Jennifer Joy's Blog, page 4

Chapter 2

Elizabeth Bennet stood before the fireplace, her damp dress steaming. Curiosity about what would happen in the next chapter of her novel, and a bit of rain, had forced her to return to Longbourn before she had walked as far as she would have liked over the fields. Her mother and sisters had not yet returned from making calls in Meryton, meaning that Elizabeth had a few glorious, uninterrupted minutes to read in peace by the warmth of the fire.
She nestled into the nearest chair, pulling her stockinged feet up under her skirts, and opened the novel. Her finger skimmed down the page, searching for the spot where her spent candle had forced her to stop reading the night before.
Ah, yes. Lady Gwendolyn was locked in the cellar of an abandoned castle while her evil stepfather arranged for her to marry a man in whose debt he had fallen. Isolated and without a protector, her only hope lay in Sir Knightly.
Lady Gwendolyn pulled on the chains binding her wrists, the irons biting into her flesh. Cold seeped through her torn slippers. Would Sir Knightly reach her in time?
Elizabeth’s concentration was interrupted when someone stepped on a squeaky floorboard. Ancient stone castles did not squeak as Longbourn did.
Mrs. Hill greeted Elizabeth with a smile. “Your father asks for you. He is in his book room,” she said.
Elizabeth sighed. Lady Gwendolyn’s fate would have to hang in the balance a while longer. Closing her book with an air of resignation, Elizabeth thanked Mrs. Hill and made her way down the hall to her father’s sanctuary. It was not often an invitation was extended to join him there, but Elizabeth prided herself in being the recipient of the majority of his invitations amongst her sisters. She was his favorite.
Father sipped from a wine glass, breathing with his hand over his chest as she entered the room and sat in the chair beside his desk.
“Is your cough improving, Papa?” she asked, following his gaze when he glanced at the door. Father enjoyed the peace his book room provided from the usual noise of his household, and he had trained her well. She had closed the door behind her.
His bushy eyebrows knit together, and he frowned.
Suspecting she knew the source of his melancholy, for they often thought so much alike, Elizabeth said, “It is much quieter without Lydia here. Sometimes I miss her, too.”
Lydia, her youngest sister, had eloped with Mr. Denny, a dashing officer who had arrived to Meryton the year before with the militia. Father had disapproved of the match, but Mr. Denny had proved over the past few months to be steadier and more level-headed than his impulsive marriage to Lydia had suggested. They would never have enough money, but they loved each other. Elizabeth prayed they would be happy.
Father smiled sadly. “I wish all my girls were comfortably settled.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the wine bottle when he started coughing again.
Elizabeth jumped to her feet, pouring the wine for him before he spilled it over his desk and stained the manuscripts he toiled over.
Holding the glass up to his lips, she helped him drink.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” he wheezed.
“The draughts Mr. Jones prepared are not strong enough. I will write immediately to Aunt Gardiner. There must be a physician in London who has better medicine. If she cannot send it, I will collect it myself,” she said, noting how pale his skin was that morning and how much deeper his cough sounded. Where his collar had fit snuggly around his neck the month before, it now sagged.
Father held up his hand, attempting to dismiss her concerns. “Do not trouble yourself, Lizzy. I am only agitated because I have received a letter from Mr. Collins. He has a talent for putting me out of sorts.”
Elizabeth dropped back into her chair. She liked Mr. Collins as much as her father did. That the clergyman had managed to marry Elizabeth’s best friend, Charlotte, eight months prior (after she herself had refused him) did nothing to put the gentleman into her good graces.
“Does he write of Charlotte?” she asked.
“He implied — with the utmost delicacy, of course — that she is well despite her present condition. I remember how miserable Mrs. Bennet was toward the end of her confinement, and I suspect Mr. Collins would never admit to his wife’s suffering, lest it reflect poorly on either of them. He wishes to visit us before the birth of his first child. Is that not considerate of him?” Father added sarcastically.
“All the more reason for you to get well. You must live forever and frustrate his plans of ever inheriting Longbourn,” Elizabeth said cheerily.
Father did not laugh. He rubbed his hands against his face.
Elizabeth’s smile suddenly felt out of place. Her imagination ran wild with explanations for his strange behavior, each one more dramatic than the last. Leaping from one conclusion to the next left her short of breath. “Papa, what is wrong?”
He took off his spectacles, laying them on top of his open book. Looking up at her with watery blue eyes, he said, “My dearest girl, I am dying.”
