Mr. Darcy and the Governess Launch Giveaway

I come with AAAALLLLL kinds of announcements today. First! I must pay off some arrears of civilities. I had never gone back to announce the winners of the drawings for my last two posts. Bad author! So, I have some ebooks to give away right off the top. My randomizer (my 17-year-old son) plucked some numbers out of the air for me, and these are the names they corresponded to for the respective giveaways.

You can reach me at Author@AlixJames.com with your contact information, and I’ll get your books to you!

Congratulations!

Bess and the Highwayman Winners:

Diane Lynne and Marie H.

 

Mr. Darcy and the Governess Winners:

Elizabeth and Rosa

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And next, an announcement! In my post about Bess and the Highwayman, I was also polling everyone to help me decide which plot to tinker with next. We had two clear winners! The top picks were:

#1: Madcap Bennet Family throws Darcy’s world into a tailspin.
#2: Oops, that was you? Thought it was your brother.

So! I put both of them on my writing calendar, and the first one is already underway. They’ll eventually be released as Books #3 and #4 in my Mr. Darcy Collection. First I’m going with the “Oops that was you” idea. I’ll save the madcap Bennets for the final book in the collection. So, here she is–the new cover and pre-order link!

I will be feeding and grooming this new plot baby along over the next couple of months. My goal? Hopefully, I’ll have it in your hot little hands by late December. But I do have another cowboy romance to finish first, so… I’ll write until my keyboard smokes because I know once I dangle this, it’s not fair if I don’t hurry it up.

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And yes, I’m not forgetting my newsletter subscribers! Mr. Darcy’s Fair Trade is now front and center, getting polished up and ready to send out to everyone within the next week. I was kind of rude, getting everyone all happy for this one, and then going off to finish Bess and Governess first. Rude. But Fair Darcy is coming out soon, so if you’re already on my newsletter list, all you have to do is watch your inbox!

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Whew! I think that’s all the announcements for now! See, this is what happens when you do the ostrich thing all summer, hiding from people while you’re writing your fingers off. Everything gets ready to release all at once!

Now, how about a swoony sneak at Darcy and the Governess, and a chance to win a few more copies? I’ll make this interesting. For every ten comments (not counting mine) I’ll give away a copy. Let’s see how far we get!

I’ll share a long, but super sweet scene of Darcy and Elizabeth finally starting to talk to each other. Poor fella. You gotta give him props, because he’s been trying SO hard and she just hasn’t been budging. Enjoy!

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I carefully pulled the blankets up to the girls’ chins, ensuring they were snug and warm. The room, bathed in the soft light of a single candle, felt secure and comforting. Taking a deep breath, I allowed myself to soak in the moment, cherishing the simplicity of it all.

I would have liked to have children.

That thought stung with a bite I’d not expected. I had known I was probably giving up my chance at a family when I entered service. How many governesses die unmarried and childless? Perhaps a few find a home and a family—some local widower in desperate need of a mother for his brood. An unpaid governess, in reality.

I had thought I had settled the matter in my own heart. Keeping my dignity intact and trying to lessen the burden on my family for my sisters to make their own ways—that had been consolation enough.

And then Darcy had to turn up. Drat that man. The real bother of it was that I was starting to wish rather fervently that I had answered him differently that day in Hunsford. Had I, I would know by now the comfort of an honest man’s love. And I might have prevented…

Well. Anyway, the girls were all asleep, or nearly so. I drank in a sigh and stood, letting the candlelight warm their faces one last time.

That was precisely the moment that the door banged open, and I nearly jumped out of my stockings. I scarcely avoided tripping over the rug. As I steadied myself, Lady Holt marched inside.

“Miss Bennet! You are not idling, are you?”

I put my finger to my lips and eased away from the beds. “The girls are trying to sleep, my lady.”

“Oh, pish posh. They are not infants, Miss Bennet.”

“But Beatrice has been experiencing nightmares, and Poppy is often restless in the—”

“Come, Miss Bennet, I need you. Only look at this!” she exclaimed, waving an elegant, crumpled envelope in one hand and a torn sapphire gown in the other. The sight of the damaged dress, a tragedy in silk, sparked a sense of dread in the depths of my belly.

