The Peculiarity of Mr. Darcy’s Mirror Preview – Available Now on Kindle, KU, and paperback!

Happy Wednesday, everyone! It’s a big day! As most of you know, I’ve been finishing up edits on The Peculiarity of Mr. Darcy’s Mirror, and we’re gearing up for a September 22nd release day. The preorder is live, so just click here to order!

So, let’s talk Mr. Darcy’s Mirror. Yes, at a first glance, it appears a modern, but there will be a large chunk placed in the Regency Period. It’s definitely a non-traditional, non-canon story, but it does have some canon scenes mixed in, but there are changes. I won’t say more for fear of spoiling things.

So, first thing’s first. I know you want to see the cover, so here it is!

BLURB:

Ellie Gardiner has landed her dream job restoring art at the mysterious estate of Pemberley. Once a majestic home in the Derbyshire peaks, the long-abandoned property is in desperate need of help with a crumbling east wing, overgrown gardens, and a house full of possessions belonging to the once wealthy Darcy family. The most bizarre bit, however, is an enormous mirror in the once great ballroom. How does an almost two hundred and fifty-year-old mirror have not one speck of dust nor any sign of age? And why does it not show her reflection? Instead, some unknown lady stares back at her—a lady with a teasing smile wearing an empire waisted dress that one might see in a period drama. Do not even get her started on Fitzwilliam Darcy, the reclusive early 19^th century gentleman whose painting she is restoring. He was the last successful master of Pemberley and also another puzzle to solve. Why would a man of sense and education hide himself away from the world? More importantly, why is she so obsessed with a man who has long since been dead?

After a couple of glasses of wine on a rainy evening, Ellie throws caution to the wind and presses her hand against her reflection, only to wake up in a time and place that is definitely not her own. Who is Elizabeth Bennet, and why does everyone keep calling her that? When she happens upon Fitzwilliam Darcy, the very man from the portrait, he comes to her aid, but what she truly needs is to return to her own time. Will she simply wake up one morning and resume her life at the Pemberley of the future? Must she travel to Fitzwilliam Darcy’s Pemberley and touch the same mirror as the one that transported her here? If she is to attempt the latter, she will need to trust Fitzwilliam with the truth, but if she does, will he even believe such an outlandish story? Blimey, what if she remains stuck in the 19^th century forever?

So, I previewed the first chapter here a while back, but I’m going to go ahead and post the first and second chapters for you to read since it’s gone through editing. Nothing big changed, just a bit of wording. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

29^th September 20__

Like an eager child, Ellie Gardiner pressed her face as close as possible to the window in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the great house as soon as it became visible, stopping short of smashing her cheek against the glass. She’d read of Pemberley, of course. Landscape paintings of the great house online and in museums had fascinated her for as long as she could remember. The manor house was as well known as Chatsworth and had been in the news more than ever lately, but this was her first time seeing the place in person. Was it possible to burst from excitement? If so, she just might. After all, the house had been closed for decades. Instead of being lauded for its grandeur, Pemberley was considered a great mystery since it seemed to have been left in the lush Derwent valley to rot.

Except that now everything would change, and she was going to work there! Her entire body trembled with the idea, never mind that she itched to see the artwork contained within those walls, to make it as beautiful as it had been when it was first painted, to give people the opportunity to view those pieces as the artist had originally intended. She’d been dreaming of a job like this for so long. Talk about a dream come true.

As the taxi approached the stone bridge, the trees cleared, allowing the stately old pile to finally come into view—and what an old pile it was! The limestone exterior was weathered and streaked from pollutants in the air and the rain, and one corner of the house was in shambles, with scaffolding erected around the rubble in the hopes of repairing the damage. If the house had possessed shutters, they’d surely be dangling by a single nail. What an absolute wreck! Reports of its sorry state hadn’t been exaggerated, it seemed.

According to the news, a group of Chinese investors had purchased the estate with the intention of making it a tourist attraction, like one of the National Trust or English Heritage sites. They’d need to put a few million pounds, at least, into the restoration before they could open the place to the public. She couldn’t wait to see how beautiful the house and grounds would be when all was restored to its former glory.

