A Chance Meeting pt 12, a book release and a giveaway!

I’m about to launch a book–A Most Affectionate Mother–and it’s your fault! 

Ths was supposed to be just a little short story for September, just four shots and moving on. But in true “If you give a mouse a cookie” fashion, you gave and author a comment and it was enough to set a whirlwind into motion.

So today A Most Affectionate Mother is released into the wild, hopefully to the enjoyment of all! Click on the cover to find the book on Amazon. For other retailers, click HERE.

To  celebrate, Im giving away a ebook to a random commenter below.

So what do you think–should you give an author a comment?

Congratulations to Linda H winner of the ebook. The drawing is now closed.

About the book:

Mary goes to the library looking for escape, not love.

With three daughters married in a single year, one would think that Mrs. Bennet’s matchmaking ploys would diminish. One would be wrong.  Very wrong.

To avoid her mother’s affectionate arts, Mary takes refuge at Clarke’s library.  There, in the reading room, she can forget the trials of Longbourn, lost in the pages of her favorite books.

The strategy works—surprisingly well in fact—until the morning a tall, handsome stranger wants the same book she has already checked out—a text she needs to help a friend. Instead of politely waiting until she is finished with it, as a proper gentleman would, he insists she give it up to him immediately. When she rejects his demands—the audacity of it all!—he refuses to take no for answer, and appears on Longbourn’s doorstep.

Now Mama has seen him, matchmaking is not far behind.

Mary is determined to escape Mama’s machinations at all costs. But, maybe, just maybe, this time Mama is right.

And now–Today’s chapter

Part 12

A fortnight passed faster than Mary expected. The household fell into an easy rhythm, that apparently it had not enjoyed before. If she gave it just a little thought, she could easily see she had largely created the regularity—even if it felt a bit too bold to acknowledge. While it had felt rather forward, both Johnstones seemed to want, even at times, relished her advice. While they did not take every one of her suggestions—that would have been uncomfortable in and of itself—they did listen and implement the advice she felt most strongly about.

In even this short time, the boys seemed—calmer for lack of a better way to describe it. They maintained all the boyish energy children of their age were apt to have, but it felt better focused and more manageable. And when it was not, well, the wood rack outside was well filled now.

Thankfully they had never driven her to the point of using a cane. The boys would face enough of that sort of thing when they entered public school. Was it really necessary to begin now?  Could bring herself to do that if necessary? Hopefully they would not push her to the point they would all find out.

Mr. Johnstone had just taken the boys to the school room and Mary and Mrs. Johnstone sat in the morning room, over tea and toast, going over the menus and market list for the coming week. Feeding so many hungry children required more careful planning than meals at Longbourn ever had. A good, solid pudding and plenty of potatoes were necessary at every meal. The maid burst in breathless and perturbed.

“Madam?” She curtsied hurriedly. “Were you expecting callers this morning?”

“No, did they give you a card?” Mrs. Johnstone set aside her list.

“No, they said their boys is here. Mullen was their name.”

“Oh, gracious, the Mullens. They had written to us and said they would be calling, but I am entirely certain they did not give a date!” Mrs. Johnstone jumped to her feet.

Mary’s heart thundered in her chest. She had hardly been on good terms with the elder boy and if he gave his parents a bad report, how might that reflect upon the school and the Johnstones?

“They said they wish to see their boy.”

“Show them to the parlor, I will get the child.” Mrs. Johnstone glanced at Mary. “I will manage this, you need not worry about greeting company.” The statement sounded more like an order than a suggestion. She hurried off, after the maid.

Mary rose and paced along the window.  The room was only large enough to permit a few steps before she had to turn around and go in the other direction—hardly a satisfying way to pace off her nervous energies. Pretty sunshine and a delicate fresh breeze besides did nothing to suit the ominous mood that descended with Mrs. Johnstone’s departure.

What sort of parents were these, coming all the way to their children so soon after school had started? That alone was odd. Unless there were illness or some other calamity to befall the establishment, the expense and inconvenience would make visiting inconvenient at the very least.

Charlie was a handful to be sure, but he did not seem a spiteful child. But those things were difficult to tell. And if he should see the means by which to gain the upper-hand in the matter, he would not be slow on seizing it. What kind of trouble could he make for the entire school? If his parents knew the other students’ parents, he could poison them all with a few well-chosen words.

How dreadfully unfair! Mr. Johnstone was an excellent, caring school master, born to teach. As much as a man could be born to a specific task, he was. He might lose it all and it could easily be her fault.

A soft scratching at the door caught her attention. What was little Nate doing there? Poor child, his eyes were wide and his face a little pale.

She rushed to him and grabbed his hand. “What is wrong?”

“His parents are here, and he told us he would say horrible things about you and make sure that you were sent away.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “He cannot do that, can he?”

“I am not here at his parents’ behest, but at Mrs. Johnstone’s. She and not they is the only one who can ask me to leave.”

