Tuesday, December 10, 2019

Book Excerpt & Giveaway: The Clergyman's Wife by Molly Greeley

For everyone who loved Pride and Prejudice—and legions of historical fiction lovers—an inspired debut novel set in Austen’s world.

Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, is the respectable wife of Hunsford’s vicar, and sees to her duties by rote: keeping house, caring for their adorable daughter, visiting parishioners, and patiently tolerating the lectures of her awkward husband and his condescending patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Intelligent, pragmatic, and anxious to escape the shame of spinsterhood, Charlotte chose this life, an inevitable one so socially acceptable that its quietness threatens to overwhelm her. Then she makes the acquaintance of Mr. Travis, a local farmer and tenant of Lady Catherine…

In Mr. Travis’ company, Charlotte feels appreciated, heard, and seen. For the first time in her life, Charlotte begins to understand emotional intimacy and its effect on the heart—and how breakable that heart can be. With her sensible nature confronted, and her own future about to take a turn, Charlotte must now question the role of love and passion in a woman’s life, and whether they truly matter for a clergyman’s wife.

We welcome to The Calico Critic author Molly Greeley with an excerpt from her Austenesque novel, The Clergyman's Wife. Many fans of Pride and Prejudice have perhaps wondered over the years what it must have been like for Charlotte after she married Mr. Collins. Although thus far I only have read the below excerpt from this work, I enjoy Mrs. Greeley's style of writing and am interested to see the narrative journey that her vision of Charlotte Lucas Collins takes. Will she find fulfillment with her husband, or is another man going to irrevocably divert her attention? It is a compelling question indeed. Thanks to Molly Greeley for this excerpt, and I invite my readers to enjoy it below!

BLOG POST UPDATE:  We have added a giveaway! Jump down to the Rafflecopter widget below and enter to win!

Book Excerpt: The Clergyman's Wife


Mr. Collins walks like a man who has never become comfortable with his height: his shoulders hunched, his neck thrust forward. His legs cross great stretches of ground with a single stride. I see him as I pass the bedroom window, and for a moment I am arrested, my lungs squeezing painfully under my ribs, the pads of my fingers pressed against the cool glass. The next moment, I am moving down the stairs, holding my hem above my ankles. When I push open the front door and step out into the lane, I raise my eyes and find Mr. Collins only a few feet distant.

Mr. Collins sees me and lifts his hat. His brow is damp with the exertion of walking and his expression is one of mingled anticipation and wariness. Seeing it, the tightness in my chest dissipates. Later, when I have time to reflect, I will perhaps wonder how it is possible to simultaneously want something so much and so little, but in the moment before Mr. Collins speaks, as I step toward him through the fallen leaves, I am awash in calm.

On the morning of my wedding, my mother dismisses the maid and helps me to dress herself. Lady Lucas is not a woman prone to excessive displays of emotion, but this morning her eyes are damp and her fingers tremble as she smooths the sleeves of my gown. It is only my best muslin, though newly trimmed at the bodice with lace from one of my mother’s old evening dresses. My father went to town the other day, returning with a few cupped hothouse roses, only just bloomed, to tuck into my hair this morning. He offered them to me, his face pink and pleased, and they were so lovely, so evocative of life and warmth even as winter grayed and chilled the landscape outside, that even my mother did not complain about the expense.

“Very pretty,” my mother says now, and I feel my breath catch and hold behind my breastbone. I cannot recall having heard those particular words from her since I was a small child. I look at my reflection in the glass and there see the same faults—nose too large, chin too sharp, eyes too close together—that I have heard my mother bemoan since it became apparent, when I was about fourteen, that my looks were not going to improve as I grew older. But the flowers in my hair make me appear younger, I think, than my twenty-seven years; I look like a bride. And when I look into my mother’s face now, I find nothing but sincerity.

My mother blinks too quickly and turns away from me. “We should go down,” she says. She makes for the door, then pauses, turning slowly to face me again. “I wish you every happiness,” she says, sounding as though she is speaking around something lodged in her throat. “You have made a very eligible match.” I nod, feeling my own throat close off in response, a sensation of helpless choking.