The long, winding drive brought them to a large entrance along the side of the house where the taxi stopped. “Well, here ya are, miss.” The driver heaved himself from his seat and hobbled around to the boot.

Ellie pulled out her rucksack and threw it over her shoulder when she stood, the cool evening air fresh from the high ridges of the adjacent Peak District National Park caressing her skin. A faint hint of smoke tickled her nose. Someone must’ve lit their fireplace, though it wasn’t even October. After she handed the driver the fare, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and rolled it towards the door as it opened.

“I thought I heard someone out here,” said the tall Black man who emerged from the door and stood at the top of the steps. “You must be Ellie?” He had one hand propped on his hip while the other was held up as though he was about to snap his fingers.

“And you must be Oliver.”

“That’s me. Just never call me Olly, and we’ll get along just fine. I know it’s all the rage, especially with Olly Alexander and Olly Murs, not to mention the footballers and rugby players using the name, but I just can’t abide it for myself.” He rushed down and grabbed the handle of her plus-sized suitcase. “Let me help you with that.” Between the two of them, they hauled the bag up the steps and through the doors. “Good Lord! I’ve never seen one so large, and what’d you pack? The kitchen sink?”

Actually, everything she owned was in her bags. The woman who’d hired her said the position was long term, and she’d be living in the house, so what was the point of paying for a fully furnished flat she never used, particularly one in London that was overpriced and the size of a shoebox?

Once they were inside, he let go of her bag and made as if he was dusting off his hands. “Welcome to Pemberley, as it is. The house is in shit shape, but the contractors have been hard at work trying to fix the worst of the problems first. I know you couldn’t miss the gaping hole in the east wing, which looks positively dreadful, but the house is in no danger of collapsing, so don’t fret for a second about that. Just don’t cross the yellow caution tape if you venture into that wing. That’s the worst of the damage, so as long as you steer clear, you’ll be right as rain.” He waved her to follow. “Let’s get you settled in, and you can get started first thing tomorrow. I’m nearly done for the day as it is.”

He minced gracefully through several small and unremarkable rooms until he ushered her through a door where Ellie came to an abrupt halt, gaping as she took several slow and measured steps into the room. Bloody hell!

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

Her eyes traced over every inch of the black and white marble floors, the stonework, the sculptures, and finally, the frescoes that covered the ceiling and the walls around her. The photos didn’t do the enormous hall justice at all. “It looks more like something you’d see in Italy than in a country estate in Derbyshire.”

“Doesn’t it, though? And there are painted ceilings and walls as well as portraits and landscapes all over this house in need of cleaning and restoration, and I’m chuffed to bits to finally have some help. Girl, I’ve been begging for you since I started two months ago!” he drawled as he took her by the biceps and gave her a dramatic shake. “I was beginning to think I’d drop dead of old age while still working on this place.”

“It’s just the two of us then?” She turned in a circle, scanning every inch of the architecture and artwork.

Oliver gave a beleaguered sigh. “Along with a housekeeper, Debbie, who keeps things in shape as best she can and wages a one-woman battle against the dust until everything can be renovated. It’s just the three of us for now. I’ve tried to persuade them to hire my partner Lewis, who specialises in rare books, to catalogue the library, but they’re not concerned with that yet, even though he’s champing at the bit to get in there and see what treasures are hiding away on those shelves. In the meantime, we have a list of rooms we’re to give priority so they can start tours of the house, but the structural work has to be addressed before we tackle the frescoes. If we get a shift of the foundation and something cracks—”

“We’ll be back to restoring a work we already restored. I get it.” She glanced back up at the ceiling. “As far as the order of the rooms, I suppose they can’t keep pouring money into this place without seeing some sort of return.”

“And they’re already setting dates for that. The gardens open in the spring, and they’re pushing to open the house for Christmas of next year. They want to decorate the Great Hall and the dining room for the Christmas holidays and give Chatsworth a run for their money. A little birdy also spilled the tea that the BBC wants to film a period drama here in a couple of months, but no one has confirmed or denied the report. Maybe we’d get more help if they did. Wouldn’t that be fab!” He grabbed the handle of her suitcase and helped her pull it towards the staircase. “Come on. I’m sure you’re knackered from your trip. I don’t want you falling asleep standing up, now, do I?”