“Nonsense!” she replied violently, her stomach sinking. “You only require different medicine. I will write to Aunt Gardiner this moment, and I will go to London myself to fetch a better draught.” She rose, her need to act stronger than her desire to understand.
“Sit, Lizzy. You must listen to me.”
“But you are wrong. Surely, you are wrong.” He had to be wrong. People did not die of colds.
Father held her gaze, his eyes sunken and his cheeks gaunt. “Sit, Lizzy. You will listen.”
“I must write to Aunt. There is no time to lose,” she repeated, determined to make herself useful. Father only had a cold. He would be well in no time. She only needed to write to her aunt in London. The best doctors were to be found there. She turned toward the door.
“I already wrote to your uncle Gardiner.”
Elizabeth froze.
“There is no medicine to help me.”
She reached for her chair, all the strength of purpose seeping out of her limbs.
He continued, “I wrote my symptoms in detail, and your uncle did me the immense favor of inquiring several physicians of good repute their educated opinions. They all agreed. I do not have a cold.”
“Would it not have been better for you to go to London for a proper examination?” she asked, her voice echoing in her own head as if someone else spoke.
“Every movement brings on another fit of coughs. No, my dear. I could never make the trip.”
Elizabeth shook her head. It buzzed. “We could send for a doctor to come here. Surely, if we paid enough—”
“It is no use, Lizzy. Were I an ignorant man, I might have more hope, but I read the list of symptoms. I have all of them.”
The clock ticked several seconds, each one rebounding through the room more loudly than the last until the deafening noise pounded against Elizabeth’s temples.
“I have consumption.” With one sentence the clamor silenced.
She pressed her eyes together, her throat tight. She dropped her elbows to her knees, her forehead pressed against her palms.
Consumption. People died of consumption.
Father was beside her, pressing a teacup full of wine into her hands. “Drink, Lizzy. You must keep your strength up. You will need it. I need you to stay strong.”
Powerless to do anything but obey and already missing the beloved father she would soon lose, Elizabeth took the cup and drank while he settled back in his chair. What would she do without him? All the conversations they had? The humor only he understood?
“I swore I would never use your refusal of Mr. Collins against you, and I would not mention it now were I not desperate. When I die, your mother and sisters…” his voice shook and his chin trembled, “…they will be without a home. I have kept the true nature of my illness from your mother, and I wish for you to do the same.” Taking a raspy breath, he continued, “The Gardiners have kindly offered to take Jane, but with their large family, they cannot receive Mary or Kitty.”
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and strained to listen. The drums in her head had calmed, but the buzz resumed.
“I have said nothing to your aunt Phillips. She is a terrible gossip and would only worry your mother before it is time. But I trust she will take Mrs. Bennet and Kitty in.” Father’s voice warbled, as he added, “I have not been able to secure a place for Mary … nor for you, my dear, dear girl.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, rubbing it against his eyes. “Your aunt Gardiner has family in Derbyshire who might be able to help. The Bambers. Some of them are in service, and the rest are in trade, so they are only to be sought out as a last resource.”
“You speak to me of status as if I care? When you tell me you are dying?”
“I will not risk ruining your prospects when your happiness is my priority.”
They were words Elizabeth was grateful to hear her father pronounce, but not like this.
Father continued, “Mrs. Gardiner’s assistance has been invaluable to me of late, and I know she will not rest until you and Mary are properly provided for, should I die before you have a chance to see to your own futures.”
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. Pressing her cold fingers against her burning cheeks, she said, “Do not say such things, Papa. You have always recovered your health before.”
“Not this time,” he said, repeating with his shoulders slumped in defeat, “Not this time.”
“Not if you give up so easily. You must fight!” Elizabeth insisted, her tone shrill in her ears.
She would take the evening coach to London, and she would drag a physician back to Meryton to see her father or her name was not Elizabeth Bennet. She would do what she must, but she would not let her father die if she could prevent it.
Reaching forward to clasp her hands between his own, Father said, “You must promise you will look after your mother and sisters. I am sorrier than you can ever know to charge you with this great burden, but you are clever, Lizzy. I trust you. I know you will find a way—”
A violent cough interrupted his plea, and his hands tugged away from Elizabeth’s in his haste to cover his mouth with the handkerchief.
That was when Elizabeth saw it. The blood.

