The Measure of Honor Launch and Giveaway

The last of The Triplets is going live by tomorrow! If you preordered The Measure of Honor, start watching your device, because it’s landing soon!

This series has been so much fun for me. That should tell you something about me… Torturing Darcy appears to be my idea of “fun”. You should feel sorry for my husband right now. 😆

Seriously, it has been amazing to return to the angstier type of stories. Each of these stories shares the theme of Darcy being forced to overcome something that changes his life–he thinks, for the worse–but also happens to bring Elizabeth Bennet into that small circle of people who are indispensable to him.

In The Measure of Honor, Darcy has a younger brother, Captain Harold Darcy, who is killed in the very first chapter. And you know Darcy–he feels it’s his fault. Determined to try to do right by his brother’s memory, Darcy makes an accidental discovery as he finalizes his brother’s affairs. There’s a girl whose reputation was ruined, and it’s Harry’s fault.

Enter Elizabeth Bennet, and let the battle of wills commence! But it’s not just the misconceptions and misunderstandings that plague Darcy and Elizabeth’s unwanted marriage. Harry took some secrets to his grave–scandalous secrets that have the power to ruin the Darcy name. Can Darcy and Elizabeth learn to live with each other well enough to uncover the truth? Or will Darcy’s guilt over his brother’s death ruin their chances of happiness?

Here’s a preview for your reading enjoyment! And stick around for the end, because there’s a giveaway!

The Measure of Honor
Excerpt from Chapter Four

Darcy could not bring himself to look at her. The sound of Elizabeth Bennet choking back sobs, fighting for composure, was unbearable. Whether her tears came from the heartbreak of losing Harry or from the desperate realisation of her circumstances, Darcy could not know. But the devastation was unmistakable. She was utterly destroyed by the news—whatever her feelings for his brother had been.

Darcy paced to the window, his fingers tugging at his cravat as though he were suffocating. He was too warm, too cold—his body unsteady beneath the crushing guilt. How was he to face her? How was he to tell her how it happened? That it was his fault? She had demanded the truth, and he could not deny her, though each word felt like a stone lodged in his throat.

She spoke again, her voice tight and ragged. “What happened?”

Darcy clenched his jaw, staring out at the empty street beyond the window, the autumn light too sharp against the glass. He drew in a breath, but it was shallow, trembling. He had relived the moment so many times already, each time tearing at his mind as if it were happening all over again. How could he put this into words for her?

Slowly, haltingly, he turned back to her. She was watching him, her eyes red and swollen, the torment etched in every line of her face. She deserved the truth, no matter how it broke her further.

“It was… it was an accident,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “We were at Pemberley, preparing for a ride. It was supposed to be nothing more than a leisurely morning.” He stopped, his mouth dry, but forced himself to continue. “There was a new horse, one of the stable hands… a boy, inexperienced… was struggling with it. The stallion was nervous, high-strung.”

He saw her flinch, but he had to keep going. He owed her that much. “I tried to calm the horse, but—” Darcy’s voice caught, his throat tightening. He swallowed, hard. “The horse bolted. It charged, straight toward him. I shouted to Harry, I—I tried to warn him. But it was too late.”

Elizabeth Bennet’s hands clutched the arm of the chair, her knuckles white, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

Darcy’s voice faltered, and he looked down, staring at his boots, his fists clenching at his sides. “He… he tried to move aside, but his horse was startled. It reared. He lost his balance and was thrown.”

The silence between them grew heavier, more suffocating. Darcy could barely hear his own thoughts over the sound of Elizabeth’s broken breathing. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue.

“Harry… hit the ground,” Darcy said, his voice strained. “His head struck a stone. I— I ran to him, but…” He looked up at her then, forcing himself to meet her gaze, though the anguish in her eyes was nearly unbearable. “There was nothing I could do. He was—he was gone.”

She shook her head, her body trembling violently. She was mouthing the word no, over and over, as if she could reject the truth he had just given her, as if she could will it away. Darcy’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he watched her. Nothing he could say would offer her any comfort.