I am largely silent during the long, rocking ride into Kent. My new husband speaks enough for both of us; he has an astonishing memory for minutiae and discusses the wedding ceremony in such great detail that I find myself wondering whether he remembers that I was also in attendance. We left for my new home directly from the church; my family and a few friends all crowded, shivering in their cloaks and muffs, outside the entrance, waving as we were driven away. Maria, my sister, cried as I left; my brothers looked solemn, my father beamed, my mother smiled a tremulous smile. My friend Elizabeth’s smile looked as if it had been tacked in place, like a bit of ribbon pinned to a gown but not yet properly sewn on.

Mr. Collins’s awkward height is emphasized by the cramped conditions of the coach. His long legs stretch out before him as far as they can go, but he still appears to be uncomfortable. The hair at his temples is moist, despite the cold, and I have to glance hastily away, feeling a lurch in my stomach that has nothing to do with the jolting ride.

He is very warm beside me in bed. I watch him sleep for a time, tracing the relaxed lines of his face with my eyes and thinking how different he seems without the rather frantic energy he exudes in his waking hours. There is a tension about him, much of the time, that I did not recognize until this moment, until sleep removed it.

He introduced me when we arrived to the housekeeper, Mrs. Baxter, who is broad and pleasant, and to the gruff, graying manservant, John, whose powerful shoulders are built from years of labor. The parsonage itself is exactly as Mr. Collins described it: small, but neat and comfortable, with surrounding gardens that he assured me would be beautiful come spring. His eagerness to please me was matched by his inability to believe anyone might find fault with his home, and I found his manner at once endeared him to me and irritated me thoroughly.

Throughout the tour, he pointed out improvements here and there that had been the suggestion of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. There were rather a lot of them.

At our bedchamber he paused with his palm against the door. “I hope . . . it suits,” he said, then opened the door and bowed me in.

The room was much like the rest of the house: comfortably furnished, if a trifle small. “Charming,” I said, and pretended not to notice the flush on his cheeks.

We ate dinner together. I had little appetite, despite the novelty of eating a meal in my own home that I had had no hand in preparing. Afterward, I considered suggesting we adjourn to the parlor but found I could not face the intervening hours between then and bed. Tomorrow I would unpack my books and my embroidery. I would write letters. I would meet Lady Catherine, for Mr. Collins assured me that lady had vowed to have us to tea when we returned to Kent; and I would begin to learn the duties of a clergyman’s wife. But tonight—I wanted only for tonight to be over.

“I am tired,” I said. “I think I will retire early.” Mr. Collins rose from his chair with alacrity. “A fine idea,” he said. “It has been a long day.” And to my consternation, he followed me up the stairs, his footsteps behind me a reminder that it will forever be his right to do with me as he pleases.

It is not so terrible, I think after, lying in the quiet dark watching my husband sleep. At my insistence, he allowed me time to change into my nightdress in private. And the rest was vaguely shocking, dreadfully uncomfortable, and far more mess than I had anticipated, but bearable. Mr. Collins, at least, seemed vastly pleased at the end, murmuring affectionate nonsense against my neck until he drifted off to sleep.

I wake before dawn, and for a moment I imagine I am still at home. There is a presence beside me in the bed, warm and heavy against my back, and I think it is my sister, Maria, until it lets out a gusty snore against the nape of my neck. My eyes open and I find myself staring at an unfamiliar wall covered in delicate floral paper. For a moment, I am held immobile by the weight of all the ways in which my life has changed. And then Mr. Collins— William—shifts in his sleep, one heavy arm reaching over my hip, his long fingers brushing my stomach, and I go rigid for the barest of instants. A moment later I force the stiffness from my body, allowing my spine to relax back against my husband’s chest. Exhaling the breath I had been holding, I wait for him to wake.

I will, no doubt, grow accustomed to mornings begun beside William. This is, after all, the life I chose.

About the Author

Molly Greeley was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where her addiction to books was spurred by her parents' floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A graduate of Michigan State University, she began as an Education major, but switched to English and Creative Writing after deciding that gainful employment was not as important to her as being able to spend several years reading books and writing stories and calling it work. She lives in Traverse City, Michigan with her husband and three children, and can often be found with her laptop at local coffee shops. The Clergyman's Wife is her first novel.