“I doubt I’ll do that. More like I need to stretch my legs after the train ride from London. Are we restricted from any part of the house or the grounds? I’d love to go for a ramble around and explore.”

“As I said before, the only parts of the house that are closed are in the east wing because of the damage. As long as you don’t cross the yellow caution tape, you’ll be okay. The gardeners ask that everyone stick to the pathways unless we’re heading into the forest. There’s a footpath up to the old folly on the hill, and I’ve heard there are several more paths that extend from there, but I’m not much for nature. The minute bugs or mud are involved, I’m out.”

Ellie checked out her surroundings while she followed him down a long corridor. This place was a maze! What was she going to do when she had to figure her way around all on her own?

“We’re in what used to be the family wing, the part of the house that’s still liveable and where the fireplaces and radiators have been cleaned and repaired.”

“So we don’t freeze at night.”

“It’s draughty, as most of these old homes are, but you should be comfortable enough.” He opened the next door along the hallway and held out a hand. “This is yours.”

She lifted her eyebrows. The room was bigger than the tiny studio flat she’d had in Lambeth. “They don’t care if we use the furniture?” That four-poster bed surely dated back to the 18^th century and the bed curtains tied back at each corner had to be a hundred years old.

“Don’t ask me. I was told to give you the room next to mine, which is the old mistress’s chambers. This room was the master’s, and as far as I’m aware, there hasn’t been a master since the 1930s when the house was sold upon the last Darcy’s death to a man who’d made his fortune in diamonds. When he died, his son inherited, but between the death taxes and his spending habits, he lost the house to the bank before he passed on, although as I understand it, he lived in London and never set foot in here. Even before the foreclosure, it was rotting away empty.”

“I understand they had a difficult time finding a buyer.”

“True, though some of the artwork could’ve been sold to recoup their money. Wait until you see the Canova sculptures.”

“Canovas? As in multiple? There was nothing about that online.”

“I don’t think anyone knew they were here until I found them a few weeks ago. They were packed away in a storeroom downstairs. I was sceptical crates that large were used for household items, so I opened one or two. When I saw what was inside, I had some of the workers help me shift the rest so I could open them all. I’m guessing they’ve been hidden down there since World War II. They’ll require a cleaning, but I haven’t noticed any damage.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “These houses were often used by the government. I suppose the household staff moved them to protect them.”

“And to free up space for whatever they needed. One of the locals said the house was used as a hospital.” He sighed and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anyway, when we heard you were coming, Debbie ran out and bought some new bed linens and such, or you’d have been sleeping on a bare mattress.”

“Is she here?” A woman poked her head through the door with a large grin before she entered the room and held out her hand. “You must be Ellie. I’m Debbie Fortin, the housekeeper.”

“Then shouldn’t you be Mrs. Fortin?” asked Ellie with a raised eyebrow.

Debbie waved her hand dismissively. “Only if you want me to look around for my mother-in-law, so please, call me Debbie. Has Oliver shown you around yet?” She opened the door closest to them. “This is the old sitting room for the master and mistress.”

“I brought a telly so we have something to do with our free time.” Oliver opened another door. “And this is your ensuite.”

“You have a couple of towels on the shelf if you didn’t bring any,” said Debbie.

She poked her head inside and gave the sizeable room a glance. A door led from the ensuite into a large walk-in closet. “When were the dressing rooms updated?”

The housekeeper shrugged. “I believe one of the architects said these were first updated in the late 19^th century. I’d wager they were renovated again before or after one of the world wars since people were still using the house.”

Ellie shook her head. “Can you imagine deserting a place like this?”

With a chuckle, Oliver patted her on the shoulder. “If I had to pay the taxes, then yes, love, I can.”

A few steps carried her over to the bed, and she ran her hand along the grey floral duvet, a stark contrast to the heavy gold draperies that hung from the ornate canopy on the ceiling and covered the windows.

Debbie stood in an almost prim manner with her hands clasped in front of her. “Waitrose and Sainsbury’s are the closest and will deliver, as does the pub down the road and the curry house. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen until you can make your own order. Oliver and I usually plan meals in the evenings and on the weekend that we cook and eat together. Otherwise, we don’t stand on ceremony.” She peeked out the window through the heavy draperies. “I’ll leave you to get settled in and explore. I don’t know that I’d venture too far from the house if you decide to head into the gardens. It looks like it’s going to rain any minute now.”

