New Release – Dishonorable Gentlemen + A Free Book!

Hello All! I hope this posts find you well. For those of you who don’t know me well yet, as I’m new to Austen Variations (though not to the world of Austenesque writing), I’m not much of a blogger, but I do love a good newsletter. Therefore, when I bring you a post, it will likely have a newsletter feel to it. I have no idea if that differs from a ‘blog post’ feel. You can be the judge.

Today I bring you a blurb and excerpt from my new variation, Dishonorable Gentlemen. Hopefully you will enjoy this adventurous, whimsical tale as much as I do.

In addition to being up for sale at a discounted price until April 7th, Dishonorable Gentlemen is also available in Kindle Unlimited. So, if you would prefer to sample it on your Kindle, below is a link to the book. I will post the same link at the end of the excerpt, so that you don’t have to scroll all the way back up to find it…assuming you’re looking for it by then, which I hope you will be.

You can find Dishonorable Gentlemen here: getbook.at/DishonorableGentlemen

VOLUME ONE of The Bennet Gang Duology: Dishonorable Gentlemen

Elizabeth Bennet isn’t made to stand idly by and watch people suffer. Especially not when the Bennet sisters’ stepfather, a one-time British spy, has trained her, Jane, and Mary so well. But when Netherfield Park is let and the new residents move in, the lighthearted game of reimagined Robin Hood she and her sisters have been playing could turn deadly, both for the neighborhood’s newest gentlemen and for Elizabeth’s heart.

Fitzwilliam Darcy has no desire to remain in a region where he was held up at gunpoint within moments of arrival, until he spies a mysterious, alluring figure he can’t purge from his thoughts. Should he remain in Hertfordshire and pursue the mysterious woman he sighted in the mist, or depart before he is too deeply entangled in an increasingly dangerous web of deadly duels, secrets, and unwed misses?

Dishonorable Gentlemen, Volume One of The Bennet Gang Duology, is a medium angst, Regency Era, love-at-first-sight (at least on one side!) Pride and Prejudice Variation. If you enjoy Summer Hanford’s light-hearted, fanciful tales, give this adventure-filled, sweet romance a read.

CHAPTER ONE

The Heist

Seated across from Darcy, his friend Charles Bingley tugged back the curtain again as his carriage trundled down a narrow lane in Hertfordshire. Trying to ignore Bingley’s fidgeting, Darcy angled the book he held in an attempt to catch the fading light of the lowering sun. Bingley peered out for a moment, then yanked the curtain closed once more, fortunately not interfering with Darcy’s light on the other side of the carriage.

Bingley pulled out his watch and flipped it open, then pushed aside the curtain so he had enough light to read the time. “Mr. Morris and I agreed on five. He’s surely gone by now. At this rate, we will be lucky if we have enough daylight to inspect the exterior of the house, and I doubt anyone will be available to give us entry.” Bingley snapped his watch closed, shoved it away, and then tugged the curtain across the window.

“We will seek rooms at the nearest inn and view the estate come morning,” Darcy said, not looking up from his book. “Mr. Morris will make no protest. It is his purpose as agent for the estate to accommodate us. You worry for nothing.”

Bingley peered out the window again. “I cannot believe all those sheep were blocking the London road. You would think between the dogs and the farmer, they would have been able to move them quickly, rather than send us back to the previous fork. It cannot please them to have traffic diverted from their village. What is it called? Meryton?”

“So you informed me when we set out,” Darcy said by way of agreement. “And let us hope it boasts an inn. I would rather stay than repeat the journey from London tomorrow.”

“Meryton is in possession of an inn, according to Mr. Morris. I had thought we would have a look about, perhaps dine at the inn, and head back, the horses nicely rested.”

“We can as easily dine and remain, if they have room.” Which seemed likely to Darcy in this backwater. “We will send a rider for our cases. One of my carriages can bring them, along with our valets. Better to see this estate you want to let first thing in the morning with fresh eyes.”

Bingley groaned. “You and mornings. It’s unnatural to be out of bed before ten, Darcy. Unhealthy, even. I am certain the cold morning air is how one catches a chill.”

“Have you ever known me to catch a chill?” Darcy permitted scorn to touch his voice.