Connect with Molly

Giveaway: The Clergyman's Wife

The publisher has been gracious to offer a paperback copy to one of our U.S. readers! Utilize the Rafflecopter widget below to enter. Giveaway period ends at 12am on December 18, 2019.

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Thursday, November 21, 2019

Spotlight: Prayer & Praise: A Jane Austen Devotional by Shannon Winslow

We welcome to The Calico Critic today author Shannon Winslow. Known for her Austenesque fiction, Shannon has now written a Christian devotional with messages inspired by Jane Austen and her beloved characters. For today's post, she has given us a devotional to enjoy that centers on the concepts of pride and vanity, which of course is easily tied into Pride and Prejudice, although Shannon chooses a character that might not first come to mind when thinking of pride or vanity! Enjoy the following devotional, which begins with prayerful words from Jane Austen herself, and I hope it blesses you today:


Pride and Vanity

Incline us to ask our Hearts these questions Oh! God, and save us from deceiving ourselves by Pride or Vanity.

Reading the words vanity and pride together, does your mind, like mine, go straight to a certain contentious conversation between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy? But looking again, I discovered that Mary Bennet was the real expert on this subject:

“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously… Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.” (Pride and Prejudice, chapter 5)

In today’s petition, Jane Austen warns that the failings of pride and vanity are particularly dangerous. Why? Because these weaknesses have the power to deceive us, to prevent us from seeing ourselves and our behavior for what they truly are.

I’m sure when Mary Bennet passed along her wisdom on the subject of pride, she believed she did so with appropriate humility. After all, her deep knowledge of the problem must have caused her to be on guard against falling into that trap herself, right? On the contrary; Mary is among the deceived. Jane Austen’s gift for irony is on full display here. With the preamble that Mary piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, Austen subtly lets her readers know that the person cautioning us against the prevalence of pride is herself one of its many victims.

Nevertheless, what Mary says is true. The sin of pride is common. Human nature is especially prone to it. Few if any completely escape its effects. And people sometimes only imagine they are superior in some way. But I especially appreciate the reminder that a person can be guilty of sinful pride even when their superiority is real. Paranoia is only paranoia if there isn’t actually somebody out to get you, but pride is pride either way.

God gives many good gifts to his children (James 1:17), and there are people who truly have been blessed with exceptional beauty, personality, talent, wisdom, courage, faith, etc. Many of these and other gifts can be viewed as necessary tools to accomplish what God has assigned a person to do in this life. If he has ordained that someone is to preach effectively, relieve human suffering, advance scientific knowledge, entertain or inspire people, nurture children, or whatever, we shouldn’t wonder that he also equips them to do it!

We are to thank God, enjoy his blessings, and steward them well, using what gifts he has given us for his glory, not hiding them away or denying they exist. Still, there is a fine line between having confidence in God-given abilities and beginning to take credit for them ourselves.

When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the LORD your God for the good land he has given you. Be careful that you do not forget the LORD your God… Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. He led you through the vast and dreadful desert… He brought you water out of hard rock. He gave you manna to eat… You may say to yourself, “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.” But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth… (Deuteronomy 8:10-18)

When we fail at something, our natural tendency is to say, “It wasn’t my fault.” But when we are successful, we’re often quick to take the credit, even if it’s only on the inside. There’s a little voice that whispers in our ears that we deserve the praise and rewards. After all, we worked very hard to achieve them! Look at the years of education and practice we put in, not to mention at least metaphorical blood, sweat, and tears.

That voice is the enemy encouraging us to pride. For who made all those things possible? Who gave the natural ability to start with? Who gave the capable brain, the healthy body, the required personality traits? Who gave access to education or the favorable economy? Who gave the encouragement and fortitude to push forward?

Not one of us can conjure up these things out of thin air. Only God can do that. Only God can give life in the first place.

Let him who boasts boast in the Lord. For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends. (2 Corinthians 10:17-18)

Without God, we can do nothing. Without God, we would not even exist. Without God’s intervention, we would all be hopelessly lost, sinners condemned. Remembering this leaves no room for pride or vanity.