Ooh … the plot thickens!

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian goes live on Saturday! You can grab your copy here!


Disclaimer: The Amazon links used in this post are affiliate links. 

A Sneak Peek into a New Book!

A secret baby. A forced marriage. A happy family?

Pemberley

September 1812

“Come, Darcy. Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” Charles Bingley pleaded, his usual light-hearted manner replaced with somber candor. It ought to have added more weight to his invitation.
But Fitzwilliam Darcy would not budge.
Darcy shook his head, fingering the black band around his coat sleeve. “I am honored you wish to include me, Bingley, but I must beg your patience. I cannot leave Pemberley. Not yet.”
Bingley set down his drink. Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward. “You have not left Pemberley in a year.”
“Nine months,” Darcy corrected. Nine endless months that had passed as quickly as a breath now that they were gone.
“A difference of three months does not make your isolation any better. You have shut yourself off from the world. It is not good.”
Were Darcy to relive the past months again, he would have acted exactly as he had done. There had been no other option.
Bingley added, “Is this how your dear sister would wish for you to live after—?”
Darcy’s eyes snapped to Bingley, who bit his lips together and shrank back in his chair. He did not say the word aloud, but it loomed in the air. Bingley did not know the half of it, nor could Darcy tell him. There was no time to mourn, nor would Darcy share what was his alone to bear.
“I thank you for your concern, Bingley,” Darcy replied, reaching for his brandy when his throat tightened. Tossing back the contents of his glass, the burn a welcome reprieve, he added, “Georgiana always wanted the best for the ones she loved.”
Deep breath. Her name was still difficult to say aloud when she was not there to reply to it. Another breath. “However, it has only been two months since she was laid to rest. I am not ready to go out into society.”
Bingley shook his head. “Two months, two years, two decades. Grief will take all the time you give it. You must live, Darcy. It is not only the time your sister has been gone, but the months you have spent in her care until consumption claimed her.”
Darcy gritted his teeth together. He despised lies. He detested liars. And yet, that was what he had become.
“Truly, you are to be commended,” continued Bingley. “There are few brothers as dutiful as you have proved to be. But I worry for your health if you continue in this same attitude. Come. Join me and my sisters in Hertfordshire.”
The undeserved praise stung. Not one day passed without Darcy wishing he could turn back time. He would not have trusted when he needed to protect. He would not have been too late. But as much as he wished to control time, he could not reverse it. Nor had he managed to extract Bingley from his parlor, though he had refused his offer many times.
Perhaps Bingley would stop insisting if Darcy showed a measure of consideration. “Hertfordshire?” Darcy asked politely.
His normal enthusiasm restored, Bingley spoke excitedly, “Yes. You will recall how I had wished to let an estate near a village called Meryton. It was a year ago.”
Darcy remembered. Bingley had asked for his opinion and guidance, and Darcy had been agreeable to the idea. The day before his departure to meet Bingley, Georgiana had shown up in Pemberley’s entrance hall, sopping wet, gaunt, and with George Wickham’s child. That had been nine months ago.
Reaching for his glass only to see it was empty, Darcy cleared his throat. “I had hoped you would continue your plans without me.”
Bingley colored. “I ought to have gone, but I did not trust myself to manage an estate without the benefit of your experience. My dependency reflects poorly on my character, I realize, but it is the truth.”
Why did Bingley not leave? He deserved better company than this. “I did not mean to chastise you, Bingley, only to appease my conscience for not accompanying you.”
