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

 

Where to start?

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?

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

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIORS #89

Hello friends, I am starting a new story and I am thrilled you are here for the first of many snippets prior to publication, which I hope will be sometime this Autumn. Without further ado, here is the opening of A Rose by Any Other Name.

Excerpt:

The first memory of my re-birth was of mind-numbing cold. It settled into my bones. Into my very soul, and I could not stop shaking. The second memory was the voice of Father, calling for someone to help him pull me from the water. How I got into the river is still a mystery, as is my name and where I am from.

Let me start from the beginning as I know it.

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.

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

Tidbit Tuesday

Spring has sprung, the grass is riz... I wonder where my writing is?

For those of you patiently waiting, I am writing again! Winters are very hard on me. I have a skin condition (dishydrotic eczema) that precludes me from writing as I wear moisture gloves nearly 24/7. However, I began taking hyaluronic acid a month ago, which maintains and helps keep moisture in the skin, and the gloves are off - as are the moisture socks I've worn for over twelve years. Hallelujah!

Also, our granddaughter is thriving after her major surgery, so another load off my heart and shoulders. I am so thankful. Now I just have to get my brain back into writing mode and finish The Wager (which is nearly complete, only a few more chapters to go) and then I shall work further on the little piece of fluff I began on a lark - A Rose by Any Other Name.

Today I am sharing from Chapter Four of my Rose story and I hope you like my heroine's sense of humor. She's a tad snarky and a tad opinionated. We know her as Miss Grantley but can you guess her true identity? Let me know in the comments.

1811 London

There are times when I am dressing, or walking by a pier glass, that I sometimes startle at the person I see reflected. Do not think me mad. I know it is me, but I still do not recognize the lady who stares back, if that makes any sense.

I stand at five feet four inches, which is about two inches shorter than Mother. In my previous life, that is what I call my time before Father found me, I wonder if I have siblings and where I fit in the midst of them. I am not beautiful in the classical sense, but flatter myself that I am quite pretty and Mother says I have a lively playful disposition. Father calls me his ‘impertinent Miss’, but always with a gentle smile so I know he does not mean it in a spiteful way.

My figure is light and pleasing, which makes the modiste extremely happy. That, and the bonus Father pays her to finish my order promptly. I have dark blue eyes, giving a hint of a Nordic ancestor, framed by ridiculously long lashes. Mother has never seen the likes. My eyebrows frame my eyes satisfactorily, thank goodness. Penelope Hardcastle has her maid pluck unwanted hairs from between her brows and also to thin them. Danvers once plucked an errant strand and it was unexpectedly painful. I would not wish to have to do that regularly.

My nose is not too large and my mouth… well, other than my hair which is a luxurious mahogany, it is my favorite thing. Lusciously plump is what Wickham whispered in my ear at Lady Creighton’s ball before I tamped my heel down hard on his toes. I believe that is the only time I left a dance partner standing, or limping alone on the ballroom floor. For some unknown reason, that trumped-up son of a steward believes he has carte blanche when it comes to society functions. I am still angry at him. The way he leaned over and whispered in my ear in front of society’s prolific chin-waggers could have led to a disastrous compromise, and I have no intention of having my choice of husband taken from me. I have lost too much already in my life.

My internal musings were cut short by our butler informing me that Mrs. Louisa Hurst and her sister, Miss Bingley have presented their cards and wish to know if I am home to visitors. I hesitated briefly. I met them six months prior at a tea held by Mrs. Carmichael, a close acquaintance of Aunt Lucinda and now the sisters dogged my steps at every function we happen to attend at the same time. Lately, they have upped their pursuit and make a point of attending our townhouse weekly for tea.

Mrs. Hurst is a compliant lady. She does not say much and when she does, it is usually to agree with whatever her younger sister blathers on about. Miss Bingley is an avid social climber and at this moment in time, she believes my marriage portion along with my family name, is a rung in her ladder and she hopes to increase our connection by me falling in love with her brother, Mr. Charles Bingley.

That will not happen. We are a mismatched pair.

Please do not misunderstand me. I am not a society maven. For all I know I might very well be the daughter of a wealthy tradesman as easily as the daughter of a gentleman. My clothing from my previous life, which Mother preserved very carefully, indicates a gentle upbringing. So, it is not like I am thumbing my nose at Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst because I believe I am better than them, it is just that their brother… he is… I sighed. He is an adorable puppy. Amiable, fun-loving, wanting everyone to get along. He is a wonderful dance partner and when I am seated next to him at a ball or dinner party, I am tempted to pat him on the hand and praise him for being a good boy. When I meet the man I wish to marry, I definitely do not want to give him a lolly and tell him to go play with his toys in the next room.

At times, I do not believe he wishes to become leg-shackled to me either. For one, he has not once called me an ‘angel’. It is his favorite attribute to any lady he fancies himself in love with. Clarissa Hornblower comes to mind. I truly hope she marries soon and retires that name to her marriage lines and the family Bible, poor girl. Mr. Bingley was mad about her for at least three weeks before he discovered another golden-tressed angel, Tiffany, or was it, Theodora? They have all blended into a mish-mash of fair beauties over the few months in which I have made the acquaintance of Miss Bingley. Regardless, I welcome his friendship as it is unassuming and I know my honor is never in jeopardy with him. I think he would rather swallow his tongue than compromise a young lady. Unlike that toad, Wickham.

