Book News! by Jennifer Altman

Hi friends!

I’m absolutely delighted to be back on the blog with some exciting news—my newest book is releasing this Thursday, March 27th! That’s right, in just a few days, More Than You Know, my third Pride and Prejudice variation, will finally be out in the world. Even better? The Kindle edition is available for pre-order now!

To celebrate the upcoming release, I’m sharing the first half of the prologue below—and I’ll be giving away a free ebook to one lucky commenter, so be sure to share your thoughts for a chance to win. 🙂

I’ll be back on Thursday to continue the festivities, but in the meantime, here’s the book description. I hope you enjoy!

~About the Book~

Fitzwilliam Darcy has spent years guarding a secret—one that could cost him everything.

Resigned to a solitary existence, Darcy has long accepted that love and marriage are luxuries beyond his reach. But when a chance encounter on the Yorkshire moors proves impossible to forget, the life he has so carefully constructed slowly begins to unravel.

Years later, drawn into Hertfordshire society by his friend Charles Bingley, Darcy crosses paths with Miss Elizabeth Bennet—clever, spirited, and unafraid to challenge him at every turn. Yet as his attraction to Elizabeth deepens, so does the fear that winning her affection would mean exposing a truth he has long kept hidden.

Unable to endure the agony of watching Bingley pursue the woman he loves, Darcy flees—but fate has other plans. When unexpected circumstances bring Elizabeth to Pemberley, his restraint is tested like never before.

Torn between duty and desire, Darcy must decide: will he cling to the barriers he has spent a lifetime building, or risk everything for the one woman he cannot forget?

More Than You Know

Prologue

August 1807, Yorkshire

Fitzwilliam Darcy did not know how far he walked, watching the sky shift from a soft pink to brilliant amber and finally to a bright, clear blue. The Yorkshire moors stretched endlessly before him, bathed in the golden light of early morning, and a delicate mist hovered over the heather-clad hills. Approaching the river that separated the local village from the untamed countryside, he breathed in the earthy scent of damp grass and distant wildflowers—a faint promise of the warmth the day would bring. The gentle rush of water moving over the rocky riverbed offered a soothing cadence, and for a fleeting moment, the tension he carried seemed to ease slightly from his shoulders.

His uncle meant well; that much was certain. Since his father’s death some six months prior, Lord Matlock had proved himself to be a steadfast pillar of strength, guiding Darcy through the labyrinthine responsibilities of his estate’s management. But more importantly, he had become a true confidant—an unexpected ally in the most personal of matters.

Darcy’s cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, had been no less constant. Fitzwilliam, with his irreverent humour and his calm, steady presence was as close as any brother could be, and there was no one Darcy would rather have by his side on this journey north.

Yet, however grateful he was for their unwavering support, his uncle’s constant vigilance and his cousin’s overbearing solicitude bore down on him, tightening like an invisible restraint.

Staring out at the horizon, he exhaled deeply, the breath leaving his body in a long, weary sigh. Within a fortnight they would reach their destination, and he would learn his fate—whether he would be granted a chance at an ordinary existence or condemned to an uncertain future. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, one that had little to do with the lingering morning chill.

A sudden sound—the sharp snap of a twig perhaps—wrenched Darcy from his thoughts; his head lifted, his gaze alert as he surveyed the silent terrain.

It was only then that he realized how far he had wandered, well beyond the village’s borders.

And more unsettling still, he was no longer alone.

* * *

The girl was on the opposite bank, following the curve of the river. Darcy paused, his eyes narrowing as he took in the solitary figure moving briskly in his direction. The distance between them was such that he was unable to make out her features, but he could discern that she was young, perhaps no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age. Her gown, a simple sprigged muslin, rippled softly as she walked, and her bonnet dangled from one hand, swaying in rhythm with her steady gait. She moved with quiet confidence, seemingly absorbed in her own thoughts, her face tilted slightly towards the sky, as if savouring the morning sun. He tore his gaze away, scanning the area for any sign of a companion, but the countryside lay silent and deserted. No distant figure appeared along the winding path, nor did any sound suggest the approach of any other company.

The girl was alone.

Darcy continued to move in her direction, and when their paths aligned, he stopped, calling out across the rush of the river.

“Pray, excuse me, madam. Might I be of some assistance?”

At the sound of his voice, the girl halted, her posture stiffening at the unexpected address. A flash of wariness sparked in her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she would not answer. But then she smiled, calling back to him, “No, sir, I thank you. I am quite well.”

With that said, she dipped into a shallow curtsey before resuming her steps—though her pace had quickened. Watching her retreat, Darcy frowned, unsettled. From her speech and mode of dress, it was evident that the young lady was gently bred, yet she roamed the countryside at daybreak, unaccompanied. Such behaviour was far from customary.

A moment of hesitation gripped him, but it swiftly gave way to a decision. Adjusting his stride, Darcy veered from his original path, matching her pace on the opposing bank.

It did not take long for the girl to notice his altered course. She regarded him with a quizzical expression, yet she neither spoke nor lengthened her stride, as though weighing his intentions.

They proceeded in this silent parallel for several moments until, at last, she stopped, turning to face him with a lifted brow.

“Forgive me, sir, but were you not walking the opposite way?”

“I was,” Darcy answered, his tone clipped.

“I see.” Her head tilted ever so slightly. “And, may I be so bold as to ask why you have decided to change direction?”

Darcy straightened, instinctively drawing himself to his full height. “I should think that would be obvious,” he replied, his voice cool. “I am offering you my protection. You should not be out walking alone in such a desolate area. Any number of hidden dangers might befall a young lady in such a circumstance.”