“But Charlie’s parents, he says they are very rich and can do anything they please. He said he could even see that our school is closed because he is treated like a servant and made to chop wood.” He held her hand very tightly. “I like it here. I do not want to go to another school. Please, do something. You can do anything. I know you can.” He clung to her hand, eyes pleading.

“It is not my place. I cannot barge into a conversation among people to whom I have not been introduced. It is just not done and it would look even worse than anything Charlie might have said. It would prove any negative thing that he says about us.”

“But it is not fair that he should be able to say anything he wants even if it is not true.”

“Untrue things are said all the time. That is why one’s behavior and character must be able to stand and speak for itself even when one cannot.” She straightened the lapels of his jacket.

“Is that why you are always going on and on about gentlemanly behavior?”

This was not the time to laugh. “That is one of the reasons.”

He features formed into such a dear, thoughtful little expression and he stared at his hands. “I shall have to think about that.”

“When you have, do come and talk to me about what you have thought.”

He peeked up at her. “Are you certain you cannot do something about this?”

“Very certain. Pray do not fret, it will all be well. I am certain of it.” She patted his back. “Now, I am sure you will be wanted back in the school room. Go on before you get yourself into trouble.”

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded sadly and dragged his feet as he trudged to the schoolroom.

She glanced toward the parlor. It was tempting to go to the door and try to listen to what was being said. But no, it went against everything she was trying to teach the boys. If she could not be an example to them, she had no place in trying to tell them how to behave in the first place.

Perhaps she should get ready for their call upon Mr. Johnstone’s patron this morning. They had been invited to the manor for refreshments with Mrs. Lawson and it would not do to be late. If nothing else, it would be a fitting distraction from what was going on in the parlor. The knots in her stomach tightened just a bit more as she forced herself upstairs.

Following Mrs. Johnstone’s lead, they walked two miles to Leighton Manor. Why did the weather have to be so disagreeably cheery when she felt so turbulent. Worse still, Mrs. Johnstone refused to comment on what had taken place in the parlor. It was as if the whole thing had never happened. In the face of such denial, Mary could not even muster the wherewithal to try and ask, making any other conversation almost impossible.

The manor and the estate seemed about twice the size as Longbourn at least, and far more picturesque. It was probably just a trick of the season and favorable lightening, but the manor house resembled something out of a painting, perched on a little hill, surrounded by green fields and sheep. Perhaps, when she got back to Longbourn she might try rendering it in watercolors herself.

Mary hurried to keep up with Mrs. Johnstone. Not surprisingly, she proved quite spry when she wanted to be—and something about this engagement made her want to be very spry today. But why? Even if she asked, Mary would probably not receive an answer to that question either. Though they had become closer over the last few weeks, Mary was in no position to demand intelligence from her hostess.

The Johnstones had always spoken very well of their patron, but hardly in the way Mr. Collins spoke of Lady Catherine. Mr. Johnstone was no sycophant. There was some sort of distant family connection between the Johnstones and the Lawsons which was only to be expected. That was usually the case when a preferment was granted.

A butler met them at the front door and, since they were expected, he led them directly to Mrs. Lawson’s parlor. Mrs. Johnstone called it the “ladies’ parlor” as, apparently, Mrs. Lawson used it exclusively to entertain her personal guests. If the room reflected their hostess, then she was light, bright, sparkling and a bit frivolous and flighty. Her choice in furnishings seemed a might impractical—a few too many shelves bearing bric-a-brac that appeared to have come from the continent.  No books were to be seen in the room at all. The chairs bore intricate carvings, but hardly appeared comfortable, and were set at awkward angles, which showed off their artistry, but would make conversation more difficult. Odd what furnishings could suggest about a person.

“Mrs. Johnstone, it is so good of you to come. Pray introduce me to your young friend.” Mrs. Lawson rose. Her voice was kind and sweet, maybe a little too much, but just a little. Blond curls peeked from beneath a lovely lace mobcap, with many ribbons and much embroidery to decorate it. Her blue eyes were just a mite too wide-set to give her a look of intelligence. She did not look stupid, by any means, but just a little vacant perhaps. The question was, was that a trick of her appearance, or an actual reflection of her intellect? Perhaps their conversation would reveal that.

Mrs. Johnstone curtsied and gestured toward Mary. “We appreciate your gracious invitation. This is my friend, Miss Bennet. Her father holds Longbourn estate near Meryton.”

Mary curtsied.

Mrs. Lawson paused a moment as though she were trying to look up Longbourn on a map. Finally she slowly nodded. “I believe we have ridden past there on the way into town. Yes, yes, I believe we have. You have a very pretty wilderness just to the side of the house?”

I seemed Mrs. Lawson was a bit more clever—or at least had a better memory—than she looked. “It has been called that at times, I think. I am rather fond of it as an excellent place to walk.”

“One should always have a good place for a walk nearby. I think it is an essential thing for one’s soul. Pray sit down.” Mrs. Lawson pointed at several empty chairs.

