Fitzwilliam Darcy checked his pocket watch again. The seconds did not tick any faster for his constant scrutiny. Fifteen minutes had never felt so long. Longer than the last year and half during which he had met, felt himself in danger of, and fallen in love with Elizabeth Bennet. He glanced through the open entrance door to the carriage which would convey him and Bingley to Longbourn’s chapel. The horses pawed impatiently. Darcy resumed pacing. After another turn about the hall, he paused by the doors. Pulling out the ring he had selected especially for Elizabeth, he held it up to the morning sun, appreciating how the light gleamed crimson reflections off the polished garnets. Five glistening, red gemstones shaped into a forget-me-not encased with gold stretching around the band symbolized everything he had already promised in his heart to give Elizabeth: faithfulness, dependability, constancy, love, his very self. He had fallen in love with her despite his best efforts to the contrary. Despite her better judgment, he thought with a chuckle. How proud he had been — insulting her, leaving her vulnerable to others’ self-serving lies, and demeaning everyone she held dear in a madcap declaration of his undying love. Of course, he had expected her to throw herself at his feet, grateful he would condescend to make an offer for her when he had so graciously overcome all the obstacles he had taken pains to enumerate. What a fool he had been. Thank goodness their worst troubles were in the past, the valuable lessons learned and applied. It was easy — even for Darcy — to laugh at their faults now. He had won Elizabeth’s heart, and he would cherish it all the more, knowing she gave her his hand in full understanding of his weaknesses (of which she was foremost). While Darcy was tempted to believe his lessons learned and his pride conquered, his character was too firmly formed to believe such deeply ingrained tendencies entirely subjugated. But he would always exert himself for Elizabeth. He loved her so much. She demanded as much from him as he demanded from others, forcing him to soften his expectations and leaving more place in his heart for her. Would that she remained the same always. Tucking the ring back into his pocket, he glanced again at his pocket watch. Two minutes passed. With a grimace, he resumed his pacing. Were it up to him, he would have applied for a common license and married Elizabeth weeks ago in a small, private ceremony. However, Elizabeth’s eyes had sparkled like flutes of champagne when Bingley had suggested a double wedding. Blast Bingley. Darcy was not so cruel as to separate Elizabeth from her family before she was ready, and so he had been forced to develop patience as he waited for the banns to be read, contenting himself that he would not have to share her once they were wed. He had dutifully informed his family, his invitation lackluster in an attempt to discourage them from attending for that very reason. Otherwise, his relatives (except for his aunt Catherine) would descend on them and he would have to share Elizabeth, and he had waited long enough. Surely, a gentleman ought not be deprived of his wife after the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. Soon, this same morning, he would give his name to Elizabeth. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. He would swear before God, her family, and friends that he would never part from her side from that day forward. He would love her and cherish her so long as they both lived. The blessed day had finally arrived, and Darcy was impatient to begin his life with the woman he adored. He checked his pocket watch again and groaned. Ten minutes. The longest ten minutes of his life.
When working together to solve a mystery is the surest path to love… Darcy and Elizabeth are the main targets — for Cupid and for crime — in a new Mysteries & Matrimony standalone novel.
Here’s a taste of the adventure that awaits you.
CHAPTER ONE
Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth Bennet wrinkled her nose at her signature. Much too commanding and formal. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she tested another variant. Mrs. Lizzy Darcy. She twisted her lips. That was not quite right either. Far too inelegant, informal … no matter how lovely the “L” swooped and curled on the page. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. She sighed contentedly, signing her forthcoming name once more, exaggerating the loop on the “Y” with flourish. Nearly perfect. She filled the cream surface with the surname she would forever use once she signed her name beside her husband’s in the marriage register that morning. Her husband. Elizabeth’s heart hummed. The three previous weeks, during which the banns had been read, were a torture, forcing her to be patient when she would rather not, but today was her reward. Finally, she would marry the man she truly, deeply, madly — nay, not madly. Never that! — ardently … Yes, ardently loved.
How old were you when you learned this game? Lizzy was 4, and she had a wonderful teacher!
Rock, paper, scissors? In Regency England? Why, yes, although the name of the game has changed a bit over the years. Master Darcy will explain how he came to learn it in this snippet from the first chapter! I hope you enjoy it!
