A Note From the Author:

This scene almost made it into the Prologue of The Immovable Mr. Tanner. I loved showing why young Jonathan became the resentful protector, and how he got his surname. But it just didn’t fit with the ending I had in mind. That, and I’d much rather begin a book with some humor (in the form of frizzy-haired Mrs. Molly uttering ultimatums) rather than such a dark moment.

That’s how scenes get cut.

However, I’m happy to share it with you here. I hope you enjoy it!

How Jonathan Became Mr. Tanner

Jonathan swept the rough wood of the tavern floor, keeping one eye on the man looking at his mama with an expression he did not much like and his other eye on the innkeeper who liked to pinch his ear when he thought Mama was not looking. He was an awful man, and Jonathan didn’t like him at all… although, to be fair, the innkeeper had endured Jonathan’s unwanted presence since his birth until now. Seven long years, during which Jonathan had become an expert with both ends of the broom — the brush for cleaning the floors and the pointy end for discouraging riffraff away from his beautiful mother.

“Hey, you, come here,” the man demanded with a resounding pound of his tankard on the table, his gold rings tapping impatiently against the pewter. He looked like a gentleman, but he did not act like one.

Jonathan watched his mama move toward the man. She stopped a little beyond an arm’s length away from his table. She did not trust him either.

“Come here, I say,” he insisted.

She shifted her weight, giving the appearance of moving closer without actually doing so. The innkeeper watched her with narrowed eyes.

As quick as a dart, the man grabbed her hand, pulling her to him so hard she fell against his chest to land on his lap.

Jonathan charged, jabbing through the man’s coats at his ribs with his trusty broom. “You let her go!” he shouted, frustrated at the ineffectiveness of his strikes and yelping aloud when the innkeeper pinched his bruised ear and lifted him up to his toes.

Mama tried to remove herself from the man’s lap, but he held her to him. “You like to play, do you?”

The evil man moved his hands all over Mama, and in his heated rage Jonathan forgot the innkeeper and his throbbing ear. He swung his broom handle at the man’s head before the innkeeper let go of him to twist the weapon out of his hands.

Jonathan’s blow had been too weak. His mama shoved the anything-but-gentle man’s face away with her hands, but he only seemed to enjoy the tussle.

With a kick to the shin of the innkeeper, Jonathan ran at the man with his fists up, flailing with all his youthful might. “You leave my mama alone!” he shouted, rage adding strength and speed enough to his limbs for the man’s hold to loosen around Mama’s waist.

She escaped and Jonathan unrelentingly wailed on the man, waving his fists through the air and taking great pride whenever he hit against something solid.

His breath came in heated, fast huffs, and his limbs grew heavy, but Jonathan kept swinging. He would teach the wicked man to keep his filthy hands to himself.

A cold cackle slowed Jonathan’s fists. They stopped completely when the man placed his palm on Jonathan’s forehead to hold him away with a single hand at a humiliating distance.

“You would defend a fallen woman?” said the evil man.

Mama had been called much worse over the years, but those words had no power over Jonathan. He knew the truth. “My father was a war hero, not a blackguard like you!”

The man chuckled again, “And I am the Archbishop of Canter‐ bury! Are you stupid enough to believe that too, boy?”

Jonathan lashed out, his blows pummeling the air. But he did not quit. The man’s hands were on him, not his mother, and that was reward enough.

The man grabbed him by the collar, pulling him so close Jonathan recoiled at the stench of ale on his breath. “You are nothing but an illegitimate brat. A plague wherever you go. Nobody wants you. Even your mother would be better off without you to drag her down,” he hissed. “And I would wager that your dear, sweet mum would rather have a tumble with me than bear the embarrassment of watching her disgrace of a son attempt to spare her from a well-paying service.”

Jonathan knew what the man meant, and he raised his fists again, ready for another round.

He heard his mother behind him. “Come, Jonathan. Not all battles are worth fighting.”

Jonathan rarely disagreed with his mother, but the smirk on the man’s face made Jonathan’s insides burn with a need to right the injustice before him… just as his father had bravely done in the war.

He knew what to do. He slumped his shoulders, letting his fists fall to his sides… and he waited.