Goodness, I truly am angry with that… that man. I refuse to call him a gentleman. Firstly, he does not behave as one and secondly, he was not born into the station nor has he the funds to purchase an estate. I believe he thought my marriage portion of thirty thousand pounds, along with being the sole heir of Father’s estate and holdings, would pave his way into the card rooms of Boodles or Whites. The only place I see him residing, given his penchant for gambling and carousing, is debtor’s prison. I have no idea where he has gotten the funds to wine and dine society’s elite, but however much he had in his pocket at the beginning of the year, it has been lightened quite substantially. I overheard some gentlemen talking about the high-stakes card game he lost back in March and still shake my head at the thought of a thousand pounds flowing through his fingers over the course of a few hours. This would explain his unwelcome attempt to woo me on the dance floor. I shudder to think what would have happened if he had stumbled across me in an alcove, or when I stepped outside to cool my cheeks on the terrace.

Mother is correct. I must be aware of my surroundings at all times, much like now. Our butler awaits me patiently as I hesitate over whether I am home or not to the Bingley sisters. As it is threatening to rain, curtailing my walk through Hyde Park, I tell Pritchard I am home to the ladies and ring for tea.

Tidbit Tuesday ~ Did we just hear Wickham choke?

Today's excerpt is from my Work In Progress - The Wager.

~~~ooo0ooo~~~

The officers of the ___shire Militia, also in attendance, presented themselves in a favorable light with polite manners and gentlemanlike behavior. Not much time had passed before Mr. Wickham, a handsome, congenial man to whom almost every female eye was turned, asked for introductions to the ladies of Longbourn and immediately fell into an agreeable conversation with them. Elizabeth was not surprised by this request, nor when the gentleman’s attention became more focused on her eldest sister. Jane’s beauty was a beacon of light that called many to make her acquaintance, but few withstood the pointed questions the sisters had learned to ask in order to determine if a gentleman was worth their attention.

The first thing Elizabeth determined was that flattery, coupled with a winsome smile, was Mr. Wickham’s secret weapon. She surmised even the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the speaker's skill.

How many young girls have fallen for your charm? she wondered. An elevated brow directed toward her eldest sister, who returned her silent query with a slight, elegant shrug of her shoulder, told Elizabeth that Jane was also leery of the officer.

Barely any time had passed before Elizabeth tired of his prattle and decided to begin what she and Jane jokingly called The Inquisition. Over the next quarter hour, they discovered his father had been a steward of a vast estate in Derbyshire, and the master of that same estate was also his godfather. What surprised them most was learning Mr. Wickham’s godfather had ensured his godson received a gentleman’s education, sending him to the best private schools, including Cambridge alongside his own son. More questioning revealed the dapper officer had, for a brief time, entertained the thought of being a barrister.

“I found the law was not to my liking,” Wickham said in a firm voice. “I am an active person and could not bear the thought of being tied to a desk for all hours of the day.”

“Forgive me for being indelicate, but given the great education you received, what enticed you to join the militia at this stage of your life?” Elizabeth asked when he paused for breath.

“It was the prospect of constant and good society which was my chief inducement,’’ he began. “I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jane said in her calm, serene manner. “On behalf of the citizens of Meryton, we hope you will enjoy our society, small and unvaried as it may seem.”

Elizabeth inherently knew her sister referred to Mr. Bingley’s sister’s lamentations of lack of good company in Hertfordshire. 

“Society, I own, is necessary to me. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church, and should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the son of my deceased godfather.’’

“Indeed!’’

“Yes, the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”

Both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s eyes widened at his mentioning the name of Darcy, but Mr. Wickham did not notice as his attention became riveted on some guests who entered the room. His face paled and Elizabeth turned to see who had generated such a response to find herself looking directly at Mr. Darcy, whose own face was flushed an angry red.

Wickham turned to face the sisters. His eyes flicked every which way, as though looking for an escape, his upper lip dotted with a thin sheen of perspiration.

“Pray, excuse me. I must find my friend Denny and make plans for tomorrow’s drill exercise.”

Elizabeth shot out her hand and latched onto Mr. Wickham’s left arm, forestalling his exit.

“May I assume your godfather’s son is none other than Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

“Yes.”

Wickham attempted to slither from her grip but she held firm.

“Well then, how fortuitous that we are here with you now, in front of all these guests.”

“How so?” Wickham asked, shuffling as though to hide behind her because Darcy was bearing down on them with the speed of a violent summer storm.

“We must decry your terrible treatment and have Mr. Darcy fulfill his father’s dearest wish.” Elizabeth tightened her hold. “If nothing else, he must give you the pecuniary value of the living. It is only right and just.”

“That is not necessary, Miss Elizabeth. I have learned to forgive and forget.”

By this time, Darcy had reached them. He towered over Wickham, his fists clenching and unclenching. He was – Elizabeth thought with a small frisson of awareness – quite magnificent.

“I invite you to join me outside, Wickham.”

“I am here with my compatriots, Darcy. I have no need to leave the party at this juncture.”

Elizabeth dared to engage the glowering bear.

“We are so glad you arrived when you did, Mr. Darcy,” she began.

“You are?” he asked without once removing his gaze from Wickham.

“Most assuredly, for Mr. Wickham shared with us how he was unjustly kept from receiving a living your father, his godfather, had promised to him.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He was very clear in most details when telling us his version of events.”

Upon hearing the inflections in Elizabeth’s voice, Darcy cut her a quick glance. She was able to wink with either eye and as one side of her face was concealed from Mr. Wickham, she used the left eye to do that very service. Mayhap it was her imagination, but she thought Mr. Darcy’s shoulders physically relaxed. By this time, the viscount and Bingley had joined them.

“Did you inform these fine ladies that in lieu of the living, you asked for and received three thousand pounds, on top of the one thousand pounds settled on you by my father at the time of his death?” Darcy asked, his voice as hard as peaks of Derbyshire.

“You arrived before I had a chance to share that part of history.”

“To be fair,” Elizabeth interjected, the imp of mischief settled firmly on her shoulders. “Mr. Wickham did inform us he had been brought up for the church and having received a Cambridge education I am certain he must have used those funds toward receiving holy orders.”

“I truly must leave. I see my fellow officers waving me over.”

Elizabeth released her hold and Wickham tugged down his new red tunic before giving all of them a polite half-bow. He turned to leave but halted midstride when Mr. Darcy spoke again.

“I shall give your regards to my cousin when I write him tonight,” Darcy said, his tone almost conversational. “Richard is most anxious to make your reacquaintance. You should know he was exceedingly upset that we had just missed you by a few days this past summer.”

Elizabeth thought Mr. Wickham was about to faint, and found it very interesting that the gentleman bypassed all his fellow officers and fled the house completely without saying farewell to anyone.

