My First Book Baby's Birthday

Eleven years ago tomorrow, my first novel, First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice, was published. It seems like forever ago and, simultaneously, yesterday. I have been struggling to rewrite the book, combining it with its two sequels (which were never part of the original plan) for three years. It's a way bigger project than I ever imagined. In fact, I had envisioned breezing through it in the chaotic days following the birth of my last child. That was both wildly optimistic and naive.

I really would have liked to celebrate the book's 10th birthday, but not only was the blog kind of dead in the water at this time last year (and the several proceeding years), but I was also struggling to cope with the early days of lockdown. Understandably, my thoughts were elsewhere. So to try to make the event a bit special this year, here is a first peek at some new, original material from the revision (confession: I did actually do a reading of this excerpt back in December, but as no one actually saw it, this is legitimately a first peek). I intended this to be an extension of the prologue to the third book, Holidays at Pemberley, but I am now working on yet another new scene, and it will proceed all the events previously chronicled in the trilogy. That, however, is nowhere near ready for eyes beyond my own, especially considering it still exists mostly in my head. Hopefully, I'll get it on paper soon. In the meantime, enjoy part of the beginning to the new (though still rough) and improved (I trust) Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice:

Mr. Lucas was a man in his ascendency. Though born of humble parents, his life’s journey elevated the
family from their mercantile roots to glorified heights unimagined when he was but a suckling babe in his mother’s arms. He utilized his mayoralty well, making much of the economic opportunities afforded by conflict and amassing a small fortune. In recognition of his contribution to the war effort, he was honored with a knighthood, a distinction so strongly felt that he was compelled to divest himself of his business interests and quit Meryton, removing his family no less than a full mile outside of town, denominating his new abode Lucas Lodge, and reinvented himself into a country squire, with no greater occupation than being civil to all the world. 

Unshackled by business, Sir William set about increasing the size of his family, which swelled with the years. The tidy fortune with which he had retired was sufficient to provide his sons with the educations and inheritance required to complete the family’s ascendency to the gentry, but his daughters were left rather portionless in the process, forced to rely on their charms and wit to secure husbands devoid of trade’s taint. With the latter commodity, Charlotte was well-endowed, more so than her sisters, who were richer in the former. 

Before the rapid family expansion began, Charlotte and her next brother, Will, were for many years the only children. One might assume they would, therefore, have a closer bond than the others, but it was not the case. The two never got along very well, Will perhaps feeling his father’s new consequence too much, and Charlotte too pragmatic to indulge his inflated self-importance. Her sisters, while very dear to her, were not her intellectual equals, and so she was forced to seek quality companionship beyond the walls of the Lodge. Fortunately, within a short walk lived the Bennets of Longbourn.

Mr. Bennet was of old family, long landed in the area. He had married a wife who was native to Meryton, the daughter of a local attorney possessed of a small fortune and good looks, and together they began a family. Thus far, it consisted of four girls. As the estate was entailed on descendants male, it was generally believed that many more children could be expected to follow, until the longed for boy was born. The two eldest daughters, Jane and Elizabeth, were old enough to be something like companions to Charlotte. Though not much older than her own sisters, they provided her with far more stimulating conversation than could be found at home. Consequently, she was a great deal at Longbourn, and Jane and Elizabeth, likewise, were often be found at Lucas Lodge.

On one such day, near the end of the old century, while snow gently fell outside and large fires made all snug within, the three girls barricaded themselves in Charlotte’s room and played with Josephine, the doll given to Miss Lucas by the Westover family nearly a decade before. While Charlotte was rapidly leaving girlhood behind, she was yet young enough to highly resent her sisters playing with what was most certainly hers, as they had been found doing, resulting in a vindictive expulsion of the younger girls from both Josephine’s noble presence and the room. Being well beyond having any interest in actually playing with the doll, Charlotte pulled out her sewing basket instead and looked for scraps that might be fashioned into clothes for her, a task in which the Bennet girls were happy to assist.

“That brocade is lovely, Charlotte! Let us make her a ball gown,” Jane exclaimed.

Charlotte smiled. “It is from a scrap of the remains from my mother’s presentation gown. She gave it to me to trim my new cloak, and this is the last remnant I have, but as it is too small to use for much else but a doll’s overskirt, a ball gown it shall become. I have some silk we can make into a bodice.”

Jane, a fine little seamstress, began to lay out the fabric and take measurements, all the while trying to keep her sister from cutting it to pieces before all her preparations were in order. To distract her, Charlotte called Elizabeth’s attention to a small box of spare beads, which they set about sorting for use in trimming the gown. Elizabeth excitedly proclaimed which were her favorites, carrying the transparent ones to the window in order to probe their depths. Charlotte laughed at her antics. It was impossible to not be charmed by the little girl.

“There,” Jane declared, when she had finished with the gown’s design. “Now you may cut out the pieces, Lizzy, but do be careful not the shred the brocade. We have little enough as it is.”

“Josephine only hires the finest modistes and milliners to construct her wardrobe,” Charlotte teased. “She could entrust no one less with such an important task.”

Elizabeth looked up from her work. “Why should a lady’s wardrobe be so important? Mama speaks of it endlessly. I do not see why I should always be scolded for getting dirty or tearing a hem. When she insists I wear such flimsy fabrics, what else can be expected to happen?”

“I think Mama expects you not to be climbing trees and running through fields.”

“That is all very well for you, Jane, but it is not in my nature to behave otherwise. The clothes should be made to suit me. Why should I be forced into alterations to fit them?”

