Friday with Friends ~ Summer Hanford

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

THE ADVENTURES OF MISS ANNE DE BOURGH OF ROSINGS

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

v. II

Blurb

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

 Late Summer, 1798, Matlock Estate in Derbyshire

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

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

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

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

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

Recovering quickly, he extended a hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Richard. He needs our help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What bargain?”

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

Anne grinned. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Richard has always wanted to serve.”

“Will you let me talk?” Henry demanded.

Anne pulled a face at him, but nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The very one. I love her.”

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

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

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

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

“So go be a soldier,” Anne urged.

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

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

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

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

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

“But your dream of—” 

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

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

“Thank you,” Richard said gravely. 

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

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

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

Buy links:

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

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

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

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

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

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

About the Author

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

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

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

Email: summer@summerhanford.com 

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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:

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

FRIDAY WITH FRIENDS ~ SOFI LAPORTE

Today, I welcome Sofi Laporte to my Friday with Friends post.

About the Book:

A spirited young lady with a dream. A duke in disguise. A compromising situation.

Lucy hates Dukes.

One in particular: her best friend’s brother, the arrogant Duke of Ashmore. A man she’s never met. Because of him, she’s lost the only home she’s ever known.

She can’t forgive him. Ever.

Lucy loves gardeners.

One in particular: the charming Henry whose eyes shine in a million colours of blue. How lovely would life be if she were a simple gardener’s wife?

What if…

…that charming gardener reveals himself to be the Duke of Ashmore?

Will she ever be able to embrace who he is?

Leaving cheerful mayhem in her wake as she overturns the duke’s estate, his house, and his entire life, Lucy is certain of one thing: she loves the gardener, not the duke.

As they match wits, Lucy learns he is not the arrogant duke she thought.

Who exactly is this man, this Duke of Secrets?

Will her love ruin those dearest to her heart?

For the Duke of Secrets is not the only one wearing a disguise.

Lucy and the Duke of Secrets is available HERE

A little taste:

“Excuse me, sir. I need your help. I missed the stagecoach.” Lucy clutched her travel-worn carpetbag as she addressed the burly man behind the bar. He turned to her with a frown.

She held her breath as his sharp, beady eyes appraised her figure, noting her drab brown dress, her threadbare pelisse. She tugged at the bonnet ribbon, setting it askew, so her unruly, bouncing curls spilled over her eyes. She flipped her hair away. Darting a glance at his face, she saw the disapproving set of his jaw. He’d see a girl travelling alone, without a companion. Without any class, style, or money.

“Not my problem.” He turned away to pick up a dirty rag. With his other hand, he picked up a wine glass and proceeded to polish it with a squeak.

“Please. I need to be at Ashmore Hall before nightfall.” Lucy twisted her hands in an agitated manner. She felt the first flutters of panic unfurl in her stomach.

He paused. “Ashmore Hall, eh? The Duke of Ashmore’s residence?”

“The very same.”

A look of alertness entered his eyes. “You in service there?”

Lucy hesitated. “Well…”

“You’re starting out, maybe?”

“I’m new there.” That was definitely true.

The innkeeper’s face softened. “My daughter’s in service, too. Up North. The Duke of Ashmore doesn’t just employ anyone. Tough luck, starting the first day late. You’ll lose your job before you’ve even begun.”

“Can’t you help me?” She had to reach Ashmore Hall before nightfall. She couldn’t afford to stay at the inn. Her breath quickened at the thought of spending the night by the side of the road.

He set the glass down. “You sure you want to go there?”

“Oh, yes. It’s urgent.”

“Very well.” He jerked his chin toward the window. Outside, a man loaded bushes into a cart. “Try talking to that fellow over there. He’s on his way to Ashmore Hall. Ask him for a ride.”

