Want a little more? Here’s an excerpt from the chapter that inspired the title:
“What are you doing?” Mr. Darcy grumbled beside her. “I am going to pick the lock,” she replied with as much confidence as she could muster. “Do you have experience picking locks?” “Not especially. Do you?” “No, but I fear how your hair will look when we are finally discovered.” As if she had not considered that! Of all the pompous, know-it-all… A quick reminder of Mr. Darcy’s kinder qualities curtailed her irritation and bolstered her forbearance. Good heavens, the man tried her patience! “You would have me cross my arms and wait for someone to discover us? How long might that take? Does Mr. Bingley even use this room?” She had appreciated the comfortable seating area around the fireplace, but she had not failed to notice the lack of glowing embers as well as the desk’s lack of a chair. “I only mean to point out that it is to our advantage not to appear disheveled when we are finally found.” She turned to face him directly, one hand holding her pin, the other fisted on her hip. That he was right only irritated her more. “Do you have a better idea?” “I am thinking.” “Excellent. While you think, I shall attempt to pick this lock.” Returning to the door, she twisted her pin with too much enthusiasm. The pin bent and snapped. Confound it!
Are you ready for a rip-roarin’ adventure where Mr. Darcy is a swashbuckling hero? Where Miss Elizabeth isn’t a damsel in distress but a competent woman who can defend herself?
Well, then, I have something special for you. Here’s a taste of Chapter One:
If looks could kill, Wickham would have impaled Darcy with his eyes. “Marry Miss Lydia, and you may leave for your new commission free of debts, reclaim your dignity, and be a thousand pounds richer.” Wickham clenched his jaw and slammed his fist against the barrel. Darcy had won, and Wickham knew it. “Devil take you, Darcy. I am not in a position to refuse,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Do we have an agreement?” Darcy folded his arms over his chest and glared down at Wickham. Bowing his head, Wickham snarled, “You have my word. I shall marry Lydia.” Darcy turned toward the door. Breaking glass, bawdy laughter, and angry, drunken shouts awaited him on the other side of the street. It was only a matter of time before shots were fired. Uncrossing his arms, he said, “Meet me at St. Clement’s at ten o’clock on the morrow.” Without further leave, he departed, shoving his way through the odorous bodies, trays of rancid beef, and raised tankards. As wretched as the Thames smelled, it was a relief to breathe the night air outside the tavern. He would order a bath the moment he returned to Darcy House. A couple of glasses of his finest brandy ought to dispel the remnants of the tavern. Glancing cautiously about, Darcy walked swiftly to the corner, his gaze roving for a hackney to convey him far away from this unsavory neighborhood. He wished he could have brought his own carriage, but a gang of ruffians would have harmed his men and stolen his conveyance. He rounded a corner, raising his hand when a hackney came into view, his voice catching in his throat when he heard a scuffle behind him. Nerves on point, he turned. There was a blur of motion, then his hat flew off his head. At the same time, he heard glass shatter and felt his head part. Blurry and unbalanced, he flung out, catching his assailant with his fist. “Pretendin’ to be a gent. Almost didn’t recognize him,” he heard in a strange man’s voice. He felt another hand—a rough one that scratched against Darcy’s shaved cheeks—pressing something against his mouth and nose, smothering him. “Don’t forget how dangerous he be. Stay alert ‘til he sleeps.” “Busted yer nose proper, didn’t he,” chuckled the other. Two men. Darcy struggled, but the cloth smelled sweet, and his limbs grew heavy. He felt himself fading into the night. “Elizabeth,” he whispered before he succumbed to the black void.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, Man of Fortune goes live October 21!
Grab your copy today, and let the adventure begin!
Darcy brushed the sweat trickling down his cheek, the folded messages sliding against the lining in his waistcoat pocket propelling him to Matlock House. It was a rare occurrence for Darcy to receive correspondence from his relatives when they lived walking distance from his own residence. They preferred simply to call. One note on any day was unusual. Two notes on the same day was disconcerting. To receive one from his aunt, followed by another summons a quarter of an hour later from his uncle, was alarming. Picking up his pace, Darcy ran down the damp sidewalk, his boots slapping against the wet pavement and marring their polish. A long string of grand houses lined one side of the street facing the park, the grass vibrant green against the dull gray sky. His uncle’s house was on the corner, five bays wide, the whitewashed stucco overwhelmed by the gloomy weather threatening to break yet again. The first drops pelted against Darcy’s hat just as he reached the bottom step. The butler flung open the painted black door, taking Darcy’s hat and gloves. “His Lordship is expecting you, sir.” Despite Perkins’ decades of experience repressing emotion into a tone of bland indifference, Darcy heard his relief and felt it with the efficiency with which the butler relieved him of his damp hat and greatcoat. Apprehension rippled through Darcy. The situation must be dreadful if the servants were uneasy. A shadow fell over the marble from behind him, and the squeak of wet boots slipping on the slick floor and the subsequent, “Thunder ‘an turf!” identified the newcomer before Darcy turned to see Charles Bingley, arms flailing to catch his balance. “You got the summons as well?” No sooner had Bingley uttered his question than the obvious answer struck him. He grimaced. “Of course you did. The colonel must be in a proper fit of the blue devils.” Darcy grimaced. He had warned Richard, but his cousin had refused to listen. And now, here they were….
What trouble has Colonel Fitzwilliam gotten into? Curious to know more?
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?
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?