The Bennet sisters curtsied, saying in unison, “It is our honor to meet you, sir.” Darcy sensed that politeness came naturally to the fair-haired miss, while it required more effort from Miss Elizabeth. Not that she was without manners. But it was clear that, like Darcy, she would rather have listened to Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Selkirk’s conversation about the vase than engage in courteous chatter. She was a curious creature, unintimidated by adult discussion. Miss Selkirk smiled at Mr. Gardiner, adding, “Ladies, if you have time, you must convince your uncle to take you on a tour of Master Darcy’s home. Pemberley is the most beautiful estate you are likely to ever see.” Darcy swallowed hard. She did not know. And he could not tell her without humiliating himself. He felt a tug on his coat sleeve and looked down to see two lively eyes dancing up at him. “Have you been to China, Mr. Darcy? I should like to go when I am bigger.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes looked about the room as though she was about to share a great secret. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think they really have dragons there? Uncle promised to take us to the caves later today, and I hope to see a dragon. They live in caves, you know?” Leaning down so he was not towering over her, he answered, “I have not been to China, but my uncle is a great traveler. I—” Darcy’s throat went dry. He had been about to say he hoped to travel as extensively as his uncle had, but Darcy would have to alter his plans. His future had changed. All his plans, his dreams… They were gone now. “Just like my uncle!” Miss Elizabeth beamed. “He is traveling to the colonies soon. I shall miss him dearly, but he promised to write us letters every week. My father is helping me im-prove my reading so I can read them for myself.” Her mouth puckered and her cheeks bunched. “I am not very good with the big words yet, and he says I must be patient when I am not at all patient.” She shrugged, clasping her hands together and twisting from side to side in a solitary dance. “But he lets me borrow his books so I can practice, and for that, I am thankful. I do not understand most of them. But I will.” Darcy struggled to control his smile. The girl was so serious, he did not wish for her to think he was laughing at her when he found her utterly charming. If he had a little sister, he would very much like her to be like Miss Elizabeth — Lively Lizzy. He looked at her sister. Miss Bennet still stood behind Miss Selkirk, but she smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. How different the two sisters were. Glancing over his shoulder at the counter, Darcy saw Mr. Gardiner examining the signature at the bottom of the vase while Mr. Selkirk flipped pages in a book. If more time ensured a better assessment of his prize, then Darcy would ensure the gentlemen got all the time they needed. He turned to the ladies. “Would you like to learn a game my uncle taught me?” Miss Elizabeth clapped her hands, clasping them together as if she suddenly remembered that she was not supposed to do that either. But her excitement would not be contained. She bobbed up and down on her toes and said very politely, “Oh, yes, would we not, Janie?” Miss Bennet agreed. “We would like that very much, Mr. Darcy. Thank you.” “I admit I am intrigued,” Miss Selkirk added. “We would be delighted to learn your game.” Darcy rubbed his hands together, readying his reflexes. “My uncle learned it from the children where he stayed as he traveled. It is called Rock, Cloth, Scissors. You close your hand into a fist like this.” He demonstrated. “Then, you pulse it in the air two times while counting aloud. One, two.” He paused, continuing when they nodded understanding. “On the third pulse, you either keep your fist tight like a rock, flatten your hand out like a piece of cloth, or shape your fingers into scissors.” He showed them the figures with his hand. Miss Elizabeth twisted her lips to one side, her eyebrows bunched together. “How does one win at this game? Would not the rock always win? It would crush the scissors and dirty the cloth.” She was clever. Darcy explained, “The cloth covers the rock, the scissors cut the cloth, and the rock crushes the scissors. You see? All three have an equal chance. Would you like to play a round?” The ladies agreed, and they all pumped their fists in front of them as they counted. “One, two…!” Darcy figured Miss Elizabeth would choose the rock, so he chose the cloth. He would let her win the next round, but surely the master was allowed to best his student on the first try. “Three!” they said in unison, revealing their chosen figures. Miss Bennet and Miss Selkirk’s hands were flat like a cloth, just as his was. Miss Elizabeth, however, had formed her fingers into scissors and giggled as she took turns “cutting” everyone’s cloth. “You thought I would choose the rock!” she said between trilling laughter. Appreciative of the brief reprieve her lightheartedness granted him, Darcy said, “That was a fair win and deserving of a prize.” Before he could settle on a suitable reward worthy of the grin covering Miss Elizabeth’s face, Mr. Selkirk called him over to the counter.
Little Elizabeth was a breath of fresh air to young Darcy, helping him find his smile in the midst of the saddest day of his life. I don’t think he’ll ever forget her. Do you?
Readers often ask where the ideas come from. Most of the time, I’m not exactly sure, but I can tell you the exact moment for my latest book.
It all started with Pinterest. One moment, I’m looking at Regency jewelry … which turned to modern jewelry … which turned to engagement rings … which led me to an ad that said that the rock always wins.
Naturally, my mind jumped to the children’s game: Rock, Paper, Scissors. Did you know there is an official web page dedicated to the history of the game? There is.
From ancient hand games, my search led me to antique treasures, namely, Chinese vases … and then to famous historical figures, who graciously agreed to make cameo appearances in my novel.
What do you do with a ring, an old children’s game, an elephant, a clown, a Shakespearean actor/theater manager, a retired soprano, and a Chinese relic? You use them to bring Our Dear Couple together. That’s the makings of a story, friends. (And a great way to justify Pinterest scrolling!)
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!
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!