Lucy could have hugged him. Instead, she quirked a relieved smile at him. “Thank you! I’ll not forget your kindness.”

~~~ooo0ooo~~

The man in the outer courtyard was tall and rough looking. He carried a Hawthorne bush over his shoulder, a second under the other arm. The cart was almost full.

“Sir?” Lucy stepped in his path.

“Move aside,” he growled. “This is heavy stuff coming through.” He stepped around her and dropped the plants onto the cart. Then he pulled out a rope and tied it around the end of the wagon to keep them from falling off.

“Yonder innkeeper informed me you could give me a ride. I missed my coach and the next one arrives tomorrow, late in the afternoon. But I can’t wait that long.”

The man gave no appearance of having heard a word she’d said. He climbed into his seat.

She followed him. “Please?”

“Do I look like a stagecoach?”

But Lucy would not be deterred. “It would be so very kind of you if you’d take me along.”

“There’s no space.”

“Up here next to you there is, if you moved aside a bit? I don’t need much space. It’s just me and my bag here.” She patted her carpetbag.

The speckled hat shadowed the man’s face. “Move, girl, you are making my horses nervous.”

“Please, please, please take me along, I really need to reach Ashmore Hall by nightfall. I won’t be a bother.” The pitch of her voice elevated to a panicked squeak.

He lifted his whip, then froze. “Ashmore Hall?”

“Yes.”

The man turned and looked at her for the first time, taking in her travel-worn clothes and dusty boots. She held her breath. “Are you employed there?”

“What if I am? I need to be there before night falls. I can’t afford a room here.”

He stared at her with hooded eyes. Then he shrugged and let his whip slash through the air.

The cart rumbled slowly towards the gate. She threw her bag down in frustration. It landed in a puddle. “Oh, blast it all. Why can’t Arabella live in a more accessible place? Now what am I going to do?”

The carriage came to a halt. The man stared ahead, immobile. Then he called out, “What are you waiting for, girl? I haven’t got all day.”

It took Lucy a moment to comprehend what he meant. Relief swept through her. She picked up her muddied bag and scrambled into the driver’s seat next to him.

“Thank you, oh, thank you, thank you,” she said, breathlessly. Then she clung to his arm as the carriage set in motion again and she nearly tumbled out again.

“I’ve a feeling I’ll regret this,” he muttered as he untangled himself from her.

About the Author:

Sofi was born in Vienna, grew up in Seoul, studied Comparative Literature in Maryland, U.S.A., and lived in Quito with her Ecuadorian husband. She’s worked as a journalist, university lecturer, foreign language teacher and librarian. Sofi likes coffee, owls, ruins and books. When not writing – she is always reading – she likes to travel and scramble about the countryside exploring medieval castle ruins. She currently lives with her husband, three trilingual children, a sassy cat and a cheeky dog in Europe.

Sofi started out as a YA fantasy romance author, with stories published in the following Dragon Soul Press anthologies: Lost Love, First Love, Sea of Secrets, Coffins, and Dragons, as well as a selection of poetry in Organic Ink I. Two of her children’s stories are published in Magic for Beginners: Magical stories for Kids, and anthology by Fantasia Divinity Press.

Currently, she writes sweetly simmering Regency Romance with mischievous, witty banter and heart-throbbing-happily-ever-after.

Connect with Sofi HERE 

Thank you, Sofi, for joining me today. Your story sounds wonderful and is already picking up lovely reviews on Amazon.

First Page Friday - Suzan LAUDER

I am so pleased to welcome Suzan Lauder back to my page. December 3 was the six year anniversary of Alias Thomas Bennet's publication and so it's only fitting that we showcase it on it's 'birth'day.

Blurb:

…of most interest to Bennet was Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.

When Fitzwilliam Darcy attends the Meryton assembly, he befriends a quiet, intelligent gentleman. In frequent visits to his friend’s home, he becomes acquainted with the Bennet family of Longbourn. Yet Mr. Darcy is distracted by a strange feeling of having met some of them before.

This is a different Bennet family from the cleverly crafted one in Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice. This Mr. Bennet is a responsible gentleman who takes an active role in the education and upbringing of all five of his daughters, manages Longbourn to be prosperous, and displays loving guidance toward Mrs. Bennet—a gentle, caring mother and wife.

