Book News, an Excerpt, and a Giveaway by Jennifer Altman

Hi all! As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been taking a bit of a social media break to focus on my writing and other things, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, and to celebrate my two book anniversaries (three years for my first, and six months for my second), I have just moved my second novel, Faults of Understanding, into Kindle Unlimited! I know many of you have been waiting patiently for this moment, and I hope this will give you a chance to enjoy the book during the upcoming holiday season.

I also thought I would go ahead and share another excerpt. It’s on the longer side, as I just didn’t want to cut it down, and it comes from one of my favorite chapters. Darcy and Elizabeth are at a St. Valentine’s ball at the home of Lord and Lady Matlock, and are just about to sit down to supper. Unfortunately, the rest of the evening doesn’t go exactly as planned. 🙂

Faults of Understanding

Excerpt

When the dance ended, Darcy once again took her elbow as the company adjourned to the supper-tables. To Elizabeth’s surprise, there were no less than four dining parlors in use, but Darcy escorted her to the largest of the lot, where the immediate family would take their meal.

Inside the room, the tables were covered with the finest French linens and lavishly decorated with silver candelabras, flowers, ornate tremblents, and raised frames topped with fresh pineapples. The effect was grand in the extreme, and Elizabeth could not prevent the small gasp that escaped her throat as they entered the room.

Darcy looked down at her with a sardonic smile. “My aunt does not do things by half measures,” he murmured, and Elizabeth laughed.

“No, I should say not!”

They proceeded to a pair of vacant seats at the far side of a long table, and Darcy pulled out Elizabeth’s chair. Although her experience with private balls was limited, the few she had attended usually featured a buffet supper of white soup, lobster patties, and cold meats and cheeses, but she was surprised to see that Lady Matlock had planned an extravagant hot supper smartly served by dozens of footmen in navy-blue livery.

The meal was laid out à la française, and Elizabeth’s eyes grew round as she stared down the table. Roast fowls, sliced ham, lobster, ragout of veal, crayfish in jelly, tartlets, and raised game pies were all elegantly displayed on gleaming platters. In addition to the savory dishes, there were savoy cakes, blancmange, meringues, orange custard, as well as an abundance of fresh fruits and other assorted confectionaries.

As soon as Elizabeth was seated, a footman filled her glass with wine, and she took a small swallow. She would have to be careful not to overeat, nor to indulge in too much drink, lest it go to her head.

The meal began with sturgeon smothered in black truffles and was followed with a negus ice that was so delicious, it took all of Elizabeth’s willpower not to lick the last droplets from the dish.

The next remove consisted of a turtle soup unlike any Elizabeth had ever tasted. As Darcy was engaged in conversation with his cousin Eleanor, who was seated at his other side, Elizabeth turned to the woman on her right, a Mrs. Keating, who had been introduced to her as one of Lady Matlock’s oldest friends.

“This soup is superb,” Elizabeth began. “Our cook makes a version that is also very fine, but I have never tasted a turtle soup quite like this one.”

Mrs. Keating nodded in agreement. “Oh, yes. Cecilia’s chef is a wonder. French, you know. The man puts sherry in everything. No doubt that is what makes it all taste so good.”

Taking another spoonful of the rich broth, Elizabeth smiled. “I shall have to remember to give Lady Matlock my compliments. Goodness, if all the dishes are as good as what we have had already, I do not know how I shall have the energy for dancing the remainder of the sets!”

Lifting her glass, Elizabeth took another sip of wine, surprised to realize she suddenly felt somewhat lightheaded. How strange! I certainly cannot have drunk so much as to be inebriated, she thought, staring at her half-full goblet.

Returning to her soup, she attempted to listen to what Mrs. Keating was saying to her—something about a trip she had taken to Paris—but in truth, it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Elizabeth finished her soup, carefully setting her spoon on the edge of her plate. There was an odd tingling in the back of her throat, and the palms of her hands were beginning to prickle. Staring down at her empty bowl, her heart began to beat a faster rhythm as realization slowly dawned. Moving her hands to her lap, she surreptitiously ran the tips of her fingers over the opposite palm. As she suspected, she could feel a scattering of tiny raised bumps at the base of her wrist.

As if sensing her disquiet, Darcy leaned towards her in his chair.

“Is anything the matter?” he murmured, before lifting his wine glass and smiling at his cousin Alice, who was seated across the table.

“My palms are beginning to itch,” Elizabeth whispered back, already tugging on the mousquetaires that had been resting beneath her napkin.