Just as Jonathan had hoped, the man lifted his hand to strike him. Jonathan had known it would happen. These men were all the same.

But he was ready.

Jumping out of the way, he grabbed the man’s forearm and bit down, accomplishing with his teeth what his fists and booted feet had not been able to.

With a shriek, the man shoved Jonathan away. He landed against the soft figure of his mother, who pulled him along with her without stopping toward the door.

The innkeeper shouted after them, “Do not come back!”

The cool raindrops felt good against Jonathan’s hot skin as they hurried across the square and down a narrow street to the laundry. His mother pushed him along when he tried to slow down.

They clambered up the rickety steps to their room, and in seconds Mama packed their few possessions into a bag.

“We have to leave?” Jonathan asked, the world coming to a sudden stop.

“We cannot stay here.” She reached out to take his hand. Just like that? They must leave?

“But we did nothing wrong. That man had no right!” Jonathan looked around the only room he had ever known, feeling as if the wooden planks shifted beneath his feet.

She brushed her fingers over his cheek and said softly, “It is unfair, but it does not change the fact that nobody else in this village will employ me. Lord knows I have tried.”

Had the man been right? Would his mother have been better off without him? He felt his chin quiver, and he rubbed his shirtsleeve over his burning eyes. “Is it because of me?” he asked.

Mama wrapped her arms around him and he snuggled against her, inhaling the comforting lavender and lye that clung to her skin while she stroked his hair. “Do not listen to what those men say. The happiest day of my life was the day you came into this world.” She craned her neck down to look at him, holding his head between her hands so he had to look in her eyes. “I have never regretted having you in my life, Jonathan. Never. Do you understand me?”

Jonathan’s anger melted under her tender touch and the warmth of her whiskey-brown eyes. He forced a smile, though every fiber of his being rebelled at the unjust treatment she endured for his sake. And she, the widow of a war hero! If his dad were alive, he would wallop the lot of them.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed in reply, then took the bag from her. He swung it from one hand to prove he was strong enough to carry it.

She buttoned his coat, pulling the collar as high as it would go.

They made their way to the muddy street below while she hummed a merry tune and swung his arm back and forth as if they were embarking on an adventure instead of wandering into the dark, rainy night without a home or even a destination in mind.

Papa had no family left in England to turn to. They were alone, just Jonathan and Mama.

“Ma’am, if you please,” a kindly voice said as they rounded the corner out to the square. It was Mr. Tanner, the owner of the stables. He had his hat in his hands and he shuffled his feet nervously.

Jonathan could not recall ever speaking to or being spoken to by the man, but he was good to his horses. He was safe. He walked up to the stableman with his mother at his side.

“Excuse me for intruding, ma’am, but I was standing in front of the tavern, and I saw what happened. It is not right.” He bowed his head and shook it.

“Thank you, Mr. Tanner,” Mama said.

He shuffled his feet again, twisting his hat between his hands. “I… I cannot offer much, but I have a gentle ol’ mare in a stall with a fresh bed of hay. She will keep you warm until the morning.”

Jonathan tugged on his mother’s arm. It was late, and the rain was already beginning to seep through his coat.

She smiled at him and stroked his cheek while Mr. Tanner looked embarrassed.

“We thank you for your offer and for your horse’s hospitality, Mr. Tanner. It is a kindness we shall not soon forget,” she said.

Mr. Tanner grinned down at the murky water pooling around his boots. “Follow me, then.”

He led them to the stables where a big, black mare named Jezebel snickered in her stall.

“Do not let her name fool you. Jezebel is the gentlest mare in all of England,” he said, giving Jonathan a carrot to feed her. She rumbled like a giant kitten when Jonathan grabbed a brush and stroked her coat as high as he could reach.

Warm and safe for the night, Jonathan fell asleep in his mother’s arms until a chill at his back woke him. Mama was gone.

Low voices outside the stall spoke, and Jonathan strained his ears to listen.

“You are a friend of Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper at Pemberley?” asked Mr. Tanner.

Jonathan sensed some hesitancy in his mother’s tone. “Yes,” she answered.

“Please, do not concern yourself, ma’am. My cousin is a groom at the stables there, and he told me to keep an eye out for you when he found out Mrs. Reynolds had secured a position for you here. The innkeeper was a kinder man whilst his wife lived.”