“Can you imagine? An invitation from Lord General Campbell for dinner tomorrow! But this wretched voyage…” she lamented, showing me the tear in the gown, her voice fragile as if the world had conspired against her. “When my maid unpacked my trunk, look what happened! A nail, no doubt, knocked about by some careless sailor.”

Oh, no. I knew where this was heading.

She looked me up and down as if evaluating my worth in stitches and hems. “Your mother must have taught you properly. Surely, you must have some skill with a needle. My maid is quite overwrought with tending to my other needs. Will you have it mended by morning?”

Ugh. Sewing. My personal version of purgatory. “I was engaged to care for the children, my lady,” I offered weakly.

“And they are asleep. Come, now, Miss Bennet. A few minutes is all it will take. Mustn’t idle.”

That rip would take hours to mend properly. I sighed, resigning myself to a long night. “I cannot promise it will be a perfect repair. This is a rather large rip.”

“And that is why it must be you rather than some kitchen maid! Surely, you must have attended one or two dinner parties somewhere. I cannot think they would have been very lavish, but you must have some appreciation for what must be done and how best to hide such a seam. It must drape just so, and you cannot be entirely ignorant of this. Give it to my maid in the morning so she can have it properly cleaned and pressed.”

As she pranced out, I felt the weight of the gown in my hands. Silk might be light, but the insult certainly wasn’t. This was not my expertise, nor did it fall within my expectations for this position.

But there was no help for it. I would have to see to the gown. How was I even to spread this thing out to lay the rip flat? The room was crowded with the girls’ belongings. Moreover, a lantern bright enough to sew by would surely disturb Poppy, and the last thing I desired was a sleep-deprived escape artist to manage. The common room downstairs would have to do. It might not even be so distasteful—a change of scene, and some decent light to work with.

I carried the bundle downstairs over my arm and asked if the innkeeper could provide me with a private corner table and a lantern. I situated myself with my needle and thread, turning the lantern to cast a warm glow over Lady Holt’s precious gown. The flickering light made the silk shimmer, and for a little while, I lost myself in the rhythm of the work.

Gradually, everyone else retired for the night, and I had the room to myself but for an occasional cat. I had been working nearly an hour when the inn door creaked open, admitting a draft and the staggering form of… good heavens, was that Mr. Darcy?

My needle froze in mid-air. This was new. Had he been beaten up? Or was he just dead drunk? He looked like he’d battled the world and lost—clothes rumpled, face flushed. The proud, composed Darcy I knew seemed a lifetime away.

He paused to be doubly certain the door was closed, then without preamble or greeting of any kind, he pointed his feet toward my corner and flopped down in the chair opposite me. I blinked. All sense of boundaries seemed to have dissolved in whatever he’d been drinking.

“Am I to have the pleasure of seeing you in this dazzling confection sometime soon?” he asked, his voice perfectly crisp.

I stared at him. He didn’t sound drunk. “Are you… well, Mr. Darcy?”

He made a face and swallowed, then lifted his thumb and index finger to pinch the air. “I am slightly inebriated.”

“I can tell.” I dropped my eyes to the dress to complete the stitch I’d been poised to make when he stumbled in. “Must have been some party.”

“I do not partake in ‘parties,’ Miss Bennet.”

“Well, what did you ‘partake’ in?”

His lip curled. “Some ghastly Italian creation that tasted like watered-down lava.” He winced and rubbed his forehead. “Two bottles of wine and a glass of bitter ale. And I think a couple of glasses of something made from Anise to celebrate a new couple’s nuptials. It was probably divine if you like Anise. I find it repugnant.”

My eyebrows climbed my forehead. “And you consumed these all by yourself?”

“Over several hours. I was ingratiating myself to the locals.”

“Next time, try just smiling and being friendly.”

He leaned back slightly. “I doubt the good proprietor of the establishment where I spent the afternoon would have appreciated my custom if I had stuck to tea.”

“Ah.” I plucked the needle into the silk for another stitch, casting glances at him every few seconds. “So, is it Colonel Fitzwilliam who is to blame for your present state?”

