Bess and the Highwayman by Nicole Clarkston – Guest Post, Excerpt & Giveaway

Good Afternoon everyone,

How are you? It’s been a long time since I’ve published something here at From Pemberley to Milton but it hasn’t been easy for me to blog lately. My laptop pretty much died, so I had to buy a new one, and the new one broke down 4 days later, so I had to take it back to the store to see what was going on. It turns out it was really a major malfunction, so now I’m trying to return the laptop and get a new one to be able to work, but the situation isn’t solved yet, so I’ll let you know how that goes in my next post.

For now, I want to share with you some exciting news! Nicole Clarkston, one of my favourite authors who has written incredible books such as These Dreams, Nefarious and Northern Rain, has published a new book this week! She is branching out and Bess and the Highwayman is a regency romance that is already a Top New Release in the Classic British & Irish Fiction. I’m very happy to see that such a talented author has decided to write new books with new and original characters because that matches my reading preference at the moment, and I know for sure this book will be incredible!

Nicole Clarkston decided to talk to you a little bit about her writting journey, this new project and to share with you an unputdownable excerpt from Bess and the Highwayman, so I hope you enjoy it and join me in wishing Nicole a huge success with this new release 🙂

Thank you so much for visiting Nicole, it is such a pleasure to have you here at From Pemberley to Milton!

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Bess and the Highwayman is a story that has been rattling around in my head for at least a couple of years. As someone who fell in love with Jane Austen (and Elizabeth Gaskell), it seems natural that I would also swoon for other classics. And is there anything more haunting than Alfred Noyes’ tragic poem, The Highwayman? 

If you’ve never read it, you’re in for a treat. I first fell in love with the poem when Anne Shirley made Gilbert Blythe’s jaw drop in Anne of Green Gables, but it stuck with me long into adulthood thanks to Loreena Mckennitt’s eerily gorgeous musical rendition. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGFo0xn4JeY)

After spending several years torturing Darcy and Elizabeth and giving them different versions of their happy ending, I decided I had to tinker with this poor highwayman and his love, Bess. How could I redeem a bandit who roves the highways at night robbing and terrorizing people? And how could I root for a girl who would love such a rascal?

Simple. Things are not always as they seem. (Insert evil author giggle.)

Our Highwayman is none other than Captain Nicholas Hunt, a decorated soldier turned spy for the English Army. He has been tracking a communications leak for months, and he thinks he has his man—the notorious Red Bandit, otherwise known as George Cumberland. 

Cumberland is merely one link in the chain, and Hunt and his men mean to capture the Scarlet Bandit to track down his sources. After all, Wellington is facing another battle in Portugal, and winter is setting in soon, leaving English soldiers vulnerable. But when Cumberland is shot during his arrest, Captain Hunt has to come up with another plan, and fast. 

Ordered by his general to assume the cloak of the highwayman, Hunt follows the last lead they had, bringing him to an old inn in Surrey. And there, he meets black-eyed (and maybe black-hearted) Bess Reynolds, the land-lord’s daughter. She entrances him almost instantly, but he has a mission to complete and danger nipping at his heels. Disguised as a villain by night, Hunt risks his neck to track down the answers his general needs. 

But not everyone is fooled by his disguise. And that, my friends, is where the romance comes in.

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Bess leaned as far as she could over the rail and gave a hard pitch of her slops bucket. The pigs scurried in, squealing and scrambling for position at the trough. As always, the bigger ones had their way, and they pushed the runt to the back. Bess pulled a rejected turnip from her pocket to toss at the little one, then collected her bucket to go back inside.

“Ah, Bessie lass!” lisped a familiar voice. “Fair morning, ain’t it?”

She stopped, grimacing before she turned around. She had been hoping to reach the safety of the kitchens before the old ostler noticed her. He meant no harm, so she was always polite with him, but he had a habit of pestering her every time she stirred outdoors. 

She rarely minded, but today, she had too much to do to stop and chat for half an hour. Perhaps she could keep it short. Tim was friendly, but owing to his profession, there was a constant odor about him of moldy hay and horse leavings. And rotten sweat. She took an extra step back.

“It is that, Tim. Quite a busy one, what with all the travelers taking advantage of the fine weather.”

He came closer, whittling at a pipe bowl as he walked and squinting against the morning light. “What brings ye out to the yard? I suppose thou likes a bit of the outside air and the sight of folks millin’ about.”

She smiled thinly. “You know me.” 

“Aye.” He looked about, then leaned low. “I’ve a right purty little pony in the stable. White and fat as a dumplin,’ with the biggest brown eyes as would make yer wee heart break.”

Bess could not help a longing glance toward the stables, but she stiffened at once. “A white pony? I wonder what he could be doing in a place like this.”

Tim gestured with his half-finished pipe. “Belongs to Lord Merriweather, he does. On his way home from Brighton for the little lordship after his summer holiday. How d’ye fancy that, eh?”

“I am sure he must be a very agreeable little fellow, if he is a child’s mount.”

“Gave him a right good feed of oats, but he’s fonder of carrots. What say, lassie? I heard tell he likes the fair ones best.”

Bess pondered for half a moment. She loved the friendlier equines that passed through the stables, and children’s horses were dependably spoiled by treats and petting. Her father would not object if she made quick, but Tim would want to talk to her, and before she knew it, an hour would have passed and the work would have piled up. 

“I cannot, not just now,” she said with a reluctant sigh. “Papa will be needing me.”

“Oh, but that pony won’t keep, lassie. His Lordship’s coachman ordered a rest for the little bobby, but ’twon’t be long.”

“I suppose I will have to miss him,” she lied. Perhaps she could slip out after the next mail coach left, and most of the customers were gone for the day. And if she were very lucky, Tim would be asleep in his stable chair, waiting for the evening arrivals. 

She hurried back to the kitchens with renewed vigor. The pots would not scrub themselves, nor would the floors wait, but if she hurried, she would just have enough time to take a treat to that little pony before he left. The half hour after the coffee room cleared and before the dining room tables filled with midday customers would be all her own today. 

When she finally tiptoed out to the stable, she paused before passing the harness room. Just as she had hoped, Tim was draped limply over a chair. His hand fell slack to the floor as if trying to retrieve the flask he had dropped, and his head sagged backward. An uneven rattle pronounced his morning slumber. He would never even know she had come. 

The stable boys touched their foreheads in greeting as she passed. One of them offered a knowing smile and gestured to a box at the end of the row. This was far from the first time Bess had slipped out to visit a fine animal. 

And there he was; pearly white and plump as a little cloud, his black muzzle raised just above the door. Perfectly cupped nostrils drank her in, as if he knew enough about the bearers of treats to recognize a gull when he met one. A mop of gray forelock nearly covered his eyes, and short fat ears pricked eagerly as he made a low whickering noise. 

“Aren’t you the little rascal?” Bess offered him the carrot and gave a fond tug to his forelock. He took it daintily, and she laughed as he twisted it about in his mouth until it hung out like an orange cigar. 

“My, a regular dandy you are. And so handsome! I bet you are the first pet of the whole stable where you come from.”

The gray nose bumped over the door once more, searching for another carrot or some other affection. “Sly fellow. You would have me think you haven’t eaten all day, wouldn’t you?” She scratched under the pony’s jaw and laughed again when his eyes rolled back and he leaned into her hand with the entire weight of his neck. He shook his head, then waved it with no uncertain meaning at the stall latch.