“Is it the gloves? Have you worn them before?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “’Tis not the gloves. I think it is the soup.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but a wave of nausea washed over her, and she could feel beads of perspiration gathering along her hairline. Fighting to retain her composure, she turned her head, saying softly, “There must have been some sort of shellfish in the soup. I need to leave the table. I am going to be ill.”

The thought of causing a commotion in front of Darcy’s closest relations made Elizabeth shudder, but it was nothing compared to the notion of casting up her accounts all over Lady Matlock’s imported linen tablecloth. She made to stand, but before she could so much as push back her chair, Darcy was on his feet. All eyes swiveled in his direction as conversations around the room slowly ground to a halt.

“Pray, forgive me, Aunt, but I feel the beginnings of one of my megrims. I believe I must seek my chambers.”

Lady Matlock paled. “Oh, dear! Yes, of course. I shall send a footman to fetch some powders.”

“No, that will not be necessary. I simply need to lie down. Elizabeth, might I ask you to accompany me?”

Elizabeth managed to nod, pressing her lips together as her stomach churned. Before she knew what was happening, Darcy had her on her feet, her arm secured tightly in his. A footman moved to open the door as they swiftly made their way across the room. Behind them, conversation resumed, and Elizabeth could hear Lady Matlock speaking to one of the guests in a subdued tone.

“He suffers terrible headaches. Has ever since that autumn. It is not surprising that being back here—”

The door closed, and Elizabeth heard no more. Turning her attention to tamping down her nausea, she allowed Darcy to propel her along a wide passageway.

“Can you make it to our chambers?” he asked quietly. “Or shall I bring you to the ladies retiring room instead? It is just through those doors.”

Gathering her strength, Elizabeth shook her head. There would be a maid stationed in the retiring room, and possibly other guests as well. As if reading her thoughts, Darcy nodded. Wrapping his arm securely around her waist, he steered her in the opposite direction, opening a heavy oak door that led to a narrow set of steps.

“The servants’ stairs,” he said, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. If they did not reach their room before the inevitable occurred, at least she would not have to worry about making a public display on the grand staircase.

Leaning heavily on her husband, she turned her thoughts inward, focusing on taking short, shallow breaths. You can do this, Lizzy. You will not make a spectacle of yourself in front of Mr. Darcy. When they reached the first landing, Darcy stopped to look at her, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, borrowing support from the wall beside her.

“Are you able to keep going?” she heard him ask.

Elizabeth did not answer, but she opened her eyes and attempted to climb the subsequent set of stairs. She must have stumbled, because the next thing she knew, her husband had slipped one arm beneath her knees, gently scooping her up. Elizabeth moaned, burying her head in the soft folds of his coat. She was certain the jostling motion of being carried would make things worse, but Darcy kept her anchored against his body, ascending the remainder of the steps with long, easy strides. Finally, she heard the creak of a door being pushed open and the ground evened out as they stepped into the upstairs passageway, but she kept her eyes closed until they came to a halt and her husband released his hold, gently setting her on her feet before the door to their apartment.

For a moment, the world tilted, and she was barely aware of Mr. Darcy lifting the latch and shepherding her across the threshold. She expected he would leave her then, but instead, he closed the door behind them, turning to look down at her with obvious concern.

“Shall I call for a physician?”

Keeping her jaws clamped tightly shut, Elizabeth shook her head. There was no need for a doctor. She knew from past experience that once her stomach was emptied, the worst would be over.

Taking a breath, she attempted to gather her thoughts. She knew she should thank Mr. Darcy for his kindness, but she was afraid to so much as open her lips. Once again, she closed her eyes, concentrating on calming her churning stomach. If she could just get herself under control so that she could say a civil word to her husband and walk with some degree of dignity to the adjoining dressing room where there was a chamber pot and a wash basin… but it was not to be. They had scarcely entered their chambers when Elizabeth realized she was losing her battle, and, without a backwards glance, she turned away from Mr. Darcy and bolted from the room.

Much later, Elizabeth found herself lying in a heap on the cold marble floor. She could not say how long she had been hunched over the chamber pot in the compact bathing room, but it felt like hours. Slowly drawing her knees up to her chest, she curled against a nearby wall, pressing her shoulder to the hard surface as her body trembled. Reaching for the edge of the large copper tub, she used it to pull herself unsteadily to her feet, before taking in her appearance in the looking glass that stood in the corner of the room.

To her dismay, her once-beautiful muslin gown was now damp with sweat and wrinkled beyond repair, and most of her hair had escaped its pins, leaving long spirals cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Drawing in an uneven breath, she made her way to the wash basin, splashing cool water on her face and neck before rinsing her mouth.

