Excerpt

From Chapter 18

The four of them trooped through the great house like a band of ants, Charlie and Evie carrying their bags, their feet tapping on tiled floors and their eyes flying up to colossal oils and tapestries upon the walls. The staircase was laid with a carpet so thick that Evie could feel its luxury through the thin sole of her ballet pumps. On all sides, faces in antiquated costumes stared out at them. Men, young and old, were pictured holding books or sitting atop horses or standing in fields and brandishing guns. Amongst the women, there were wigs, beauty spots, bustles, ruffs, and skirts so wide they looked like sails. There were ringlets, buns, and creamy shoulders rising above shiny bodices of all colours. Where is Fitzwilliam? Evie found herself wondering. Where is Elizabeth?

She had been in her room for about ten minutes when there came a knock on the door. She jumped up. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Charlie’s face appeared. His eyes widened as he looked around the room. “Wow, you lucked out here. This is twice the size of my room…more than.”

“I know, it’s huge, isn’t it?” She glanced up to the great, silk paper-clad walls and the vast curtains. “And as for the bed…” Pausing, she looked at the enormous, mahogany four-poster and wondered that it didn’t have a stepladder to help her into it. Charlie’s eyes rested on the massive pillows and layers of blanket and counterpane. They each stared for a second too long before turning to each other and then, blinking, turned away. Evie’s face felt hot as she watched him walk towards the long windows and gaze out. Before him was a perfect view of the back of the estate: a lake glistening in the sunshine, rippled by ducks, a folly, wood bordering green. Continue reading →

 

“You see what a strange circumstance it is,” she said, feeling some fleeting relief. “You know our acquaintance has not been easy.”

Elizabeth Bennet—stubborn, quick to judge but slow to revise her opinions, and entirely prejudiced against the man who had just proposed marriage at Hunsford—awakens to learn she has been in an accident. Bedridden in an unfamiliar house, she learns eleven years have passed since the last moment she can remember.

She finds herself a married woman, the mother of four, and pregnant yet again. Her children are strangers, and most mystifying of all, Fitzwilliam Darcy is her husband! How could she have married a man she loathes?

Confined to the house by her injury, Mr. Darcy’s company is inescapable. But is just being side by side enough to overcome their differences? What happens when Darcy, improved in manners and happily married to Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, is faced with an obstinate, bewildered Miss Elizabeth Bennet?

 

Interview with Side by Side, Apart author Ann Galvia:

Side by Side, Apart centers around the marriage of two of Jane Austen’s most beloved and iconic characters, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. What can you tell us about the story?

Elizabeth Bennet wakes up confused and in pain. As her head starts to clear, she realizes she’s married to Fitzwilliam Darcy–funny, didn’t she say no?–and is pregnant by him. She learns that she’s been in an accident. Over eleven years have passed since the last thing she can remember. She’s an invalid, far from home in a strange house, her husband is a mystery and her children are strangers. She understands pretty quickly that she can’t get out of this life. She just has to figure it out. The story follows only Elizabeth, the reader sees only what she sees. But the reader also has more background knowledge than she has, so you are invited to combine what she learns with what you know to create the full picture of her life.

 

What inspired you to write it?

There were two things at work. One is that I have always enjoyed “amnesia” stories, especially the idea of the hard-earned happily ever after suddenly being gone because one of the characters just isn’t that version of themselves anymore. Continue reading →

I’m very happy be participating in L.S. Parsons’ blog tour for her new book, How to Mend a Broken Heart, inspired by Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and set three years after Mr. Darcy’s disastrous marriage proposal to Elizabeth Bennet. Read on for a message from the author and a chance to win the book!

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How to Mend a Broken Heart is Fitzwilliam Darcy’s story. It is the story of his quest to win the favorable regard of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the woman he has never stopped loving. The fact that he is engaged to another lady does not impede his pursuit.

Through the many ironies of life, Elizabeth finds herself the guest of the Dowager Lady Matlock, Mr. Darcy’s aunt. Through her patronage, Elizabeth evolves from an avowed spinster to a woman ruled by desire and passion for a man she knows she cannot have.

Elizabeth is apprehensive about meeting Mr. Darcy again, due the rancor and bitterness of their last meeting three years prior. But the Mr. Darcy she encounters is not the same man she knew before. He is amiable, humourous, and extremely sexy. You need only look at the book’s cover for a visual aid! Continue reading →

Today, I’m very happy to kick off the final weekend in J. Marie Croft’s blog tour for her new novella, A Little Whimsical in His Civilities. Inspired by Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, the novella is told entirely from Mr. Darcy’s point of view as he returns from Hertfordshire in pursuit of the sharp-tongued love of his life, Elizabeth Bennet.

Read on for a message from the author, an excerpt, and a chance to win the book!

