Available for pre-order ~ July 1, 2026
Showing posts with label #JAFF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #JAFF. Show all posts
Vignette! A Swoon worthy Darcy
There are times when I utterly love the way Mr. Darcy speaks to me, which in turn ends up in a book. Today was one of those days. I was struggling with the Darcy/Elizabeth romance near the end of the book. There are only so many ways to write 'I love you', and then THIS dropped into my brain, and - of course - I had to share it with You!
“If I could go back in time, I would travel back to October 15, 1811, and ask for an introduction to the most beautiful woman I know when Bingley badgered me to dance.”
“You would dance with Jane?” she teased.
He gave her a look of tender exasperation. “To me, you are the most beautiful woman in all of England.”
“I am glad you did not say ‘the world’, for then I would suggest that you require very thick spectacles.”
“You tease because I am making you uncomfortable.”
“Partially. I am not used to trumping Jane in the card game of looks and grace.”
“If it helps, you are my Queen of Hearts.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy! When did you become a poet?”
“October 15, 1811,” came his earnest reply, “where at a horrid little assembly that I did not want to attend, my world tilted on its axis, and I have yet to regain my balance.”
Oh, please tell me that your heart just melted...
A New Hero for Jane!
I am working away on 'In Want of Connections', and am very pleased with a new character ~ Mr. Joshua Morgan. Actually, two new characters, he has a lovely sister named Gabriella, but her vignettes are small in comparison to her elder brother, who is Miss Jane Bennet's new love interest. Catch your interest???? I hope so. Today, I'm sharing a small scene, which exposes Bingley as a cad and Mr. Morgan as the hero.
So, no further delays, let us get on it like a bonnet!
IN WANT OF CONNECTIONS
Mr. Bingley motioned Jane back to her seat, then positioned his chair uncomfortably close before reaching for her hand. She drew back instinctively and fiddled with the tiny buttons on her glove to keep him from gaining purchase of her fingers.
“Mr. Bingley, I am uncomfortable with your attention. Please allow more distance between us.” Her voice remained steady despite the rapid flutter of her heart.
His brow furrowed. “Indeed? You once found my nearness agreeable.”
“Precisely – in the past. Eight months ago, to be more accurate. Circumstances have altered for us both, and I find this closeness inappropriate.”
With visible reluctance, he shifted his chair away.
“Why such formality, Miss Bennet? Do you not recall our Hertfordshire days as pleasant?” he asked with a childish pout she once might have found endearing.
“Sir, you have been gone from Meryton since November last. Those you leave behind do not remain stagnant while you live your life in another part of the country.” His eyes widened at her chastisement, but he remained silent. “I must inform you that, while I enjoyed your company last autumn, I am now betrothed to another gentleman.”
“Betrothed!” The word exploded from his lips like a gunshot.
“Yes, and we are on our way to visit family and finalise the wedding arrangements.”
“And yet you find yourself alone with me.” His expression became pensive. Calculating. The charming smile that had once captivated Hertfordshire society transformed into something predatory. “What would the earl say if he knew you had been placed in such a… compromising situation? Alone with a gentleman for whom you secretly yearned?”
“Mr. Bingley!” Jane rose to her full height. “You censured your sister’s rude behaviour, while forgetting to examine your own reflection. I bid you good day.”
As she turned to leave, he caught her from behind with surprising strength, twisting her around with fingers that would surely leave bruises on her arms, and forcibly pressed his mouth against hers, the taste of stale coffee on his tongue revolting her.
“I presume you have no plans of leaving today, sir,” came the deep, measured voice of Jane’s beloved from the doorway, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room, “for I will meet you at dawn, at a place of your choosing.”
Jane wrenched away from Bingley and ran to Joshua, allowing him to wrap one arm around her slender shoulders while she sobbed into his chest.
“I have compromised Miss Bennet, and demand that we marry,” Bingley said, ignoring the challenge which had been laid at his feet.
“You cannot marry a woman who is betrothed to another, compromise or not. Now, choose your weapon of choice and find someone to be your second.”
“I shall not duel you.”
“Then you declare your honour as forfeit.”
“I do not.”