“Oh, none of that, now,” she chided. “You’ll trick me into opening the door and go raid the oats bin, sure as rain.”

“I see you have had dealings with ponies before.”

Bess jumped and whirled around to see who had spoken. Too cultured for a coachman, too masculine for a stable lad, and too… too something to be forgotten. 

The man who had given up his room was standing at the far side of the row. His elbow rested on a tie stall divider, and his other hand held a pail of oats. He shook it gently, pensively, then set it aside and strolled casually toward her. 

Bess had forgotten to swallow, and her tongue got in her way when she tried to take a breath to speak. “Nyah—ah…” She pulled her hand from the pony and cleared her throat, her cheeks burning. “I mean, ah, what makes you say that, sir?”

He nodded toward the pony. “Cunning little rascals, they are. Fattened on treats and indulgences—one would think they had not a clever bone in their soft little bodies. And yet, when all the high-mettled blood stock are resting quietly, it will be the adorable, ‘harmless’ pony who plucks the door latch and gets into mischief.”

“They sound clever enough to me,” Bess replied. “Smarter than their unsuspecting caretakers, it sounds like.”

“As is the case far too often.” The man—gentleman?—smiled wistfully, then his expression sobered. He wore no hat, but he started to reach for one before realizing he had none, and then offered a quick bow. “Forgive me, miss. My name is George Cumberland. May I have the pleasure of yours?”

Her name? Why, everyone knew her name. Papa shouted it often enough in the inn, and all the washerwomen and laborers said it as if it were the commonest word in the world. She swallowed. 

“B-Bess. Bess Reynolds.” She put her hands behind her back, ticking that pony’s nose again to hide how this man made her want to fidget. “Actually, everyone calls me Bessie.”

“Bess,” the man repeated carefully. “Like our good Queen of yore. Very fitting.”

“No. Like Old Bessie the cunning woman from Barney Slough. My mother had no name for me, and one handle was as good as another.”

Cumberland came closer, shaking his head, and rested his palm on the pony’s neck. “Nothing could be further from the truth. A name is everything. You carry it all your life. It is who you are to the world—what there is of truth and goodness in you, what beauty and mercy you bestow. You are known by it, and you impart some bit of yourself to future bearers of that name.” He ruffled the pony’s mane, then looked her squarely in the eye. “Bess is a noble name, a gentle yet fierce one. You should wear it proudly.”

She raised her brows and tried to keep her voice steady. How beastly unfair of the man to smile that way when he said her name, just as if she were a proper lady. Cheeky fellow!

“Well, now,” she retorted, “I’m something of a queen, you say? I never saw a bit of it. Where are my attendants? Where is my heraldry, good sir?” She laughed. “Fancy notions mean aught when a body is washing the linens and putting on the coffee.”

Cumberland looked away and smiled. “You would deceive me, but I am not so easily fooled, Miss. I wager most tavern girls do not sneak out to the stables to spoil other people’s animals.”

“Most travelers don’t give up a good room on the first floor to take the lower one. They don’t even do it for their friends, and certainly never for brutes like that man yesterday.”

He shrugged. “If you are asking why, I shall ask the same question of you, and I suspect you would give me the same answer. A person can have their whims, can they not?”

Bess crossed her arms. “I suppose. Tell me, Mr. Cumberland, where is your horse?”

“I came by mail coach, miss.”

“Then you truly are a peculiar one, out here in the stables scooping oats when you ought to be waiting for your coach.”

“Ah.” His face broke into an easy chuckle. “If you must know, I had a question for the ostler, but I came out to find him asleep at his duties.”

“Better he should stay that way,” Bess muttered. 

“I am sorry to hear that. I was hoping that a man who spent his days with all manner of horseflesh might have some useful advice for me. I’ve something of a problem horse, you see. Back at home, I mean.”

“And where is home?”

“Westborough, in Lincolnshire. My family has a small holding there.”

“Then, I was right. You are a gentleman.”

One side of his mouth twisted in amusement. “Just barely. My father traded in spice and tobacco until about fifteen years ago, when the king elevated him for exemplary service. There, you know what sort of clientele he kept. After that, he sold out and lived the life of a very modest gentleman.”

“And let me guess—you are his only heir, with expectations of your own to build his fortune?”

“Far from it. That honor falls to my older brother. I am merely a man with his own affairs to mind.”

“I wonder what you can be doing so far from home, then. What, has Tim, the world’s most useless ostler, gained a reputation for horse wizardry? You have been woefully deceived, if that is the case.”

Cumberland laughed again. It was a pleasant sound, soft and yet masculine, not tainted by too much beer or vice as so many she had heard. 

“It was merely a convenience of the moment. I had some time to pass and thought I may as well employ myself gainfully. But I perceive that if my question was about resolving a dispute with a horse, I was seeking the wrong person,” he finished with a gesture of his hand.

Bess glanced over her shoulders, then realized who he meant. “Me? What do I know of horses?”

“Perhaps more than you think. Look around you.” He pointed to the stalls on either side, and indeed, four other horses were straining at their tie ropes, tossing their heads in her direction.

“They just want carrots. They must smell them.”

“Unless your pockets are still full, that cannot be the entire answer. Perhaps they like the sound of your voice.”

“But you are talking, too.”

“That is true,” he admitted. “But they brightened at your arrival, so I shall pose my question. This horse I have is a… well, I suppose she is something of a queen herself. At least, she has a very high opinion of her worth and a low view of mine. I should like to find a way to change that.”

Bess scoffed. “Everyone I ever heard of would say you had to teach the horse who is master.”

“Ah, yes, but I was not asking those others you have heard of. What do you think I must do?”

Bess blinked and gaped for half a moment. No one ever asked her opinion. “I have never had the management of a horse, but perhaps it is like other creatures that appreciate a bit of patience. And if it is a she-horse, you must woo her.”

Cumberland’s brow arched. “Perhaps you see that behavior often enough, but I am no expert in ‘wooing’ of any kind—woman or mare.”

“From what I can see, it must be the easiest thing in the world,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

Cumberland leaned closer. “Unless the female be one of dignity. I noticed it was not you on that rich man’s knee last night, and poor Osten had to go hungry after his encounter with you.”

Bess narrowed her eyes and began to protest, but Cumberland only waved away her objections, his smile still kind. “I shall not ask, but I imagine you have a remarkable stash put aside, if what I saw last night was typical.”

Bess swallowed and lifted her chin, refusing to either confirm or deny his words. If anyone suspected that her treasure was now well over sixty pounds, it would not remain hers for long.

He shook his head. “Forgive me, it is not my business. Let me ask, though, as you and my mare have something in common, perhaps you might tell me the secret to winning her over.”

“You seem very determined to have this particular horse’s affections. Why not be rid of her and get another?”

“Because I have a sworn duty to this one. I cannot fail, miss. Will you advise me?”

What a peculiar sort this was! Who pledged himself to one horse? It was almost as unheard of as a man of means who remained faithful to his wife.

“Well,” she said slowly, “you could try treats.”

“And have her take my fingers instead of the carrot? No, thank you.”

“Do you ever pet her and praise her?”

“I would have to get within arm’s length for that. How does one earn a lady’s good graces from a distance?”