“Well, no. Not now as you mention it.” Bingley tugged at his cuffs. “Yes. Very well. We will inspect Netherfield Park in the morning. Not an auspicious name, that. If I purchase the place, I will have to see about getting it changed. I mean, ‘nether field?’ It sounds rather desolate. Like what you would call the very last place you wished to farm. Or somewhere to which one might consign ill-behaved sheep. Such as those that blocked the road from London.”

“We were changing direction,” Darcy reminded him, turning a page in his book. Bingley’s mind had a tendency to wander, and Darcy wished to reach whatever paltry accommodations Meryton offered sooner rather than later if they were to send a man back to London.

“Right. Changing direction to seek the inn.” Bingley raised a hand, poised to knock on the ceiling to alert the driver to their need for him. “I’ll direct my man to take us to the village rather than the estate, assuming he took note of the way, and—”

The carriage clattered to a halt.

“You should speak to your driver about his technique,” Darcy groused, finally looking up from his book.

“I did not yet signal a stop.” Bingley tugged the curtain open once more.

To the sight of a pistol barrel.

“What have we here?” a low-pitched voice grated out in a thick French accent. “As wealthy looking a couple of gents as I ever did see.” The pistol waggled at Bingley. “Let’s have your purse then, monsieur.”

Bingley gaped at the pistol, held firmly by a hand encased in a black leather glove, attached to an arm with an equally dark shirtsleeve. Above that, sharp eyes regarded them from behind a mask that covered the upper half of a somewhat grimy face.

“Do not be absurd,” Darcy snapped on behalf of his friend. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This, your lordship, is what we outside London call highway robbery,” the man said.

A rather young man, Darcy guessed by the fellow’s slight build and what, by his estimation, was an artificially deepened voice. “I do not get robbed,” Darcy stated. “Be off with you and we will not press charges.” There was a vast deal of difference between robbing a man and shooting him, and Darcy suspected the youth would not actually attempt the latter.

The man chuckled. “You are a funny one, no?” Raising his voice he called, “Enaj, these fellows need some extra persuading.”

Enaj? Darcy found the name odd. Foreign, by the sound of it. French, like the man pointing a pistol at him? More likely émigrés from one of the colonies.

“Here now, your masters do not want to behave,” another roughened, French-accented voice said somewhere without. “Down from your perch with you. That is right. Up there by the horses. Hold their reins tight. I would not want to see you trampled, mon homme. Remember, I have an eye on you.”

A moment later a second pistol appeared, this time on the other side of the carriage but likewise held by a black leather glove. “Now, what have we here?” Enaj asked.

The face that appeared in the window, the upper half masked in black, had a narrow chin and a scraggly mustache, emphasizing Darcy’s impression of youth. Young men with not enough to occupy them, up to no good. Once he discovered who they were, he would see them placed in the regulars, if they were citizens of England. If they survived the experience, they would be the better for it.

And if they were not meant to be in the British Isles, Darcy would see them removed back to France, or to whatever colony they’d come from.

“This exalted fellow says he does not get robbed,” the first bandit said, still peering in the other window. “You will have to persuade him.”

“Must I?” Enaj asked with a sigh. “You know I do not find it so amusing as you.”

“You would rather I attempt to make our point? I am a fair shot, but nowhere near so good as you. You jeopardize monsieur’s pretty face with your reluctance.”

“I say,” Bingley cried. “What do you mean about Darcy’s face?”

Darcy cast him a quelling look. If the young men recognized his family name, they might decide to add kidnapping to their dubious list of achievements. His estate could muster quite the ransom.

The first bandit gestured with his pistol, causing Bingley to flinch. “Enaj here is going to shoot a hole in your friend’s hat, monsieur.”

“And what, precisely, will that prove?” Darcy asked coldly.

“Oy,” Enaj called, stepping back from the window, out of Darcy’s reach, and turning to face the front of the carriage. “I said stay with the horses, by which I meant stay with the horses.”

“It will prove,” the first bandit said, ignoring Enaj’s activity on the other side of their conveyance, “That these here pistols are loaded and that we know what we are doing with them.”

Enaj turned back to Darcy. “Take off your hat, monsieur, and hold it out before you.”