“I do not fault you for putting your sister’s needs ahead of my own. Had you acted otherwise, I would have felt horribly selfish and guilty.” Taking another sip of his drink (two more and he would be done, calculated Darcy), Bingley continued, “Do not blame yourself. I was not ready for the responsibility I would have to bear if I were to do a proper job of it. Had I gone alone then, I would have made a muddled mess of everything, I am certain.” He chuckled softly, perfectly at ease with his faults.
Darcy envied him. He could not afford to have faults. Not when his last failure had cost Georgiana’s life.
She had married over the anvil at Gretna Green. Darcy’s little sister, of whom he was entrusted guardianship, had signed her death sentence when she wrote her name beside a ne’er-do-well out to get her fortune. Wickham had killed her.
But Darcy’s oversight had made it possible.
Bingley’s happy tone clashed against Darcy’s dark turn of mind.
“You can imagine my surprise when I heard the property was still empty, and so I did what I was not ready to do a year ago.” Bingley’s chest puffed out as he announced, “I let Netherfield Park. I have a good feeling about the place, Darcy. Think of the new people we could meet and the countryside we can explore and hunt on. The property is extensive, with three lakes.” He listed all the attributes in such a way as to entice Darcy to agree to his proposal.
Holding up his hand before Bingley was carried away in his own excitement, Darcy said, “I thank you, but my reply remains unchanged. I cannot leave.”
Bingley opened his mouth — no doubt to continue in his fruitless exhortations — but Mrs. Reynolds entered the parlor then. Her hands were clasped in front of her; her shoulders, hunched up to her ears.
Darcy tensed. Steadying his breath, he asked, “What is it Mrs. Reynolds?”
She met his eyes, and he felt the intensity in her firm look. “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Darcy, but there is a situation which requires your immediate attention.”
Her vagueness could only mean one thing.
Rising, Darcy bowed to Bingley, who had sense enough to know their call had come to an end.
“I hope you change your mind, Darcy. You are always welcome in my home, be it at London or Hertfordshire,” he said.
It felt awkward to smile, but Darcy gave it a try. “Thank you, Bingley. I appreciate the invitation, though I cannot accept it,” he said, leaving the room with Mrs. Reynolds while the butler saw to his friend. Darcy spared him no more thought, his entire focus consumed with the matter at hand.
Wordlessly, Darcy and the housekeeper walked up the stairs.
Hearty wails echoed down the hall, growing louder as they reached the fourth door.
“Whatever ails her, it is not her lungs,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she stepped aside for Darcy to pass.
Mrs. Bamber paced the room, the inconsolable child defying the wet nurse’s efforts to calm her.
Securing the door behind him, Darcy rushed over to the babe Mrs. Bamber thrust into his arms. “What is my little girl upset about?” he cooed, settling his anxious charge against his shoulder and rocking back and forth until he felt her body relax.
Mrs. Bamber rubbed her eyes, her hair frazzled around her plump, ruddy face. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I could not calm her no matter what I did. She was determined to have you.”
Pulling a chair closer to the fire with his free hand, Darcy said, “You know I will always come when Anne needs me. Pray rest, Mrs. Bamber, and tell me why she is out of sorts. She is not ill, I hope?” Darcy’s hand spread over Anne’s back protectively, his stomach twisting.
With a sigh, Mrs. Bamber looked up at him. “She is a healthy child if ever I saw one, Mr. Darcy. That is not the problem.”
“What is it, then?” he pressed.
Mrs. Bamber looked at Mrs. Reynolds, only continuing when the housekeeper nodded. “You will not approve of what I must suggest.”
“Say it all the same. There is nothing I will not do to protect my sister’s child.”