Let Us Pray

Father in heaven, for Jesus’ sake, keep us from the twin sins of pride and vanity by making us ever mindful of our true condition. The enemy would deceive us, encouraging us to think better of ourselves than we ought. But to you alone belongs all the glory, now and forever. Amen.

Let Us Praise

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below. Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. (The Common Doxology, 1674, Thomas Ken of Winchester College)

My Thoughts

Of the three devotionals that Shannon sent me to review, this one was my favorite, as it helped solidify a lesson I was learning recently. A family member called me out in a moment of pride and vanity, and to be honest, in my mind I was a bit put off by their assertion, and spent time trying to justify myself internally. This devotional reminded me that I need not be bragging about anything really-- and if I do brag, it needs to be about something or someONE worthy, as is mentioned in 2 Corinthians.

I like Shannon's format for her devotionals. They focus on different writings of Austen, and regardless of whether or not you have read her classic works, the devotionals still work well. I appreciate her interest in grounding her lessons in scripture, and while each devotional does have a supplicant prayer, I'm glad it also ends in a moment of praise.  So often we come to God with our "Wish Lists" of things we need (and we should offer our requests to him), but I think it's also important that we praise him for who he is as well.  These devotionals offer a nice balance.  Well done, Mrs. Winslow!

About the Author

Shannon Winslow claims she was minding her own business when an ordinary trip to Costco a dozen years ago changed her life. That was the day a copy of the ’95 film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice fairly leapt off the shelf and into her oversized shopping cart. She has been hopelessly hooked on all things Jane Austen ever since, her obsession ultimately inspiring her to begin writing her own stories a la Austen.

Winslow's 2011 debut novel, The Darcys of Pemberley, quickly become a best seller, praised for its authentic Austen style and faithfulness to the original characters. Seven more novels and a Jane Austen Devotional have since followed, with no end to her creative output in sight!

Her two sons now grown, Shannon lives with her husband in the log home they built in the countryside south of Seattle, where she writes and paints in her studio facing Mr. Rainier. Visit Shannon at her website/blog:  Shannon Winslow’s “Jane Austen Says…” and follow her on Facebook.

Other Links

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

Blog Tour Excerpt: The Bride of Northanger

A happier heroine than Catherine Morland does not exist in England, for she is about to marry her beloved, the handsome, witty Henry Tilney. The night before the wedding, Henry reluctantly tells Catherine and her horrified parents a secret he has dreaded to share - that there is a terrible curse on his family and their home, Northanger Abbey. Henry is a clergyman, educated and rational, and after her year’s engagement Catherine is no longer the silly young girl who delighted in reading “horrid novels”; she has improved in both reading and rationality. This sensible young couple cannot believe curses are real...until a murder at the Abbey triggers events as horrid and Gothic as Jane Austen ever parodied - events that shake the young Tilneys’ certainties, but never their love for each other...


“Diana Birchall once again proves herself the worthiest of Austenesque fiction writers, with keen powers of observation, discernment, judgment, fire, genius, and wit on every page.” — Devoney Looser, author of The Making of Jane Austen

“No one captures Jane Austen's vibrant style, sense of humor, intelligence, and voice better than Diana Birchall. I flew through this charming novel, which makes a delightfully spooky and most welcome sequel to Northanger Abbey.” — Syrie James, author of The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen

“One of the most enjoyable returns to Austen to be found. Not to be missed.” — Susan Franzblau, author and film director

Welcome to the next stop on the blog tour for The Bride of Northanger by Diana Birchall, a beloved author in the Austenesque fiction world. Although I haven't had a chance to read the book yet due to my studies, I'm thrilled to be able to offer an excerpt from the novel and participate in the tour. Below you'll find the excerpt, along with information about Diana, as well as links to the other blog tour stops. Thanks for stopping by The Calico Critic, and I hope you enjoy the passage Diana has shared with us!

Excerpt from The Bride of Northanger
Chapter 11, pages 93 - 96

With the first gleamings of crepuscular pink light starting to show in the long windows, she went to gaze out at the beautiful dawn scene, hoping to find some serenity. To her shock, she was immediately shaken to discern a face out in the garden, gazing back at her!