There is a mystery lurking at Longbourn—a secret unknown even to Elizabeth Bennet—and Mr. Darcy is entangled in its extraordinary revelations.

Who is Thomas Bennet? 

This book contains one brief scene of non-explicit sexual violence that may be concerning to sensitive readers. The sexual violence does not include Elizabeth Bennet.

First Page:

Prologue

July 1782

Gloucestershire 

The dust cloud could be seen from some distance, a single disruption in the sweeping view from the garden. As it approached the house, the young man drew it to the attention of his companions. Rising to see where it was headed, the two men realised it was likely an express rider to their home and wondered what could be so urgent.

The family was sitting in the shade in respite from the unbearable heat wave and dry spell that had persisted for weeks. The master made to ready himself for company as he had removed his coat and neck cloth some hours earlier. The younger man touched his father’s arm to halt his preparations and politely offered to greet the courier and collect the missive. The gentleman smiled and granted permission to his son, followed by an admonition from his mother to heed the horse’s hooves lest he be endangered. The young man rolled his eyes. He was taller than his father, but sometimes she still treated him like a child.

He walked slowly to meet the rider. The incessant energy from the sun beating down upon him was almost overwhelming, and he pitied the poor rider his hours in the unrelenting heat. As he waited at the gate, the messenger dismounted and handed over the express post. The young man gave instructions to the groom to care for the horse and directed the courier towards the kitchen for some much-needed refreshment. Then he returned to the shade and passed the missive to his father.

“Pray, what news do we have that is so urgent?” the lady of the house asked of her husband as she saw his grave expression upon reading the letter. His pallor despite the heat told her the news was not good.

“It is from a Mr. Storey in Bristol. There has been a dreadful carriage accident, mayhap involving highwaymen. We must go thither at once. It was bad—very bad. Edward was grievously hurt. Rose did not survive.”

“Oh, dear God, what about little Fanny?” his wife gasped through her tears.

“She is well, and with the nurse and Mrs. Storey at the house. Mr. Storey writes that Edward asks for us to send help to Bristol post-haste. The note does not indicate the nature of his injuries, only that they are grave. He is under the care of a doctor, and I expect a long recovery period. My dear, you and I must go to attend my cousin and little Fanny.”

“Father, will I be accompanying you and Mama?” asked Thomas Bennet.

“No, son, we may be a long while, and you are to Cambridge in a fortnight. This will not be a pleasant visit. Mary dear, please see to the packing, and I’ll go about readying the carriage.”

First Page Friday ~ Melanie RACHEL

I am thrilled to have Melanie Rachel visit my blog today. I devoured her Drawing Mr. Darcy books (two in total) and anticipate this upcoming trilogy will keep me as enthralled.

Blurb:

A few months after teaming up with Major Richard Fitzwilliam to thwart a terrorist attack in Europe, USMC Staff Sergeant Elizabeth Bennet is back in the States as a civilian. Her training in cyber-security makes finding work easy, and she’s learning to fit into her new life. But there is lingering fallout both from the attack and her life before it that she's not yet prepared to face. Complicating matters is the major’s handsome cousin.

Co-owner of Darcy Acquisitions, CEO of FORGE, and guardian to his younger sister, Will Darcy is stretched to his limits. When Richard sets up an interview at FORGE for his friend Elizabeth Bennet, Will insults her instead of hiring her. In making amends, Will falls for the witty, troubled Marine with long legs and fine eyes.

Falling in love is easy, but do these two very different people have what it takes to make love last?


First Page:

He was late.

She’d arrived early at De Roos and grabbed a booth tucked behind the wooden front door. She tapped the heel of her boot on the floor, turned to count the large field stones used to build the long bar on the back wall, and tried to guess where each of the customers had come from. Local? Tourist? Embassy?