To Darcy’s astonishment, the girl gave a light, incredulous laugh. “And how am I to know that you are not one of those hidden dangers?”

Darcy sucked in a breath, offended at such a slight. “I assure you, madam, I pose no threat to you. I simply could not, in good conscience, leave you to walk on unaccompanied. I am bound, as a gentleman, to attend you.”

The girl regarded him for a moment, as though weighing his words. At last, she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. “Very well. As you wish.”

And so, they walked—divided by the river, the faint burbling of the water filling the silence between them.

The girl’s steps were light, her gown brushing the tops of the grasses along the bank, while Darcy maintained his measured pace, glancing now and again across the flowing water to observe her progress.

In time, the river narrowed, its steady current settling into the quiet meander of a gentle stream. Pausing her strides, the young lady called out, asking whether there was a place ahead where she might cross the water.

Darcy tilted his head but answered evenly, “I believe there is a bridge about half a mile upstream.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and continued onwards, her steps sure and unhurried.

They walked until the bridge gradually came into view, rising over the stream below.

As they reached it, Darcy slowed his steps, watching as the girl began to cross. The soft tap of her half-boots echoed faintly on the smooth surface. When she reached the centre of the structure—mere yards from where he stood—she suddenly startled, her gaze locking on something in the near distance.

“Oh!” she cried, and without another word, she lifted her skirts and broke into a run.

Darcy blinked, momentarily taken aback. His eyes followed the line of her vision, settling on a patch of vivid colour among the grasses—a wide expanse of purple wildflowers swaying in the breeze.

Recovering himself, Darcy exhaled slowly, and after a brief hesitation, he began to follow in the direction of the blooms.

When he reached her, she had already sunk to her knees amidst the sea of wildflowers, her bonnet carelessly discarded in the grass. She leaned forwards with an air of reverence, her fingers grazing the tops of the delicate blossoms.

“Are they not glorious?” she murmured. “They look like perfect little pincushions! I have never seen them in such abundance in Hertfordshire.”

Hertfordshire, Darcy mused, silently observing her. So, the young lady came from the south.

“Indeed?” he replied, stepping forwards to better examine the amethyst blooms. “They are devil’s-bit—a flowering plant of the scabious family. They thrive in damp soil, so I am not surprised to see them flourishing along the riverbank.”

She tilted her head to regard him, and under the weight of her steady gaze, Darcy could feel a surge of heat rising along his jaw.

“Devil’s-bit?” she repeated, a faint smile playing upon her lips. “What an unfortunate name for something so lovely.”

“If you would prefer the Latin,” he replied seriously, “its scientific name is Succisa pratensis. The common appellation derives from the shape of its roots. They appear truncated, as though bitten off—a misfortune legend ascribes to the devil himself.”

For a moment, she merely blinked up at him, and Darcy inwardly winced, feeling foolish for going on in such a pompous manner. But then her lips curved into a bright, unrestrained smile, and he was startled by the strange stirring within his chest.

“Goodness, you certainly know a great deal about flowers,” she teased lightly.

Darcy, unsure how to respond, watched as she reached into the hidden folds of her gown and withdrew a small penknife.

“Wait!” he blurted, surprising himself with the vehemence in his tone. “I neglected to mention a most important detail—the blooms are poisonous to the touch.”

She recoiled instantly, eyes widening in alarm, and a rich chuckle escaped his throat.

“Forgive me,” he said at once, though a smile still pulled at the corners of his mouth. “That was badly done. I was only teasing. The flowers are perfectly harmless, I assure you.”

Her frown deepened, but Darcy crouched down and, with deliberate ease, snapped one of the stems, running his thumb along the cluster of tiny petals.

“See? You have nothing to fear. In truth,” he continued, “plants in the scabious family have been used for centuries to treat ailments of the skin. So these blossoms are far more likely to heal than to harm.”

He rose and extended the flower in her direction. She hesitated only briefly before accepting it with a crooked smile.

“Well then, I shall have to hold on to this one,” she said archly, twirling the stem between her fingers.

For a lingering moment, they simply stood there, the quiet hum of the countryside surrounding them. But soon, a flicker of awareness crossed her features, and she glanced towards the horizon, where the sun had climbed higher in the sky.

“Oh! It is later than I thought,” she exclaimed, hastily gathering her discarded bonnet. “I must go. If my relations wake to find me missing, they will worry.”

She lifted her skirts and set off towards the footbridge at a brisk pace. Instinctively, Darcy followed, lengthening his stride. Noticing his intent, she flushed delicately.

“You need not trouble yourself. I am bound only for the inn across the square.”

She inclined her chin in the direction of the nearby village, now visible beyond the trees. Darcy followed her gaze before nodding his agreement. The girl resumed her measured pace, and Darcy hesitated before calling out impulsively, “Wait! Will you walk this way again tomorrow?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he could feel his cheeks heating at the boldness of his question, but the girl merely looked back at him with a guileless expression.

“I may,” she answered simply, “if the weather holds.”

And with that, she offered him a fleeting, luminous smile before her steps carried her across the bridge and out of sight.

Thanks so much for reading! The book releases THIS THURSDAY, MARCH 27th, but you can click HERE to pre-order it today. 🙂 I’ll also be giving away one copy of the ebook to one lucky winner, so if you’d like to throw your hat in the ring, simply leave me a comment below. The winner will be drawn at random on April 1st and announced on the JAV Facebook page.

I’ll be back on Thursday to celebrate my release day with the conclusion of the prologue and another giveaway. 🙂

Until next time!

JA