“Eliza would rather go about in trousers, like one of the boys, that she might climb to the very highest branches of the oak tree in the church yard without causing a spectacle.”

The two elder girls laughed, but Elizabeth remained studiously thoughtful, eventually saying, “No, I should not like that. Why can I not dress like a girl and still be able to romp about, the way the Wilson girls do?”

“You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. The Wilsons are my father’s tenants. There is a deal of difference.”

“Yes. So I am told, but I do not see why it must be so. ”   

With complete attention did Elizabeth now focus on the task at hand, carefully working the scissors, her small face taut with concentration. As she liberated each section, Jane began stitching the tiny gown together, and Charlotte assisted each when needed. As she helped Elizabeth straighten the fabric, she revived the former subject. 

“You asked why you ought not conduct yourself at the Misses Wilson do. I am sorry to say it, but such questioning can do one little good. From what I have thus seen of the world, regardless of where and for what initial purpose its restrictions derived, one must abide by them or suffer the consequences. A lady has very few avenues by which to secure her position, marriage being by far the best. You may not behave as the Wilsons do, because it would hurt your future prospects.”

Elizabeth had stopped working to listen to this speech and now frowned intently at Charlotte, “But that is unfair.”

The older girl nodded. “I think so, too. Unfortunately, fairness is rather irrelevant.”

“I do not think it so awful,” said Jane. “Someday, like Josephine, I will put on my most beautiful gown, made just for the occasion, make my entrance into a beautiful ballroom, where I shall meet a most handsome and eligible gentleman, and we will fall in love, have ten children, and live happily ever after,” she concluded with stars in her eyes, causing both of the other girls great amusement. “I do not see what is so humorous,” she protested, her feelings bruised. “Is it not what all women wish?”

“Certainly most of them,” Charlotte replied with an encouraging smile. She did not mean to disrupt the serenity of Jane’s dreams for the future, they being far safer to indulge than Elizabeth’s revolutionary notions, but she could not help but think the younger Bennet possessed greater penetration than her sister.

“Do you not wish for a handsome husband?” the former now asked, her sparkling eyes studying Charlotte intently.

“I think I should value a kind husband more.”

“But you do want to be married and have a family?” Elizabeth pressed.

“Certainly. Having no personal fortune to see to my own future, my only other options are to either live with Will,” Elizabeth twisted her face at this notion, “take a position as a governess,” now the little girl laughed, “or marry whatever man is so gracious as to ask me. Which should you choose?”

“To be married, of course! But I do so hope I might meet a gentleman both kind and handsome.”

“Do not forget rich,” Charlotte added.

“So you shall, Lizzy,” Jane smiled. “So shall we all! It must be so.”

As the two younger girls chattered on about what the future might bring, Charlotte withdrew to the window to stare at the falling snow. All such talk was still the distant future to her companions, but she was getting close to the time when she would begin the search for a husband, and a real one, too, not some creature born of fairytale. The prospects in her own neighborhood were not good, and she had little opportunity to form new acquaintances from the broader world. Certainly, a handsome, kind, and rich husband would be delightful, but she was too practical to consider such a possibility. She set her sights on kind and respectable. For more, it was too daring to dream.

I think it fitting that these combined tales will be hitting their teen years at the same time as my eldest child. I'm in such a very different place than I was when I began this JAFF journey. It is rather overwhelming to dwell upon. I like to think my writing has greatly improved over the last decade. I hope it has. May the new volume, whenever it's complete, reflect that. Thank you, as always, for reading.

NaNoWriMo 2018: Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice!!!

Announcing my NaNoWriMo novel for 2018! Da da da da! Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice. Yes, that's the name of the blog, as well as the name of the trilogy that comprises my first three novels: First Impressions, Second Glances, and Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters. The paperbacks are now out of print and, though still available for Kindle, all three stories are badly in need of proper editing. My plan is to rewrite the entire story and rerelease it in one volume. First Impressions, though in the worst condition of them all, remains, by leaps and bounds, my best selling book. So I will probably will not stop selling the original books, just offer this as an alternative to readers. Here is the preliminary cover (and a new blog banner to compliment it). What do you think?

Since I'm kind of cheating this year - working with pre-existing material - I'm hoping to make up for it by writing three times are much. Instead of 50,000 words, I'm shooting for 150,000. This is probably insane, but it fits my profile. Wish me luck!

Four Year Anniversary Giveaway: Holidays at Pemberley

Wow! Four years ago today, Holiday at Pemberleys, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes, was published, completing my first "What if?" conception. To celebrate, all three books in the trilogy are free for Kindle at amazon.com tomorrow. I just realized today was my book anniversary, or I would have been on top of this and had the giveaway scheduled for today. C'est la vie.

I'm also marking the occasion by announcing my intention to rerelease the entire series as a single volume next year. I've been meaning to do this for sometime. First Impressions, particularly, has some grievous editing problems that I've never bothered correcting. The whole thing is going to be polished up and chronologically ordered into a single tale. Not sure what the new title will be, but my money's on simply Tales of Less Pride & Prejudice, which will hopefully make it crystal clear that this is, at the end of the day, the same story, with only minor alterations. Of course, the whole project is predicated on me actually being productive postpartum (little Jack is due on January 4th). Fingers crossed I'm more focused than after Eliza's birth.