~~~ooo0ooo~~~

Snippet Sunday ~ Twin Tentacles of Doom

 

Sometimes when writing, I surprise myself. In writing this next scene, little did I know I was about to gift the Bingley sisters with a new moniker to proclaim as their own. This snippet is from my Work In Progress, The Wager.

EXCERPT

“I understand you have family here in Meryton, Miss Hamilton.”

“I do,” Jane replied. “My mother’s sister is married to Mr. Phillips.”

“How lovely, and is Mr. Phillips busy with his little shop?” Miss Bingley asked before raising her fingers to hide a smile.

“My uncle is an attorney. He is the one who negotiated the lease your brother signed to rent Netherfield Park.”

Miss Bingley pursed her lips at being reminded they did not own the estate where she rested her head at night but rented it from another. Regardless of this annoyance, she continued with her line of questioning, solidifying Elizabeth’s belief she had a nefarious purpose for the unexpected invitation to tea.

“Does this same uncle have his own estate?”

“His eldest brother inherited the family estate in Surrey.”

“Our dear Uncle Phillips is a second son,” Elizabeth interjected, not wanting Jane to reveal their beloved uncle’s father was a baron. “He chose to follow the law instead of taking orders, which brought him to our corner of Hertfordshire.”

“A choice Aunt Martha is very glad of,” Mary added before she took a small bite of her cake.

“Your other uncle,” Caroline continued as though neither Elizabeth nor Mary had spoken. “He is in trade, yes?”

Jane nodded in the affirmative.

“Our uncle is very successful. He and his wife live in London.”

“In Cheapside, I heard.”

“Near Cheapside, on Gracechurch Street.”

“I imagine he lives there in order to keep a watchful eye on his property,” Miss Bingley tittered and slid a sly glance toward Mrs. Hurst.

Elizabeth’s anger began to simmer. What was supposed to be a pleasant tea had turned into an inquisition where the perpetrator believed she had all the answers and only wished to humiliate her guests.

“Speaking of property, remind me again Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth began with false sweetness. “In which county we can find your father’s estate?”

She would have gone further, but Jane laid a warning hand on her forearm.

“Enough, Lizzy,” she said in a soft undertone.

An odd sound came from Mary and both turned their attention toward her.

“Jane,” she said in a small voice. “I do not feel well.”

Mary then doubled over and struck her head hard enough on the floor to render her unconscious. Both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst emitted tiny screams.

“Miss Bingley, is there any fish in these cakes?” Jane demanded as she hurried to Mary’s side, gently lifting her sister’s head to rest on her lap.

“How would I know?”

“Please find out if there was.”

Miss Bingley continued to gape and cast panicked glances toward her eldest sister. Mrs. Hurst seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and hurried to the bell pull. Only when a footman stepped into the room did Miss Bingley snap out of her stupor.

“You there,” she demanded and pointed at the footmen. “Have Mrs. Nickers attend us and send a maid to ask the cook what was in the cakes she sent up for our tea.”

The footman cast a quick glance at Mary lying on Jane's lap before hurrying from the room. Elizabeth heard Mrs. Hurst murmur to her sister, “Her name is Mrs. Nicholls.”

“Oh, who cares. She is just a housekeeper.”

At that moment, the butler entered the room. Most likely to investigate why some of the ladies had screamed.

“What may I do to help, Ma’am,” he queried, addressing Jane, not Miss Bingley.

“Send Jeremy for Mr. Jones, he is the fastest rider of all the footmen. Tell him Miss Bennet is having one of her reactions and we need him post haste.” The butler turned to do her bidding, stopping when Jane called out again. “Cardston, after that, please find Mrs. Nicholls and tell her I need water for drinking as well as to wipe Mary’s face, it will help cool and relax her.”

Cardston withdrew to do her bidding, completely ignoring the gaping mouth of his temporary mistress.

“Who do you think you are, to order about our servants as if they are your own?” Miss Bingley demanded. “It is not as though your sister is dying.”

Jane’s eyes flashed with anger upon hearing such a callous comment. Elizabeth was not at all surprised by her sister’s reaction. She and Jane could and did withstand the barbs and insults of ignorant people, but woe betide the person who attacked her family. Fortunately, for Miss Bingley, Mary stirred and her eyes fluttered.

“Relax, dearest,” Jane soothed as she gently stroked her sister’s cheek. “You hit your head on the floor and were rendered unconscious.”

