How are you settling into February so far? Wait, it’s almost over? Goodness, how did that happen so fast???

I’m back with Chapter Two of The Measure of Love. I’ve been sharing about it in my newsletter, but not as much here. I’ll start catching up! (Read Chapter One Here.)

When I first posted this book, I had a ridiculous publication date set. So ridiculous that some of you probably thought I never meant to actually write it! I assure you, I did write it, and it’s almost in your hot little kindle. The book is set to launch on March 12, so get your hankies ready, and maybe get a backup e-reader in case you throw yours.

Don’t throw yours.

Yes, there is a bit of angst, and it’s the swoony kind–impossible love. Our couple falls hard and fast for each other, but life… well, you’ll see.

One thing to know is that this book IS a standalone. I’ve had that question a couple of times, because there are already two other books planned as companions in the Measure of a Man Collection. I’ll be posting about the second one, The Measure of Trust in April as that story starts to take shape, but I’ll give you a bit of a teaser… Everyone thinks Wickham is awesome. Except, Darcy, of course, who finds himself universally reviled as a result. Ugh. The nerve of that creepy Wickham!

But for now, let’s stick to the story that’s almost ready for you. Without further ado, here’s a preview of Chapter Two of The Measure of Love!

Two

Fire lanced through Darcy’s body, dragging him cruelly back to wakefulness. He suppressed a pained groan as the ornate ceiling of his London townhome swam into focus over him. Panicked memories filtered back—Wickham’s sneering face… a desperate struggle… plunging down the stairs… then sickening blackness.

Low voices filtered through, muffled by the pounding ache in Darcy’s skull. He struggled to focus on the hushed exchange between a grim-faced stranger and his cousin Richard hovering behind.

“…spinal damage may be catastrophic… too early to determine full severity…”

Anxiety prickled sharply as Darcy stirred.

“What… what has happened?” He rasped weakly.

The colonel grasped Darcy’s hand. “Thank God you’re awake. Lie still—there, breathe easily.”

Darcy’s throat went dry as he struggled to order swirling memories. Why could he not will his legs to move?

Sensing Darcy’s rising panic, the doctor leaned over him. “We have kept you sedated for two days. You suffered spinal damage in the fall, Mr. Darcy.”

“Why can I not feel my legs?” he barked.

The doctor traded a significant glance with Richard. Darcy stared at his cousin, but Richard shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand. Then he turned away, leaving the doctor to answer.

“There has been a great deal of damage, Mr. Darcy. We… we cannot yet determine if… if you shall walk again.”

“Cannot determine?” Darcy erupted hoarsely. “Blast it, when can I move my legs? I’ve matters to attend. Are you a doctor or not?”

The doctor held up a placating hand. “Please try to calm yourself, Mr. Darcy. It is still very early. The swelling may yet—”

“Calm myself and wait helplessly abed? When will you be able to answer me?” Darcy thundered.

“Now, surely, Mr. Darcy, you must know that these things take time.”

“My back cannot be broken. It cannot be! I can…” He grunted, trying to sit up, but was only able to crunch his stomach muscles, and that, not without pain.

“I cannot say for sure, Mr. Darcy, but I am not entirely without hope for—”

He tried forcing himself upright, face purpling, but found his chest fettered and bound against such efforts. “I’ll have no platitudes or false hope! Summon more doctors, if you must, until one gives me honesty!”

“See here, Darcy, be reasonable!” Richard grasped his shoulders as Darcy struggled. “Dr. James is already the third physician we have brought in.”

“And what did the others say?”

Richard dropped his eyes.

“Blast and damn you. They inspect me while I am knocked unconscious with laudanum and are shocked when I do not respond? Find one who can repair my legs!”

Richard clasped the hand Darcy was waving around and anchored it to the bed. “Now see here, raving like a lunatic will not aid your recovery.”

Chest heaving, Darcy’s head collapsed against the pillows as his wrecked body betrayed his swirling, impotent fury. As enraged denial slowly spiraled into panic, the doctor tried urging more laudanum on him to dull the pain.

“Pain, what pain? That is precisely the problem, is it not? I cannot feel anything!”

“Sir, your head… the shock of it all—”

Darcy swept out a quaking hand, sending the glass vial flying. “Get out!”

The doctor sighed regretfully. “As you wish But I must insist you take the draught for your recovery if you refuse to rest.”

He hesitated before withdrawing, but Darcy speared him with a molten glare. “I said get out. Now!”

Only when they were alone did Colonel Fitzwilliam cautiously approach the bedside chair. “The doctor only means to help ease your torment, Darcy.”