“I suppose you’ll have to talk to her. Tell her what a beauty she is and make much of her.”

“And how well do you respond to that?” 

Bess shrugged casually. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t, eh?” he asked in disbelief.

“No, for all I ever hear is lust and flattery, not genuine compliments. Not that I would heed that, mind you,” she cautioned with a finger upheld. “But I think other females might.”

His lip curled. “I was afraid you might say that. I have always thought words were empty.”

“And yet she will know nothing else of you until she trusts your voice. The right words have power, Mr. Cumberland.”

He drew in a breath and nodded decisively. “Indeed, you are right. I shall try it, Miss Bess.”

She made a playful curtsey at his formal address and was about to say something rather impertinent in reply, but an angry shout stopped her.

“You, there! What are you doing with that pony?”

Cumberland turned, and they both faced a portly coachman. He was waving a riding whip as if to chase away naughty boys, and his teeth were bared like a pit dog. “Spoiling that little beast, are you? I’ll have to answer to His Lordship when that brute nips the children. Off with you, now!”

Bess’s temper rose. Mr. Cumberland could do whatever he wanted, but it would be a dark day before she took such an insult without an argument. “If this pony bites anyone, it is because he is provoked to it. Have you been such a poor coachman before that you permit him to be ill-used? Or do you do the mishandling yourself?” 

Mr. Cumberland’s hand caught at her elbow, but Bess refused to step back. Her fists were balled, and she stared down the puffy-faced fellow as his color brightened. 

“Hussy! Do not presume to tell me my business, you cheap whore!”

Mr. Cumberland made a thunderous noise in his chest and started to step in the way, but Bess ducked around him to lash back, “Not cheap enough for the likes of you!”

The coachman’s mouth dropped, and so did his whip. “What the devil! Where is the landlord? I’ll have words with him!”

Mr. Cumberland pulled her back by main strength and stepped in front of her. “See here, sir! You have no cause to address the lady in such a tone.”

The coachman spat on the ground. “Lady! I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, my man. She’s naught but a tavern wench, and you are meddling with affairs that are not your business.”

“The conduct of a churl toward a woman is every man’s business.”

“Then take your ‘woman’ out of the stables before I call a constable! Indecent tart, she is!”

Mr. Cumberland was biting his lips together, his countenance suffused with sudden wrath, but he turned to her with a visible effort not to explode. “Come, Miss Bess. Let us live to fight another day.” 

Tim chose that moment to stumble toward them, bent at the shoulder and tugging up the waist of his trousers. “What be the trouble?” 

Cumberland cast a quick, experienced eye over the ostler, and apparently decided not to enlist him in the defense of Bess’s honor. “No trouble,” he replied easily. “Miss Bess, I expect you are wanted indoors.”

From anyone else, that would have been a shaming comment—an accusation that she was shirking her duties or did not deserve to go about as she wished. That her place, the only place she was worth anything, was in the scullery. But there it was again—the slight twitch about his gray eyes, and she recognized Cumberland’s words for what they were. A graceful escape, with which no one could argue. 

She thinned her lips and nodded slightly. “I expect so. I have spoiled enough ponies for one day.” She dipped a teasing curtsey to Cumberland, but from the corner of her eye, she enjoyed watching the ostler scratch his head and the coachman’s chest swell for another outraged bellow. Mr. Cumberland took her hand like she was a proper lady and bowed in return, and Bess raced away.

And spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what kind of man this was, who poeticized names and spoiled ponies and treated tavern wenches like ladies. 

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A soldier in disguise, a woman daring enough to discover his secret, and a love worth fighting for.

Bess Reynolds, the daughter of a local innkeeper, is used to dodging unwanted attention from men like Captain Chesterfield, a militia officer determined to catch the mysterious highwayman. But when she meets Captain Nicholas Hunt, a soldier with a heart of gold, she finds herself drawn to his kindness. Little does she know, Hunt is on a dangerous mission to intercept Napoleon’s spy network and stop the French from gaining the upper hand.

Captain Hunt is a soldier with a moral dilemma – to carry out his mission, he must disguise himself as the notorious highwayman and rob travelers for information. But as he and Bess work together, their relationship deepens and the stakes get higher. With Captain Chesterfield hot on the trail of the highwayman, the mystery of Hunt’s true identity remains a guarded secret. Will Hunt be able to complete his mission, protect the woman he loves, and stop Napoleon’s spy network in time? Find out in this thrilling tale of love, adventure, and espionage set against the backdrop of Georgian England.

You can find Bess and the Highwayman at:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

and Kindle Unlimited

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Nicole Clarkston would like to offer 2 ebook copies of Bess and the Highwayman to readers stopping by at From Pemberley to Milton, if you’d like to enter the giveaway please leave a comment below and let us know what you think about this premise and excerpt. The giveaway is open until the 8th of September and the winner will be announced shortly after.

Good luck everyone!

Spells and Shadows by Victoria Kinkaid – Excerpt & Giveaway

Good Afternoon everyone,

It’s been a long time since Victoria Kincaid has visited From Pemberley to Milton so I am very happy to receive her here today. She has just released a new book called Spells and Shadows and I cannot wait to read it!

It is a fantasy novel in which Mr. Darcy is a mage fighting a necromancer who happens to be drawn to Elizabeth. This alone caught my attention, but knowing that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth will fight their attraction to each other due to some secrets that cannot be shared made it even more enticing for me! What about you? Is this the type of story you’d like? Let us know in the comments to apply to the giveaway Ms. Kincaid is offering.

Thank you so much for visiting Victoria, it is a true pleasure to have you here 🙂

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Hello Rita!  Thank you for inviting me back as a guest for your blog. It’s so much fun to be here again!  In Spells and Shadows, Darcy is a secret agent investigating magical malfeasance and a practicing shadowmancer—with the ability to command shadows. The scene below is from the beginning of the book when Darcy is spying on a ritual conducted by a dark necromancer and his followers. Hoping to learn more about their magic, he decides to swipe an amulet they have been using. But getting away with it isn’t as easy as Darcy hoped….

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Darcy took a deep breath, endeavoring to slow his racing heart. The events he had observed in the clearing were far more dangerous and disturbing than Richard had feared when he had first heard rumors of the group.  Darcy would need to convey this information to the Assessor’s Agency immediately; a threat of this size would need to be handled by Director Cranston in consultation with the Council for Enchantment. 

But if Darcy could obtain the amulet, the director might glean some clues about the necromancer’s activities—perhaps even his identity. It would also prevent the blackguard from creating more wights. 

Darcy swathed himself in shadows and crept into the clearing, watching the mancers talk and even joke. If he had not just observed them participating in a dark magic ritual and murder, he would have thought they were meeting at White’s Gentleman’s Club.  The necromancer was completely surrounded by sycophantic followers. He and many of the other mancers kept their masks on, so Darcy could not identify them. 

Their voices were loud enough to cover any noises Darcy made. Staying low to the ground, he raced to the tall rock and grabbed the amulet. Unfortunately, Fletchley happened to be glancing in that direction. He could not see Darcy, covered in shadows, but he glimpsed the amulet moving through the air until Darcy slung it around his neck and concealed it again.

“The amulet! Where is the amulet? Someone is stealing it!” Fletchley shouted.