“Jane…” Whatever it was that Mary wished to say would never be known because she promptly rolled to her side and vomited onto the carpet.

The outraged gasps of Miss Bingley would sustain Elizabeth for days, but only after her sister recovered. Any further outbursts were stymied by the arrival of Mrs. Nicholls, who bustled into the room with a couple of maids, bringing water and clean rags.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nicholls,” Jane said, overriding any comment Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst may have made. “Prepare the green guest room for Mary and have Cardston direct Mr. Jones there when he arrives.”

“Right away, La−, Miss Hamilton.”

“Who are you to give orders to my servants?”

“I have neither the time nor the inclination to answer your questions, Miss Bingley.” Jane caressed Mary’s brow with tender affection. “My sister’s recovery is my only priority.”

Although she wished to lend comment, Elizabeth stayed quiet. This was Jane’s fight, not hers. Two hours later, an exhausted Mary lay sleeping in one of the guest rooms after a thorough examination by Mr. Jones. Fortunately, she had only taken a bite of one small cake.

“Will she be able to come home tomorrow, Mr. Jones?” Jane asked, her attention riveted to the still form of her sister lying in the bed. Elizabeth sat by the side of the bed, holding Mary’s hand in hers.

“Miss Hamilton, your sister has suffered one of her Idiosyncrasy’s. It is as I told you when she had her last spasmodic symptom, her body reacts in a different manner to some foods. The last time it was lobster. Do we know what she ingested today?”

“Miss Bingley learned some of the cakes had crab in them,” Elizabeth offered in reply.

“Ahh…this is good to know. It seems Miss Bennet must avoid ingesting any type of fish.” Mr. Jones paused, as if in deep thought. “Has she ever reacted to lake trout?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Jane said. “We have trout regularly during the summer months. My Uncle Gardiner is an avid angler and loves to fish our stream, allowing us to enjoy the spoils of his labor.”

“Fascinating. It seems Miss Bennet only reacts to oceanic species of shellfish,” Mr. Jones murmured. “I will write one of my friends in Town and see if he has any further insight into these types of maladies.”

“So, Mary can come home tomorrow?” Jane asked.

“As far as her reaction to food, she is fine. However, she struck her head quite hard, which is the reason she became violently ill. She must rest quietly, and it is imperative she is awakened every four hours.”

“I shall stay with her, Jane,” Elizabeth offered.

“Are you certain?”

“After your little dust-up with Miss Bingley, I believe a strategic retreat is called for you to regroup your serenity.”

Once Mary rested quietly, the remaining sisters returned to the drawing room. Jane to say her goodbyes to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and Elizabeth to see her safely off and confer with their hostess about what Mr. Jones had requested regarding food and drink for Mary. The doors to the drawing room remained partially open and the strident tones of Miss Bingley clearly carried into the hall.

“What did Miss Hamilton mean? Ordering our servants around like this was her own home. I declare those Bennet sisters are the main reason I wish to quit this horrible place.”

Quick footsteps could be heard and a low murmur from Mrs. Hurst.

“I do not care, Louisa. They are below us, practically dirt farmers with two impoverished step-daughters and their estate entailed away. We must get Charles away from Miss Hamilton. She will drag him down into the mud with her and ruin my chances of making a successful marriage.”

Elizabeth not only felt Jane stiffen but saw her draw back her shoulders.

“Do nothing you will regret later, Jane,” she cautioned. “Words may pierce our pride and sting our memories but they cannot change who we are and the life we will lead once Trenton comes home.”

“While our lives will alter when our brother returns in a few short weeks, I am tired of the snide remarks and underhanded comments that perpetually spring forth from Mr. Bingley’s sisters.” Jane turned cerulean blue eyes toward her sister and smiled wide enough to crinkle their corners. “I believe it is time for those two ladies to be schooled in proper etiquette.”

“As you know, there is no love lost between Miss Bingley and me, and in most circumstances, I would wholeheartedly agree, but – think on this – if you reveal our rank, are you prepared for that woman and her sister to grovel and toady for your attention.”

“Now that I am aware of their true sentiments, I have no desire to acknowledge them in any form.” She paused and her expression turned thoughtful. “Unless I continue to accept Mr. Bingley’s attentions.”

“Is his affection worth the twin tentacles of doom waiting for us in the next room?”

“I confess I am uncertain.” Jane took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I suppose we shall find out over the next few weeks.”

Snippet Sunday ~ I hope you choose the liquid punch

During this banter, Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary continued to the main drawingroom, quickly finding Charlotte, and joining her to catch up on all the latest news from Meryton. They had barely taken their seats when Mr. Bingley and Viscount Ashton joined them.

Jane had been uniformly silent about her two beaux. The viscount usually made an appearance at Longbourn in the morning, often joining them for breakfast. Mr. Bingley attended whenever anyone from Netherfield came for tea. It was during these visits Mr. Darcy also came tither and politely sat with Elizabeth, much to Miss Bingley’s chagrin.

Her musings were interrupted by a gasp from Jane, who laughed softly and tapped the viscount sharply on his forearm with her fan. The embers of Elizabeth’s sense of humor were stoked as she watched Mr. Bingley come to a slow realization his hunting field hosted another predator. Mr. Darcy showed no reaction, solidifying Elizabeth’s belief he was fully aware his cousin had been beating a path to Longbourn’s door.

She wondered why he did not join the viscount. Surely, if Viscount Ashton could lay claim to a familial connection – the reason he gave for his first surprising arrival just as they sat down to breakfast – then so could Mr. Darcy. He was as much a part of her father’s family as the viscount. His great-aunt, Lady Minerva Fitzwilliam-Hamilton, was her and Jane’s grandmother.