Darcy turned his face away, shame burning his cheeks at this helpless, invalid state laid bare even to his cousin. As panic’s cold talons sank deeper, his breath came in ragged gasps. “Richard… you must help me. I cannot bear this! I cannot be… Tell that doctor he is a fool. I shall walk!”

He grasped Richard’s sleeve with fervent desperation, all traces of his customary stoic strength vanished. “Help me… in God’s name, find someone who can make me whole again!”

Pity shone brightly in the Colonel’s eyes as he grasped Darcy’s trembling hand. “Here, now… peace. You must rest and gather your strength.”

He gently pressed the discarded vial of laudanum back into Darcy’s palm, closing his fingers over it. Darcy eyed him with a scalding glare, then sloshed the bitter liquid down his throat.

“Let this draught soothe your mind so your body may heal. I will do everything under heaven, cousin. And one or two things under hell, if I must.”

***

“PERHAPS TODAY WILL FINALLY bring word from Lydia,” Elizabeth mused as her slippers whispered through the quiet garden. Dapples of afternoon sunlight shifted over the path where she walked arm in arm with Jane, both their faces etched with worry.

“Or Uncle’s investigator will have new information after pounding London’s streets another day,” Jane murmured back. “I know the chances seem slimmer each day, but we must keep faith.”

Elizabeth sighed uneasily, eyes following a butterfly flitting among the roses. “I cannot bear imagining where that thoughtless girl is now. You do not suppose that Mr. Wickham might have abandoned her, do you? Anything might have… wait, do you hear hoofbeats?”

Both sisters turned sharply as the unmistakable thunder of a galloping horse echoed from beyond the garden hedge. Exchanging an anxious glance, they gathered their skirts and hastened through the rustic gate onto the lawn. An unfamiliar rider drew rein just before them, his horse lathered and heaving breathlessly.

“Excuse me, ladies!” The rider pulled off his cap, wiping sweat from his brow with a grubby handkerchief “I’ve an express letter for a Mr. Bennet!”

Hope and foreboding warred in Elizabeth’s breast as she turned to the house. “I shall fetch him at once!”

Jane led the rider round while Elizabeth rushed inside, gathering her startled sisters. Soon, Mr. Bennet stood scanning the mysterious letter, brow furrowed. His daughters crowded anxiously behind him, breaths bated for whatever revelation lay inside.

The rider touched his cap. “I’ll be off then, sir.”

Mr. Bennet looked up bemusedly from the unfolded pages. “Oh yes… of course, your payment.”

“Already rendered, sir.” With that, the rider wheeled his mount, galloping down the drive as Mr. Bennet’s outstretched payment faltered.

“Well, Papa? Oh, what does it say?” Elizabeth pressed tremulously.

Mr. Bennet turned the pages over once more before his shoulders slumped. “Thank God.” He exhaled something unintelligible, then refolded the letter and handed it to Elizabeth, and went inside without another word.

Kitty craned her neck to see while Mary strained impatiently beside her. Jane nodded, and, hands trembling, Elizabeth unfolded the missive. She drew a sharp breath as her eyes scanned the first lines.

“It… it says here that Lydia is safe.” She clutched Jane’s hand, joyful tears pricking both sisters’ eyes at this first glimmer of hope.

Elizabeth read on haltingly, “The letter writer, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, says he… no, his cousin… how very strange, they almost share a name. He discovered her still in the company of… of Mr. Wickham.” Shocked gasps met this revelation. Kitty’s hands flew to her mouth while Mary pursed her lips disapprovingly.

Collecting herself, Elizabeth continued, “…she is now returning home in this gentleman’s carriage, with a maid sent to keep her company and the colonel riding alongside to act as her escort.”

“Thank the Lord!” breathed Jane

“A colonel!” Kitty pressed her hand to her chest in a near-swoon. “Do you suppose he is handsome?”

Haltingly, Elizabeth finished, “It says here… she is expected on the morrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Kitty trilled. “Oh, but what shall she tell us? Perhaps they were secretly married this whole while!”

Mary cut her off. “Foolish girl! If Colonel Whoever-he-is went through such efforts, likely there is shame yet to be unveiled.” She shook her head ominously. “Mark my words.”

But Elizabeth was too suffused with glad relief to heed Mary’s cynicism just now. She squeezed Jane’s hands, both sisters’ eyes shining with gratitude. Against all hope, their dear, wayward Lydia was returning home.

***

SUNLIGHT FILTERING THROUGH THE window stirred Darcy to wakefulness. For one merciful moment, as the chirping of sparrows filled his ears, he forgot. Then, full memory crashed down with all its bleak despair.