Be sure to take advantage of this offer while it lasts!
https://www.amazon.com/Alexa-Adams/e/B003HSCV6S/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

First Impressions Birthday Giveaway

Yay! Today is my first baby's birthday! Seven years ago, I published my first book, First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice. I wrote it very quickly, with no idea I would ever publish. It was really, in conception, more of a reaction to the world of JAFF than a new story. I had only recently found and immersed myself in the world of Austenesque literature, and it was only when I started running out of new books to read (a thing that could still happen back then), that I was driven to write something myself. I had no idea it would turn into a trilogy, let alone a major life's passion. Jane Austen was always important to me, but since I published that first book, her influence has penetrated my entire world. Now I think, breathe, and live Austen. I used to only read her.

To thank all who have purchased, loved, and supported both First Impressions and my other scribblings, I want to offer one winner the complete set of books in the Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice series (either paperback or Kindle, winner's choice), along with these absolutely adorable, wooden Easter ornaments, which I fell in love with at my local supermarket here in Switzerland (I bought two sets: one for me, and one to share). Simply leave your email address in the comments by April 7th. Double entry if you share the giveaway on social media, but you must let me know you did so in your comment. This giveaway is open worldwide. Thank you all, for so much.

Twelve Days of Christmas JA Style, Plus Giveaway!

This is not the first time I've put an Austen twist on a Christmas classic. Last year I created Twas the Night Before Christmas, when all through Pemberley... , and two years ago I wrote The Darcy's Gift, a Austenesque take on The Gift of the Magi. This year I'm at it again with The Twelve Days of Christmas, AND I'm giving away one copy of Holidays at Pemberley and this set of handmade, Jane Austen Christmas cards, all in honor of the season. See entry info below, and enjoy the song!

On the first day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the second day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: two daring colonels and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the third day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: three Dashwood sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the fourth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me four fallen women, three Dashwood sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the fifth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwood sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the sixth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: six stupendous novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwoods sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the seventh day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: seven lovely ladies, six stupendous novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwoods sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the eighth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: eight questionable gentlemen (if you include Robert Ferrars and Captain Tilney), seven lovely ladies, six stupendous novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwoods sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the ninth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: nine Price progeny, eight questionable gentlemen, seven lovely ladies, six stupendous novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwoods sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the tenth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: ten minor Morlands, nine Price progeny, eight questionable gentlemen, seven lovely ladies, six breathtaking novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three widower fathers, two Dashwoods sisters, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the eleventh day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: countless cups of tea, ten minor Morlands, nine Price progeny, eight dangerous gentlemen, seven lovely ladies, six stupendous novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwoods sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

On the twelfth day of Christmas Jane Austen gave to me: twelve noble estates (of varying size and income), countless cups of tea, ten minor Morlands, nine Price progeny, eight questionable gentlemen, seven lovely ladies, six breathtaking novels, LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH! Four fallen women, three Dashwoods sisters, two daring colonels, and Mr. Darcy in a wet tee.

Beware: I'm seriously tempted to illustrate this somehow. Maybe I will manage to do so by next Christmas.

To win the giveaway use the form below. It is open internationally through the 24th. I'll announce the winner Christmas day. Happy holidays!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

More Agreeably Engaged

I've been interviewed! It's been a while since I've done one (not since First Impressions came out). I was very grateful that Janet T over at More Agreeably Engaged (love that title) was able and willing to do an interview, as with all the NaNoWriMo craziness I was having a hard time coming up with new ideas for guest posts. Plus, her questions were wonderful, which gave me a chance to step back, reflect a bit on what I've been doing for the past four years, and consider what I want to do next. I hope you'll read the post and comment. Copies of both Second Glances: A Tales of Less Pride & Prejudice Continues and Holidays at Pemberley: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes are up for grabs!

http://moreagreeablyengaged.blogspot.com/2013/12/tales-of-less-pride-prejudice-with.html

A Regency Christmas at Austenesque Reviews

My holidays officially started today (only three days before Thanksgiving, which makes me more punctual than the nation's retailers), with the beginning of what I suppose I must call The Holidays at Pemberley Blog Tour, despite my sense that the name conjures up images of a far more orderly proceeding than mine. Caveats aside, this is very exciting for me, in no small part because it is the first time one of my books was released early instead of late, making this my most organized marketing attempt yet! Let the fun begin!

Today I have a guest post at Austenesque Reviews discussing some of the Regency Era Christmas traditions mentioned in my book. There is an international giveaway of Holidays at Pemberley. I am all anticipation for Meredith's review of the book, which she will post on Wednesday. Please dear friends: check it out, tell your friends, and help me spread the word!

http://austenesquereviews.com/2013/11/guest-post-giveaway-with-author-alexa-adams-2.html

Oh! Almost forgot to mention that they started giving out the NaNoWriMo winner badges today! Check mine to your right. The Madness of Mr. Darcy is currently at 65,000 words, and there are still six days to go!

Holidays at Pemberley Review at Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell

There's a great review of Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Concludes up at Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell. You can check it out here:

http://books-forlife.blogspot.fi/2013/10/review-holidays-at-pemberley-alexa-adams.html

Sometimes the comments on blog reviews are highly enlightening. The comments on this post were very surprising. Particularly, several people mentioned they found the cover creepy. When I first found the image used for the cover, it was like Charlotte Lucas was staring back at me. I immediately decided it was perfect for this book, right down to the holly surrounding her. I may have a skewed view of what constitutes creepy (I have a sister who specializes in very "creepy" art, much of which adorns my walls - if there isn't a skeleton or fetus involved, I tend to think am image is perfectly idyllic), so I'm asking you, my dear followers: what do you think of the cover? If you find it creepy, I would love an explanation. There is much to be learned from such feedback.