At last, fifteen minutes past their meeting time and just before she stood to leave, Elizabeth Bennet saw him. Standing a few feet away, hands on his hips, canvassing the room before spotting her behind him, was Major Richard Fitzwilliam.

“Staff Sergeant,” he said amiably.

“Sir,” she replied with a grin.

He raised his hand to attract the attention of a waitress. When a buxom redhead wearing black pants and a tight t-shirt turned and saw him, he held up two fingers and she disappeared behind the bar.

“You made me wait,” she chided, showing the display on her phone. “Hardly the way to say, ‘Thank you for saving my life.’”

Major Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Last meeting ran long.” He tossed his sunglasses down on the table. Elizabeth noted the tailored fit of his brown khakis and dark green polo shirt—casual wear that appeared expensive. Everyone looks so different out of uniform, she thought. He slid into the booth opposite her.

“A regular, I see,” Elizabeth teased. She stretched her toes out in her boots, feeling comfortable at last. She’d spent her shift working on the embassy’s computer network, including carting away some truly ancient desktops and swapping them out for newer models. Then she’d needed to update the software. The assignment was way below her pay grade and boring as dirt. But it was easy enough, and it meant she was stationed in Brussels, so she wasn’t complaining.

Elizabeth had found the major surprisingly good-natured for an officer in the months since she’d arrived in Europe. She’d worried a bit at first that he was flirting with her, but it turned out he teased just about everyone. She knew now that Major Fitzwilliam was too dedicated a Marine ever to break the regulation on fraternization. That being the case, Elizabeth felt safe enjoying his friendly banter. It was a bit like having a charming and sarcastic older brother.

The major ran a hand through his sandy hair in a gesture that indicated a long day. “I am, but I’m not a lush, if that’s what you’re implying,” he said flippantly.

“Well, sir, it would explain how you managed to purge thirty significant documents from your computer . . . don’t you officers know how to back up files?”

“I’m still not sure how that happened.” He exhaled dramatically and tossed his hands up in frustration. “The entire program for the conference next month, including the papers, and the translations, all in the correct formatting. I could have gathered them all again, but it would have taken forever to redo the translations. You didn’t save my life, Staff Sergeant, but you sure saved my weekend.”

About the Author:
Melanie Rachel is a university professor and long time Jane Austen fan. She was born in Southern California, but has lived in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Washington, and Arizona, where she now resides with her family and their freakishly athletic Jack Russell terrier. Her previous novels include Drawing Mr. Darcy: Sketching His Character (Book One) and Drawing Mr. Darcy: A Faithful Portrait (Book Two) as well as Courage Rises and Courage Requires. She plans to publish Headstrong, a modern P&P adaptation, as a trilogy--all three books will be published in quick succession.


P.S.: As I created the graphic for social media I noticed the small details on the cover that only come from looking at it up close and personal. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE it. Well done, Mel!

First Page Friday ~ Suzan LAUDER

This is a romantic comedy novella that’s also known as HOT Collins, and having read the book myself I loved how all the ladies in Meryton went a little boy crazy around the handsome vicar. It's so much fun to read variations of our beloved Pride & Prejudice and A Most Handsome Gentleman definitely takes you on a fun ride.

Blurb:

Elizabeth Bennet’s life is uncomplicated until she meets a quartet of new men: the haughty but handsome Mr. Darcy, the pert-with-a-pout Mr. Bingley, the confident and captivating Mr. Wickham—and then there is her father’s cousin, the happy man towards whom almost every female eye has turned.

Mr. Collins is HOT—well, incredibly handsome in Regency-speak—beautiful of face, fine of figure, elegant of air, his perfect clothing and hair matching his Greek god-like form. Unfortunately, when he opens his mouth, Elizabeth wishes he were mute. With affected servility and prideful self-conceit, he capitalizes upon his exquisite appearance and fixes on Jane Bennet as his bride.