He straightened and let his hand bang on the table. “By Jove, it is. I shall have another transgression to lay at his feet when I return home.”

I snickered. “His list of sins must be rather long by now.”

“You can have no possible idea.” He paused, then gestured to the gown in my hands. “I trust you were not wearing that when it was damaged.”

I looked up at him through the fringe of loose hair that fell over my forehead. “Why would you say that?”

Something flickered in his gaze. “Because I should hate to have to challenge someone to pistols at dawn for importuning you.”

Is it possible for your heart to actually drop into your shoes? Because I think mine did. My mouth went dry, and I was a few seconds in finding a reply. “This is Lady Holt’s gown.”

He looked for a moment as if my answer made no sense to him. Then something hardened—his cheek flinched, and his jaw tightened. Ah, there he was. The old Darcy, who would never converse with a… a servant.

“She made you mend her gown?” His voice was low and almost menacing.

“I am at Her Ladyship’s service,” I answered simply.

Darcy leaned in, his gaze fixed on the gown but not really seeing it. “You should be wearing silks and satins, not mending them.”

Yes. My heart was definitely in my shoes. I gulped and tried desperately not to let him swallow me whole in that hungry gaze of his. “Someone has to.”

“But why you? Why this? What aren’t you telling me, Elizabeth? You’re a gentleman’s daughter, hardly alone or friendless. Surely, there was no need for… this.”

“I am not—” I stabbed my needle into the gown— “a gentleman’s daughter.”

His brow furrowed. “Of course you are. I have met your family, seen your home.”

“It is no longer my home.”

“Well, it would be, had you not left.”

I blew out a sigh, feathering the hair off my face. “What I’m trying to tell you is that the Bennets no longer hold Longbourn. By now, my parents, Jane, Mary, and Kitty, have all removed to the cramped old dower house, and the property is let to a stranger.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes, and I could almost see smoke coming out of his ears. “You… what?”

I pulled the old thread from my needle and started a new length, avoiding his gaze. “My father found himself deeply in debt to my uncle, with no way to repay what was owed. No doubt it would have been smoothed over in time, but it came at such a moment as to cause particular hardship to my uncle’s business. He lost an opportunity that would have secured his profits for the next year.” I lifted a shoulder and made another stitch. “We had but one bargaining chip left with which to make it right—our home. And our place in society.”

Darcy’s mouth was hanging open, and I am certain that was a first for him. But he closed his teeth with a snap and studied me for a moment. “I notice you do not mention your youngest sister. Dare I ask where she is?”

I swallowed. “It will probably take little imagination on your part.”

“Indeed. Did she marry the rascal?”

“Regrettably, yes.” I chewed my lip and closed my eyes. Might as well confess it. “I am now in possession of a brother-in-law named George Wickham.”

Darcy lurched to his feet, his chair squeaking on the floor. “Wickham?”

I resumed sewing. “Lydia was permitted to go to Brighton as a guest of the regiment commander’s wife. And the rest, as they say…”

His knuckles were white on the edge of the table. “How much did your uncle pay to bring about the marriage?”

“I…” I swallowed and let the gown fall to my lap. “I do not know. More than my father had. He said it would take a five-year lease on Longbourn to recover it.”

I heard a sharp hiss. “Why would you not tell me sooner?”

I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the gown. “What was I to tell you? That you were right about everything? That Wickham was a scoundrel, and my family’s behavior was appalling? You already knew that.”

“Elizabeth.”

I could no longer keep staring at the gown. His voice… good Lord, his voice was a weapon. Warm and tender, gentle, and eloquent, and it cut me straight to the heart. My lip trembled, and I found my gaze pulled up to his. And as my eyes tipped upward, I felt it—the first tear splashing onto the corner of my cheek. Probably the first of many.

Darcy plucked the gown out of my lap and cast it aside. Then his hands were tugging at mine, and before I quite knew what was happening, he had drawn me into his arms, and I was wiping away my tears on the white silk of his cravat. Somehow, he was everywhere—around me and above me, his fingers caressing my chin and his other hand sprawling possessively over my back. And all I could do, upon finding myself in such an embrace, was sob.