Holidays at Pemberley Giveaway at My Jane Austen Book Club

There are two copies of Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Concludes up for grabs at My Jane Austen Book Club, along with a very revealing excerpt from the book. Please stop by and sign up to win!

http://thesecretunderstandingofthehearts.blogspot.it/2013/10/author-guest-post-alexa-adams-holidays.html

Charlotte's Spoiler Part Three: And They Lived Happily Ever After

Again, please stop right now and read no further if you want any mystery to attend your reading of Charlotte Lucas' romance in Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Concludes, for the following will ruin it all. Why am I sharing it anyway? A poignant question to which I have no rational response. 

So nearly all the pieces of Charlotte's puzzle have now been exposed except how the inevitable understanding with Mr. Westover finally comes about. For this last spoiler excerpt to make sense, it does help to have read the prologue to my story (you'll find it here). I hope those of you who have enjoyed this exposure will find the following gratifying.

Soon the sun betrayed sure signs of descent and they began to pack their things and head back to Pemberley, where Mr. Westover was engaged to dine. As he handed Miss Lucas over the worst of the snaggled roots in their path, he knew that anything private he wished to say to her must be conveyed now, for the activity of a dinner party could not allow the kind of disclosures he wished to make. The problem was finding the right words. Verse could help him no more.

He looked at her pleadingly, and Miss Lucas instinctively understood his plight. How odd that so many misunderstandings had proceeded this moment, when now his every expression spoke volumes to her! “You wish to say something, Mr. Westover,” she prompted him.

“Indeed, Miss Lucas,” he found his tongue. “I just want you to know what a great pleasure this afternoon has been. I cannot thank you enough for your company.”

She smiled shyly, “I fear I offered you little more than my presence. As far as conversation is concerned, you might as well have been alone.”

“Not at all,” he asserted seriously. “You presence has been invaluable.”

She blushed. “I cannot see how.”

“Can you not?” he inquired earnestly. “I do want to make my intentions very clear Miss Lucas, in order to be certain that there shall be no more confusion. Unless you urge me to desist, when next I call upon you at an unconscionably early hour, you may expect to hear the words which you once awaited, though my own stupidity then failed to understand what you were owed.”

“You have no obligation towards me, Mr. Westover,” she quickly insisted, unaccountably terrified to hear him confess that for which she had longed. “Please do not act out of some sense of duty, to me or anyone else.”

He looked confused, and asked, “What do you mean?”

Grasping at the easiest explanation, she hastily confessed, “Mrs. Hendley came to visit me some days ago.”  

“My sister?” he asked in confusion, then a rapid consciousness descended upon his face. “So she could not restrain herself from interfering! I might have suspected so much. She has not been imposing on you?”

“Not at all, but she did lead me to understand your purpose,” she blushed, “and I just hope your intentions are formulated upon your own feelings, and not something that might have been urged upon you, either by myself or anyone else.”

“Miss Lucas,” he said earnestly, and in all seriousness, “I assure you with all my soul that I have loved you from the very first moment we met, which is to say all my life.”

Her look intensified. “You remember?”

He nodded. “I did not know who you were until Cordelia enlightened me. I am the most impossible dullard to have not instantly recognized you.”

“I did not know you either,” she hurried to confess. “It was not until I returned to Hertfordshire that I learned you were the boy from all those years ago. Your sister said something that made me understand she knew me, but I did not know if she had told you who I was.”

“I never had much interest in women, always consumed by science, but for as long as I can remember I thought that if I should ever again meet the kind girl who was so good to me so many years ago, that she should be the lady with whom I would spend my life. I just never believed it should really happen.” He clasped her hand, and Charlotte’s heart felt as if it might burst from her breast. “I love you, Charlotte Lucas. Do I have your permission to court you?”

“No,” she declared breathlessly, a laugh in her voice. “I am far too old for courting, Mr. Westover.  You shall have to do much better than that.”

He smiled at her crookedly. “Marry me, Charlotte. I cannot promise perfect happiness, but I do feel certain that we will be most content.”

Through tears glistening in her eyes, Charlotte joyfully replied, “What a reasonable aspiration! Yes, Mr. Westover, I will be delighted to relish perfect contentment by your side.”

Their return to Pemberley might have taken longer than one would usually expect, but far too soon they there arrived. Though they need not part for long, Charlotte loathed relinquishing his grasp. 

“I will see you at dinner,” were his parting words, and though the statement was commonplace enough, the intimate look that accompanied it left Charlotte succumbing to a senseless, overpowering joy. She nearly skipped up the stairs to her quarters, a wildly different creature than she was, yet somehow, for the first time, precisely whom she was always meant to be.

Charlotte's Spoiler Part Two: Mr. Bennet Intervenes

Warning: If you plan to read Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Concludes and want the romance to retain a modicum of suspense and surprise, please do not read this post.

Yesterday I provided a glimpse into a brokenhearted (if she'll only admit it) Miss Lucas. Today I'd like to begin the mending process. I have already shared some of this. Mr. Bennet first declares his intention to interfere in the excerpt contained in the post My Mr. Bennet, and Mrs. Hendley (sister to my hero, David Westover) brings Charlotte to task in the post Meeting Cordelia Hendley. The following short exchange takes place in the time between those two, when Mr. Bennet confronts Mr. Westover at the Twelfth Night ball:

Mr. Bennet was pleased to find himself seated beside Mr. Westover, with whom he had been hoping to speak. The conversation began on scientific subjects, of a style Mr. Bennet was sure would gain his neighbor’s attention, and when the man was quite in his element, rhapsodizing on the effects of local river erosion, he interrupted the speech with this diversion: “Miss Lucas told me of your great knowledge of such matters, Mr. Westover. You have secured yourself a warm admirer in that lady.”