Mrs. Bamber took a deep breath. “She needs to be around other people. She needs to leave this house — as do you, if I may be so bold.” She gestured toward the closed curtains. “I dare not show Baby Anne the beauty of her own surroundings lest she is discovered. It is a pity.”
She was right, of course, but what she suggested was impossible.
Mrs. Reynolds moved closer to the nurse, stopping once she stood in line with Mrs. Bamber’s chair and giving Darcy the impression that he was in a battle where he was outnumbered. She said, “We cannot keep the baby a secret forever. We have no recourse.”
Indeed, it was a fact of which Darcy was also well aware. But he refused to accept it. “Anne is under my protection and care. I will not go back on my promise.”
Anne’s little fingers gripped around the fold of Darcy’s cravat, and he heard her yawn. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek against her fuzzy head. Softly, he said, “I expect to hear from Mr. Rochester soon. If there is a way I can adopt Anne or keep her as my ward, he will find it. I will do what is required.” Mr. Rochester was his last hope. Darcy had exhausted every other resource.
Pursing her lips together in her thoughtful way, Mrs. Reynolds said, “I could not help but overhear Mr. Bingley’s invitation. You have relatives in Hertfordshire, do you not, Mrs. Bamber?”
The wet nurse’s eyebrows creased. “Yes, I do, and I know them as intimately as my own children, thanks to my cousin. She writes often and extensively. Madeline Bamber she was. Madeline Gardiner she has been for several years now. Her husband’s sister resides in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy did not like the manner with which Mrs. Reynolds pinched her chin and considered him.
She said, “I remember Mrs. Gardiner. Her father had the shop at Lambton. You may not remember him, Mr. Darcy, as you were young when they left for London. He was an honest man, and your own mother was known to converse at length with his daughter. Lady Anne was an exceptional judge of character.”
Where was she going with this reasoning?
She continued, “I believe we both know what Mr. Rochester will say. Can you not help yourself along, Mr. Darcy? Especially when you have already received an invitation from Mr. Bingley?”
Darcy’s jaw dropped. She would have him marry while he was still in mourning and when Anne clearly needed him? She would have him leave Pemberley, endangering Anne?
“Absolutely not,” he hissed, covering Anne’s ear for fear of disturbing her.
Mrs. Reynolds asked Mrs. Bamber, “Are your relatives in Hertfordshire the sort of people to be trusted with our charge? Are they as sensible as Mrs. Gardiner was known to be?”
Had she not heard him?
Mrs. Bamber looked between the two of them, answering when Mrs. Reynolds encouraged her with another nod. “The mother is a nervous, flighty creature. I would not trust her with a puppy much less with our sweet Anne. Their father’s estate is modest, and I know it is a source of anxiety to him that it is entailed to his nearest male relation. He has five daughters, you see, and only recently did the youngest marry … and she to a regimental officer without two pennies to rub together.”
This questioning served no purpose. Darcy had already refused Bingley’s offer. He turned to the wall where a portrait of Georgiana hung, turning Anne so she could see her mother while Mrs. Bamber expounded on the subject of her Hertfordshire relatives.
“However, my cousin Madeline always speaks highly of the two eldest Bennet daughters. She has nothing but the kindest things to say about them, and Madeline is nothing if not sensible and steady, as you recall.”
“They are daughters of a landed gentleman?” Mrs. Reynolds asked. Darcy felt her eyes on his back. He refused to turn around.
“Yes. They are proper ladies,” Mrs. Bamber said with pride.
Darcy eyed the door connecting the nursery to his bedchamber. He had learned over the past couple of months to do several activities with only one arm, and there was a book on his desk he would much rather read than endure the present conversation. He took a step toward the door, but Mrs. Reynolds swooped around him to block his path.