She sniffed. “Then you know my shame.” Jonathan stopped breathing to hear better.

Her voice sounded far away, as if she were describing a dream, when she continued. “I was so excited to bear George Darcy’s child. I thought he loved me, and he made such beautiful promises. I was young and foolish. I believed every word he said. And now my son is made to suffer for it.”

Jonathan went numb. His head buzzed so loudly, he struggled to hear what he both craved and feared to know.

“Does the boy know who his father is?”

Jonathan placed his hand over his heart lest it betray him and they stop speaking.

“I told him his father died a hero in the war. How could I tell him the truth? That his father cast me out of Pemberley to fend for myself however I could when I told him I was with his child? No. My son will never know if I can help it. He will be a better man for it. I am grateful Mrs. Reynolds took pity on me and convinced the innkeeper to take me on once I had the babe, but I always knew it could not last long.”

Jonathan leaned against Jezebel, gasping for air. The man he had been taught to praise and respect in his memory was no better than the innkeeper who had cast them out.

They would never rise above their circumstances. His existence was not a welcome one. Despite her youth and beauty, Mama had a child nobody wanted. She had to work as hard as she did because of him.

His own father — his real father — did not want him. Mr. Darcy of Pemberley — the man who had cast her out because of him with nary a care if she lived or perished. The gentleman. The word took on a bitter, resentful edge as he thought it.

Jonathan wiped his eyes with balled-up fists, angry tears running a hot path down his cheeks. He sucked them in, angry at himself for things completely out of his control. He had ruined his mother’s life. His birth had not been a blessing. It had been a curse — just like that horrible man had said.

Mr. Tanner’s kind voice interrupted Jonathan’s self-loathing. “I would not be able to live with myself if I did not do what I could to help a friend of Mrs. Reynolds. She has been very kind to me, and I think I might be able to help you… as well as a brother of mine.”

There was a long silence.

“His name is Thomas Tanner. He is an innkeeper. His wife passed away recently, leaving him with four young ones to take care of besides his inn. He is a good man. While I know it is not an ideal situation for you and your boy, he can offer a roof over your head and protection. He could give the boy a name… if you wish it.”

“You suggest I marry your brother?” Mama asked. “How do you know that an attachment to me would not do him more harm than good, Mr. Tanner? And how do I know your brother is agreeable to such an arrangement? Your offer is generous, and my situation inclines me to accept, but I do not wish to inflict my troubles on an innocent man.”

“My brother wrote to ask for my help. I received his letter today. He wishes to marry a kind woman who will care for his children and his business, but as I am sure you understand, his time is too occupied to see to the matter properly. I will write a letter to send with you. I know you to be a hard worker, knowledgeable in the workings of an inn. I trust you will see to the needs of my brother’s children as thoroughly as your own son’s. And I know my brother. He will treat the lad like one of his own.”

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. Because of him, marriage to a stranger was the best life would ever offer Mama? She and Mr. Tanner continued talking, but Jonathan’s heart was too full to listen. If only he had been able to protect her. If only he was stronger….

When he got bigger, he would march to Pemberley and make George Darcy sorry for ruining her. He would throw his lies in his face and make him suffer just as Mama suffered.

His dreams were full of vengeance toward a faceless gentleman that night but resentment dried his tears, leaving a protective moat around his disappointed heart. He did not know much about George Darcy — other than his own hatred for the man — but Jonathan swore he would never be selfish and weak like him.

Just as the dawning of the sun the following morning brought clarity, Jonathan understood there would be no march to Pemberley. No matter how badly he wished to make the gentleman suffer. He would be thrown off the property before he could even face Mr. Darcy, who had probably forgotten all about him and his mama by now. He had probably married a fine lady with a title and a fortune by now. Most likely, he had children of his own — children who bore his name and who would grow to be as hateful as their father.

Their father. Not his.

He had no father. He had no family — no one who wished to claim him other than his dear mama.

Grabbing the bag with all their worldly possessions, Jonathan carried it the entire journey to the south of England, refusing help when his arms went numb in weariness. He would become stronger than the lot of them. He would never fail his mother again. He would be ready to protect her.