Can Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy form an alliance to stop Jane’s suitors from issuing challenges—and will Elizabeth coax a smile from Mr. Darcy?

First Page:

The carriage jerked into motion while I was not attending, so my head flew back and then forward like a whip. How had we come to leave Netherfield Park without my order? Had Jane given Mr. Hill permission to depart? An agreement to leave would be in contrast to her desire to linger and gape at Mr. Bingley.

A motion caught the corner of my eye. I turned quickly to her side of the carriage and discovered I was correct. Instead of encountering her calm countenance looking forward, the best I could observe was her ear as Jane’s hand rose to wave. Her neck was craned, and a quick glance behind the carriage confirmed that Mr. Bingley stood waving in the drive alongside Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy was half a head taller than his friend. Jane did not see me roll my eyes when I settled back in my seat.

The departure was unfortunate for Jane’s romantic inclinations but fortunate for me. After five days at Netherfield Park, spending another day in the presence of those judging Bingley sisters and their compatriot Mr. Darcy would not be beneficial to my equanimity. Without doubt, as soon as I was out of the room, they would spend their time criticizing Jane and me. They scarcely held back their comments in my presence!

“Miss Elizabeth knows no accomplished women.”

“Miss Elizabeth is not interesting as she only reads and walks. Nothing else amuses her.”

“Miss Elizabeth does not mind if her friends change their plans on a whim.”

“Miss Elizabeth’s friends are common and uninteresting.” No. Mr. Darcy said, “Confined and unvarying.”

Recollection of the mortifying incident made me squeeze my eyes shut while it ran through my brain as if it were a vision. My mother and younger sisters know no bounds when it comes to determining ways to mortify me with their gauche manners. Mr. Darcy’s sketch of my character must be complete. His first impression was that I was not tolerable enough to dance with, and he had little reason to think better of me since the assembly where he had made that comment. My family’s embarrassing display did not support the opposite one whit.

Even though he does not much care for me, I discovered his expression would change beneath the effects of my irreverent humour and gentle teasing. I pride myself in the smile count, and Mr. Darcy smiled at my comments four times more than at Miss Bingley’s whilst I was at Netherfield. His natural appearance is superior in comparison with most men, but when his lips curve upward at my teases, changes occur on his face to render his features magnificent: his eyes sparkle and dance, crinkling at the corners, and some rather fine dimples appear next to his bow-shaped mouth. I admit to baiting him to near laughter at times. What would his chuckle sound like?

About the Author:

Having spent her adult life reading little more than business-oriented nonfiction, it was during an extended illness when Suzan Lauder discovered among her books a dog-eared paperback copy of Northanger Abbey. With no idea how she acquired it, but having recalled hearing that Jane Austen was a good writer, she decided to give it a try. She loved it so much that she gobbled up the remaining books.


Dismayed that there were only six completed novels, Suzan read all the remaining Austen she could find: the juvenilia, the unfinished works, the letters, and biographies. During library searches for more, she discovered the world of fan fiction first in novels and then on the Internet. Her curiosity about the possibilities of other stories related to Austen's work led her to start writing her own, exploring new situations and times in which to take the enigmatic Mr. Darcy and endearing Elizabeth Bennet.

Suzan lives on beautiful Vancouver Island, British Columbia, with her husband and two rescue cats, who both enjoy cuddling her while she writes.

First Page Friday ~ Suzan LAUDER

As stated before, I have know Suzan Lauder for well over fifty years. I won't say much more than that because a lady truly never reveals her age.... In our youth we participated in some fabulous schemes. Suzan wrote and directed our church youth group in a Cinderella spoof, complete with hits from the 50's, called 'Hey Cindy'. As you can see, fan fiction has played a part in Suzan's life for a long time. The other production, which we rehearsed for quite some time, was Jesus Christ Superstar. This never took off, unfortunately, but it was a blast to sing those songs (in tune, I might add).