Thank heavens Mr. Darcy had left immediately after doing his duty and escorting her to their apartment. She had heard the click of the latch as soon as she had gained the solitude of the bathing room. Even in her misery, she had felt an enormous sense of relief at having been spared the indignity of her husband witnessing such a humiliating display. At least there was that one small mercy to be thankful for.

Staring down at the polished floor beneath her feet, she wondered if it might be safe to return to the bedchamber. Though she suspected she would need a chamber pot close at hand for the remainder of the night, her body was exhausted, and she longed for the comfort of her bed—not to mention someone to assist her with removing her gown and stays, which were making her stomach feel worse.

She was just contemplating the wisdom of ringing for a maid, when the creaking of a floorboard on the opposite side of the door caused her entire body to go rigid with alarm. Had someone entered her chambers in the time she had been holed up in the small room?

Slowly moving towards the door, she pressed her ear to the thick panel and listened, but the noise had ceased.

Perhaps it is one of the maids, come to lay the fire, she thought. For all she knew, the ball might be over by now.

But surely she would have heard a maid knock before entering… and laying the fire would have entailed a great deal more noise. Elizabeth held her breath until she finally heard another soft creak, as if someone stood just outside the door, shifting their weight.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her palms to the smooth wood, and when at last she spoke, her voice was a low croak.

“Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes?”

The reply was immediate, and far too close for comfort.

Elizabeth’s shoulders sank as mortification seeped into every fiber of her being. Reaching for the latch, she cracked the door open.

There, on the other side, stood her husband, still impeccably dressed, a small furrow between his dark brows.

“I thought you left,” she whispered.

“I did. But only to make a brief trip to the kitchens. How are you feeling?”

Her misery and mortification momentarily forgotten; Elizabeth gaped back at him in confusion. “You went to the kitchens?”

Darcy nodded. “I did not know what would be best, but I brought some plain biscuits and a pot of ginger-root tea. Mrs. Reynolds always makes it for my sister when her stomach is unsettled.”

Elizabeth blinked back at him, as he continued, “Does it surprise you that I know where the kitchens are located? I should. I spent enough time nicking food from them when I was a boy. Or are you to reprimand me for not following my own strictures about entering the servant’s domain without invitation or warning? If the latter, I can assure you I sent a footman to speak to the cook in advance of my going down.”

Elizabeth shook her head, leaning heavily against the door jamb as her knees suddenly threatened to give out. “I assure you, sir, that was not my intention. I am in no condition to reprimand anyone at present.”

Immediately, Darcy came forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her farther into the room. “Forgive me,” he said, “I should not have kept you here talking when you are still so unwell.”

Leading her to an upholstered bench at the foot of the bed, he helped her to sit before saying, “You should change into your nightclothes. Shall I fetch a maid?” he asked uncertainly. “The one who assisted you earlier, perhaps? I do not recall her name…”

“Betsey. But, no. If the ball is still going on, I am certain she must be needed elsewhere. I think I can manage if you would only undo the buttons at the back of my gown and untie my stays?”

Darcy’s cheeks colored, and Elizabeth knew she should feel some degree of embarrassment at suggesting such a thing, but she was exhausted beyond caring, and he was her husband, after all. Besides, she did desperately wish to change out of her gown. The tightness of her stays was not helping her queasiness.

Although he would not meet her eye, Mr. Darcy offered her a single nod, and Elizabeth turned her back. She felt the dip of the cushion as he took a seat behind her. Drawing a shallow breath, she waited for what seemed like an eternity before she felt his fingers, warm and gentle as they brushed against her skin.

A chill shot up her spine, and Elizabeth suspected it had little to do with the temperature of the room.

She felt the fabric of her gown loosening, and seconds later the pressure around her middle eased as Darcy began unfastening her stays. Relief coursed through her as she inhaled again, feeling instantly better.

Behind her, Darcy cleared his throat. “Where is your nightdress?”

With one hand gripping the bodice of her gown, Elizabeth tilted her chin in the direction of the rosewood chest on the far side of the room. “The top drawer. On the left-hand side.”

Darcy rose, returning in a matter of minutes with the neatly folded gown. His eyes veered away, and he shifted on his feet.

“Shall I…?”

“No. I will only be a moment.”

Clutching the garment to her chest, Elizabeth stood, making her way back to the small bathing room. When she returned to the bedchamber, Darcy was facing the fireplace, clearly intent on giving her what little privacy he could. Gratefully, Elizabeth scurried to the large four-poster bed, peeling back the counterpane and slipping between the cool, crisp sheets. At the rustling of the bedclothes, Darcy turned to face in her direction.