“I most certainly will not,” Darcy said with considerable affront.

The first bandit stepped out of sight but could be heard calling, “Hold onto those horses tight, mon homme. The shot might startle them.”

“I urge you, monsieur, to remove your hat,” Enaj repeated.

“Absolutely not,” Darcy said stiffly. Whoever these youths were, they were going too far.

“Very well,” Enaj said. “It should not matter. I rarely miss.”

Enaj backed up, watching Darcy down the barrel of his pistol, and backed up some more. Finally, he stood quite some distance away, engaging Darcy’s nerves despite every effort to maintain a proper level of uncaring reserve. Why was the lad making the shot so difficult? Or did he simply play on Darcy’s resolve, hoping that if he drew back far enough, Darcy would relent out of fear that no one could make the shot? It was, after all, at an angle and through a carriage window, into the darkened interior, with the sun dropping low, casting long shado—

A loud report sounded.

Bingley yelped. The horses reared, jolting the carriage. Their driver cursed. Smoke curled between the carriage and Enaj, who waved a gloved hand to clear it away, then stuck the spent pistol through his belt. He pulled free a second one.

“The devil take it, Darcy, he shot a hole right through your hat,” Bingley cried.

Darcy removed the article. Indeed, a hole went in one side and out the other. A glance showed a ball embedded in the wall inside Bingley’s carriage, beside the opposite window.

“Here,” Bingley cried. He reached into his coat and pulled out a tightly folded packet of banknotes, then thrust his hand out the window.

The first bandit instantly reappeared, taking the money. “Merci,” he said with a bow, then straightened to regard Darcy with a smug, aggravating grin.

Peripherally, Darcy was aware of Enaj moving nearer again, but he kept his focus on the first bandit, by far the more aggravating of the two. “Your companion shooting my hat in no way means that either of you have any intention of shooting me,” Darcy said stiffly, dropping his hat to the seat beside him. “And you owe me a hat.”

“It does not mean we will, no,” the first bandit agreed. “But I am starting to want to shoot you, monsieur.”

“Azile,” Enaj said sharply.

The worry in Enaj’s voice, far more than the threat issued by this Azile, spurred Darcy to reach into his coat. He drew out his wallet, but did not hand it over. “Know that I do this under protest and with the firm belief you have no intention of actually harming us.”

“No no,” Enaj said, once more turning his pistol in the direction of the horses, where their driver must still be. “You remain there and mind your charges.”

“Give them the money,” Bingley said in a low voice. “That Enaj fellow still has a shot left, and the other one has two. Even if they do not want to shoot us, the longer we drag this out, the greater chance of some ill befalling us or my driver.”

“Very well,” Darcy said stiffly. He weighed the wallet in his hand. If he could get the one called Azile to bend down, Darcy could shove open the carriage door, hopefully slamming it into the bandit’s head, then jump out and subdue him.

Darcy tossed his wallet out the window.

Azile snatched it from the air, presumably with his off hand as his right held the pistol. He cast Darcy a quick grin, almost as if he guessed the plan Darcy had so rapidly concocted. “Merci, good sirs. It has been a rare pleasure.” Azile moved backward as he spoke, then raised his voice to call, “Enaj. Go.”

Both youths backed away into the trees that lined the road, one to each side. Darcy slid across his seat, looking out in time to see Azile disappear among the broad trunks. Bingley, watching in the direction Enaj had gone, let out a sudden, loud breath.

“Well, that settles it,” Bingley exclaimed. “I am not meant to take this Netherfield property. ‘Nether’ indeed, I say. First a herd of overly obstinate sheep block our way. Then we are set upon by bandits. And they ruined your hat.”

Darcy frowned down at the beleaguered object before addressing Bingley. “Has it not occurred to you that the blockade of sheep milling about on the London road was by design? To send us here to this narrow, forested lane?”

“Sirs.” The face of Bingley’s driver filled the window. “Sirs, are you well? The dastards are gone, off into the woods. Did that shot catch either of you? Any harm done?”

“Only to Darcy’s hat,” Bingley said in obvious relief. He scrubbed a hand over his face, knocking his own hat askew. “I say, I’ve never been robbed before.”