Awareness shivered across the back of her neck and she slowly turned to find the gaze of Mr. Darcy resting on their group. It would be foolhardy to imagine his attention was focused solely on her, even though he intimated as much at the assembly. Perhaps he was bored and she and Jane, along with the viscount, were the only people of rank he felt he could associate with.

Her brow furrowed.

That line of reasoning did not hold water as the taciturn gentleman was a good friend to Mr. Bingley. Granted, Mr. Bingley was very wealthy, but still… his roots were deep in trade. Her inner conflict was put into abeyance when Mr. Darcy joined them.

“Good evening, Miss Hamilton, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she and Jane said in perfect unison.

Mr. Darcy turned to Mary.

“Pardon me, Miss Bennet. I did not see you. My cousin blocked you from my view.” He gave her a polite half-bow. “Good evening to you, Miss Bennet.”

Mary smiled in her own shy way and returned the greeting before saying, “I am going to ask Charlotte if she minds me playing some music in the background before we dine.”

“That would be lovely,” Elizabeth enthused. “I do hope you play the piece you have been working on this week.”

Mary ducked her head at her sister’s praise.

“I am not prepared to play that piece in public. Mayhap on our next gathering.”

“You enjoy playing the pianoforte, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“I do.”

“My sister, Georgiana, also loves to play that instrument. Have you had any instruction from one of the masters?”

“Papa invited Senor Giovanni to Longbourn last Autumn. He came for a few weeks to assess my ability and then I stayed with our aunt and uncle in town to further my instruction from him.”

Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows rose upon hearing the name of Mary’s music master.

“Senor Giovanni? My sister has longed to be tutored by him. You must have a rare talent, Miss Bennet. He is very particular in his choice of students.”

“I am aware and very humbled. He inspires me to work hard.”

“And, her diligence has benefited us,” Elizabeth added. “Our family is treated to a concerto nearly every day.”

“I must make an effort to attend one of these impromptu musicales,” Mr. Darcy teased, never removing his gaze from Elizabeth.

She blinked and lowered her eyes to study the pattern of Lady Lucas’s rug. Confused by his sometimes cold then sometimes warm manners, she decided to take each day as it presented itself and look no further. Today saw a congenial Darcy at her side. Tomorrow he may revert to the gentleman who had no time, nor patience for the citizens of Meryton.

It was exasperating, these attempts to discern his moods. She was beginning to believe it easier when she thoroughly disliked him. Black and white. No gray areas to blur the lines, especially when he smiled, as he was at this very moment.

Vexing man!

Then…, with the smallest of touches, his hand brushed hers. Her startled gaze flew to his face, surprised to notice his full attention seemed to be focused completely on Jane and Mr. Bingley. Had she imagined the feather-like graze of his fingers? She, too, turned her attention to their small group when the back of her hand was brushed again. Immediately, she looked down and caught him ‘red-handed,’ so to speak.

With a subtle flick of her wrist, she took her fan and tapped him smartly on the fingers, while clearing her throat at the same time so no one would hear the soft ‘whack’ of her fan.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, not missing a beat. “Would you care for a glass of punch?”

She leveled a stern look, reminiscent of her first governess in his direction. He had the grace to gift her a small smile, confirming he was very aware of his flirtatious behavior.

“A glass of punch would be welcome. Thank you.”

“Allow me to escort you to the refreshment table. Then you may choose which punch you prefer.” As they walked away, her hand lightly resting on his forearm, he said in a low voice only she could hear. “I hope you choose the liquid punch and not a solid left hook to my jaw.”

She could not help herself; she laughed out loud. What was she to do with this most frustrating man?

 

Tidbit Tuesday - You require watching

 From my current Work in Progress ~ The Wager

Lydia leaped to her feet, grabbed Maria Lucas by the hand and tugged her out of the room, followed by a giggling Kitty.

“Your Lydia is so full of energy, Mrs. Bennet.”

“She is. Mr. Bennet and I have found a good school for her and Kitty. There just isn’t enough here to keep her occupied and we all know the wicked one will find work for idle hands.”

“Your Lydia would not do anything bad.”

“Not intentionally,” Mamma said before taking a sip of her tea. “But, with the expectation of the ____shire militia quartering here in Meryton, I am not willing to place her in the way of temptation. She is at that age where she will see romance in everything, even if a gentleman sneezes, she will think it is because he is trying to gain her attention.”

“I think we all were silly when we were younger,” Lady Lucas said then smiled wide. “Do you remember when Mr. Goodman’s nephew came to visit when we were about five and ten?”

“I do. I very nearly died when he smiled at me at church.”

Elizabeth and Jane looked at one another with wide eyes. They had never heard Mamma reminisce about anything before she had wed their father. At times, they forgot their mother had been a young girl whose heart fluttered upon seeing a handsome man, or boy.

“But no one was more handsome than Colonel… oh dear, what was his name?” Lady Lucas asked her longtime friend. “He rode in front of his men when the militia came to town the following year.”

“Colonel Miller.”

“Yes, Colonel Miller.” Lady Lucas closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “He sat his horse very well. Very well, indeed.”

She cracked open her eye and looked at Mamma, who blushed slightly before they both laughed heartily.

“Martha Whitby Lucas, you are a naughty woman.” Mamma cut a quick glance toward her three daughters who watched, their mouths slightly agape. “We were young girls who thought all officers were handsome and charming and Colonel Miller was everything a gentleman and an officer ought to be.”