She almost shrieked, but clapped her hands over her mouth, and steadying herself, took another look.

It was a woman, none other than the same Grey Lady she had seen before. She was standing some twenty feet from the house, in the semi-darkness, and Catherine could not distinguish much about her, only that she was clothed in diaphanous grey, and was as pale as the moon, with skin that was white, but wrinkled. As she watched, the wraith lifted her arm to gesture, and mouthed a single word. What was it? It seemed to be “Oh!” or perhaps – “Go!”

Catherine could not tell, but she could look no more. She felt rather than saw the Grey Lady gliding away across the still-dark lawn, as she pulled the curtains closed.

As she did so, her hands felt something resting on the sill, a piece of cloth. She pulled it inside and saw that she was holding a small square piece of tapestry, or crewel-work, about eighteen inches square. The pattern, tightly stitched in delicate wools, was so intricate that it looked as if it might have taken years to work; and it was something like a sampler, with flowers and fruits on the outside edges, and a central pattern of an imposing house that looked very much - yes it did – like Northanger Abbey.

The sampler effect was owing to a series of words which, in motto-like fashion, circled the lozenge that enclosed the picture of the Abbey. The letters were tiny, interspersed with pairs of white birds that looked like doves, and at first Catherine was unpleasantly reminded of the small words in the message on General Tilney’s gift of wedding china. Would this prove to be another malediction?

Nervously, she tried to read the message, but the size made it hard to decipher. She had to hold her candle between herself and the tapestry, and pore over it to make it out. At length she succeeded, and on reading the first words, she gave a great start:

“O new Bride of Northanger!” it read.

She looked around apprehensively. That was certainly meant for no one but herself; there could be no doubt now that it was a message for her. Indeed, the Grey Lady must have left it. Shivering, she read on.

“Fear not, my dear daughter, for I lay only blessings upon you and your marriage. I wish you both an unbroken peaceful and fruitful life, this side of Heaven. As a mother who has suffered untold torments, I stand as the Guardian of Northanger Abbey against the wicked and the cruel, and hope that my love will enfold and protect you for ever, unto eternal life.”

“Well!” exclaimed Catherine. “What can this mean? Is it from the Grey Lady? She must be real enough, however, for this is no work of imagination. Not only is it tangible, it is as sturdy and well-stitched a piece of needlework as I have ever seen, upon my word. Only, that poor lady’s fingers! And her eyes! To embroider so many, many tiny letters! That, to me, would be the torture.”

She read the precisely stitched message again carefully.

“No, I do not know, I cannot conceive what on earth to make of it. I will ask Henry, when he comes.”

About the Author

Diana Birchall worked for many years at Warner Bros studios as a story analyst, reading novels to see if they would make movies. Reading manuscripts went side by side with a restorative and sanity-preserving life in Jane Austen studies and resulted in her writing Austenesque fiction both as homage and attempted investigation of the secrets of Jane Austen's style. She is the author of In Defense of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Elton in America, Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma, and the new The Bride of Northanger. She has written hundreds of Austenesque short stories and plays, as well as a biography of her novelist grandmother, and has lectured on her books and staged play readings at places as diverse as Hollywood, Brooklyn, Montreal, Chawton House Library, Alaska, and Yale.

Connect with Diana


October 28                My Jane Austen Book Club (Interview)
October 28                Austenprose—A Jane Austen Blog (Review)
October 28                vvb32 Reads (Spotlight)                           
October 29                A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide of Life (Guest Blog)
October 29                From Pemberley to Milton (Excerpt)
October 30                Drunk Austen (Interview)
October 30                Silver Petticoat Review (Excerpt)
October 31                Jane Austen’s World (Review)
November 01            So Little Time… (Interview)
November 01            Laura's Reviews (Review)
November 04            English Historical Fiction Authors (Guest Blog)
November 04            Confessions of a Book Addict (Spotlight)
November 05            More Agreeably Engaged (Review)
November 05            Vesper’s Place (Review)
November 06            Jane Austen in Vermont (Interview)
November 06            Diary of an Eccentric (Interview)
November 07            All Things Austen (Spotlight)
November 07            A Bookish Way of Life (Review)
November 07            Let Them Read Books (Excerpt)  
November 08            Babblings of a Bookworm (Review)
November 08            vvb32 Reads (Review)
November 11            My Jane Austen Book Club (Review)
November 11            Reading the Past (Spotlight)
November 12            Jane Austen’s World (Interview)
November 12            The Calico Critic (Excerpt)
November 13            The Book Rat (Review)
November 13            Austenesque Reviews (Review)
November 14            Fangs, Wands, & Fairy Dust (Review)
November 14            The Fiction Addiction (Review)
November 15            My Love for Jane Austen (Spotlight)
November 15            Scuffed Slippers and Wormy Books (Review)