Abandoning all thoughts of silence, Darcy crashed through the underbrush at the far edge of the clearing. Shadows continued to conceal him, but the sounds of his passage would allow them to pursue him.

He ran for the river and the trees and brambles lining its banks. Crashes and shouts suggested his pursuers were not far behind. Apparently one of the pursuers was an illuminomancer, who pulled light from the moon to illuminate the whole area. It did nothing to pierce Darcy’s shadows, but it allowed the pursuers to follow the path of broken twigs and crushed vegetation in his wake.

Perhaps he should have thought of an escape route before impulsively grabbing the amulet. The horror of Tolliver’s death had shaken Darcy more than he had realized. 

Up ahead, a tangle of vegetation marked the bank of the River Lea. He had the vague idea that he might be able to escape into the river. He did not know if he was a strong enough swimmer to reach the other bank, but perhaps he could let the current pull him downstream from his pursuers. It was a desperate hope, but Darcy was rather desperate. 

He was not far from the river when he tripped over a fallen branch. Damnation!  His ankle twisted and he hit his head painfully on a tree root. Momentarily, everything went black. No! I cannot lose consciousness now. It would mean my death. He forced his eyes open and struggled to a sitting position. But he had lost control of the concealing shadows when he fell. 

“There he is!” With a cry of triumph, one of his pursuers, a tall blond man, leaped upon him and landed a punch on Darcy’s jaw. He grabbed for the amulet at Darcy’s neck, and Darcy kneed him in the stomach, causing him to fall back. 

Fletchley had caught up to them. As Darcy staggered to a standing position, he grabbed Darcy’s shirt. “Give us the amulet, and maybe you will live.” 

Darcy thought of Tolliver’s screams. “No.” 

Fletchley pulled down additional light, shining it directly in his face. “Darcy!” 

“Darcy?” the blond said. “From Pemberley? Why is he here?” 

Fletchley uttered an oath. “He works for the Assessor’s Agency. The leader told me.” Darcy wondered how their leader knew such a closely guarded secret.

“The leader definitely doesn’t want him carrying stories to them,” the blond man said, pulling out a knife.

Darcy drew down shadows, but his attackers were close and had the advantage of Fletchley’s illumination. They clearly knew where he was. Darcy backed away, but the blond man closed the distance immediately, slashing out randomly with his knife. Pain slicing across Darcy’s ribs told him the blade had found its mark. 

Darcy briefly considered fighting, but he was unarmed. Moreover, additional pursuers were on their way to join his attackers. His only hope was to escape. 

He gasped in pain as the knife grazed his thigh, but he managed to pull the shadows around him as he ran for the river, his injured ankle protesting each step.  

He dared not glance behind him, but his pursuers were so near he could hear their breathing. His only advantage was that the shadows rendered him almost invisible. He dodged around the trunk of a tree and there was the river. 

Without hesitation, he dove for the water, aiming to be as far out into the Lea as was possible. 

The splash was tremendous, and the shock of cold water made him gasp. It might be summer, but the water was hardly temperate. He stayed under as long as he could, breaking the surface as quietly as possible and then exposing only his head.

Splashes told him that his two pursuers had followed him into the water. Darcy pulled shadows to conceal his head, using only the barest movement to keep himself afloat as the current pulled him downstream. The two men called to each other as Fletchley illuminated wide swathes of the river. But his light could not penetrate Darcy’s shadows. The current was sluggish, but the river was moving him away from their position.

Finally Fletchley said, “This is impossible. He could be halfway to London.” 

“I doubt it,” the blond man said. “I got a couple of good cuts in. He’s probably sinking to the bottom.” 

Darcy longed to dispute this assertion, but he was not sure the man was wrong. His head throbbed where he had hit the tree root. When he touched the area gingerly with his fingers, it was bigger than an egg. That could not be good. And he could only imagine how much of his blood was flowing into the river from the two knife wounds. If he were a betting man, Darcy would not give good odds on his survival at the moment.

“And if he lives?” Fletchley asked.

“He has to come ashore some time, and Fitzwilliam Darcy is hardly inconspicuous. We will find him.” 

Fletchley gave a harsh bark of laughter. “True enough.” 

Darcy was already many yards away when the men splashed noisily for the riverbank. That danger past, he turned his attention to not drowning—certainly the greatest concern at the moment, he thought muzzily. Possible head contusions and knife wounds would have to wait.

Or perhaps they would not. He closed his eyes against a world that was spinning for reasons that had nothing to do with being in the river. He had no inclination to swim for the bank and was not even sure where it was.  

All in all, he thought, these would be excellent conditions in which to drown. He even wondered if that would be such a bad thing. He was so tired; death sounded rather peaceful. 

No. I must tell the director of the danger posed by the necromancer and his followers. And I cannot leave Georgiana alone. 

When did duty become the only thing of value in my life?  

Philosophizing later. Survival now. 

Perhaps he could float…But he needed something to help keep him from sinking. He managed to crack open his eyes and searched the nearby area using the limited light provided by the moon. Ah. There was a sturdy-looking log bobbing on the surface. He made his way toward it. Darcy was usually a powerful swimmer, but each stroke was agony as it pulled on the cut across his ribs. 

When he reached the log, he wrapped both arms around the top and rested his head on his arms. Perhaps that will be proof against drowning. If not…well, I did my best.

Was he imagining a whirlpool or was that the darkness sucking him down? 

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As a secret agent for the Mages’ Council, Mr. Darcy investigates a necromancer who is leading his followers down a dark path. When they discover him, a fight and a chase drive Darcy—injured and close to death—into the river. He is rescued and healed by Elizabeth, a talented mage at the Longbourn estate. Darcy cannot help developing feelings for her, but he dares not reveal his true identity while the necromancer’s creatures search for him. 

Elizabeth Bennet is intrigued by the family’s new guest as he recovers at Longbourn. But mystery surrounds the man, and strange happenings plague the neighborhood while he visits. Elizabeth herself harbors a secret that she cannot share with the handsome stranger. 

When Darcy’s enemies come calling, the Bennet family is caught in the crossfire. Worse, Elizabeth’s magic draws the necromancer’s particular interest. Darcy is falling in love with her and believes she returns his feelings, but the secret of his true identity could destroy their budding relationship—if they survive the upcoming danger. 

Can Elizabeth and Darcy protect themselves and their families from the necromancer’s plots? What will happen when learn each other’s secrets? Can Elizabeth and Darcy’s love survive when it is entangled in a web of secrets, spells, and shadows?

You can find Spells and Shadows at:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

and Kindle Unlimited

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The author of more than sixteen best-selling Regency and modern Pride and Prejudice variations, Victoria Kincaid has a Ph.D. in English literature and runs a small business, er, household with two children, a hyperactive dog, an overly affectionate cat, and a husband who is not threatened by Mr. Darcy. They live near Washington DC, where the inhabitants occasionally stop talking about politics long enough to complain about the traffic.

On weekdays Victoria is a writer who specializes in IT marketing (it’s more interesting than it sounds). She is a member of the Magical Austen authors group and is the host of the annual Jane Austen Fan Fiction Reader/Writer Get Together. 

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Victoria Kincaid is giving away 1copy of Spells and Shadows to readers visiting From Pemberley to Milton. The giveaway is international and is open until the 31rst of July. To apply to it, just leave a comment on this post and let us know your opinion of the excerpt

The winner will be announced shortly after.