“Nor have I,” Darcy admitted. “I did not appreciate the experience. What manner of backwater is this?”

“Sirs, will we be heading back to London, then?” the driver asked. “I’ll be needing to light the lanterns soon.”

“Did you mark the location of that village, Meryton?” Bingley asked. He looked at Darcy. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a pint. Robbed. Of all things.”

“If we go to the village, we will need to remain until funds arrive,” Darcy replied in a tone of protest. “Need I remind you that ‘robbed’ means we were relieved of our wallets?”

“I am certain a simple promise of payment will suffice,” Bingley said with a shrug.

“Perhaps in London it would and certainly in Derbyshire, but these people do not know us. We would put them in the unenviable position of insulting us with their refusal or putting their faith in two gentlemen completely foreign to them, one with two holes in his hat.”

Bingley stared at him, his expression mutinous, but Darcy had strong opinions on the subject of gentlemen availing themselves of items and services for which they did not pay. Or of those posing as gentlemen doing so. The village nearest his estate of Pemberley had suffered greatly from the habit. To be certain, it had been one man in particular who had abused the shopkeepers’ goodwill, one Mr. George Wickham and him not even a gentleman, but Darcy still abhorred the imposition.

While putting right Wickham’s debts, Darcy had seen the harm done to livelihoods by the practice. After all, the merchant’s funds were already spent and gone, simply to have the item available in their shop. If they received no payment at the time of purchase, they had no goods nor, in many cases, the ability to purchase more until paid. Even an honest gentleman did not always meet his debts expediently enough to avoid causing undue hardship.

“Either we dine in Meryton and remain the night, thus giving fresh funds the opportunity to catch up with us, or we return to London,” Darcy stated. “I leave the decision up to you.”

Bingley cast him a sour look. “Yes, but you give me only two options, neither of which appeal to me.” He thought for a moment, the struggle to be amenable clear on his face, then shrugged. “To Meryton it is. I am done riding about in this carriage for the day.”

“The village, then, sir?” the driver asked.

“The village,” Bingley said firmly. “To whatever they have for an inn.”

The driver nodded and returned to his perch. Soon, the carriage was moving again.

“Tomorrow, we should make an effort to report this incident to whomever passes for authority here,” Darcy said. There would, he assumed, be a local magistrate.

“Most assuredly,” Bingley agreed, his ill humor already passed. “Will you permit me to purchase you a new hat?”

“You did not shoot a hole in this one.” In truth, Darcy wondered if his valet couldn’t repair the article, and then see it donated. Darcy did not wear mended hats. “Azile and Enaj are who owe me a hat, not you.”

Bingley shrugged. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

It was well dark by the time they reached Meryton, but people still strolled the streets. The local assembly hall was open, and quite a few shops. It seemed, in truth, a lively sort of place. The coachman brought them to the inn, and Darcy donned his hat as he stepped free of Bingley’s conveyance. He could not very well go about bareheaded, after all, holes or not.

Before they could go in, an overwide carriage rolled up the street, pulled by six white horses. The carriage itself was cream, a color which might have been attractive if the white-gray of the horses didn’t make it appear dingy, at least by lantern light. The conveyance also boasted a plethora of carved cartouches, medallions, and other embellishments, all gilded. Even the driver wore cream and gold. Overall, the effect was ostentatious to the point of being vulgar. Darcy shook his head, unable not to stare at the monstrosity as it trundled by.

They entered the inn to find a counter before them, a noisy public room and a hallway to the left, and a staircase to the right. Striding up to the counter, Bingley rang the bell.

A moment later, a man came out of the public room, wiping his hands on his apron. He took up a stance behind the desk and asked, “May I be of assistance, sirs?”

“Do you have an adequate private dining room?” Darcy asked.

“We have three, sir,” the man said with sufficient deference. “None are occupied this evening.”

“We will dine in the finest of the three,” Darcy informed him.

“Certainly, Mr….?”

“Darcy, of Derbyshire, and my companion is Mr. Bingley. We also require two rooms for us and two more for our valets, who will arrive quite late, as well as one for our driver. Again, the finest you have for such purposes. Lastly, we wish to hire a man to ride into Town with a missive. Immediately.”