Suzan's love of fan fiction found a home when she discovered Jane Austen and the many authors who bring Miss Austen's stories to life by taking her beloved characters down different paths. Such is LETTERS FROM RAMSGATE. I'll let Suzan's blurb and subsequent first page set the stage.

Blurb:

"Sir, I am not known to you. I fear you may have concerns regarding some intelligence that recently came to me from your sister..."

A simple letter shatters illusions and turns the world upside down!

On holiday in Ramsgate, Elizabeth Bennet befriends shy, romantic Georgiana Darcy, who shares an adoring description of an ideal elder brother. When Georgiana discloses a secret infatuation with her brother's 'close friend' Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth altered perception of both men affects her actions and alliances.

The secret with an anonymous letter from Ramsgate ties Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth together but also separates them. A second missive unlocks the disguise, but Mr. Darcy realizes his true passions too late to assist Elizabeth in her darkest hour. Will the shocking disclosure of a forgotten letter transform his understanding of her heart and lead them to embrace their future?

LETTERS FROM RAMSGATE is a Pride and Prejudice variation suitable for most audiences (youth and up).

First Page:

May 1811

Portman Square, London

Even though Fitzwilliam Darcy was accustomed to being admired by women, he was discomposed by his visitor’s flagrant scrutiny of his figure from the moment she entered his study. As her eyes examined his body from head to toe, her brows lifted, and a slight smile appeared on her face. After his bow and her curtsy, she took a chair while Darcy situated himself behind his desk for protection.

The visitor was Mrs. Isabel Younge, the widow of a much older man who had been the son of a well-respected viscount. Darcy had some knowledge of Mr. Frederick Younge’s reputation but knew little of the lady other than she was said to be sociable and exuberant. Her husband was wealthy and a spendthrift. He had doted on her and spoiled her but settled in the card rooms at balls and parties while she danced. A year earlier, Darcy’s cousin Henry, Lord Courtland, had joined Mr. Younge in speculation related to the sugar trade but had withdrawn not long thereafter. Henry was fortunate because Younge and his partners lost a great deal of money. Younge died almost penniless not long afterwards.

Mrs. Younge was well favoured and elegant in her fashionable widow’s weeds. She and Darcy shared observations about the weather and her carriage ride before she began the discussion of their planned business. “I understand you seek a companion for a gently born female of tender years.”

A solemn tone replaced what Darcy had judged as personal interest, and his suspicion about her motives was eased. “You are correct. My sister is in her fifteenth year.” Still so young. Am I doing the right thing?

“Where is Miss Darcy’s current residence?”

“At the moment, with me. I am her guardian along with my cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

“Has she a governess?”

“No. Not long ago, we took her from school. She found it tiresome, and due to her shyness, she was unable to form friendships. The subjects they taught were of little interest to her, and my library allows her to study whatever topics she chooses.”

“Too old for the school room, too young to be out in society. Without doubt, her ennui continues. I imagine you have no idea what to do with a young lady.”

Although the judgement did not surprise Darcy, it still annoyed him. “Georgiana has been in my care for close to five years, so we are accustomed to each other. No detail has been spared in her entertainment. She enjoys the recreation afforded by riding, archery, and clever table games. Any bauble or music book she desires is hers.”

About the Author:

Saucy opinions like "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has no pleasure in a good novel must be intolerably stupid." won Suzan Lauder, who thought, "I have to read more by this woman who writes with such snarky humour!" And another Jane Austen fanatic was captured in the clever dead author's net. As a lifetime member of JASNA, Austen figures prominently in Lauder's writing, and Pride and Prejudice has inspired all her published fiction.