David nearly choked on his food. “I have?”

“Do you not know it? I was under the impression that the two of you spent a great deal of time together when she was a guest at Pemberley last year.”

“Indeed, we did, but I had no notion our friendship would be recalled after she returned to her own home and interests,” he said modestly.

“Well, that is quite possibly true, as I have not heard her mention you these many months,” he noted with satisfaction that the hopeful rector’s face fell.  “Do not fret over it, sir! I’m sure she will return again one day, and then your intercourse is sure to resume as before.”

He shook his head. “I fear Miss Lucas will never again be at ease in my company. I said something at which she may have taken offense before her departure, and we never did resolve the matter. If she were to come visit, the kindest thing for me to do might be retreat to my family home.”

“Nonsense! Charlotte Lucas is one of the most practical ladies I have ever known, and I assure you, Mr. Westover, that I have known a great many more than I ever cared to. She would not allow mere misunderstanding to determine her sentiments towards another. Explain yourself and all will be right. It’s amazing what straightforward conversation, unhindered by societal nonsense, can often accomplish.”

The rector looked doubtful, and before Mr. Bennet could stop her, the little known lady to his left demanded his attention. There was nothing to be done but let the matter go. For now, he knew as much as he needed.

Come back tomorrow for Charlotte's Spoiler Part Three: And They Lived Happily Ever After.

Holidays at Pemberley Giveaway Winner Announced and Charlotte's Spoiler Part One

Sorry it took me a few days to post this. I had a very busy weekend doting on my daughter, something I hadn't properly done in a few weeks.

The winner of the giveaway copy of Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Concludes is ...

Vesper Meikle!

Congratulations! Expect an email from me requesting the pertenant details.

Spolier Alert!

You may have noticed that I've been greatly enjoying giving away all the twists and turns in my new book, a practice I've always avoided in the past. It's just too much fun to resist, and after requesting giveaway entrants to predict what might happen to Charlotte, it only seems fair to publicly resolve her fate. The following excerpt takes place towards the end of Charlotte's first stay at Pemberley, following the Darcys marriage. During her visit, she has developed a close friendship with David Westover, the rector at Kympton. She and everyone else readily assumes his attentions equate courtship, but in the case of our absent-minded rector, such conclusions prove seriously flawed:

What are you grinning about, Charlotte? You look inordinately amused.”

“Your mother and mine have been gossiping about Mr. Westover.”

“That can’t be what so diverts you,” retorted Elizabeth, “for it is precisely the same manner in which we have been warding off boredom ourselves. Dear me! I do hope we are not turning into them!”

Charlotte laughed, “It would be proper punishment for us, too. We really should let the poor man alone.”

“That would be easier done,” said Georgiana with a shy smile, “if he was not so ready to bring himself to our attention.”

“Quite true, Georgiana!” applauded Elizabeth. “How shall poor Charlotte defend her position against such assault?”

“I shall not, having no wish to belabor the point. You will travel far before you will find someone more eager to surrender.”

“Nice derobement, Charlotte, as Mr. Darcy might say! We now have no choice but to change the subject.”

“I fear we shall have some difficulty in that,” Charlotte said with a cool smile, admirably concealing the rushing thrill of emotion she felt at the sight of Mr. Westover through the window, approaching the house with a meaningful stride.

“But it is not yet eleven o’clock!” cried Georgiana, rushing to the window to inspect the situation more closely. “Must he not be coming to ask Miss Lucas to marry him?”

Though the thought had already occurred to the two older ladies, neither replied to Georgiana’s question. Instead, Elizabeth busied herself helping Charlotte to straighten her cap and adjust her shawl. By the time the rector was announced, Miss Lucas was as admirably positioned as female ingenuity could contrive. 

“Good morning, Mr. Westover,” greeted Elizabeth cheerfully. “I am afraid Mr. Darcy went out on horseback after breakfast, and we do not expect him home until later this morning. Did you have some particularly pressing business to discuss?”

“No indeed, Mrs. Darcy, and a very good morning to you too,” he beamed. “I came to speak with Miss Lucas, if she might spare me a moment.”

“Of course, won’t you Charlotte? Georgiana and I were just on our way to converse with Mrs. Reynolds, and your company will keep Charlotte from being unbearably dull,” and before the protest that hovered on Georgiana’s lips could be uttered, Elizabeth ushered her sister from the room.

“They needn’t have left,” he said with a tinge of confusion, though amusement reigned on his mien. “I did not mean to frighten them off. I hope my company is not so very boring.”

“Not at all, Mr. Westover,” protested Charlotte. “I think your conversation amongst the most interesting I have encountered.”

He smiled crookedly, “Now that your experience of society has been so measurably extended as to include my own, that means a great deal.”

She laughed, feeling far more at ease, “I thought we agreed you would not continue holding the limits of my experience against me!”

He mocked effrontery. “Indeed, Madame, and never I shall, except when it is to my decided advantage.” Both expressed their diversion, and he continued, “It is precisely for your great breadth of experience that I come to you today. I have a puzzle that requires your attention.”

“I will be happy to give it, but I must protest against any qualifications you so wrongly attribute to me in seeking my opinion.”

“No! You must not. I rely on your taste, sensibility, and judgment, if you must have a litany of your accomplishments, and I have unwavering faith in all three.”