“Certainly, Mr. Darcy. Will you require paper and ink to be brought to your dining room?”

Darcy gave the man credit for his observation that they carried nothing with them. “Indeed, that would be most welcome.”

“If you will give me a moment, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, I will have your dining room made ready for you.”

“Very well,” Darcy replied.

“Your quarters will be made up while you dine, and I will have a rider ready to make all haste to London. You may give your missive to any member of my staff once it is ready. They will know what to do.” The man, Darcy assumed him to be the proprietor, gestured to the noisy space to their left. “You may wait in the public room if you like.”

“That sounds just the thing,” Bingley said before Darcy could refuse.

With a nod, the proprietor hurried away down the hall.

Bingley pivoted and went in the direction of the public room, his movements quick and decisive enough that Darcy had the keen suspicion his friend knew he did not wish to enter. Darcy followed more slowly to find that Bingley had already claimed a table, doffed his hat, and caught the attention of a serving girl. He waved Darcy over, saying, “Two pints of your finest,” to the girl, then began tugging off his gloves.

The serving girl turned in the direction of Bingley’s wave and spotted Darcy. Her eyebrows went up and she blurted, “Sir, there’s a hole in your hat.”

“I am aware,” Darcy said stiffly, removing the abused article.

“We were set upon by bandits on the roadway,” Bingley said with a shudder. “Quite the experience, I can tell you. They shot my friend’s hat.”

“Oh dear.” The girl’s tone was aggrieved but bright interest lit her eyes. “Was it, then, the Boney Bandits?”

“How should we know?” Darcy said sourly as he sat. “They did not offer their card.”

That earned a nervous giggle from the girl.

“They were called Enaj and Azile,” Bingley told her. “Why Boney Bandits? Because they’re so scrawny?”

She shook her head. “No. On account of them being Frenchmen.”

Twin lines of confusion appeared on Bingley’s brow.

“Like Napolean Bonaparte…Boney?” the serving girl clarified, her expression clearly revealing what she thought of Bingley’s intellect, though Darcy didn’t find the connection obvious either. Raising her voice, she cried to the room at large, “The Boney Bandits had at these two gentlemen.”

That set up a clamor. A rather cheerful sounding one, to Darcy’s ear. His mood grew more sour. “Are they pleased we were robbed?”

“Oh no,” the girl said solemnly. “They’re something of local legends, though, the Boney Bandits. Half the ladies in Meryton are in love with them. Every time the magistrate has new wanted posters put up, they get nicked.”

“Stolen?” Bingley repeated blankly.

“Aye,” the girl replied, that twinkle back in her eyes. “To go up on ladies’ bedchamber walls, or be tacked up on the insides of wardrobe doors, if they be discreet ones. You’ll be quite the sought after guests, I must warn you. Everyone will want to hear the tale. I’ll be back with your ale.”

As she walked away, Bingley shook his head. “This village seems a bit mad, I must admit.”

“I could not agree more,” Darcy replied. “But we are here and will make the best of the evening that we can.” And tomorrow, they would report the incident to the magistrate, although Darcy already had the suspicion that would prove useless, and then depart, never to visit this forsaken backwater again.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Chapter One. In case you’re worried, I have a strong suspicion that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are not actually going to depart Hertfordshire and never return. Instead, something tells me that they will find a reason (or reasons) to spend even more time there.

If you’re looking for Dishonorable Gentlemen, as promised, here is the link again: getbook.at/DishonorableGentlemen

Now for the Free Book!

This isn’t my book, but it’s a wonderful book. However, I’ve filled up today’s post space.  I really should have put out this post yesterday, but I just didn’t get to it, and you certainly shouldn’t miss out on a free book because I was slow. Especially one this good.

So, with no further ado, today through Sunday, MJ. Stratton’s beautiful book, No Less Than Any Other, is free for Autism Awareness Month (a cause near to both my and MJ’s hearts). If you haven’t read it, or if you have read it but in Kindle Unlimited and now want a copy to keep, click over and pick up your copy.

You can find No Less Than Any Other here: getbook.at/NoLessThanAnyOther

Thank you, MJ Stratton, for your generosity.

Have a wonderful rest of your day, everyone!

Summer