He was still numb below the waist. Even the slight shift of his head ignited fresh waves of agony from the stitches crossing his scalp. Darcy explored them with tentative fingers, then hesitantly slid a hand under the blankets. He focused every fiber of his being on willing his toes to move, tears pricking fiercely as only lifeless numbness answered.

There was a quiet knock, and then his valet, Giles, entered. “Thank the Lord you are awake at last, sir. Can I fetch you anything?”

“I am not hungry.”

“Of course, sir. I beg your pardon, but I ought to…” Giles cleared his throat and dipped his head toward Darcy’s bed.

Confused, Darcy searched the man’s carefully schooled features. Then, with dawning horror, it struck him. Mortified heat flooded Darcy’s cheeks.

“I… my person… I fear I cannot…” he stammered haltingly, desperation choking his strained voice.

Giles flushed but nodded in understanding. “Of course, sir. Allow me to assist you.”

Mute with shame, Darcy stared blindly out the window as his faithful valet’s gentle hands tended to his most private needs. He was now fully at the mercy of his traitorous body and the kindness of others! Like a helpless babe… or a cripple. Was this to be Darcy’s life now under others’ care?

The ignominy threatened to crush what fleeting dignity remained until Giles finished. Darcy rasped into the laden silence, “Where is Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Giles tidied discarded linens, his gaze averted. “He set out before dawn, sir, escorting the young miss back to her family.”

“Who?” Darcy’s brow furrowed. “What young lady?”

“The girl found with Mr. Wickham. You rescued her, I believe?”

“I… I cannot recall her face,” Darcy admitted after a frustrated pause. His memories of those frenzied moments were but shards of visceral panic and pain.

Giles nodded. “Well, sir, I am happy to see you returned to us, against all odds, by God’s grace. Shall I fetch some tea? A book, perhaps?”

“No! Leave me be.”

Giles thinned his lips and dipped his head. “As you wish, sir.”

Once alone, Darcy indulged in a torrent of frustrated tears. Even victory over Wickham tasted as bitter ashes while he lay imprisoned in useless limbs. And he hardly spared a thought for the nameless damsel now making her happy return to her family under Fitzwilliam’s protective wing.

***

 A NERVOUS KIND OF busyness filled the drawing room where all Bennet sisters waited in tense silence. Though breakfast was long past, each daughter wore her finest dress as if expecting fashionable morning callers. Not that they had been troubled by that sort of business lately. No one was calling, save Charlotte Lucas, and no one was likely to receive them, either.

While the daughters of Longbourn waited in the drawing room, Mrs. Bennet, however, had not yet left her bedchamber, claiming she felt faint and dizzy every time she thought of stirring. She would not feel well again until her dear Lydia was back under her roof, and until then, she would nurse her nerves in the quiet of her room.

Every stray whinny from the barnyard or clatter of wheels from the farm wagon set their hearts pounding anew… until the clock crept past eleven and restlessness replaced fraught anticipation.

“It is very fine of this Colonel What’s-his-name to return Lydia, I grant.” Kitty smoothed her skirts for the dozenth time. “But the least he could do is be punctual about it!”

“Hush now, be grateful if they arrive at all.” Jane laid a calming hand on Elizabeth’s, where she clenched her handkerchief into a tense knot with her skirts. “The roads are still muddy, and surely…”

Jane’s gentle chidings broke off as an unfamiliar carriage swept grandly up the drive, framed by a liveried rider.

“La! So, that is a colonel’s carriage!” exclaimed wide-eyed Kitty. “It is positively enormous!”

“Kitty, the letter said the carriage belonged to the colonel’s cousin, a Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth reminded her. Not that Kitty was listening.

“Why, it has gilded trim and scarlet wool upholstery! Oh look, is that Lydia?”

Elizabeth pressed herself against the glass, wondering what sort of shattered shell remained of her fifteen-year-old sister. Would she be frightened? Ashamed? Repentant? Bruised and misused?

All gazes fixed eagerly as a familiar giggling figure stepped down, assisted by the stone-faced maid. Even at a distance, Lydia looked thrilled, casting admiring glances back at the elegant equipage and saying something to the maid behind her.

Turning back to the house, Lydia paused only to adjust her jaunty bonnet before sailing toward the front door, chin raised as though returning from a grand tour rather than narrowly escaping ruination.

Jane and Elizabeth traded doubting glances. “Well! At least she appears unharmed,” murmured Elizabeth with more optimism than confidence.

Get ready, because it’s coming soon! I can’t wait for you to read this one. As always, I’ll be giving copies away! Two copies for this post, drawing to be held on March 4. Good luck!