Good luck everyone!

Doubt Not, Cousin by Barry S. Richman – Excerpt & Giveaway

Good Afternoon everyone,

I’m very happy to open the blog tour for Barry S. Richman’s Doubt Not, Cousin today. This is Mr. Richman’s first Austenesque book, and therefore his first visit at From Pemberley to Milton, but I hope to see him again soon, especially after having read the excerpt he choose to share with us 🙂

This is the first stop of the blog tour that will last for several days ending on July 21st at Austenesque Reviews, and I hope you join me in wishing Mr. Richman all the luck, not only with this tour, but also with his book. It appears to have a couple that is not seen very frequently in the genre, and I am curious! What about you? Did you ever imagined Kitty with the Colonel? Let us know what you think in the comments and apply to the giveaway Meryton Press is offering 🙂

I want to thank Mr. Richman for his kind words, Janet Taylor for the patience she always has with me, and Meryton Press for allowing me to spread the word about another wonderful book 🙂

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Rita, thank you for hosting me. I am very grateful that such an influential website would entertain a first-time author such as myself. It makes my reading-turned-writing passion for Pride and Prejudice variations much more enjoyable. Who ever thought a crusty military veteran such as I would even attempt to write romance? Not I! So without further ado, …

The following scene is one I enjoyed putting together. It allows the reader to experience the long-term kinship between the two cousins and their incredible familiarity with each other. I laugh every time I read it. The grown men exchange personal banter and unspoken communication like the children they were during their summers together at Pemberley. It also marks their first concrete steps towards a Happily Ever After with their chosen lady loves. Get ready for a beautiful day lakeside.

*************************************

Darcy waited for his cousin at the stables. Goliath was saddled and champed at his bit. Perseus, too, was saddled, but much like the colonel, awaited his rider motionlessly and mute. The colonel strode into the stable wearing an open military livery coat in blues and golds. Darcy’s surprise clearly showed.

The colonel closed his eyes. Darcy knew he did not want to entertain questions but opted to ignore him. “Interesting choice of uniform, Cousin.” He did not try in the least to hide the smirk on his face.

Richard narrowed his eyes, looked off into the distance, and exhaled through his nose. Darcy caught the glimpse of a grin.

“Where are your reds?”

“Laundress.”

Richard dissembling? Oh ho!

Darcy mounted Goliath. He heard Richard grunt his approval. “A tall beast requires a taller beast, and you, cousin, and Darcy are both very tall beasts.”

Darcy grinned. Richard smiled at his own clever wordplay.

Richard mounted Perseus. The war horse drew alongside Goliath. Looking over his shoulder, Darcy confirmed the Hursts followed in their carriage, ensuring that little in the way of footmen or chaperones would be required for the day’s outing.

Darcy continued to glance over at his cousin. His excuse regarding his red coat being delayed at the laundress was a bag of moonshine. Fitzwilliam uncharacteristically fidgeted. Darcy offered a helping hand. “Just tell me, Cousin. The boot is quite on the other foot this time, I daresay.”

Richard returned his cousin’s glance, his eyes flat and emotionless.

Darcy ignored the threat. He knew Richard was planning the many ways he would deal out some level of punishment without leaving marks. He decided the exercise was worth the risk.

Richard exhaled, shaking his head.

“Kitty favors blue,” he said in surrender.

“Indeed.”

***

The picnic goers left Longbourn an hour later, a mixed bunch. Darcy and Richard remounted their horses, respecting Mr. Bennet’s suggestion they travel as such. The carriage held Hurst and Louisa, Elizabeth, and Kitty. Driving the carriage was Reeves; Ron and Kale followed in a cart carrying chairs, linens, a table, and several baskets of food. A basket contained water and various fruit drinks. Mrs. Bennet had not approved of either wine or ale.

Their destination was the large pond east of Hertford, an hour-long carriage ride away.

After Ron and Kale set up the table and chairs, the footmen took the carriage to a vantage point far enough away to be out of the participants’ notice but still have a line of sight per Mr. Bennet’s orders.

The two single gentlemen suggested a walk around the pond, an invitation the ladies accepted. The Hursts, cognizant of the romantic setting, sat and partook of the delightful repast.

***

Darcy escorted Elizabeth along the water’s edge, satisfied to simply bask in his siren’s scent. Unfortunately, the lady was not of a silent bent.

“We must have conversation, Mr. Darcy.”

“Must we?”

“We must.”

“I am perfectly happy to oblige. Please advise me of what you would like most to hear.”

“That reply will do for the present. What say you of favorites?”

“Favorites? Such as…?”

“Colors, sir.”

“Colors? Umm…gold, I believe. Yes, gold. And yours, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Green. What of your morning beverage? Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee. Yours?”

“Tea. Oh dear, we are not in accord. Nevertheless, what of flowers?”

“Flowers, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, flowers, Mr. Darcy. What flowers do you enjoy seeing on your desk? In your parlors?”

Darcy gave it a moment of thought. His Elizabeth’s favorite was surely lavender. Yet, his mother’s rose garden formed from the mists of his memory.

“Roses, mum…m…m,” he replied. He hoped his wordplay pleased her. She rewarded him.

“Well done, Mr. Darcy.” She squeezed his arm. Darcy wanted to jump up and capture a cloud.

“Had I thought you a flirt, sir, I would have expected you to offer lavender.”

“My mother adored roses.”

“As do you?”

“As do I.”

“Well expressed, sir.”

Her fingers kneaded his biceps again.

The couple walked on, chatting and exchanging favorites. They circled back to the food table and the Hursts.

***

Richard ambled along the water’s edge, satisfied with the silence of basking in his muse’s aura. Fortunately, Miss Kitty was also of a silent bent.

Richard saw a large tree atop a small rise that overlooked the pond. He led Kitty to the tree, and his eyes asked her permission to stop. She nodded. Richard stood still, unsure of how to declare himself. Kitty helped him along by raising her left hand.

Richard took her hand and applied the slightest of pressure guiding her toward himself. Miss Kitty stepped closer. Richard placed her fingers over his heart. He felt vulnerable because he knew that she would feel the scars beneath his linen shirt.

Kitty’s eyes glistened. He started to explain but stopped as she shook her head. He waited.

“I am overwhelmed at the honor you do me.”

Richard released her hand and passed her his handkerchief. She dried her eyes, smiled at him, and lifted her hand, palm up. Unsure of her gesture, Richard placed his right hand in hers.

Kitty raised his hand to her lips and kissed his scars. She lifted it to her face, turning it so that it cupped her cheek. Richard’s breathing went ragged. Her eyes were hooded.

Tightening his fingers the tiniest fraction, he gained her attention. Does fortune favor the bold?

“My dear, could you…could you ever love one…one such as I?”

The light from her eyes refracted through her tears into a rainbow of acceptance. Richard saw her swallow, her throat tight.

“I already do,” she rasped aloud.

Richard exhaled. His insides vibrated as they did after a battle. He realized he had just been in one, the most desperate in his life. He had lost—and won—the battle for his heart. He kissed her knuckles. He vowed, from that day forward, to bestow the same to this much-beloved appendage daily.

In victorious submission, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam held out his arm and escorted Miss Catherine Bennet back to the food table, more than happy to allow the Hursts to carry the conversation. Neither of the silent lovers hid their looks of shared longing.