“I tried…” His voice cracked, and he had to pause, struggling to regain control. “I tried to save him, but… it was over in an instant.”

Elizabeth’s sobs tore through the silence once more, and Darcy felt as though he were drowning in her grief, in the terrible reality he had delivered to her. His brother was gone, and now so was any hope of peace for the woman sitting before him.

There was nothing left to say.

Darcy stood for a long moment in the oppressive silence, his thoughts tangled in a whirlwind of grief, guilt, and something he could not quite name. His gaze drifted to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She wasn’t… unpleasant to look at. Not at all. Harry had always favoured brunettes, and though Darcy had never openly admitted it—even to himself—he had found the same appeal in women with dark curls, women with a certain fire in their eyes.

But Darcy had always held himself to different standards, ones that dictated he would marry for station and fortune, not for some fleeting attraction. Looks were irrelevant to him, especially now. This had nothing to do with beauty or desire. It was about necessity. Harry had left this woman in an impossible position, and Darcy, in turn, felt the crushing weight of responsibility for his brother’s mistakes. He would make it right because Harry no longer could.

With a heavy breath, Darcy finally turned to her. “Miss Bennet,” he began, his voice even but detached, “you are… distressed.”

Her eyes, red and swollen, widened in incredulity. “Distressed?” she echoed, her voice sharp with disbelief. “You must be the coldest, most unfeeling man alive, to put it so lightly! Of course, I am distressed!” She took a breath that trembled on the edge of fury. “I am broken by the death of the man I meant to marry!”

Darcy flinched inwardly but held his composure. She was right, of course. But he could not allow himself to be moved by her emotion. He was here to face the consequences of Harry’s actions, not to unravel himself in the face of her grief. “You were rather… attached to him, then,” he said, his voice softer now, hesitant.

She closed her eyes, her hands trembling as she tried to gather herself. “Yes,” she said, her voice faltering, her words nearly lost in the sobs she tried so desperately to hold back. “Yes, I was terribly fond of him… but…”
Her hesitation, the way her voice caught, sent a cold dread through Darcy’s veins. He took a step closer, his gaze narrowing as he tried to read the emotions flickering across her face. “There is more, is there not?”

Her expression shifted, her face paling as though she had been struck. She broke away from him, turning toward the fireplace, her shoulders shaking as she paced away. Darcy watched, his chest tightening as she stood by the mantel, staring down at the hearth with her back to him. Her frame trembled from head to foot, and he could see the effort it took for her to hold herself together, to remain standing.

Then, in a small voice, barely above a whisper, she spoke. “You know?”

The words sent a deep, sinking feeling through him. Darcy closed his eyes briefly, his heart crashing in on itself. So, it was true. The letter—the horrible accusations—were not some madman’s rant. His stomach churned with the knowledge that his worst fears had been confirmed. She had been left ruined, and Harry—his brother—was responsible.

“I do,” he answered, his voice strained, barely audible.

She turned to face him then, her eyes still brimming with tears, but there was something else in her expression now—a spark of strength that he hadn’t expected. Despite the tremor in her body, she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin as though she could still summon some remnant of pride. “So what now?” she asked, her voice steady despite everything.

Darcy’s throat nearly closed up as he looked at her. It was all more than he could stomach—Harry’s death, this woman’s ruined future, his own overwhelming guilt. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could find some escape, some answer that would make this easier. But there was none. There was only one course left to him.

He turned away from her, his gaze falling to the floor. “I think,” he began slowly, the words heavy in his throat, “that we need to speak with your uncle, Mr Gardiner.”

Okay, are you ready for the giveaway? This is a cool one. I’m offering two box sets for the entire Measure of a Man series! It’s not even for sale  yet, and it won’t be available anywhere until the end of the year. This is the ONLY way to get this box set! I’ll be picking the winners at random from the comments section, and more comments mean more chances to win. Oh! And just a hint: if you share this post and paste the link below in the comments, that counts, too!

The Measure of Honor goes live tomorrow morning, so grab your copy!