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.”

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.

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

Orange Banners Abound!

 Today, May 29, 2024, this is the sight that greeted me when I took a look at my latest release, The Wager, on Amazon. I have never had this happen before and I am thrilled, humbled, and gobsmacked. Thank you to all my lovely readers. Without you, this could never happen. You are the best!

Coming June 28

 

What is the one thing avid Jane Austen Fan Fiction readers like the most? The easy answer is - anything written about Jane Austen's beloved characters. But... what would you say if you knew you could get a boatload of JAFF books for free?

That got your interest, didn't it?

The good news is this. On June 28, a plethora - I really like that word - a plethora of JAFF authors will band together for a one-day extravaganza and you, my friend, can be among the lucky participants. On that day, a link will be provided here, as well as on my Facebook page. If you have not already 'liked' my page, at the top of the right-hand column, there is a link to my author page. I would truly like to have you follow me, not only for this wonderful event but for future news about my upcoming releases and writing journey.

Every book being offered will be FREE. Not free as in Kindle Unlimited where you have to have the KU subscription, but free as in zero dollars. You pay nothing. Nada. Bupkiss. It's almost too good to be true and trust me, I will be right there along with you, my virtual shopping cart in hand as I browse the 'bookshelves'.

I cannot wait and I hope you are as excited about this as me!

New Release

 Coming May 19th

Available for pre-order now

Exclusively in Kindle Unlimited - purchase your copy HERE

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.

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.”

Deleted Scene ~ We did a very bad thing

If you have read Longbourn's Angels, you are aware Mrs. Bennet knew of Elizabeth and Jane's friendship with the Duke of Belmont's family. However... the first draft had everyone keeping this tidbit from her and at the end of the book, at Jane's wedding to the Earl of Holcomb, everything comes to a head.

We start with Mrs. Frances Bennet's introduction to the duke at Jane's wedding breakfast.

~~~

"I am pleased to meet you. I am certain Lord Holcomb is glad you attended his wedding."

"We did not come as the earl's guest, Mrs. Bennet. We came in honor of Jane," the duke said.

"Not the earl?" Fanny looked to Elizabeth. "How can that be? We are not friends with any peers."

She saw Elizabeth  glance at the duke's family and after a slight nod from his grace, Elizabeth led her mother away a few steps.

"Jane and I have known the duke's family for over eleven years."

"You and Jane? Eleven years!" Fanny could not help herself, her voice rose with each staccato sentence. "How? Why was I not told?"

During all this, Elizabeth had been steadily removing her from the room and down the hall toward her husband's study.

"Mamma, I will explain all. We will have some privacy in Papa's study."

They entered the room and Fanny marched to her husband's desk and turned to face her daughter, her hands fisted against her hips.

"Please explain to me how it is that a duke's family has honored my eldest daughter in such a manner, and I do not even know their names."

She listened as Elizabeth explained how she had saved the duke's daughter and how the friendship with Lady Susannah grew from there. When she went on to explain she and Jane had visited the duke's estate every summer, Fanny thought her heart would break. That her family thought her so capricious and fickle, they could not even tell her of this, was a blow to her self-esteem. What else had they kept from her? Was she even a part of this family? Would they even notice her gone if she ran away as Lydia had?

When her middle daughter had finished relaying all the pertinent information, Fanny was silent for a moment, absorbing it all and not liking how it made her feel. She finally sighed deeply and stepped past her daughter to exit the room.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. Please excuse me, I have guests to attend."

For the rest of the day, she behaved as an exquisite hostess, shattering any preconceived notion others may have held for her. Through it all, she conversed, listened, and advised – and spoke not one word to her family, other than to Jane when she and Henry made to depart on their wedding trip. Fanny kissed her eldest daughter on the cheek and said, her tone earnest, "I wish you every happiness and will pray your husband treats you with the respect you so richly deserve."

Later in the day, given the studied looks her husband kept shooting in her direction, she knew a conversation was to take place. She managed to avoid him until all the guests were gone, save Mr. Darcy who lingered in the drawing room with Elizabeth and her brothers.

"Fanny, might I have a word with you – in my study?"

~~~

They traversed the hall side by side and after he had opened the door and allowed her to precede him, Thomas moved to take one of the chairs near the fireplace. With a wave of his hand, he invited her to also take a seat, which she did. Silence stretched between them, becoming more awkward the longer they sat. She gave a start when the clock struck the half hour.

"Elizabeth told me she explained her relationship with the Duke of Belmont," he finally said, breaking the strained silence. "Have you nothing to say? Any questions?"

"Why?"

"Because the duke was so very grateful to Lizzy for saving his daughter's life."

"No. Why was I not told?"

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. A habit he had formed from childhood, indicating acute frustration, or an unwillingness to speak the unvarnished truth, no matter how much it hurt.

"It was done in an attempt to keep gossip at bay."

"Gossip. What gossip?"

"You and I both know that whatever you know, your sister Margaret knows as well." Thomas fell back in his chair and waved his hand in the direction of Mrs. Phillips' house, over a mile away. “She would never have kept this secret, and both Jane and Lizzy did not want our neighbors to treat them differently. They are good girls, Fanny. You did a marvelous job raising them. No one can take that from you, and because of your kindness and love, our girls will have a wonderful life. Do not let this overshadow the joy of this day.”