Charlotte, allowing her practical self to be swept away in the moment, grew saucy. “And what role have you planned to thrust on me? If I did not know better, I would think you describe the qualifications of a wife.”

He looked at her quizzically, “I suppose they would do very well in such a case, but I had rather intended critic.”

Now she looked confused. “Critic? Of what?”

He pulled a small stone from his pocket. “I was attempting a rendering of this specimen, but have been unable to properly capture the color. Tell me – would you begin with green or blue as the foundation? I have tried both, but no matter how much white I add, neither seem to give me just the right shade.”

Charlotte looked at him aghast, only slowly recovering herself. “This is what you wished to see me about?” she asked, taking the stone in one shaking hand.

He nodded affirmatively, inspecting her so closely that she felt the specimen, rather than the chunk of mineral in her hand. Staring at it intently and blinking tears from her eyes, she managed to say, “I think you might want to begin by blending a grey, and then add just a touch blue. I cannot detect any green in the shade.”

“Begin with grey,” he nodded, taking the rock from her extended hand and uncomfortably turning towards the window, where he looked out in seeming reverie. Charlotte silently thanked him for this opportunity to compose herself. 

“Miss Lucas?” he asked tentatively, some moments later.

“Yes, Mr. Westover?” she replied, unable to conceal the anxiety in her voice.

“I do not like to mention what can only be mortifying to us both, but I fear there has been some dreadful misunderstanding, and my regard and admiration for you is too strong to not offer some semblance of explanation.” He paused, and she signaled for him to continue, “You see, I have never had any inclination for marriage, nor thought to live with any woman other than my sister. What kind of husband would I be, always busy in my library, taking irregular meals, and gallivanting about at all hours? It would be unfair to ask anyone to bear such a burden. You might do much better than me, Miss Lucas.”

Thousands of reasons why this was patently untrue swarmed through her mind, but she remained silent. 

“I will not wait for Mrs. Darcy to return,” he said formally, all trace of their easy companionship destroyed. “Please bid her farewell on my behalf. Good morning, Miss Lucas.”

“Good morning, Mr. Westover.”

Check back tomorrow for Charlotte's Spoiler Part Two: The Intervention of Mr. Bennet.

My Mr. Bennet

My Mr. Bennet is an odd duck, but so is Austen's. The primary difference is that hers learned some humility when Lydia ran off with Wickham, while mine has never had a reason to lament: "It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it." I had not envisioned him becoming quite so meddlesome when I wrote First Impressions, but somewhere during the course of Second Glances he became a force unto himself. I really cannot bring him into line, no more than I can make Lydia any less than "invariably silly." 

In Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Concludes, Mr. Bennet does meet with a degree of failure in his attempted machinations. I've already provided several spoilers to the story, and I must hold something back, but here is a glimpse into the man's mind, as revealed through a conversation with his favorite daughter, at the end of her first year as mistress of Pemberley:

“Lizzy? Might I intrude upon you?”

Elizabeth looked up from her accounts with a surprised smile. “Of course, Papa. I had not thought to see you but at meals and social occasions.”

“I have made no good reputation for myself, in that case. What a house guest to be saddled with: barging in upon you unexpectedly, and in the most surprising company, and then I do not even put myself out to be agreeable, cloistering myself away in your most excellent library!”

“If you behaved otherwise with such a temptation on hand, then I would be concerned. You know you are always welcome, and I cannot imagine who you might bring to my door who wouldn’t be.”

Mr. Bennet smiled enigmatically and changed the subject. “I have been thinking of Miss De Bourgh’s desire for Miss Lucas’ company. Is there any particular reason why you did not invite her to join us this year?”

Elizabeth noted something in her book. “I would love it if Charlotte were here, but I was unable to contrive her conveyance.”

“Perhaps Jane and Bingley can collect her on their way North?” he suggested. 

“I fear it is too late to act on your plan. Why do you concern yourself in the matter, Papa? It is unlike you.”

“I think Miss Lucas was sorry to not see you this year. She, her mother, and Miss Maria called not long before our departure, and while I only spoke to either for the briefest moment, I thought I detected some dissatisfaction in Miss Lucas’ eye. She asked how you were most sincerely.” She eyed him suspiciously, which he ignored and continued speaking, examining a nonexistent spot on his cuff all the while. “Miss Lucas has seemed rather downcast ever since she came home from Derbyshire early last spring. There was talk that she was nursing a broken heart, but perhaps that was just a ready defense, providing her a sort of distinction amongst her companions. Next to being married, a girl does likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of.”

“Papa! Have you come here to gossip?”

“Well, yes. I supposed so, if you must term it such. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?" 

“If you would like to speak on any other subject, I will be happy to indulge you, sir,” she laughed in spite of herself, “but I will not expose Charlotte in such a manner.”

“Nor should you! To do so knowingly would be a violation of the dictates of feminine friendship, but as you have only accidently betrayed your friend Miss Lucas, your conscience need not be burdened. I believe I know what happened.”

“Do you?” asked Elizabeth, feeling a great deal of disbelief that the conversation she found taking part in was real.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was Mr. Westover. Poor man didn’t know he was in love until after she left, I suppose, for I can’t imagine Miss Lucas rejecting a proposal, considering her circumstances.”

“And when did you discern all this?”

“Last evening at dinner. Mr. Westover is not the man he was.”

“You are a quick study of characters,” Elizabeth replied evasively, “but why concern yourself in the matter at all?”

“I do not like to see Miss Lucas cast down. I never thought the lady had much heart to lose, but I fear I was wrong.”