Her publisher is Meryton Press.

First Page Friday ~ Karen M COX

My guest today is Karen M Cox and she's brought with her today a unique variation of our favourite Pride & Prejudice couple, Elizabeth and Darcy. This adventure is set in a more modern time - towards the end of the official cold war era before the Eastern Wall was torn down. Emotions ran high. Spies lurked in dark corners and sometime on your very own street. Loads of intrigue and I'm sure Ms. Cox has captured it all in her delightful mystery, UNDECEIVED.

Blurb:

“...if I endeavor to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me?”

-Pride & Prejudice, Chapter 40

Elizabeth Bennet, a rookie counterintelligence officer, lands an intriguing first assignment—investigating the CIA's legendary William Darcy, who is suspected of being a double agent.

Darcy’s charmed existence seems at an end as he fights for his career and struggles against his love for the young woman he doesn’t know is watching his every move.

Elizabeth’s confidence dissolves as nothing is like she planned—and the more she discovers about Darcy, the more she finds herself in an ever-tightening web of danger.

Unexpected twists abound in this suspenseful Cold War era romance inspired by Jane Austen’s classic tale.


First Page:

Prologue

East Berlin, GDR

October 1982

His vision began to darken. He heard shouts again, a man’s, no… there was a female voice in the mix, but he lacked the brainpower to muster a care for who it was. Was it English he heard? Or was his mind, so inured to translating, automatically interpreting the German? He was tired, so tired, but if he could only rest a while, he could recruit some strength and get…where? Ah yes, West Berlin.

The voices grew even as his consciousness faded. His mouth tried to form words like “over here” or “help me.” But nothing came out except more blood—from his side, from his shoulder, from his hand. There were pinpricks behind his eyelids again, moving faster like a giant kaleidoscope, and the world continued to melt away. He felt movement when he slumped out of the pantry door and cursed when someone pushed him back up to a sitting position.

“Come on. Wake up, old chap! We’re getting you out of here. Stay with me. My car is right outside.”

“USBER. Hurry.” His speech slurred as if he’d been on a three-day drunk.

“Yes, straight across the border.”

His lips twitched. “Fitz?”

“I’m here. You’re going to be fine. Hang on.”

William Darcy forced his eyes open, but it wasn’t Fitz he saw in front of him.

“You arrogant bastard,” she said in a clipped tone. “What don’t you understand about ‘stay put’? We’ve been looking for you for flipping ever! You’re damn lucky Fitz remembered the location of this safe house.”

“Hi, little cutie. What are you doing here?” His head lolled about on his shoulders.

“I’m saving your overconfident, egotistical hide.”

“Aww, honey, don’t nag. Hey, how you gonna get us out of this one? How good is your German?” He grinned, inwardly laughing at the asinine situation in which he’d found himself.

“You know it’s damn good, danke. And I’m going to get us out of here ’cause, unlike you, I’ve got my ducks in a row,” she quipped then gasped as she drew back her hand, covered in his blood. “Holy shit!” She stared at her blood-soaked fingers. Apparently, he’d bled through his last attempt at a bandage. She heaved him toward her and ran her hands over his torso, assessing the damage as he groaned again.

“Fitz”—she spoke with a forced calm—“find something to check this. We’ve got to get him out of here. And there had better be a medical team waiting as soon as we get across the border.”

Fitz disappeared and returned with a couple of musty towels, one of which she slipped under Darcy’s armpit and tied firmly.

“Good god, woman!” he said through gritted teeth.

“I have to stop the bleeding.”

“If you put a tourniquet on there, I’m liable to lose my damn arm!”

“Stop being such a baby. It’s not that tight.”

“Is…too.” He was losing the burst of alertness fostered by the hope of rescue and the pain in his shoulder.

She tried to pull his shirt up to see, but it was stuck to the side wound. Looking at it, she sat back, horrified.

“Bad?” he whispered.

“Not so bad.”

“Liar,” he murmured. Over her shoulder, she spoke in a low voice. “We have to go—now.”

What a fabulous kick start! Yet another book to add to my virtually teetering TBR pile. Thank you Karen for stopping by. I can't wait to read the rest and try and solve the mystery.