With a sweet smile directed at the sweet blossom in his arms, Mrs. Reynolds planted herself between Darcy and his escape. She was a clever one who knew him too well.
He was trapped.
Wasting no time, Mrs. Reynolds asked Mrs. Bamber, “What else can you tell us about your two eldest nieces?”
If anything, Mrs. Reynolds made him more determined than ever to stay on at Pemberley. The last place in the world he would ever agree to travel would be Hertfordshire. She could stare at him all she wanted. His answer would remain unchanged.
“Miss Jane Bennet is the eldest, and a real beauty she is reputed to be. She has a way with children, and Madeline praises her calm manners,” said Mrs. Bamber.
Darcy pretended he did not notice the look Mrs. Reynolds gave him at that. He would not leave Anne, and that was final.
Continuing, Mrs. Bamber said, “Miss Elizabeth is the second daughter. She is a clever one, but she is not cruel or greedy. When the heir of her father’s estate proposed marriage last year, she refused him, stating that they could never be happy together.”
“She put her own happiness ahead of her security and that of her family?” Darcy asked. He was not impressed. What he would give to secure Little Anne’s future!
Bowing her head, Mrs. Bamber mumbled, “I thought it was romantic. Her father is — or at least he was at the time — in good health. I suppose he is unchanged. I have not heard from Madeline yet this month. But, Lizzy, as Madeline calls her in her letters, has youth on her side. She was not yet of age when her cousin proposed. I cannot say she would react the same if a handsome young gentleman with kind manners and a gentle heart were to cast his eye in her direction.” The way Mrs. Bamber looked askance at Darcy as she spoke left little doubt to whom she referred.
Was he to be reduced to heeding the machinations of two females in his employ?
“I will not travel to Hertfordshire to propose marriage to an absolute stranger,” Darcy said bluntly.
Mrs. Reynolds replied snappily, “If your only recourse is to marry and produce an heir before Wickham finds out about his daughter, then I would encourage you to join Mr. Bingley in Hertfordshire. Like it or not, you will have to enter society again. You must marry! You could hardly do better in society. All of your acquaintances know Mr. Wickham, and he would sooner turn their sympathies against you.”
Darcy was well aware of the difficulties without Mrs. Reynolds pointing them out to him. While he had been busy caring for his sister, Wickham had no doubt used his time to garner the favor of their past mutual friends. It was the only way he could live as he did, by leeching off the commiseration of others.
“The Bennets would have no reason to know him, nor are they the kind of family with whom Mr. Wickham would seek to establish a friendship,” continued Mrs. Reynolds. “Miss Bennet sounds promising. Miss Elizabeth, on the other hand, sounds troublesome. A lady such as she would never agree to marry for convenience if she has already refused to marry for her own comfort and security.”
Mrs. Bamber nodded in agreement, saying, “Lizzy is Madeline’s clear favorite, but I have to agree she would never consent to a marriage of convenience. Jane is everything lovely. Madeline’s description of her is similar to how I would describe your dear departed mother, Lady Anne. Such grace and elegance.”
Next, the women would conspire to convince him that marriage to Miss Bennet was a certain path to the marital bliss his father and mother had enjoyed together. Darcy cherished those memories, though he did not trust them anymore. How could his life have been so happy when every day was a struggle to hold the last shred of his family together?
He had no time for troublesome females with romantic ideals or beauties who faded like the roses at the end of summer. His heart — what was left of it — was already taken by the tiny girl sleeping against his shoulder. He smoothed a wrinkle on her gown, swearing once again, as he had hundreds of times before, to protect her.