Elizabeth looked deeply concerned. “Is she that changed?”

“Only to the eyes of those who can see, and there are exceedingly few of us. I suppose I must do something about it.”

Elizabeth stared at him in astonishment. “What?” she demanded. 

“I am not yet sure,” he admitted.

“Really Papa,” she admonished. “Have you not had enough of matchmaking? If you must concern yourself on a lady’s behalf, do you not have two very fine daughters remaining from which to choose.”

“I meant to say something to you on that subject, incidentally,” he turned the conversation.  “Kitty is a great deal improved, do you not think?”

“Yes, indeed I do.”

“I wish you might consider having her with you this summer. Georgiana is a good influence on her, and perhaps she may guide Lydia a bit, too. My youngest is a necessary part of the package, you understand,” he shuddered to think of Lydia’s complaints should she be left out of such an arrangement.

“I think it an excellent idea and will speak to Mr. Darcy about it this evening. It would be a very nice surprise for the girls, too, do you not think so?”

“Indeed! Very well then, I shall return to my favorite haunt. Excuse the interruption, my dear!” and he took himself off, his daughter smiling inquisitively behind him.

Want to win a copy? This international giveaway is open through October 4th: http://alexaadams.blogspot.com/2013/09/holiday-at-pemberley-published.html

Meet David Westover: A 19th Century Geek

The hero of Holidays at Pemberley, or Third Encounters: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Concludes is partially inspired by my husband. I'm not sure he knew that before.

I have forever been calling John my Mr. Darcy, a moniker made easy by a vague resemblance to Colin Firth, but it is not Mr. Darcy to whom others usually compare him. From the entire spectrum of actors, my darling usually gets compared to Johnny Galecki, better known as Leonard from The Big Band Theory. Dear me. This has followed him through life, for as a child he was called David, when Mr. Galecki played the character of that name on Rosanne. Sigh. I think this bothers me more that it does him. As he said recently replied to my irritation on the subject: "Geeks don't watch The Big Bang Theory. Geeks watch My Little Pony."

To what does this pertain? Mr. David (David, you say? Complete coincidence, I think) Westover, Rector of Kympton and of independent fortune, is a rather geeky hero. Rather than hunt and fence, he is of a scientific bent. Many gentlemen in the 18th and 19th century were enthusiastically engaged in naturalistic pursuits, of all varieties (Benjamin Franklin and Darwin jump to mind), and Mr. Westover is cast in a similar mold.

We first meet Mr. Westover as an adult when he had just the decision to accept the living at Kympton (it also happens to be the first scene with an adult Mrs. Hendley, nee Westover, whom I introduced to you here. Both appear as children in the book's prologue). Here is it for your enjoyment:

An unmarried woman approaching the dreaded age of thirty always requires explanation. If she is most fortunate, a tidy fortune readily provides excuse, or perhaps her betrothed died tragically. Society smiles upon a pledge of maidenly widowhood, and such a lady must always be a subject of interest. The squandering of youth in caring for either a sickly parent or string of orphaned siblings is also tolerable, but be she so truly unfortunate as to simply fail to ever turn anyone’s head, or at least not far enough to result in a proposal of marriage, then she is only one amongst a multitude of homely old-maids, dependent and subject to ridicule. Such a fate must be avoided at all costs.  

Of course a gentleman, though still unmarried at such an age of decrepitude as thirty-nine, requires not the slightest excuse for his state. All he need fear are the attempts of every concerned friend to thrust ladies across his path. How fortunate for David Westover that he was completely oblivious to all such attempts! Upon first entering the neighborhood of Kympton, there had been some scurry amongst its residents to pair him off with one superfluous sister or another, for not only was he in possession of the living at Kympton and that associated with his family’s seat, but perhaps his greatest attraction was a healthy second son’s portion, undiminished though entirely in his own hands since the trying age of eighteen. Such a man was surely the proper property of one or another of the ladies in the parish, a conclusion bolstered by his easy manners and ready flattery, but Mr. Westover proved stubbornly blind to all but the most direct assaults, to which he showed such a degree of embarrassment that few would dare venture similarly. Eventually even the most determined matchmakers gave him up as entirely hopeless, and his bachelorhood appeared safe. Only Cordelia Hendley, his sister, persisted in pushing David towards matrimony. 

For many years it was she more than any other who had defended his right to remain single, but ever since her surprise accession to the title of wife, and at such an unlikely age as thirty-seven, one of her chief concerns became securing him the female companionship (and caretaking) that he required. When her marriage to her brother’s curate, surprising in itself, further astonished the world by proving fruitful, she realized how selfish it had been to convince him, as over the years she had, how very unsuitable he would be as a husband. How often she chided, “Count your blessings, David, that it is a sister you must contend with, rather than a wife, for the latter could never abide such nonsense!” when he forgot his dinner, taken away from time and space by the studies that consumed his life. There was always some “puzzle needing attention,” as he often phrased it, and just when one was solved, a new one inevitably arose. Though he never neglected parish duties, almost everything else was likely to be forgotten once he set his mind to a pursuit. Now that she was married, there was no one but the housekeeper to take care for him, and though Mrs. Herbert had been under Cordelia’s own immediate direction for so many years, each time she visited the parsonage some unaccountable failure of habit and training was always detectable. She counted her blessings that her own perfectly operated curacy was not half a mile distant, or her brother’s entire establishment would surely be subject to rack and ruin. Which is why, upon first learning of David’s intention to remove from Glendale to Kympton, she voiced her opinion most loudly in opposition to any such scheme.   

