling as I had a raging fever and the doctor feared I might fall victim to a putrid lung from the amount of water I had ingested and inhaled. Thankfully, I pulled through, and though I felt as weak as a proverbial kitten, my strength and health returned, my memory did not.

Despite sending out riders and flyers throughout the region, no one stepped forward to claim me as their own. My clothing was of good quality, indicating that I was either the daughter of a gentleman or a wealthy tradesman, and - here I must blush at revealing such intimate details - Mother thought me to be about fourteen years of age. She based this determination on my body showing signs that I was on the cusp of womanhood. During my recovery I had… well, suffice it to say, she had to call for some linens for me to use discreetly. I later discovered this also sent a wave of relief through my adoptive parents, as the advent of my courses indicated there were no repercussions from a violent attack, of which the doctor feared I may have been a victim.

Shall I whet your whistle further?

Father and Mother, Lord Conrad and Lady Patricia Grantley are the Viscount and Viscountess Hughson, and until I was found in the river, they had only one child, Eric. At the time of my discovery, he was eighteen preparing to enter Cambridge at the start of next term. 

As I could not remember my name, my parents decided to call me Rose because, etched on the back of my necklace, was a single rosebud in its first bloom. They have loved me as their own and I have never hesitated to return that love tenfold. Father was pleasantly surprised to discover I have an avid interest in books and languages. ‘Tis funny how the mind works, I cannot recall my name or family, but I remember lines and verses from different passages of great novels and poems as if I had read them only a few minutes before any discussion. Mother has teased that maybe I was a French spy in training as my French is more than passable for conversation. I am mediocre on the pianoforte and have been told my singing voice is lovely. Father already has plans for me to study with the Master when we make our way to Town.

I know many of the popular dances, even though I am not of an age to attend any balls or assemblies, I can embroider but find it dreadfully dull and take some solace in painting tables, although I detest netting purses. Ugh… I would rather go back into the river than net a purse. However, my greatest love is being outdoors, whether I walk the park around our estate, or ride with Father, I feel at peace when I am outside, marveling at the beauty of creation.

Rules of engagement for Weekend Writing Warriors:

Weekend Writing Warriors is a fun blog hop where authors share eight to ten lines from a Work in Progress. If you'd like to check out some of the other author's writing, please click on this link: WeWriWa