“Sadly,” Lady Lucas brought pulled out a handkerchief, and pretended to wipe away a tear, “He was happily married and broke our tender hearts.”

“My heart was not too broken, as Mr. Hamilton had just arrived at Longbourn and soon, all I saw was him.”

“That is true. He was a lovely man and now you are blessed with another wonderful man. Mr. Bennet still thinks the sun and moon revolve around your whims and fancies.”

‘He is a good man, and I love him dearly.”

“I am glad to hear that, my dear,” Papa said upon entering the room, the Netherfield party following behind. “I am too old to find this Colonel Miller and challenge him to a duel.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mamma said with a gasp. “You will make our guests think you are a terrible rogue with talk like that.”

“No, they will think I am a man who still finds his wife pretty enough to protect from other rakes and scoundrels.” Papa kissed her on the cheek and then turned to look at the male guests from Netherfield. “You have been warned, gentlemen. Mrs. Bennet is my lady fair.”

To Elizabeth’s surprise, it was Mr. Darcy who responded.

“I concede the field to you, sir.”

“You require watching, I think,” Papa mused out loud. “Do you play chess, Mr. Darcy?”

“I do.”

“Come tomorrow and we shall enjoy a game of strategy.”

“Shall we also play chess?”

Papa laughed outright.

“Oh yes, you definitely require watching.” Papa turned to Mary. “Will you ask Hill to bring in some more tea? I am certain Mr. Bingley and his guests would enjoy that new blend your uncle from town sent us last week.”

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIORS #88

I'm baaaack! One of the rabbit holes I disappeared into these past few weeks was Discord, more specifically, MidJourney - an Artificial Intelligence (AI) program. I wanted to create my own characters for Longbourn's Angels that I could use for marketing and teasers. Below is my 'cast' for my WIP (work in progress), Longbourn's Angels. Crossing fingers, toes and eyes it will be ready for release early 2023.

Elizabeth & Darcy --- Jane & Henry & Bingley

I also created some fun graphics and the one I am using today pairs nicely with the snippet I wish to share.

But First (to quote Julie Chen) - My 10 lines:

If there had not been a ball to prepare for and talk of, Mrs. Bennet would have been in a pitiable state. Ever since the invitation to the ball had been extended, the skies had opened and a deluge of rain fell for five straight days. As such, she was prevented from taking the carriage to Meryton to obtain whatever she deemed necessary for Jane’s dress. She also fretted over Lydia’s gown, as this would be her first official ball, having been granted permission to attend and dance with family members only. Papa would return Lydia back to Longbourn after the supper hour.

Mrs. Bennet’s frustration was felt in equal parts by all the Mister Bennets, who would rather have been anywhere but inside the house. In order to escape animated conversations about ribbons, lace, length of sleeves, and lack of shoe roses, they took refuge in their father’s well-stocked library to read or play chess, with Elizabeth frequently joining them in a bid to escape their persistent cousin.

It was there he finally tracked her down.

“Cousin Elizabeth, I have found you.”

Elizabeth paused, her white bishop in hand, poised over the chessboard.

Now, for the rest:

“I did not realize I was lost, Mr. Collins.”

“You are uniformly delightful.”

“What did you need to see Lizzy about, Mr. Collins?” Papa queried from his comfortable chair by the fireplace. He knew of her frustration, and had found it amusing – for the first few days – but now, even the edges of his temper were beginning to fray.

“I sought out my cousin’s company in order to request her company for the first two sets at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”

Elizabeth flashed a look of panic toward Gabriel, seated across from her at the chess table. Without even looking in the direction of their cousin, Gabe said, “Lizzy’s first set of dances has already been spoken for.”

“By whom?”

Impudent man!

“Excuse me, Gabe. I need to put your King in check before I address Mr. Collins.” Elizabeth dropped the chess piece onto the board, feeling a surge of satisfaction at her brother’s incredulous look. She then stood to face her cousin. “I am not required to divulge this information to anyone save my father, Mr. Collins. Suffice to say, it is none of your business, and you will see for yourself on the night of the ball.”

She fervently hoped one of her brothers or Papa would stand up with her because, as of this exact moment, she did not have a partner for the opening sets.

“This is not to be borne,” Mr. Collins sputtered. “You will mind your sharp tongue in the future, Cousin Elizabeth.”

The silence which descended upon the room was almost measurable. Papa carefully placed a bookmark in his book, set it on the side table, and rose to his feet. He was at Mr. Collins’s side in two strides, causing the younger man to crane his neck in order to meet his elder cousin’s gaze.

“What is not to be borne?” Papa asked, his voice deceptively soft. “Who are you to tell my daughter to mind her tongue?”

“I have determined Cousin Elizabeth suits me best. She is next in age and beauty to Cousin Jane and, as her future husband, I naturally assumed she would open and close the ball with me.”

Elizabeth dropped back into her chair, shocked at the audacity of the man. His outlandish explanation fully explained why he had dogged her every step these past few days.

“Elizabeth,” Papa said without turning around, “would you care to join your mother and sisters? Your brothers and I need to have a conversation with Mr. Collins.”

“I respectfully request to stay, Father. I believe you are going to speak about me, and wish to be present.”

Papa cut her a quick glance and winked. She did her very best not to smile when Mr. Collins’s mouth flopped open in surprise. As it was, she clearly heard Gabe cut short a gurgle of laughter. She dared not look in Michael’s direction. He took his sister’s safety and wellbeing to heart and, like his namesake, truly became an avenging angel if anyone threatened his Lizzy.