“David!” she exclaimed, cornering him in the astronomical observatory which the master of Glendale had built for his younger brother’s use many years ago. “What is this Tom tells me of your leaving Glendale? Have you gone mad? You must do nothing of the sort!”  

“Darcy has need of a rector,” he replied with an indulgent smile, “you have need of a bigger house, and I would like to get a closer look at the minerals being mined in Derbyshire. I think it a most eligible situation.”  

“I beg to disagree! Mr. Darcy can find another rector. Surely there are enough in need of a living. I am already secure a bigger house, and you need not relocate just to study rocks. Your fancy is sure to turn in some other directions soon enough.”  

“You know you cannot live in the big house with Alicia for however many years the improvements Tom plans take to be fully enacted, not with two children of your own. Such extensive work cannot be accomplished quickly, and the longer it is delayed, the more difficult the task becomes.”  

“It would not be such an ordeal if you would only give up this notion of tearing down the entire house and simply add on a few new rooms, as I originally suggested!” she replied in an indignant tone.  

“I cannot change the realities of the situation, my dear, and the foundation must be relaid. Had I allowed you to advance with your plans unhindered, you would not thank me for it, I assure you.”  

“But surely this plethora of pipes need not be installed! I saw your diagrams, and I do not see at all how the structure will be more secure by leaving a maze of holes underneath it.”  

“My dear Cordelia! Not only will the new curacy be the sturdiest house for miles around, but it will also be the envy of everyone you know. Plumbing is sure to change the way we live, and you will be amongst the first to fully indulge in this tremendous luxury. No one shall ever want to inhabit the rectory again, once they witness the marvel that is the curacy.”  

“Then why not simply switch abodes? Robert and I will move into the rectory, and you may live at the big house until this miracle of modern engineering is accomplished.”  

“Though no miracle, the mechanism really is rather miraculous, Cordelia, and you will think yourself the luckiest lady in the land to have it, believe me.” He looked at her skeptically, “Beside, you believe Robert would ever consent to inhabit the rectory? He is much too concerned with the preservation of rank to agree to such a notion.”  

She sighed, “No. He never would, but there must be some other solution! You cannot go off and live alone at Kympton. Who will take care of you?”  

“The parsonage has been run by the same good lady these may years. I told Darcy we would suit each other just fine, but that you were sure to want to meet her first. I just hope Mrs. Smith’s nerves aren’t too shaken by your inspection.”  

“If you would only marry, I‘d need not concern myself in such matters!”  

“Marriage is not necessary, only a willingness in you to believe I can take care of myself!”  

She smirked, “Had you ever shown the least capacity in that area, I’d be very pleased to see it.”  

For the first time since the conversation began, he frowned. “I have never been allowed to attempt it. Far be it for me to be anything but thankful for the remarkable attention my siblings have showered upon me all my life, but as long as I have the security of Glendale – if I am never to be tried solely on my own merits – how will I ever know that I can survive on my own? This is important to me, Delia.”  

Whenever David invoked his childhood name for her, Mrs. Hendley always become sentimental, but typically tears did not uncontrollably well in her eyes, as they did while she confessed, “I will miss you intolerably. Have you considered how I am to make do without you?”  

His smile returned, a bit crookedly, as it always lilted on the left whenever he was particularly touched or amused. “You have your own children to mother now, and I shall be no further than a morning’s drive away. You will all do so well without me, that I am sure to regret ever having left. I’ll have to return home with great frequency in order to guard my place in your affections, lest you forget all about me. Robert’s inability to fulfill my duties will serve ample excuse.”  

“Indeed!” she scolded him and continued to try and dissuade him, but not long after the easy distance between Leicestershire and Derbyshire was confirmed (a single days visit might be made, though it was a long way to journey for nothing but tea – the only activity for which there would be time), David was begrudgingly suffered to go. The Hendleys moved into the parsonage, which had room for their existing children and any additional miracles Cordelia might still have in her, and over the next three years (all motivation for a swift completion being fairly negated), a very proper gentleman’s abode was erected upon the grounds where the old cottage, having housed the curates of Glendale for who knows how many generations, once stood. 

The house was not grand beyond its station, though rather more commodious than is customary in such domiciles, but it was exceedingly well situated and equipped with modern conveniences the likes of which were barely known to the most illustrious in the land. At Mr. David’s instruction, running water was accessible at two different spouts inside the house: one in the kitchen, and another in a fabulous water closet, equipped with a startling device in which one might bathe standing up, as if in a rain storm. David would not take credit for this miraculous contraption, insisting the idea was not his own. He had only improved on it. 

 The kitchen was fully modern, as were all the fireplaces and chimneys. Though she was suspicious of some of David’s notions at first, it was not long after finally taking up residence in the new parsonage that Cordelia become their biggest advocates. “How we ever lived before, I know not,” she confessed to her friends, each of whom considered sourly that they still were forced to endure poor ventilation, drafts, damp, and smoking chimneys, while Mrs. Hendley could only complain of failures in her refrigeration cabinet!      Despite such distractions, Mrs. Hendley found ample opportunity to hound her youngest brother to return to his native parsonage, though several years passed without David making any indication he might do so. It was the greatest irony that when he finally did turn his thoughts in such a direction, it would be Cordelia who persuaded him otherwise.

Want to win a copy of the book? Enter my giveaway: http://alexaadams.blogspot.com/2013/09/holiday-at-pemberley-published.html. It runs through October 4th. Good luck!