“Are you feeling any better?” he finally asked.

Elizabeth risked a brief nod. “Yes, a little.”

“Good. I am glad.” After a pause, he added, “Are you absolutely certain I should not fetch a doctor?”

“Yes, I believe the worst is over. Now, I only need rest.” She was quiet before continuing, “Mr. Darcy, I—”

“Forgive me, but—”

They both spoke at once, then stopped.

Again, Darcy cleared his throat. “Pray, continue.”

“Oh. I… I only wished to apologize. I never presumed you would return to our chambers after…” Elizabeth’s cheeks burned as she continued, “well, knowing that I was about to be… ill.”

Across from her, Darcy’s brow furrowed. “You are apologizing for being ill? Elizabeth, do you think I have never seen anyone throw up their dinner?”

“Well, n-no,” she stammered in embarrassment. “Still it is… unpleasant. You should not have had to…” She lowered her gaze as Darcy came to stand closer to the bed.

“Elizabeth, life is filled with things that are truly unpleasant; this is not one of them. As far as I am concerned, any person who would turn their back on someone in need of care, simply because their delicate sensibilities might be offended, is a poor excuse for a human being.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured. “Not only for taking such good care of me, but for drawing everyone’s attention to yourself when we left the dining room.” After a moment, she added, “Do you really get megrims?”

Darcy nodded. “Sometimes.”

A sudden chill made Elizabeth’s body tremble, and Darcy instantly sobered.

“We need not speak any further now. You must rest and try to regain your strength.”

Elizabeth nodded, moving to slide beneath the covers when a frisson of alarm caused her once again to sit bolt upright in the bed.

“The hairpins!” Her fingers flew to her hair, searching through the thick curls. “Are they still there? Oh, what will your aunt say if I have lost any of them? They must cost a fortune!”

“Shh… Elizabeth, pray, do not upset yourself,” Darcy soothed, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. “They are only hairpins.”

“Diamond hairpins! If any of them are missing—”

“Then I will replace them. Here, let me see.”

Obediently, Elizabeth turned her head, and after a short hesitation she felt her husband’s strong, sure fingers gently probing what was left of her elaborate coiffure.

“Do you see them?” she asked breathlessly. “There are six altogether.”

“Yes, they all seem to be in place.” A light tug and then another followed as Mr. Darcy gently pulled each of the precious jewels from her tangled locks.

“There, last one,” he said at length. “All present and accounted for.”

Darcy stood, and Elizabeth shifted to face him, her entire body going slack with relief.

“Thank goodness. There is a case for them, there, on the dressing table.”

Darcy crossed the room, returning the jewels to their proper place before coming back to the bed.

“What about the rest of the pins?” he asked. “Would you be more comfortable if I removed those as well?”

Elizabeth stared back at him in surprise. In truth, she knew she could likely take the ordinary pins out herself, as she was not worried about dropping them or leaving any behind… but the feeling of her husband’s hands in her hair had been inordinately pleasant, and so she found herself offering him a slow nod. “If it is not too much trouble…?”

Darcy returned to her side, once again taking a seat on the bed and setting to work. Slowly, Elizabeth’s dark curls tumbled around her shoulders as the remainder of the pins were removed one by one.

“Better?” he asked quietly when he had finished.

“Yes, thank you.”

Once again, Elizabeth slipped beneath the covers, watching as he set the simple wire pins on the dressing table beside the velvet box. When he came back to stand beside her, Elizabeth gazed up at him sleepily.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked quietly. “Some of the tea, perhaps?”

Elizabeth shook her head. Her stomach was feeling significantly better since she had emptied it, but she would prefer not to take any chances.

“Very well. I shall place it here by the bed in case you change your mind during the night.”

He turned in the direction of the table where he had left the teapot, and Elizabeth allowed her eyelids to drift closed. She could hear him set down the cup and saucer, and then the soft creak of the floorboards as he moved away. She thought to open her eyes so she might bid him a good night and thank him again for his kindness, but the lure of sleep was too strong.

After that, she remembered nothing.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed that little tidbit. 🙂 If you’d like to snag your own copy, or read for free on Kindle Unlimited, you can do that HERE.

I will also be giving away a free ebook (international) or signed paperback (U.S.) to one lucky winner! To enter the drawing, simply leave a comment below. I will announce the winner on the JAV Facebook page on December 1st. In the meantime, I wish those of you celebrating a very happy Thanksgiving!

Until next time!

JA