First of all, I want to give a special shout-out to Sarah Powell, who was instrumental in helping me settle on a spy name worthy of Fitzwilliam Darcy. (We couldn’t let Richard choose The Purple Pansy, now, could we?) Thank you, Sarah! Mr. Darcy is ever grateful.
Pouring another glass and handing it to Darcy, Richard said, “To a job well done! I salute you, Cousin.” “It is too early in the day to imbibe.” Richard shrugged, tossing back the contents of his glass. Smacking his lips together, he grinned. “It is not too early when one has been up all night, and it is never too early to celebrate. The papers caught wind of the story, and they have printed a flattering account of how the French spies were thwarted once again by an anonymous son of England.” He produced the offensive article from his breast pocket. Darcy turned away from it. “They glorify unlawful rebels in the same paragraph in which they extol the cleverness of the men who prevent them from selling secrets to the enemy.” “Allow me to reassure you on that point. They said nothing of your cleverness.” Darcy glared at Richard. The ingrate’s grin widened. “You ought to embrace your fame, Darcy. When the war is over, they will proclaim you a hero. Already, there is talk of your nom de guerre. I am rather partial to The Oxford Orchid, although I admit there is a romantic appeal to The Crimson Carnation.” Darcy’s fists clenched. “Ridiculous!” “Do you prefer The Purple Pansy?” Darcy should have accepted the drink Richard had offered him. Then he would have had something to throw at his cousin’s smirking face.
Mr. Darcy, secret agent man? What?! So, when will Chasing Elizabeth be published? VERY soon, I promise!
Elizabeth Bennet flung off her covers, morning chill and anticipation prickling her skin and awakening her senses. She had to leave quickly if she were to leave at all. Every floorboard groaned. Every breath thundered. Every brush of fabric as she donned her costume scratched. Sounds nobody heard during the daytime deafened at dawn, and no matter how many times Elizabeth had performed this same routine, the nerve-tingling urgency and panic never ceased to accompany her. She could not risk waking the household. Plaiting her hair and pinning it in place, she reached in the dim light for the brooch she always left beside her book on the bedside table. It was her favorite — the one Uncle Gardiner had bought for her in Italy ages ago, before the war. Elizabeth ran her finger tenderly over the uneven stones — emerald malachite; bright turquoise; vibrant lapis lazuli; and aventurine in Spring grass green, Summer sun yellow, and Autumn orange — carefully arranged in an intricate, miniature puzzle creating a colorful mosaic of the Italian countryside. She would travel there. Someday. Until that blessed day, Elizabeth wore her uncle’s thoughtful gift on the lapel of her riding habit with pride. Were it not for her dear aunt and uncle’s efforts on her behalf, she doubted her father would allow her and her sisters to venture so far as even London. That Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had persuaded him to allow Elizabeth to accompany them North through Derbyshire the approaching summer — where her aunt had spent most of her youth — was a modern-day miracle. They might even travel farther to the Lake District. Elizabeth hoped so. Less than two months remained until her grand adventure. Forty-seven days to be precise. Forty-seven days which could not pass by quickly enough to suit Elizabeth. Her morning escapades were her only relief from the tedium of watching the clock tick through the never-ending days.
What is Elizabeth up to? Will she get her adventure?
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.
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!
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 <– Click here to read Rita’s review of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet and participate in the giveaway!
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.
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.
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.
Are you ready for more? Just 3 more days until the book goes live! Want your copy the second it goes live? Click here to pre order.