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Thanks, Laura, for participating in the Whimsical blog tour. While you’re quite an accomplished author, I’m obviously still struggling to become well versed in the craft.

My pastime is nocturnal by necessity. I work at a full-time job five days a week. Moonlighting as a writer – burning the candle at both ends – is not always easy; but those precious, after-midnight hours are productive ones … especially when there’s help at hand, wanted or not.

Picture this.

I’m at my computer, working on a novella for Meryton Press. There’s a teeny lady perched on my right shoulder, averting me from anachronistic words like ‘eye contact’, ‘reticence’, and ‘paperwork’. The woman is garbed in an authentic Regency-era muslin dress and bonnet, so it’s not Debbie Styne, my Whimsical editor.

On my other shoulder is a handsome, early-19th century gentleman, dictating into my ear. His breathy whispers are both annoying and rather seductive. But who’s the guy in Elizabethan trappings, sitting on the Regency chap’s broad shoulder? Lo and behold, he’s coaching the other fellow in the use of acerbic adjectives and insolent insults.

Let’s take a peek at a snippet from A Little Whimsical in His Civilities, as told from Mr. Darcy’s lofty point of view. The passage is about writing, so it seems apropos. I thank the famous author on my right shoulder for allowing such blatant reworking of her own words.

Excerpt

If my vanity had taken a literary turn, I suppose this mooning, this lovesickness, this insanity, would have proven invaluable. Powerful emotion has fuelled many a bard’s pen, even Shakespeare’s, my favourite. Unfortunately, I have not the talent to compose pretty verses on my lady … although, over the years, I have made a few daft and doltish stabs at poetry.

Speaking of stabs, would it sway Elizabeth if I tried to eloquently articulate in what manner her arrow transpierced my psyche and made me equal parts pessimism and optimism? Such sentiment, no doubt, could be worded beautifully by someone with a special aptitude for the turn of a phrase. Unfortunately, I am incapable of elegantly expressing my emotions. Lud, I certainly proved that at Hunsford.

Although Elizabeth’s mother might be delighted with any poem written by a daughter’s suitor, my attempt at a sonnet would surely have my heart’s desire running for the hills. Wait, the hills! It is, after all, my fondest wish to have Elizabeth settled in the Peak District. Perhaps if I composed fourteen lighthearted lines in iambic pentameter about my love, such unmitigated drivel would send her in Derbyshire’s direction.

Pish! Although a true proficient at odious letters of business, not to mention one egregious piece of personal correspondence written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit, I could no more create a love poem than a Gothic novel. The mere thought of composing romantic verse under any other motive than to save my life is ludicrous. And if it were absolutely necessary for me to persevere as sonneteer and never relax into laughing at myself, I should surely swing from the gallows before completion of the first quatrain.

Any weedy, slime-sucked gruel leaking forth from my pen would not come close to the heartfelt poetry Elizabeth deserves. Even a fine, stout, healthy love would choke on such swill. Bingley had the right of it, I suppose. Possessing, as I do, a weak-hinged fancy for written words of at least four-syllables (which Bingley calls break-teeth words), my rhymes would surely end up awkwardly stilted. It matters not. I shall certainly never expose myself to ridicule by becoming a vile versifier. Criminy! What would people think if Fitzwilliam Marmaduke Lucius Darcy started penning poetry? ’Tis laughable.

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Do you know what else is laughable? My daft and doltish stab at poetry inspired by the name of Laura’s blog.

Here’s to you, Laura, and to Skipping Midnight.
To reading and writing while others sleep.
Imaginative night owls, winging fanciful flight.

Here’s to brilliance born beneath blanket of darkness.
To liveliness of mind in the dead of night.
Black letters on white pages in all their starkness.

Here’s to inky-skies, candlelight, flare and flair.
To incandescent creativity sparked by stars.
Emotion fueled by moonbeams. Souls laid bare.

Here’s to embracing shadows and staying up late.
To being held captive, spellbound, by words.
Dreamy minds. Awakened muses. A need to create.

Here’s to sleight of hand, writing, and magic.
To nocturnal creatures conjuring by moonlight.
Ideas whimsical, romantic, comic, or tragic.

Here’s to the wee hours.
To readers and writers.
Skipping Midnight.

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Author bio

Marie Croft is a self-proclaimed word nerd and adherent of Jane Austen’s quote “Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.” Her light-hearted novel, Love at First Slight(Meryton Press, 2013), her humorous short story, Spyglasses and Sunburns, in the Sun-Kissed: Effusions of Summeranthology (Meryton Press, 2015), and her novella, A Little Whimsical in His Civilities (Meryton Press, 2016) bear witness to Joanne’s fondness for Pride and Prejudice, wordplay, and laughter.

Click HERE to enter for a chance to win either a print or e-book copy of J. Marie Croft’s A Little Whimsical in His Civilities. 

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