Like what you’re reading? Pre-order your copy of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian!

Disclaimer: The Amazon links used in this post are affiliate links. 

A New Swoonworthy Romance!

My new book just went live today, and I’m so excited to share it with you!

So, what’s different about this book? Here are some clues:
1) Instead of talking smack about Mr. Darcy, Wickham actually praises him to Elizabeth! (What?!)
2) Darcy’s a world-renowned poet … he just doesn’t know it.
3) Elizabeth’s his greatest fan … only she doesn’t know it. (See a trend here?)
4) For once, Mrs. Bennet gets her way, and it ends up being a good thing. (I know, that one shocked me too!)
5) There are poems (one which causes great debate and another to make you swoon.)

Want more? Here’s the description for Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet:

Can you fall in love with someone you have never met?

He has given up on love.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was burned once. Never again. Hiding his emotions, Darcy takes pride in his marble-like façade … until he meets a lady who threatens to expose his true character, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

She loves a poet she has never seen.

Elizabeth Bennet longs to meet the man whose poems touch her soul — the elusive Mr. Walter Wyndham. He is her ideal; her dream … and everything emotionless Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy could never be. 

When Mrs. Bennet and a surprise visitor conspire to throw them together, they’ll either strangle each other … or end up engaged.

Stuck in each other’s company, Darcy’s carefully constructed barriers come crashing down when he discovers the secret identity of Elizabeth’s beloved poet. It’s him!

Will Darcy measure up to the man she’s been dreaming of for years? Will Elizabeth stubbornly pursue an illusion, or will she fall for an imperfect (and very real) man?

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet is a sweet and clean romance variation of Jane Austen’s timeless classic, Pride and Prejudice.

Let the poetry lessons begin! Get your copy today!

Ebook:
Amazon US: click here 
Amazon UK: click here
Everywhere Else: click here

Prefer a paperback? click here

Today, one of my favorite blogs is helping me host a giveaway! If you’d like a chance to win a free ebook copy of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet make sure to swing by! Here’s the link:

From Pemberley to Milton Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet and participate in the giveaway!

Thank you for sharing my Release Day with me!

A Sneak Peek

Here’s a little glimpse into what awaits you. Sparks are flying between Darcy and Elizabeth! Hearts will either melt, or they’ll set each other on fire… You’ll have to read it to find out.

Coming Soon—A New Book!

Fitzwilliam Darcy, a poet? What?!

My latest book is undergoing its final round of edits, which means that it’s almost ready for you!

I can hardly wait to share it with you!

Soon. Very soon.

Very Well, Miss Bates…

I always liked Miss Bates. One needn’t worry about lack of conversation with her about…



When I was little, I introduced myself as Cinderella Burger King. Later, I was Elrod Purple Clod.My mom is a writer, and my grandma is a voracious reader. She gave me my first writing journal when I was 7. I filled it with limericks.I’m an introvert who loves deep conversations/hates small talk and is often the first one out on the dance floor … and the first person to leave a party for home.

Okay, that’s enough about me.

How about you? What are your 3 things?

Three (Dull) Facts About Me

I always liked Miss Bates. One needn’t worry about lack of conversation with her about…



When I was little, I introduced myself as Cinderella Burger King. Later, I was Elrod Purple Clod.My mom is a writer, and my grandma is a voracious reader. She gave me my first writing journal when I was 7. I filled it with limericks.I’m an introvert who loves deep conversations/hates small talk and is often the first one out on the dance floor … and the first person to leave a party for home.

Okay, that’s enough about me.

How about you? What are your 3 things?

A Sale You Won’t Want to Miss!

I’m so excited about this, I had my graphic designer hubby make a pretty!

The Meryton Mystery Series is complete and I’m celebrating with a book sale!

The Remarkable Miss Darcy goes live tomorrow (it’s available as a pre order right now), but TODAY, you can download The Honorable Mr. Darcy for free!

And if you use the US or UK Amazon stores, The Indomitable Miss Elizabeth is available for only 99c.

Grab your copies before time runs out! Here are the links:
US: Click Here
UK: Click Here
Everywhere Else: Click Here

Happy Reading, Dear Readers! Thank you for sharing this special week with me!

The Remarkable Miss Darcy — An Excerpt

Georgiana’s story is soon to go live, and I thought you’d like a little taste of what’s to come. Yes, it’s a suspense with enough murder and mayhem to keep you on your toes. But it’s mostly a story of hope, love, and the strength of family.

Isn’t she beautiful?

Miss Darcy stood before him now, wearing an outrageously bold mask. The attention-seeking plumes contradicted her unassuming character, but she did not wilt in self-consciousness. She donned the impressive arrangement with a confidence that fanned the flames of his curiosity and admiration.