Start Reading Your Copy Today!

Thursday, October 3, 2019

Ten Years: Happy Birthday to The Calico Critic!

My 4 yr-old Son Colson & Me in 2009
While I don't post as often as I used to due to my graduate studies, somehow this little blog keeps kicking after ten years. On October 3, 2009 I began this site after discovering the world of book bloggers in my search to win a copy of Suzanne Collins' novel, Catching Fire. This led to my discovery of Austenesque fiction, and thanks to the help of authors like Sharon Lathan and Monica Fairview, I was able to get my foot in the door with publishers like Sourcebooks to acquire advanced copies (ARCs) of Jane Austen fan fiction (JAFF). Interestingly, my blogging peaked back in 2010, with 136 posts published that year.  Last year was an all-time low of FOUR posts! I may officially shutter this site one day, but not just yet. I still have a few reviews up my sleeve (and owed to authors whose novels I've promised to review)!  I appreciate your continued support over this last decade, and thanks for reading!

Friday, September 6, 2019

Book Excerpt and $50 Giveaway: Letters from the Heart by Kay Bea

About Letters from the Heart, a Pride and Prejudice Variation:

The Bennet sisters of Longbourn lack both decorum and connections and do not possess a decent dowry between them. Even the best of the them is in every way unsuitable for a man whose income is as a good as a lord. But love is not so easily set aside and in January 1812, Mr. Darcy persuades Mr. Bingley to reopen Netherfield Park, the country estate from which they both fled only two months before. On returning to Hertfordshire, they discover a near tragedy took place three days after the Netherfield Ball and has changed the lives of the Bennet family forever. Mrs. Bennet’s relentless fear of losing her place in society has led her to condemn her least favourite daughter to a life of isolation and pain that will greatly complicate Darcy and Elizabeth’s journey to happiness. Old bonds are strengthened, family ties are severed, and unlikely allies emerge as each of them struggles to make sense of the changes they face.

Welcome to the fourth stop on the blog tour for the new Austenesque novel, Letters from the Heart from debut author Kay Bea! My blogging has slowed to less than a crawl in the last year because of my graduate studies, but I'm thrilled to be able to offer an excerpt spotlight for this new novel, and to avail my readers the opportunity to win a $50 Amazon gift card as a part of this blog tour (available worldwide).  Simply offer a coherent comment below (at least a full sentence, please), and you will be entered into the drawing. The giveaway period runs through September 19th. Be sure to offer a way that we may get in touch with you if you win. If giving your email, use an extended format such as:  Name at gmail dot com, which will be a safer option. Want more entries in the contest? Be sure to visit the seven other blogs participating in the tour:

And here now, without further ado, is a brief but tantalizing excerpt from Letters from the Heart:

Book Excerpt: Letters from the Heart

“Tell me, Darcy, about this creature you do not love,” the colonel insisted.

The invitation to describe Elizabeth Bennet was too tempting to withstand. Darcy drew a breath and said, “She is the younger sister to Bingley’s newest love. She is kind, thoughtful, and terribly impertinent. Miss Bingley thinks she is possessed of a conceited independence, but I found her to be refreshing, not at all like the simpering daughters of the ton. She is, perhaps, too free in giving her opinions, but she most often manages not to give offence. She is also prone to debate simply for the sake of it. She is passionate”—here he thought of her defence of Wickham and was frustrated again—“even when she is mistaken.”

Putting aside his anger, he pictured her face that night and on the other occasions they had spoken. He continued softly, “She has the most expressive eyes I have ever seen. They dance when she laughs and burn when she is angry.” He stopped speaking and turned to gaze into the darkness beyond the library window.