“You cannot have it both ways, Bingley,” Joshua said, ignoring the scoundrel’s look of astonishment that he was known to the gentleman even though they had never met. “Either you are a coward, seeing as you will not meet me on a field of honour after attacking a gentlewoman in a public inn, or a rake in the first order, also because you attacked a gentlewoman in a public inn. Which shall it be? Coward or rake?”
“I took nothing that was not offered!” he blustered out. “Ever since I have known Miss Bennet, she has thrown herself at me. Everyone knew she wanted me to marry her, and today, she all but asked me to kiss her.”
“Is that true, my dearest Miss Manners?” Joshua asked softly, glancing down at his fiancée.
“No, and you know the reasons why,” she replied, returning his gaze of deep love.
It was at that moment that Uncle Edward entered the room.
“Well, Morgan, the horses and carriages are ready to depart; we just need to round up our ladies and be off.”
“We may be delayed by a day,” Joshua said calmly. “I came across this gentleman opportuning Jane, and have called him out. He has yet to decide if he is a coward or a rake.”
Uncle Edward turned a gimlet eye in the direction of Mr. Bingley.
“Is he aware that you hold the fencing title at Cambridge, and the only person to defeat you more than once was Mr. Darcy?” Bingley’s eyes widened at the same time his face turned the colour of chalk. “Or, that you are a crack shot, on par with a military sharpshooter
“We had not gotten that far in our discussion, and I will concede that Darcy has out-fenced me more times than I care to admit.”
Jane stifled a smile at their seemingly innocuous banter, knowing it was sending a chill to the very marrow of Mr. Bingley’s bones. She felt no remorse or sympathy for the man – she refused to call him a gentleman; a point Mr. Morgan was making quite obvious.
There you go. I anticipate publishing this new story in May. Stay tuned for exact dates and purchase links. Until then,
Plot Bunny Conundrum
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| Aunt Sarah, Mary, and Kitty on board the Persephone |
Good day, my lovelies. I am very much alive, AND I am writing. Such joy. This past year, spent in a brain fog, caused by my illness, has lifted, and words are flowing. To that end, I hope to have one story finished by year's end - barring any unforeseen delays - and then I shall work on the second languishing WIP. Also, Mr. Harry Frost is scheduled to begin narrating one of my books at the end of October, and I might have snagged another free space with him for December. He has not, as of the writing of this post, replied with more details about a second booking. Fingers crossed he can fit me in. :)
Now: Having said all that, a delicious plot bunny just bounced inside my head, and I have never done this before, but I thought I'd put it out to you, and see what kind of ideas you would like to read about. If they are something I could get my imagination around, I may use them. So... are you ready for a point form preview? Good. Here goes.
- Aunt Sarah (sister to Mr. Bennet)
- wealthy / widowed / no children
- In the summer of 1810, she takes Mary (17) and Kitty (16) with her on a year-long trip to Italy, Greece, and the surrounding countries in the Mediterranean. Including travel time, they will all be gone from England for nearly 1.5 years, returning around Christmas of 1811, enjoying the company of the Gardiners when all of them are at Longbourn
- Aunt Sarah takes them because she has noticed they are the most ignored sisters of the family
- Mary is very touched by the beauty and history of the early church - she abandons Fordyce with abandon. Kitty's artistic soul is discovered and is allowed to learn with a few master painters while in... let's say, Florence. Maybe Venice.
- Aunt Sarah has always told her brother that she is dowrying his daughters with two thousand pounds each, but has never mentioned her estate. Jane is the logical choice as heir, as she is the eldest. Thoughts?
How does this affect those who remain behind?
- Because of the disparity in ages between Lydia and Jane (7 years), and Elizabeth (5 years), Mr. Bennet decides she will not come out at 15. With more funds available because 1: he is spending less on women's dresses and fripperies, and 2: food costs are down, he uses the extra funds to hire a governess for Lydia.
HUGE CHANGE!
I see a new path forged when the Netherfield party descends upon Meryton. How will that play out with our intrepid heroine and the dour gentleman from Derbyshire? What about Jane? Aunt Sarah returns AFTER Mr. Bingley has abandoned her (Mrs. Bennet cannot help herself; she remains crude and vulgar), so there is not even a hint of her future felicity as an estate owner. Any die-hard fans out there who MUST see her and Bingley joined forever? And, finally, what effect will Wickham have? None, or significant, as he has a nose for heiresses, and might have sniffed out a future one? The dastard!