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Darkness, in many forms, must be conquered

to emerge into the light and embrace one’s happily ever after.

Fitzwilliam Darcy. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.

Two cousins, closer than brothers.

One finds love despite his inner demons; the other resists love because of them.

Elizabeth Bennet. Kitty Bennet.

Two sisters, strengthened by adversity.

One willingly yields to love; the other pridefully misinterprets it.

An epic saga steeped in intrigue and gift-wrapped in romance, Doubt Not, Cousin chronicles the trials and tribulations of three extraordinary families during England’s Regency era.

… But who is the girl with the violet eyes?

You can find Doubt Not, Cousin at:

Amazon.com

and Kindle Unlimited

---

Barry S. Richman is a military veteran and corporate logistics professional. While he was recuperating at home after having his wisdom teeth extracted in 2003, he picked up a copy of Pride and Prejudice and has yet to put it down.

In the past twenty years, he has read thousands of Pride and Prejudice variations. Watching him complete a book every other day, his wife of thirty years suggested he write one.

Doubt Not, Cousin is his first book.

Barry and his “Jane Bennet” live in Los Angeles and Alaçatı, a small seaside town in southwestern Turkey.

Contact Info

Facebook * IG * Goodreads * Amazon Author Page  * Website * YouTube Channel 

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The blog tour has just started, but it will go on for several days, you can continue to follow it to obtain more information about Doubt Not, Cousin 🙂

July 13 From Pemberley to Milton

July 14 Babblings of a Bookworm

July 17 Delighted Reader 

July 18 Savvy Verse and Wit

July 19 My Jane Austen Book Club

July 20 Interests of a Jane Austen Girl

July 21 Austenesque Reviews

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Meryton Press will be giving away one eBook copy of Doubt Not, Cousin to readers stopping by at From Pemberley to Milton, if you’d like to enter the giveaway please leave a comment below and let us know what you think about this premise and excerpt. The giveaway is open until the 22nd of July and the winner will be announced shortly after.

Good luck everyone!

The Crimes of Elizabeth Darcy by Sophie Turner – Excerpt & Giveaway

Good Afternoon everyone,

I’m am very happy to welcome Sophie Turner at From Pemberley to Milton today. She is an author I have been following for some time and every time I hear her speak, or read something from her, I think I need to read one of her books, because, guess what? I never have! Shocking, isn’t it? I know I am missing out, and I can only blame my cowardice that sometimes prevents me from reading longer books.

Today Ms. Turner is visiting with an excerpt of her most recent book The Crimes of Elizabeth Darcy, a story I find very fascinating! Have you read it yet? What is your opinion? Don’t forget to share all your thoughts with us on the comments and apply to the generous giveaway Ms. Turner is offering 🙂

Thank you so much for visiting Ms. Turner, it is a pleasure having you at From Pemberley to Milton, and best of luck with your book, I know it will be a success 🙂

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Thank you so much for hosting me here at From Pemberley to Milton, Rita! I’m excited to bring readers an excerpt from my book, The Crimes of Elizabeth Darcy. In the book, a mix of romance, courtroom drama, and suspense, Mr. Darcy is left for dead after a shipboard accident and is eventually found by a fisherman off the coast of Cornwall. His memory lost, he spends several years living there as “Will,” while Elizabeth, in a fog of grief, agrees to a second marriage for the sake of her children. In this excerpt, Will has discovered his old life but still has just a few glimpses of his memory, and he and Elizabeth have to find a way to resume married life together after such tumultuous events as have already occurred — and are still to come.

Bedroom at Number One Royal Crescent in Bath

Despite his exhaustion, Will still awoke at his usual hour, gazing at the alien bed-curtains surrounding him, recalling in a rush the life that was now his. In those first moments before he had opened his eyes, he had presumed he was back at home in the garret, lying in his plain bed there. He ached for the simple life he had left behind, feeling deeply homesick for the cottage and the role he held there, but still more for the people he had shared it with.

He needed to inform Jory and Eseld of the life he had discovered, needed to tell them he could not return to see them for some time. He would need to write a letter for the first time in years and then find someone to carry it to them, someone who would be able to read it aloud. The letter first, though.

Will rose and went about starting a fire in the fireplace. It was trickier to do with coal, although he managed. Then he lit a candle – a fine wax one – and went to the secretaire in his room. He recalled how to write, but the pen felt clumsy between his fingers, and the writing of his letter was slow going, his hand in cramps by the end of it. His head-ache was gone, thankfully – he had slept exceedingly well in his exhaustion – but it seemed he was now to swap this new pain for the old one.

Dawn came before he finished the letter, but it was the grey, dreary light of London. Will found himself longing for home again, for the Cornish sun and a fresh breeze, sending the lugger on her way. He hoped Jory had found someone to help on the boat, although that would not remain necessary for long.

Soon after the morning light had entered the room, a scullery maid came in, gave him a nervous curtsey, and then stared in consternation at the fire.

“It’s lit,” she stated.

“Aye, ‘tis. I lit it.”

“But you’re Mr. Darcy, aren’t you? They said you was back.” The maid looked incredulous, although Will thought her incredulity stemmed more from his ability to make a fire than from his return to the house.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Darcy,” Will replied. “What is your name?”

“I’m Rebecca, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you, Rebecca.” Will ought to meet the rest of the staff today, he thought. Even if they were to go to Derbyshire soon, it was right that they all at least see him. He rubbed his temples, hoping another head-ache was not coming on; the thought of the number of people he held under his management was overwhelming.

The maid gave him another curtsey and darted from the room, and Will finished his letter. He did not know the precise hour for breakfast, but he presumed it would be much later than he was accustomed to, and decided he might pass the intervening time in the nursery – somehow Will knew children were early risers as well, and he supposed he must have learned that from his son. His eldest son.

Everyone in that room – the children, their regular nurse, and the new wet nurse – were surprised to see him so early. For his sons, though, it was clear it was a pleasant surprise. Little William exclaimed, “papa!” and then ran over to him, and little Henry followed after with far less hesitance than he had the day before. Now having seen the man who had been their stepfather, Will thought that such simple things as giving them affection and attention and ensuring they always had reason to trust him would go a very long way in furthering his relationship with his sons. He asked the boys to tell him of their favourite pastimes, and was immediately in receipt of a detailed accounting of the riding of ponies, which led to them showing him around the nursery, informing him of which toys were most favoured.

While they were doing this, little Elizabeth sat on the floor, clasping a stuffed dog but watching him with her large, dark eyes. When a set of toy soldiers – given to them by cousin Henry, Will was informed – proved such a favourite the boys began playing with them, Will approached the little girl. She shrank back from his presence, even when he got down on his knees, endeavouring to appear smaller to her.

“Good morning, Elizabeth. I am – I suppose now I am to be considered your papa. I hope to know you better.” Will rambled on with similar statements for some time, hoping to let the child become accustomed to the sound of his voice, but she continued to gaze at him warily, and he did not want to push her.

She would be the difficult one, Will thought. Julia was so young, she would likely remember nothing from these days of her life. But little Elizabeth must have had a tumultuous upbringing so far, living in the house of such a man. Will vowed he would do whatever he could to earn her trust.

“Oh – good morning.” It was Elizabeth – the adult Elizabeth – standing in the doorway. “You always did rise early. I should have realised you might rise even earlier, having – having been a fisherman.”