“Very well.” Papa turned back to Mr. Collins. “First, let us talk about the ball. Did you ask Jane for the first set, as she is the eldest?”

“I did not. Mrs. Bennet told me she was as good as engaged. I assume her betrothed will open the ball with her.”

“Jane is engaged? I shall have to congratulate her, as this is the first I heard of it.” A deep frown creased the forehead of Mr. Collins. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was because he had a hard time understanding Papa’s caustic humor, or if he now just realized Jane was not spoken for. “Well then, let us address why you believe you are betrothed to Elizabeth.”

Papa returned to his chair while Mr. Collins swallowed hard, and began to speak.

“On my first night here, I spoke to Mrs. Bennet of my desire to extend an olive branch, more specifically of finding my future wife while in Hertfordshire.” He paused when Michael coughed. “I commented on the beauty of all my cousins, most especially Cousin Jane.”

Michael’s cough turned into what sounded like a growl. Mr. Collins began to get a panicked look about him.

“Excuse my son. He has the first stages of a cold and needs to clear his throat often. Carry on. I am fascinated with what you are telling me.”

“As I said, before being rudely interrupted,” Mr. Collins dared to glare in Michael’s direction. “I mentioned my preference toward Cousin Jane, and Mrs. Bennet said she felt it was incumbent upon her to tell me your eldest daughter was very close to becoming engaged. Upon seeing my disappointment, she told me not to give up hope. I am certain, said she, there are other young ladies who would look upon your situation with a hopeful eye. I asked if her other daughters had an understanding with any gentleman, to which she said no. I then knew I had your wife’s blessing and was assured of my success in gaining your second daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“We have two things which must be addressed, Mr. Collins. The first is your desire to extend an olive branch by way of marrying one of my daughters.” Papa held up his hand when Mr. Collins opened his mouth to speak again. “I realize your father and I had an acrimonious relationship, and cannot fault you for wishing to heal the breach in our family. I do, however, take umbrage with the notion you believe you have an understanding with my daughter, especially when I explicitly informed you – upon your arrival – not to seek a wife from amongst my daughters.”

“But if I take Cousin Elizabeth to wife, when you leave this mortal coil, your family will have the comfort of knowing one of their own inherits Longbourn. That is, if we are so blessed as to have a son.”

The room fell silent, broken only by the snap and crackle of the fireplace.

“Mr. Collins, are you deficient in understanding?”

“No, I do not believe I am.”

“Do you not see my sons in this room with me?”

“Yes.”

“And whom do you think will inherit Longbourn when I die?”

“I… umm… Master Michael Bennet.”

“And if anything happened to my eldest son, whom do you think will inherit? That is, if Michael has not married and had a son of his own?”

“Master Gabriel Bennet.” Mr. Collins flicked a glance toward the chess table where Elizabeth and Gabriel sat.

“So, it is safe to say, one of my own will inherit Longbourn.”

“Cousin Bennet.” Mr. Collins began to wring his hands. “Should the Good Lord take you and your sons, I would step in and become head of the family. The entail was designed for this very thing.”

“I am of a mind to have our local physician check you over. Your memory is exceedingly faulty for one so young. When you first arrived, not only did I warn you against pursuing my daughters, but I also told you the entail was broken when my eldest son reached his majority. I cannot be held responsible if your father did not inform you of this fact.” Mr. Collins stood mute by the door. “Now that the line of succession has been confirmed, let us address the fact you had the audacity to describe yourself as the future husband of Elizabeth.”

“As I said before, Cousin Bennet—”

“You are not, never have been, and never will be, the future husband of Elizabeth.”

“I do not understand. I believe Mrs. Bennet wholeheartedly supports this decision.”

“But, I do not, and as Elizabeth has not yet reached her majority, I would not give consent, nor my blessing to such a union.”

Thankful for her father’s staunch support, Elizabeth stood and faced their cousin.

“Mr. Collins, while I thank you for the honor you wished to bestow on me, it has become a moot point. I would never have said yes to your proposal of marriage.”

“Never?”

“Never. I do not love you, sir, and will only marry a man who can hold my heart in tender care.” Mr. Collins continued to stare, his mouth hanging open. She did not wish to cause him further embarrassment unless provoked, so she turned her attention to her father. “I believe I will join my sisters.”

“Are you forfeiting the game, Lizzy?” Gabe called out, his voice hopeful.

With a sly grin, she leaned over the chess table and said, “There is only one move open, dear brother, and then you are in checkmate.”

Gabe studied the board and grimaced before tipping his king. Elizabeth straightened and moved toward the door. When Mr. Collins stepped aside, allowing her to exit gracefully, she bobbed him a quick curtsy. No need to be rude to the poor man. She was glad she had afforded him the small courtesy because, before the door closed behind her, she heard Papa say, “Take a seat, Mr. Collins. We are not done here.”

~~ooo0ooo~~

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

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIORS #87

A new week has dawned with a new snippet from my last release: In Essentials. Glad you joined me today.

Here, in Canada, my family celebrated Thanksgiving last weekend. What a joy - even with all the extra work. Since Covid, this is the first time our little family was all together in one space. With six grandchildren, ranging in age from 10 months to 15 years, the cacophony of noise was wonderful, and at times overwhelming.

Full confession. I was grateful for the silence when everybody left for their own home. Does this make me a bad grandma? Even so, I would not trade the chaos for anything. We ate food, played cards, soothed bumped knees, and cleaned the floor from multiple spills. Our poor cats hid the entire time. Yup - it was a good time.