I cannot wait to hear your ideas and comments!
Bragging Rights
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| This gorgeous couple has absolutely NOTHING to do with the post He's just too handsome to ignore |
Well... my shoulders are squared and I stand a little taller these days. A friend joined me at a Jane Austen Tea and Trivia event at Fanshawe Pioneer Village near London, Ontario. After enjoying cucumber sandwiches, many delightful sweets, and tea, the competition began.
At first, I worried I would be embarrassed at how little I knew of Miss Austen's novels, most specifically Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey, and a significant portion of Persuasion. However, to my delight, my friend and I garnered second place. Three measly correct answers separated us from the champions, but I was quite satisfied with holding our own. While no prizes were awarded, other than bragging rights, which I have fully employed, I plan on brushing up on my trivia knowledge for next year.
Thank you, Paula, for indulging me in my JAFF obsession. I had fun.
New Plot Bunny
First - I AM working on A Rose By Any Other Name, but as most of you know, I absolutely must - MUST - have more than one oar in the water... *sigh* It's how my brain works. Anyhoo, I had a delicious plot bunny hop into my brain the other day, and before I knew it, almost three chapters sprang to life. To give you a taste, I'm sharing the scene that prompted Thumper to invade my brain. This work is currently untitled.
“Come, Darcy, I must have you dance.”
“You must?”
“Absolutely. I cannot be the only gentleman from our party who escorts these ladies around the room in time to music.”
“You are dancing with the only handsome woman in the room.”
“Yes, she is a tasty bit of muslin.”
“Do not.”
“Do not, what?”
“Do not dally with these ladies. This is a small, backwater town, not the ballrooms of London.”
“I will be careful. I have no intention of getting caught in the parson’s trap. I mean to learn the business of estate management, find a good estate to purchase, and maybe also find an acceptable wife.”
“Netherfield is a good enough estate to learn the basics, but I caution you about your other two points. It is easy to get caught up in the allure of a beautiful woman, and your sister expects you to marry well. Her future is tied to your success.”
“My sister wishes for her future to be tied to you.”
“That will never happen. If you do not make it clear to her, I shall.”
“I will speak to her – again. Now, about dancing. I still insist you must dance.” Mr. Bingley gave a hasty glance at who was situated near them. “I say, there is a pleasant enough looking young lady sitting behind us. Shall I ask my partner to make our introductions?”
Mr. Darcy glanced over his shoulder, then faced forward again.
“Her? Your sense of humour is in fine form tonight, Bingley. She is barely tolerable for someone of my consequence and lineage. It would be a punishment to stand up with her – Ow!”
***
Elizabeth Bennet did not know who she was more disgusted by. Mr. Bingley, or Mr. Darcy. Finally, she had had enough. She stood and stalked toward the two men. As she passed by, she pretended to stumble and, grateful for the little wooden heel affixed to her slipper, stomped hard on Mr. Darcy’s dancing slipper.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. How clumsy of me,” she exclaimed, straightening her posture. “May I get you some ice for your foot?”
“No, thank you, Madam. I require nothing from you.”
“Then, I shall bid you and your friend a good evening.”
With that, Elizabeth crossed to the middle of the dance floor where her eldest sister still awaited her absent dance partner, Mr. Bingley. Snagging Jane’s hand in hers, she dragged her off the floor toward the lady’s retiring room, an upset Mrs. Bennet not too far behind.
“Elizabeth, why did you force your sister to abandon Mr. Bingley? He is not only handsome, but has an income of five thousand a year!”
“He may have five thousand pounds a year, but in value as a gentleman, his worth is not even two pence.”
“What are you talking about? Everyone says he is the most amiable man.”
“Do you recall Mr. Nolan’s message last Sunday about wolves in sheep’s clothing? His message may have been planned for parents of young ladies regarding the upcoming militia encampment this winter, but after listening to the conversation between the amiable Mr. Bingley and the dour Mr. Darcy, I believe our Lord intended us to hear this message about those who now reside at Netherfield Park.”
“What did you hear?” Jane asked.