“She seems your ideal match, then. Why are you not in Hertfordshire wooing the lady rather than sitting here with your dusty old relations?”

Darcy shook himself and turned to face his cousin. “Woo her? No. She is entirely unsuitable. ’Tis better that I left the country when I did.”

“And what makes this kind, impertinent, passionate woman unsuitable? Is she a servant?”

“Do not be ridiculous!” Darcy snapped in offence.

“A shopkeeper’s daughter perhaps or a tavern wench?” the colonel teased his cousin.

“Do give me some credit, if you please!”

“The squire’s daughter?” Darcy’s face darkened at his words, and Colonel Fitzwilliam knew he had come to the point. “That is it then,” he continued before Darcy could speak.  “You fell in love with the squire’s daughter. Her father is at least a gentleman then, so tell me, Darcy, how is she unsuitable?”

“It is not she so much as it is her family! The two eldest sisters were the only decent members of the entire group. Five daughters, all out at once and not a decent dowry between them. A vulgar, grasping, harpy of a mother. An indolent father. And an estate that is entailed to Lady Catherine’s parson of all people! That is to say nothing of her mother’s relations. An uncle who is a country attorney and another in trade. How could I possibly rejoice in the prospect of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own? The match was in every way impossible! I would not have my life made the subject of insipid gossip and speculation!”

The colonel made a rude noise and said, “When did you become Lady Catherine?”

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy asked indignantly.

“You heard me. Good lord, Darcy! ‘How could I possibly rejoice in the prospect of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?’” he mimicked cruelly. “You’ve not cared one whit what anyone thinks of your choices before. Why does it matter now?”

“I—” Darcy started, then stopped, and began again. “I must consider Georgiana.”

“You have always needed to consider her. Do not use your sister as an excuse for your own arrogance. You have picked a poor time to begin caring for the whims of society. I only hope you were not foolish enough to let your disdain for her family show in your interactions, else you may never repair the damage.”

“Why should I wish to?” Darcy asked.

“Because you are in love, my friend, and that should matter.” Richard said nothing more on the subject before leaving the room some twenty minutes later.


January 7, 1812
Darcy House, London

Dear Richard,

You will be surprised to know that Georgiana and I have journeyed to London rather than Derbyshire. There is but little which could persuade me to be in town, particularly at this time of year. You should not take my presence here as in any way acknowledging your advice of Christmas. I will say that, upon reflection, I may have acted with too much haste as regards Bingley and his lady. Therefore, I have decided to persuade Bingley to reopen Netherfield. It should be the work of only a moment as he has spoken of naught but his Miss Bennet these past weeks.

I have not yet decided whether Georgiana will accompany me as I do not care to encourage the presence of certain ladies. Perhaps Miss Bingley will not relish the idea of winter in Hertfordshire. I can only hope her desire for the entertainments of town will outweigh her interest in this affair.

Though I take exception to your characterisation of my disposition of late—a Darcy is never morose and does not brood. I know I have not been myself. I suppose I should thank you for reminding me that this is an odd time to suddenly begin caring for the opinion of society, but I will not give you any such measure of satisfaction.

Your cousin,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

It seems that Colonel Fitzwilliam knows Darcy better than he knows himself!  I guess we will have to see what transpires next in this Pride and Prejudice variation!  I haven't read this novella yet, but I have been given assurances that the content of Letters from the Heart is not overly steamy, which works well for many of my readers.

Thanks to everyone who stopped by The Calico Critic for this blog tour, and be sure to check out the other posts for more content, such as guest posts and interviews!

About the Author

Kay Bea is an administrative assistant and Jane Austen lover living in Kansas City with her husband of twenty-five years, her mother-in-law, and her fur kids. She has written several short stories and drabbles on fanfiction.net as “I Found My Mr. Darcy” and on A Happy Assembly as MrsDarcy2032.

Kay grew up in Wyoming, enjoyed a two-year adventure in Maryland, and now calls Missouri home. When she isn’t writing, Kay enjoys photography, cooking, and spending time with her adult children and three granddaughters.



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