“Aye – yes. We always liked to be on the boat early.”

She nodded. Little Elizabeth held out her arms to her mother, gazing at her with wide, imploring eyes. Will watched as Elizabeth sighed, her countenance seeming pained, and made no attempt to pick the child up. It was too much for her, he realised; Will had known what it was to be infirm. He located a chair on the far side of the nursery and brought it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sitting with no further sound than the swish of her skirts.

Will went to bring little Elizabeth to her as well, but even such cautious hands as he brought near the child made her look to him with eyes widened in fear. He withdrew them and watched as the child crawled over to her mother and raised her arms again, then was pulled awkwardly into that mother’s lap and held tightly there. They stayed like that for a very long time, both of them clearly more at peace together than they had been apart.

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After a tragic accident, Fitzwilliam Darcy is left for dead. His grief-stricken wife vows to do what is best for their children, including an ill-advised second marriage in the peerage.

Years later, Will Trevills leaves his happy life in Cornwall to discover the truth about his past. Thrust into a strange world after life as a fisherman, he gains a family he cannot recall. Lady Neston becomes Mrs. Darcy once more, and is grateful for her escape. But her husband questions his purpose as a gentleman, and cannot remember the love they shared.

Charged with bigamy, she may face the ultimate punishment, while the family she sought to protect has never been in greater peril.

Part thriller, part romance, and part courtroom drama, this Elizabeth and Darcy story is a long, absorbing read.

Readers should be aware that this story contains scenes of rape and sexual assault as well as a depiction of an abusive marriage and more general physical violence.

You can find The Crimes of Elizabeth Darcy at:

Amazon

and on Kindle Unlimited

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Sophie C. Turner worked as an online editor before delving even more fully into the tech world. Writing, researching the Regency era, and occasionally dreaming about living in Britain are her escapes from her day job.

She was afraid of long series until she ventured upon Patrick O’Brian’s 20-book Aubrey-Maturin masterpiece, something she might have repeated five times through.

Alas, her Constant Love series is only planned to be seven – or possibly eight – books right now, and consists of A Constant Love, A Change of Legacies, A Season Lost, and A Generation’s Secrets. The tentatively titled fifth book, A Dangerous Connection, is likely to be out in 2024 or 2025, if it comes out as long as its predecessor. She is also the author of Mistress: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, with Parts Not Suitable for Those Who Have Not Reached Their Majority and Less Proud and More Persuasive.

Sophie blogs about her writing endeavours at sophie-turner-acl.blogspot.com, where readers can find direction for the various social drawing-rooms across the Internet where she may be called upon.

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Sophie Turner is giving away 5 copies of The Crimes of Elizabeth Darcy to readers visiting From Pemberley to Milton. The giveaway is international and is open until the 22nd of July. To apply to it, just leave a comment on this post and let us know your opinion of the excerpt 🙂  

The winner will be announced shortly after.

Good luck everyone!

A Chance Eavesdropping by C.P. Odom – Excerpt & Giveaway

Good Afternoon everyone,

I can’t believe we’re almost in July! This year is going by really fast and I don’t seem to have time for anything. This has been recurrent lately, but I think this year was even worst! I never thought I would say this, but I miss the old Covid days when I had time for everything. But I digress, I should be talking to you about my guest. Today I am welcoming C.P. Odom who has just released another book, and one which I believe most of you will love! Have your heard about A Chance Eavesdropping before? If not, this is the perfect chance to see what the book is all about and to have a small sneak peak 🙂

I hope you enjoy the excerpt and that you join me in wishing C.P. Odom a huge success with this new release 🙂

I also want to thank Meryton Press for reaching out to me and allowing me to spread out the word about another wonderful book 🙂

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He had been staggered to encounter her and her relations in the most unexpected setting possible, his home of Pemberley, and he considered it a not inconsequential miracle that he had not been struck dumb upon seeing her again. The strange attraction he had once felt for her should have diminished during the many months since they last saw each other, but he found himself affected more than ever by her presence.

On the other hand, he was not certain how Elizabeth had responded to their encounter. She had not shown any signs of specific satisfaction or distaste as they exchanged greetings, though she had been noticeably polite. But it seemed to him as if she had exhibited a cool reserve that he had not seen when she greeted people like his friend Bingley. Still, she did regard Bingley’s sisters in much the same way, with coolness lurking behind her otherwise neutral expression. The thought brought unhappy alarm. Was that the way she viewed him?

He had no way of knowing, of course, even though his thoughts led to an uncomfortable suspicion that even if he could deduce just what had inspired her reserve, he might well find the reason not at all to his liking.

Regardless of how she felt about him, he could no longer evade how he felt about her, and he decided that he had heard enough about the problems of his estate.

. . .

Acting on the instinct of the moment, Darcy was driven more by his attraction for Elizabeth Bennet rather than acting on a conscious plan. Only after several dozen steps did he question what he was doing, and he was startled to comprehend that he was walking toward the gardens with the intention of meeting her and her relations without thinking the situation through. That thought brought him to an abrupt halt beside the rear entrance as he tried to bring order to his jumbled thoughts.

He was not some besotted youth to be bewitched by an attractive young woman—no matter how fine her eyes were! He was acting much as a moth drawn to a candle flame! Until he came around those trees and saw Elizabeth, he had been so certain that his attraction was long quelled that he had ceased to think about her. After all, driving that obsession from his mind was the primary reason he had left Hertfordshire, and that was more than eight months ago!

In that instant and with this last thought still in his mind, Darcy spied Elizabeth’s party in the distance through the glass panes of the door. They had just come into view on the path, and Mrs. Gardiner had claimed the arm of her husband while Elizabeth followed behind.

That single look was all it took. His thoughts of caution and remembering the Darcy name vanished like a soap bubble in bright sunlight, and he stepped outside into the warm summer air. Whether the course he had chosen was wise or foolish was of no matter to him as his long legs lengthened his stride. He simply had to have one more look at her fine eyes! He may have intended to forget about her forever, but the memory of those eyes had haunted more than one dream since he departed Netherfield.

---

Can eavesdropping change Elizabeth Bennet’s future?

What is a young lady of the Regency to do when she overhears her own mother plotting against her? When the plot involves matching the lovely Elizabeth Bennet with her unpleasant cousin Mr. Collins, sudden and drastic steps are needed.

Elizabeth’s life is also complicated by the wealthy and haughty Mr. Darcy, a guest of Mr. Bingley, the neighbourhood’s most eligible bachelor and her sister Jane’s suitor. The prideful Mr. Darcy soon departs Hertfordshire along with the Bingley party. But Mr. Bingley returns for Jane’s hand, ignoring the opposition of his sisters.

When Elizabeth’s summer excursion to the North with her aunt and uncle leads to further surprises, including a chance encounter with the high and mighty Mr. Darcy, the travellers accept an invitation to lodge at his estate. Meanwhile, her sister Lydia causes a calamity that may destroy the reputation of the Bennet family.

The gentlemen band together to search for Wickham and Lydia, but can the Bennets’ good name be restored even if the errant couple is found? Is Darcy’s attraction to this country lass with neither fortune nor connections stronger than the voices in his head? Can the mere infraction of eavesdropping truly lead to such wildly unforeseen events?