“Thanks. I can’t wait to get started.”

“You have my mobile number,” said Oliver, holding up his phone. “Ring me if you get lost.”

“I’ll do that.”

Once the door closed, Ellie bit her bottom lip then covered her mouth with her hands, bouncing in place. She finally had a job—a paying job, not an internship, apprenticeship, or volunteer position. Sure, she’d taken those roles for more experience, but this was different. Everything she’d worked and studied toward was finally happening. She danced in place and stifled a squeal.

“Calm down, Ellie. You don’t want to appear overeager.” She opened the drapery to the window, coughing at the dust shower that followed. “I guess you can’t get all of the dust out of something this old.” She frowned at the scene outside. “Of course, the weather would be absolutely dreadful by now.” The shower wasn’t anything heavy, but with the dreary skies and cool temperatures, it was enough to keep her from exploring the gardens.

Once her suitcase was shoved into a corner and her rucksack set beside it, she opened the drawers on the dresser and the bedside table. The furniture was as much artwork as the paintings on the walls, and what about any treasures they contained? An old book was tucked under what appeared to be men’s shirts in the bottom of the dresser, so she took the volume out and opened it to somewhere in the middle.

Ellie scrunched her nose and closed it. Ugh! She didn’t want to read about someone dying today. No, she was happier than she could remember being since she was a little girl, and she wouldn’t read something so depressing. Not right now. She had too much to celebrate. Perhaps she’d check it out later.

A sudden chill made her dig her cardie out of her bag and pull it on. An electrical socket caught her eye so she plugged in her laptop. Hopefully, the wiring wasn’t so ancient it’d blow up her only belonging of any value.

As soon as that was settled, she poked her head through the door, then crept down the first staircase she found. At the bottom, she peeked into what appeared to be a storage cupboard. The next door brought her into another corridor, decorated with rich, albeit tattered fabrics on the walls and an occasional chair or dark wood table. She’d obviously passed from the servants’ passages to the hallway used by the family and guests.

When she opened the next door, a huge ballroom lay before her. “Stunning,” she whispered. She stepped inside, staring at the gilded ceiling, the chandeliers, and the richly covered walls as she crept into the middle of the room. With a girlish giggle, she curtseyed as the actresses did in those period dramas. She was unfamiliar with the dances yet still turned and twirled until her reflection caught her eye. What the hell? Was she hallucinating?

There she was, reflected in an immense mirror on the wall, only she wasn’t wearing her checkerboard Vans and green cardie. Instead, she appeared as though she wore one of those Regency period gowns—the ones with the empire waists and long skirts, and rather than her usual ginger bob, dark mahogany curls were pinned atop of her head. The face was also not hers and wore a teasing grin, though the green eyes were eerily similar to Ellie’s own.

She glanced down at what she was wearing: an emerald cardigan, jeans, and her black and white shoes. Her eyes shifted back to her reflection while she ran her hand down the front. The soft wool and cotton of her t-shirt rubbed against her palm, when in the mirror, she touched the flesh of her chest and the muslin of her gown. Her arms and the back of her neck prickled and her breathing quickened. What was this? Was she losing her mind?

With a shake of her head, she turned her back on the mirror. She was obviously more tired than she’d thought, or maybe she was coming down with something. No, she couldn’t become ill! The last thing she wanted on the first day of a new job was to feel poorly.

Where was the kitchen? Perhaps if she fixed a cuppa and a sandwich then headed off to Bedfordshire, she’d be ready to go in the morning. Yes, a good night’s sleep was exactly what she needed.

Click here to read on KU or purchase on Kindle  or paperback

Okay!  I’ll be back on my blog on Monday with some fun content related to the release. I posted a little on three of the artists mentioned in Mr. Darcy’s Mirror last week. Check that post out here. I’ll be back here next Wednesday with Chapter 3! Don’t miss it!

In the meantime, I’m putting together a mailing list so you get my latest news straight to your inbox. If you haven’t signed up, you’ll get a free short story called The Stagecoach for joining.

Alrighty!!! I’d love to hear what you think!!!!