The chairs were every bit as uncomfortable as Mary had expected.

“So, Miss Bennet, how do you like our little part of the county?” Mrs. Lawson pour some sort of water containing a sprig of green from a crystal pitcher. It smelt fresh and herbal. Chervil perhaps?

“Very well indeed. I do not mean to sound overly romantical or sentimental, but it is entirely picturesque. Every time I look out the windows I wonder if I am gazing on a painting.” It was pleasant to gush so honestly.

“I must agree, I find it very pretty here. I am glad to hear you agree. Roses in particular seem very fond of our soil. They seem to grow with almost no attention at all.” Mrs. Lawson handed her a crystal glass.

“My mother is known for her rose garden. She has a way with them, I am told. I think she would find the village here very pleasing indeed. It might inspire a new garden, if I know her as well as I think I do.” Mary sipped the refreshing, lightly sweet beverage. It was something Lizzy would have liked.

“It is hard to find a flower that is more regal, more pleasing that a rose I think.” Mrs. Lawson sighed just a little vacantly.

“The newest issue of A Lady’s Magazine has the loveliest pattern for roses on an evening dress, stitched right around the bottom of the skirt, with ribbons and puffs. Have you seen it?” It was a little odd for Mrs. Johnstone to reference something that was clearly not to her tastes. She preferred everything simple and unadorned. Let the materials and workmanship show for themselves, she said, not covered up with fancy bits and bobs.

“I have not. I will definitely—”

The parlor door flew open and a brown-haired bundle of spite and fury flew in, her rust colored skirts swished wildly. “The audacity! The gall! I am utterly beside myself, I cannot imagine.”

Mrs. Mullen. It had to be.

She stopped short and stared at Mrs. Johnstone. “What is she doing here?” Was that foam forming at the corner of her mouth?

“Whatever do you mean, cousin? Calm yourself. Please sit down.” Mrs. Lawson beckoned her in as though nothing noteworthy were transpiring.

“You, you are responsible for this outrage!” Mrs. Mullen stood rooted where she was and pointed at Mrs. Johnstone.

“Excuse me, I do not know of what you speak.” Mrs. Johnstone pressed her hand to her chest, eyes wide. She might have been mistaken for astonished, but Mary knew better.

“My son! We sent our son to you son’s school under good authority that he would be well looked after and educated, and you have turned him into nothing but a servant for the place!” She threw her hands in the air and stormed closer.

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Mrs. Johnstone frowned and huffed, her chest puffed out just a wee bit.

The two women resembled nothing so much as two hens about to do battle. It might be laughable if Mary had not seen dire results from such encounters.

“You mean you are not aware that he has been chopping wood outside instead of attending to the lessons we have paid for him to have.” Mrs. Mullen perched her hands on her fists, becoming as “big” as possible. A rusty-colored hen for sure.

“Excuse me Mrs. Mullen,” Mary sucked in a deep breath as she stood. “But that is hardly the case at all. He is in the school room whenever the students are being taught. He has missed no opportunity for instruction, except due to his own inattention.”

“Are you suggesting my son is stupid?”

“Not at all, I am suggesting that he is not an attentive student, those are hardly the same thing.” And inattentive was far less forgivable than stupid.

“How would you know? You are not the school master.”

“The other boys have all complained that he provokes them during their lessons, prevents them from doing their work and bullies them whenever he has the chance.” Mary kept her voice clear and level, which only seemed to further inflame Mrs. Mullen.

“How dare you criticize him! You have no place, no right.”

“It is I who have set him to chopping wood in order to improve his attitude and actions toward the other boys. Hard work is said to instill character—”

“Who are you to criticize his character? I should know my own son’s character. We have raised him to be a proper gentleman.” Mrs. Mullen tossed her head, setting the feathers on her had quivering.

“The alternative is the liberal application of the cane, which I would think would be even more undesirable to you than a bit of honest work.”

Mrs. Mullen stomped several steps closer. “You take too much upon yourself young woman. I am shocked at you Mrs. Johnstone, allowing her so much liberty in a task which you should be administering yourself.”

Mrs. Johnstone’s eyes narrowed and she stood. Not an omen of good tidings. “I asked her to come specifically to assist me. I have full confidence—”

“Do you mean to say you are not capable of maintaining the boys in your home? I was assured this would be a good situation for him, one in which he would be well cared for.”

Mrs. Lawson jumped to her feet and rushed to Mrs. Mullen. “Calm yourself, cousin. I have every faith in the Johnstones—”

“Well clearly, you have been utterly mistaken and have led me astray. We shall have our son out of that horrible academy this very afternoon, mark my words. And know this, I shall let it be known far and wide the nature of this school and Mr. Johnstone will never, never have any more students. I will see to that.” She tossed her head and stormed from the room.

So what about Mrs. Mullen?

Find earlier parts of this story HERE