“There is an appalling lack of curtains in the ballroom,” Michael teased once Miss Bennet had departed with a dutiful (and awake) Mrs. Wiggins trailing behind her.

He offered Miss Darcy his arm, and his temperament lightened with the touch of her gloved hand.

“I had noticed,” she said. “However, given the height of my costume, I do not think even curtains would conceal me tonight.” She fingered a protruding feather, adding emphasis to her point.

Michael laughed, pleased with Miss Darcy’s ability to laugh at herself. She did not take herself too seriously.

It was difficult to hear over the buzz of the crowd, so he led her toward the gardens. “I admit to a great curiosity regarding your choice of mask. I never would have guessed you would choose such a … striking … headdress,” he said.

Miss Darcy sighed. “Sometimes the price of friendship is rather steep.”

So the headdress had not been her idea. His interest was piqued. “I should love to hear how that came about if you wish to tell it.” Please do, he thought while she considered.

Another sigh. Then finally, “I might as well. Were it not for Miss Bennet, I daresay I would not have come here at all tonight. However, one does what one can to add to others’ happiness … even at the cost of one’s comfort.”

“One does,” Michael agreed wholeheartedly, hoping she would continue.

“Then you understand my predicament. After so much exertion encouraging her spirits, you can imagine my reaction when Miss Bennet was saddened to see, on our way here, more than a few other ladies wearing the same mask. Unwilling to allow the coincidence to spoil her evening, I offered to trade with her. I should not have regretted it were nothing more than my own comfort affected, but as you experienced, she seized on the opportunity to switch identities entirely.”

“That explains her disappointment when I recognized you.”

“You did,” she said softly.

The gentleness in her tone warmed his cheeks.

Another sensation, one that had him straightening his posture and holding the arm she held further out from his side, made him look over his shoulder. Mr. Darcy’s steely gaze cooled Michael’s complexion like a blast of frigid air.

Right. He must not forget his place. Miss Darcy was kindness personified, and he would not flatter himself by adding more meaning to her words than she, in fact, spoke.

Michael cleared his throat and returned the conversation to Miss Bennet. “Surely she does not expect anyone of your acquaintance to be fooled by her act.”

“That will not keep her from trying,” Miss Darcy said with a smile, turning to face the ballroom once they reached the balustrade separating them from the dark gardens below.

There was no vanity or jealousy in Miss Darcy’s tone, and she bore the discomfort of which she spoke elegantly.

Clearing his throat again, Michael acknowledged, “Yes, Miss Bennet does seem like the sort of lady to make the best of any situation.” Would Miss Darcy resent his praise of another? Most ladies would.

“It is what I love most about her,” Miss Darcy said, her eyes softening as they searched the crowd for her friend.

The glow of sincere affection flattered her fair features more than the hundreds of candles casting their light from the ballroom chandeliers. Miss Darcy was as beautiful inside as she was in appearance.

Oh dear.

Michael felt himself in danger. He looked through the doors hoping to see Mr. Darcy’s stern stare fixed on him. That would interrupt the warmth spreading over Michael like liquid honey. Delicious and dangerous. He was powerless to resist her, his desire to know more about the fascinating woman as intense as the bright moon in the cloudless sky bathing them in its brilliance.

“Remarkable,” he muttered.

“That two complete opposites should be the best of friends? My brother would agree with you, Mr. Nelson,” she said.

That was not at all what he had meant with his comment, but he had no right to encourage affection when he had determined to keep his distance from the Darcys. After tonight. He had not seen the man with the scar since his call, and it was unlikely such a man would attempt to gain entry into an event where his presence would not be tolerated.

Just a couple more minutes. Just one more question. Just one more detail he could ponder after they parted ways.

Love is in the air!

I don’t know about you, but I’m cheering for Michael. Trouble is brewing, though, and the strength of their attachment will be put to the test.

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It’s love at second sight…