You can find A Chance Eavesdropping in:

Amazon Stores

and Kindle Unlimited

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Meryton Press will be giving away one eBook copy of A Chance Eavesdropping to readers stopping by at From Pemberley to Milton, if you’d like to enter the giveaway please leave a comment below and let us know what you think about this premise and excerpt. The giveaway is open until the 7th of July and the winner will be announced shortly after.

Good luck everyone!

The Great Austen Adventure by Tomi Tabb – Excerpt & Giveaway

Good Afternoon everyone,

How are you this week? I feel I have been neglecting you this month with very few posts coming up, but I hope to get back on track and to start that with Tomi Tabb’s visit today. This is the first time this author visits From Pemberley to Milton but I hope it will not be the last. She is visiting today with an excerpt of her recently released The Great Austen Adventure, a modern sweet romance highly influenced by Austen’s writing and characters. I am personally very interested in this book which appears to be very fresh and romantic and I hope to read it soon. What about you? Are Austen inspired novels your cuppa? Are you ready to fall in love with a dashing prince that will remind you of Mr. Darcy? If so, please don’t forget to leave a comment on this post to apply to the giveaway the author is offering.

Thank you so much for visiting Mrs. Tabb, it is a pleasure having you here, and best of luck with your book!

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Sabrina Hill’s gray-green eyes anxiously stared at the clock on the bottom right-hand side of her computer screen. Her fingers drummed against the glass top of her desk. As the second hand inched closer and closer to the twelve, she counted backward in her head.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

With catlike reflexes, she refreshed her internet browser. The ticket sales page for the Jane Austen Festival was officially live and accepting orders. Cracking her knuckles, she fiendishly began adding events to her shopping cart. Shuffling through the sheets of lined paper scattered about her work top, Sabrina cross-referenced the times and dates against her carefully crafted schedule.

Okay, for the Saturday lineup, I have “A Very Public Private Breakfast” at nine, followed by the “Regency Costume Promenade” at eleven. After I break for lunch and do some shopping, there is the “Rummaging Through the Reticule” talk at two. At four thirty, the last event I wanted for the day is the pre-ball dancing workshop. Now for Sunday—

“Sabrina Hill!” a strong male voice bellowed from the office behind her.

Sabrina ducked her head down and repositioned the sheets of paper. She added Sunday’s offerings to her cart. Paralegals and other assistants sat in their cubicles working in hushed tones, click-clacking on their computer keyboards. A ceiling fan whirled overhead.

A few seconds later, her boss firmly repeated her last name. “HILL!”

Three employees rolled their squeaky chairs backward and poked their heads out their cubicles to see which poor, unfortunate soul had become the latest victim of Mr. Graves’s furry. Normal people used an intercom, but not the firm’s owner and CEO.

Sabrina’s hands grew clammy. She willed herself to move quicker. “Just a moment, Mr. Graves. I’m finishing up a call.”

That sounded plausible enough. But was it convincing?

Oh, I’d also better stop forwarding my phone.

She double clicked her mouse and entered her credit card information into the payment screen from memory. Her phone rang. Unconsciously, she clicked the side button on her headset as she completed the transaction.

“Thank you for calling the office of Graves and Associates. This is Sabrina Hill speaking—”

“ Miss Hill”—she flinched the moment she realized her mistake—“seeing as you are definitely not on a call, my office. Now.”

She gulped. “Yes, sir.” The line clicked and the buzz of the empty dial tone rang in her ear. She removed the headset, placed it in on its charger, and locked her computer screen.

Straightening her navy-blue pencil skirt, she let out a deep breath and stood up on unsteady legs. The ten feet to her boss’s office had never seemed so far. The heels of her sensible black leather pumps click-clacked against the reclaimed wood floors.

More heads emerged over the tops of the partitioned cubicles to watch her step up to Mr. Graves’s glass door and knock tentatively.

“ Enter.” She turned the stainless-steel door handle. “Close the door behind you, Miss Hill.”

Mr. Graves stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets, studying the Dallas skyline. She closed the glass door as directed and awaited further instructions, tucking her hands in front of her. Sheets of rain pelted against the windowpane, filling the awkward silence with a gentle pitter-patter, the sky a dull, colorless gray.

Her eyes swept around the room. With its white walls, chrome computer, and a single piece of abstract art mounted on the wall to the right of Mr. Graves, the office was devoid of any personal touches. It evoked a modern industrial vibe—the complete opposite of everything Sabrina favored.

She chewed on her lip. The air was thick with tension. How long was he going to stand there?

He turned to face her, his jaw clenched and neck red. “Miss Hill, can you advise me as to why your phone has been forwarding all of your incoming phone calls to me for the last hour?” His nostrils flared. “Isn’t it your job to answer the phones and email me with a summary of each call as they come in?”

Her calls had gone to Mr. Graves? Sabrina had wrongly assumed they had been redirected to the other administrative assistants.

She took a step backward and gulped. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves. I can assure you that it won’t ever happen again.”

He was not an individual who accepted excuses. A man in his mid-forties, Mr. Graves stood about five foot nine with jet-black hair and charcoal eyes. Rarely did her boss reveal an emotion other than anger or arrogance.

“Were you aware the Larson Corporation was kept waiting on hold for over twenty minutes while I took your calls? It took me almost as long to assure Tony Larson that we valued his business and that the fault lay with my incompetent assistant.”

Sabrina shivered. The Larson Corporation was the largest account in the Graves and Associates client portfolio. This was much more serious than she’d wagered.

“Seeing as your mother is one of the firm’s partners, I thought you might just be the first assistant to make it to the two-year mark. But once again, Human Resources has failed to do their job.” Mr. Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I want something done right, I’ll have to do it myself. Pack your things and turn your badge into security on your way out. You’re fired.”

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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a Jane Austen addict in possession of an airline ticket to Bath must be in want of a Mr. Darcy to call her own.

By day Sabrina is a workaholic administrative assistant. By night she is a devoted reader of Regency romance novels.

Her life is predictable. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. The only thing keeping her going is knowing that come summer, she’ll be heading to the Jane Austen Festival in Bath.

Lorenzo is a prince who doesn’t believe in love. His heart has been broken one too many times. He’s given up hope that a person could ever love him the man instead of just for his royal status.

When a careless mistake at work gets Sabrina fired, she heads to Italy in hopes of figuring out the mess her life has become.

What she wasn’t expecting was to step into a “meet cute” straight from the pages of an Austen novel. When she literally crashes into the handsome Lorenzo–masquerading as a wine merchant–her life is forever changed. They soon learn that their lives are more interconnected than either one of them ever imagined.

Sabrina is beginning to feel as if she might have found her own Mr. Darcy, except, there is one problem–Lorenzo doesn’t want anyone to know he is a prince and he definitely doesn’t want to fall in love.

Could the right person prove to a prince that love can heal the scars of the past?

This is a royal romance for sweet and clean romance readers. Kissing only and no cursing.

You can find The Great Austen Adventure at:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

and on Kindle Unlimited

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Tomi Tabb is giving away 5 eBook copies of The Great Austen Adventure to readers visiting From Pemberley to Milton. The giveaway is international and is open until the 24th of June. To apply to it, just leave a comment on this post and let us know your opinion of the excerpt 🙂  

The winner will be announced shortly after.

Good luck everyone!