But he made no protests. No pleas to stop making such a fuss, or to keep my chin up and put on a smile for politeness’ sake. None of that nonsense. He just held me as the spasms grew worse, and I finally let go. All the shame and resentment I’d bottled up—all the rage at missed opportunities and the monstrous sense of unfairness I’d carried around for months—I exhausted all of it into Mr. Darcy’s chest. I fear I coughed and sputtered all over that man’s shirt, and I was fisting the fabric of his coat to prevent him from pulling away enough to look at my face.

But he didn’t need to look. Surely, he knew already what a silly mess I had made of myself because when my breathing finally started to mellow and the humiliation of crying all over Mr. Darcy’s… rather firm… chest swelled upon me, a handkerchief presented itself. I sniffed, gratefully accepted, and tried to mop my swollen eyes.

“I think I ruined it,” I rasped as I handed it back.

“Ruined it?” He smiled as he tucked it back into his breast pocket. “I shall never wash it again. But you seem to have missed one or two.” He cupped my cheek, his warm fingertips grazing my skin, and brushed another hot tear away. Then his hand stilled, and he stopped breathing.

“Elizabeth.”

I closed my eyes and felt his hand slip down to caress my chin, nip at my throat, and finally coax me into tipping my face up to his. A warm breath shattering over my skin… how close was he? And then, for just an instant, I thought I felt something flutter over my lower lip.

I sucked in a breath and pulled back. “Mr. Darcy, you’re drunk.”

He looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach, all the wind knocked out of him. “So, I am. But only a little.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a horrible snort. I had to wipe my nose again. “‘A little?’ I’ve never seen you so…”

“Yes, you have. Just once.”

I crossed my arms and sniffed. “When you proposed. Of course.”

“No. I’d not touched a drop that day—my life on it. Or, if I was intoxicated, it was not on Lady Catherine’s port.”

I was starting to breathe a little more normally now. “Then, when?” I whispered.

“The night we met. It was the anniversary of my father’s and brother’s deaths, and before we left for the Assembly, I indulged in some of my father’s Scotch in their honor. A great deal of it, I’m afraid. But one of my… talents, if you wish to call it such, is that alcohol affects me less than others. I become less patient. A little less inclined to tolerate nonsense. And my stomach does not forgive me easily.” He stepped closer to me again. “But I am not blind, Elizabeth. Nor have I lost my faculties.”

“Well… you might be the only one.” I clutched my arms a little more tightly over my chest. “It figures you would be the one man in the world who could down enough alcohol to float the entire English Navy and only earn yourself a bit of a red nose and a slightly amorous mood for it.”

“My mood has nothing to do with the wine.”

I let my gaze drift over him—the starved, aching look in his eyes, the way he still listed toward me like a sailor so accustomed to the rocking sea that he no longer trusted solid ground. If he kept on with this, I’d have nothing left with which to resist him. I could still feel that brush of something on my lip, the strength of his arms around me, and I’d have given anything to lose myself there again.

But he didn’t deserve to inherit the wreck that my life had become. It would be like ripples on a pond—first his friends, then his sister’s prospects, then perhaps even his own feelings toward me. Everything would sour, and eventually, he would resent me for it.

I shook my head and pulled away from him at last, and a chill shivered over my back when I realized that his arm had still been around me. “I… I need to finish Lady Holt’s gown.”

Darcy looked broken and weary like he’d just aged five years. But he nodded and made no attempts to draw me back. “Then I shall wait up with you if you do not object. To see to your safety.”

He took me by the hand and led me like a dance partner back to my seat. Then he gathered up that rumpled gown and draped it once more over my lap. He even cast about and bent at the knee to recover the tiny needle I’d dropped on the floor when he had first pulled me into his arms.

All I could do was stare at him.

“Do not let me interrupt your work,” he said as he reclaimed his chair.

Finally, I found my voice again. “Well, it’s going to be a while longer. What are you going to do?”

He propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin on his fist, and smiled. “I mean to meditate on the very great pleasure of being privileged to watch.”

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Darcy and the Governess comes out next Tuesday! Happy Dance <3