“I do not wish to hurt you, but it is better you know the truth.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Mr. Bingley said you were a tasty bit of muslin; however, he has no intention of getting caught in the parson’s trap, because he needs to find an appropriate wife who will not only raise his status but also aid his sister in finding a suitable husband.”
Jane’s face paled as Mrs. Bennet’s colour rose.
“You are, at the very least, a gentleman’s daughter!” Mrs. Bennet huffed out. “I am of a mind to write your mother’s sister, and inform her how her tenants are behaving.”
“Mamma, we all agreed to keep our relations secret. Jane and I enjoy the anonymity that Meryton provides. Besides, once I reach my majority, the truth shall come out.”
“I still think I should write your aunt. As the Queen’s first lady-in-waiting, she could put a little outside pressure on these gentlemen to behave.”
“Aunt Florence has more important things on her calendar. She does not need to add, rescue my only nieces from a pair of scoundrels.”
Mamma laughed, just as Elizabeth had hoped.
“Elizabeth Marie Rose Bennet, there are times you sound so much like your own mother, it makes me realize that even after eighteen years, I miss her.”
“From what you and Papa have said, she was a good friend.”
“That she was, and she never turned her nose up at me for being a solicitor’s daughter.” Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips. “I still think something should be done. You and Jane are distant cousins of the Queen. If Her Majesty knew—”
“No, Mamma. I do not want our prestigious cousin informed. She has so much drama in her life, what with her husband’s ill health and her son’s questionable behaviour. We shall leave her alone and come Christmas, enjoy a pleasant tea with her and Aunt Florence.”
“You are too good, Lizzy.”
“I am not. I am a woman who wants to be loved for myself, as does Jane.”
“That is true,” Jane finally added to the conversation. “I will admit, I thought Mr. Bingley was an amiable gentleman, but now that I know the truth of it, I shall treat him as an indifferent acquaintance.”
Just then, Elizabeth grinned.
“What? Why do you smile so widely?” Jane asked.
“I was imagining what Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will do when, or if, they ever learn of our antecedents.”
“Do you think they will be upset that they had not courted the favour of some bona-fide royals in their midst?”
“I do, even if our maternal grandfather is monarch of a miniscule country.”
“I remember the first time your mother told me of her family. I was so scared; I physically shook in her presence. Your mother – God rest her soul – took my hand and squeezed, saying, Fanny, I put my stockings on one leg at a time. I have days when my hair is unmanageable and nothing goes my way. I am simply a woman who married for love.”
“I have no memories of her,” Elizabeth mused out loud.
“I have some, but they are vague and blurred by time,” Jane said quietly.
“That is why I speak openly of her,” Mamma soothed. “She was my friend, and when she knew she had so little time left before she passed, she encouraged your Papa and me to carefully consider marriage. Mainly because the two of you were so very young, and she knew I had great respect for your father. She was not wrong. Your dear mother was very wise.”
Life Update
This past April (2025) I became quite ill, not knowing why or how to deal with this great unknown. May 10th saw me admitted to the emergency ward before being whisked to the eighth-floor surgical ward. After seventeen days in the hospital, I returned home with the diagnosis of Diverticulitis and eight inches of my large intestine removed along with the 'stricture' my body had built, creating a full blockage of my colon. We now know the blockage was 'completed' back on April 8th, so for a full month no nutrients were absorbed by my body and no waste was being emptied. I was malnourished and full of stuff no one wants to be full of.
The good news is that as of this date, June 13, 2025, I am on the road to recovery. I will have to watch my diet in order not to inflame my upper and lower intestinal tract, but I think that's a good thing. We all should eat more healthily - yes?
Now, onto my writing.
When I fell ill, I was working on 'A Rose by Any Other Name'. Sadly, my writing had fallen by the wayside. I'd felt too ill to work on anything, and my self-appointed release date of May 19th came and went with me in the hospital. This past week saw me going over what is already written, smoothing out some of the timeline issues, and making bullet point notes on future scenes. This book will not be set for publication any time soon, but I would like to have it ready before Christmas. Cross your fingers with me that this happens.
In other news, I have contracted voice actor Harry Frost to read 'An Unwitting Compromise'. He is slated to begin recording in October, so... I might have a new audiobook releasing at the same time as 'Rose'. Wouldn't that be fun?
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:
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:
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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
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
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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:
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
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
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