Onto this week's snippet. I am sharing from In Essentials. This book was released in March 2022. Here is the blurb, followed by my excerpt for this week.

BOOK BLURB:

His mistress, rewarded with a substantial allowance, jewelry, and clothing was in all essentials Mrs. Darcy, except by name.

His wife, with low connections and vulgar relations, is Mrs. Darcy by name, but in essentials, she is nothing more than a necessary evil to thwart the plans of his uncle the earl, as well as provide a legitimate heir to Pemberley.

All too soon, Darcy realizes there are hidden depths to his petite wife, and finds himself completely fascinated by not only her beauty but intelligence and wit.

Elizabeth, fully aware of why Mr. Darcy chose her as his wife, fights her growing attraction to the taciturn gentleman from Derbyshire, failing miserably. She is finally forced to acknowledge, that, in essentials, he is the only man who can make her happy.

EXCERPT:

A tall gentleman stalked the edges of the assembly room, hating every minute he was forced to remain in the presence of complete strangers. The room stank of cheap tallow candles, unwashed bodies, and bad breath. More than that, it stank of desperation. Frantic mothers and fathers seeking to have their children wed. Male or female, it did not matter. The goal was to find a warm body to ensure a continued heritage and hopefully bring ready cash into the family coffers. In this regard, they were not too dissimilar to him, as he too, was on the hunt. But not for the same reasons.

A LITTLE MORE TO WHET YOUR WHISTLE:

Last week, his uncle had once again lambasted him for not marrying one of the many pedigreed debutantes paraded past him at endless balls and soirees, going so far as to challenge the guardianship of his younger sister if he did not comply with his demands. Tired of his mother’s brother trying to force him into marrying his choice of wife, and his mother’s sister demanding he marry her daughter, he decided he would find his own wife. And not just any wife. She would be vile, though not in looks. If he had to bed the wench, he wanted some form of beauty and a pleasing body. No, she would be someone who teetered on the edges of polite society. Preferably a gentleman’s daughter with vulgar connections. The more vulgar the better.

He had no need for more money or love. His mistress filled the latter of those requirements in more ways than one. His lips briefly curved as he remembered how she’d bid him farewell last night, knowing she would not see him until the new year. Straddled across his lower torso, she had raised and lowered herself, allowing him free reign with his mouth and hands. There was not a crack or crevice on her delectable body he was not familiar with, and after two years, still had not tired of her.

If he truly wished to have his uncle expire from an apoplectic fit, he’d marry her, but knew such a rash act would materially damage his sister’s chance of making a good marriage when she finally came out in society. He could never do that to sweet, innocent Georgiana, and after a near disaster this past summer, where he’d nearly lost her to his father’s loathsome godson, he had vowed to protect her until she married a good man.

A high-pitched shriek followed by giggles brought him back to his quest – finding a gentleman’s daughter who would horrify his mother’s family. Two females barreled past him. His gaze followed the pair of ladies, girls really, far too young to be out in society even in a backwater town like this. They skidded to a stop in front of a woman to whom he had avoided introductions. He’d caught the calculating gleam in her eye the minute he and his friend had entered the room and knew she had decided on the both of them as future sons-in-law.

At first, he’d dismissed her, but now, watching how her daughters behaved, his interest was piqued. His uncle would be devastated if he showed up with one of those empty-headed twits on his arm. Lost in thoughts of how to facilitate a belated introduction, his friend approached.

“Come, Darcy. I must have you dance.”

“Before we left Netherfield, I told you I would be poor company tonight.”

“Then let us acquaint you with someone pleasant who can drag you out of the doldrums. There are some very pretty girls here.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome woman in the room.”

His gaze fell on his friend’s partner, who remained on the dance floor, waiting for their turn to go down the line. She was not only handsome; she was divine. He surmised even a dead man would have felt stirrings of desire in the presence of her beauty. However, he was not here to find a beautiful woman to grace his bed, he had the delectable Daphne for that. What he needed was someone who was not perfect. Someone his uncle would loathe on sight.

“Yes, Miss Bennet is so very beautiful, but you will not distract me in this. I will find someone for you to dance with who is not my sister.”

“I thank you, but you should make your way back onto the dance floor and enjoy your partner’s smiles. You are wasting your time with me.”

“I say, there is a pleasant-looking lady just yonder. I could ask my partner to introduce us.”

Darcy looked over his shoulder and spotted a petite woman seated by herself, her foot tapping in time to the music. He caught her eye and paused. She was pretty, but not handsome enough to tempt him from his mission of finding an uncouth bride. About to decline Bingley’s offer of introduction, his attention was caught by the loud chit he’d noticed earlier. She plopped down in the empty chair next to the intriguing woman and huffed out a huge sigh.

“La, Lizzy! I am quite fagged. I need to catch my breath before the next dance.”

The young girl hadn’t lowered her voice nor did she seem to care about the fact she slouched in her chair like a drunken sailor. The woman, Lizzy, obviously did because she hissed something under her breath and the girl straightened, but not before a pout appeared on her face.

“Oh, who cares what they think. They mean nothing to me.”

The young woman grabbed the girl’s arm and hauled her to her feet before marching toward the vulgar woman, whom he assumed was their mother. Even from across the room it was obvious the matron berated the young lady, allowing the spoilt child to prance off, head held high without batting an eye at her coarse behavior. He smiled. This ‘Lizzy’ was perfect.

He turned to his friend.

“After your dance has ended, I would be pleased to meet the young lady.”

 BUY LINK

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