“Mr. Bennet, I am well aware our girls are everything that is lovely. You still should have told me. If you had asked, I would never have spoken a word of it.” She blinked rapidly, a feeble attempt to delay her tears. “I did not realize how low I had fallen in your esteem.”

“Fanny, that is not true.”

“No?” She straightened and drew back her shoulders. Her chin lifted in defiance, reminding him where their daughters had learned dignity. “I shall not trouble you further, Husband, with my flights of fancy. Let no one ever say Frances Bennet does not learn from her mistakes.”

She stood and gave her husband a full curtsy and after a quick pivot on her heel, quit the room. Bennet let out a heartfelt sigh. That had been badly done. Trite apologies would not soothe his wife’s hurt feelings. They had kept this secret from her for no other reason than they thought her silly, and it also fed his capricious sense of humor. The advice his own respected father had shared with him the night before he wed Fanny came to mind. He had come to Thomas’ room, Holy Bible in hand, and read from Proverbs.

Bennet reached for that same Bible, laying safely on the bookshelf behind him, and turned to the familiar passage. Tears filled his eyes as he read through the chapter, halting on the verses which he chastised himself for forgetting.

 The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. 

Fanny was a good and virtuous wife and she had trusted him, but that trust had not been returned. Not in things that mattered other than faithfulness. He had made her look the fool. He closed the book and clasped his hands on the cover, bowing his head. He asked forgiveness from his Lord, then asked for guidance on how to approach his wife. After a good half hour, he blew out the candles and ascended the stairs. He knocked lightly on his wife’s bedchamber door and his heart melted when she cracked it open, revealing big blue eyes, red-rimmed from crying.

“Ahhh, Fanny. I am so sorry. Can you find it in your heart to forgive a foolish man?”

She said not a word but left the door open before returning to a chair near the fireplace. He closed the door behind him and did not leave the room until late the next morning.

~~~

"Your father and mother have not yet come down to break their fast?"

Darcy paced the family parlor, shooting glances at the door in hopes Elizabeth's father would miraculously appear. He finally had gotten her to say she would marry him and now he was being stonewalled in trying to approach her father for his consent and blessing. Granted, the family had been very busy with the wedding, but… surely things would revert to normal now that all the bustle had died down.

"We have not seen Mamma or Papa since late yesterday when Jane and Henry departed." Elizabeth began to wring her hands and joined him in pacing. "I told Mamma how and why we knew the Duke of Belmont and I do not think she took the news well."

"Your mother did not know the duke's family? How many years have you been friends with his daughter?"

"Over eleven years."

"Eleven…" he paused in thought. "Your mother must have been very hurt over this."

"She did not give the appearance of being hurt."

Darcy cut Elizabeth a hard glance.

"I watched your mother most carefully and what I thought was nervous energy I now realize was a woman holding everything together to keep others from seeing her anger."

"Anger?"

Darcy snagged Elizabeth's hand and tugged her toward the couch. After they sat, he faced her.

"Think about it this way. Let us assume Jane never once told you about Lord Holcomb and continued to see him, be courted by him, and accept his proposal without once taking you into her confidence. Then, by telling half-truths, she convinced you to attend church on a Tuesday morning, whereupon you find all your family and friends gathered to celebrate her marriage. How would you feel about that?"

"First of all—"

"No, my love. Accept the premise exactly as I presented it."

"Very well, I would be very hurt she had not trusted me enough to share her good news."

"Multiply that deception by eleven and a half years. Can you now understand why your mother is hurt?"

Tears filled his love's eyes.

"We did a very bad thing to Mamma."

"Yes, so what are we going to do about this?"

"Beg forgiveness, over and over until she accepts."

"Good starting point, but I do not think that is enough."

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 My latest baby is two weeks old and has already achieved not one, but two!! orange banners. Thank you, dear readers. You are the only ones who make this possible.

If you haven't yet read Longbourn's Angels, you can get your copy HERE, exclusively on Amazon, Kindle Unlimited. 

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 Longbourn's Angels

.Elizabeth and Jane Bennet have their very own guardian angels in the form of elder twin brothers, Michael, and Gabriel, who are on high alert when Meryton is suddenly flooded with eligible gentlemen. One is honorable although a tad too proud, one is a known flirt always on the lookout for his next ‘angel,’ and one is a garrulous bore. All of them have their eye on a Bennet sister.

The brother’s protective instincts are further heightened when a dangerous predator arrives in their sleepy village, and more than one lady learns that evil can appear in the guise of a handsome man.

Where there is no wood, the fire goes out.

In this retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice, new and old friendships are forged in bonds of steel while others are lost in the waves of gossip.

Available now, exclusively on Amazon's Kindle Unlimited. Purchase your copy HERE

One Line Wednesday

 Short and Sweet Today.

One line from a published or unpublished work. Today I am sharing from Pride & Perception. This is a change of fortune story and our dear Elizabeth leads Mr. Darcy on a merry path toward their Happy Ever After.

Pride & Perception is available exclusively on Amazon - Kindle Unlimited and you can purchase it HERE

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.”

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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