Throw Back Thursday

As we dash about, caught in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, we can rarely tell which ones of the little, seemingly inconsequential moments will stay with us forever and steer us along the way.

When I first opened my mother’s tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice, with several pages almost detached from the spine, I had no idea that it would become and remain my favourite book of all time. Years later, as I sat to watch a new adaptation, I didn’t imagine I was seconds away from switching allegiances. There was a time when I used to think that Elizabeth Garvie and David Rintoul could never be bested. In a few jaw-dropping moments, I found out just how wrong I was.

Like so many of us, I was 100% hooked and eager for more. There had to be more! And, luckily, there was. Thank goodness for the internet and the dedicated sites and all the authors who posted their stories online and fed my growing addiction to all things Pride and Prejudice! Thank goodness for the friends I made along the way as I discovered there were lots and lots of people who shared this fascination; for the National Trust houses where I could find glimpses of Mr and Mrs Darcy’s way of life; for the second-hand bookshops I plundered to find out how fast they travelled, what they ate and what they did for fun. And thank goodness for the advent of indie publishing – a dream-come-true!

Huge thanks to all the JAFF authors who keep the dream alive, and huge thanks to all my readers! I’m over the moon that you read my books and enjoyed them, and I can’t thank you enough for your amazing support in this great adventure!

From This Day Forward

Six years ago this April, after more than a decade of lurking and daydreaming, I published my first JAFF novel, From This Day Forward ~ The Darcys of Pemberley. My husband found the cover art: a small watercolour of a lily pond surrounded by shrubs and ornamental trees. The artist’s name was not specified, but the initials written in black ink in a cursive script were ‘E. B.’ And they gave me goose-pimples, even if Elizabeth told Lady Catherine she had not learned to draw.

I think that’s one of the reasons I keep reading and writing about Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy: they feel real. They feel like real people who might learn to draw at some point, if fancy takes them. Real people who meet and fall in love (eventually) and make a life together.

And then there’s the magic of knowing it’s a done deal: they will end up together no matter what, and however long it takes.

Because spring has sprung, how would you like to tail our favourite couple on one of their country walks? It’s a sunny day (yes, it does happen, even in Kent 😉), there are bluebells everywhere, the birds are twittering and there’s a certain something in the air that feels a lot like courtship:

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The Darcy Legacy

Excerpt

The temporary freedom from Lady Catherine’s scrutiny, and even her father’s, put a spring in Elizabeth’s step as she and Darcy wandered together into the coppice carpeted with bluebells. She could not forbear a warm smile when she saw him bending down to gather another small bouquet. Yet when he offered it, the warmth was predictably seasoned with a touch of archness:

“I thank you. Although we do have it on the very best authority that they will not last.”

He shrugged. “Then I shall have to present you with others.”

“Real or sketched?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

He mirrored it as he replied, “Just as the circumstance requires.”

“You are most attentive.”

“‘Tis kind of you to say so. I will make it my business to continue in that vein.”

She raised the small offering to inhale its faint but refreshing scent, and could not quite resist the impulse to tease him:

“You will forgive me if I am still unaccustomed to open gallantry from you.”

“Of course,” Mr Darcy said in a matching tone. “In fact, it has recently occurred to me that you might find it helpful if I were to devise a schedule.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. “A schedule, sir?”

“Indeed – for a gradual progression from feigning complete disinterest in your person and employment, to straying no further than ten steps away and hanging on your every word. I have already grasped that leaping directly to the latter might be disconcerting, so I have undertaken to apply myself with some diligence of purpose to mapping out the stages.”

“Have you?” she said, surprised but no less delighted by his jocular manner. “And what is your success?”

“I thought I might begin by arranging such little compliments as might be adapted to ordinary occasions, along the lines of Mr Collins’ attempts at flattering with delicacy.”

This time she laughed wholeheartedly. “Mercy, no, not Mr Collins’ brand of courtship. I daresay you can do a little better.”

“My thanks for your vote of confidence,” he replied, laughter in his eyes and a twitch in his lips.

Elizabeth’s glance effortlessly took the same playful gleam when she prompted, “And then, what would the next stage be?”

Photo: J Starnes

“I might offer my company on a walk to gather wildflowers if the opportunity arises to do so with impunity, however long they are expected to last in a vase. I might even show some skill at making daisy-chains. I had a fair amount of practice when Georgiana was younger. Although I would probably draw the line at wearing them for your amusement.”

“That is very reassuring, Mr Darcy. It would be far too great a shock to see you turning into love’s fool.”

“Would it?” he replied, a new timbre to his voice that sent a strange quiver rippling through her senses. She dismissed it as unaccountable and foolish, and ascribed it solely to the feel of his fingertips brushing over the back of her hand, before he captured it in his and brought it to his lips. The quiver returned, not to be dismissed this time, when he whispered, his breath a warm caress over her skin, “I was rather hoping you might grow accustomed to that notion, as you are likely to see repeated evidence of it as time goes by.”

Her colour deepening by a shade or two, she withdrew her hand. Mr Darcy made no protest, but raised his to the ringlets at her temple. He twirled one around his finger, which might have accounted for the third and equally foolish quiver when he added softly, “As I was hoping you might grow accustomed to calling me Fitzwilliam.”

She drew away from the barely perceptible but deeply affecting caress, and gave a little shaky laugh as she resorted yet again to archness.

“Oh, goodness, no, that will not do. What if I were to become careless and address you thus in your aunt’s presence?”

He gave a faint shrug, clearly unperturbed by her defensive teasing. “No matter. We could easily persuade her you were speaking to my cousin.”

“And if he were not there?”

“Of him, then,” he said, once more reaching for her hand.

This time she did not withdraw it. But neither did she stray from the comfortable realm of playfulness.

“I must confess this has puzzled me for some time – his name and yours.”

“I imagine it would be a most improper show of vanity if I were to declare myself gratified that you should puzzle over my name,” he remarked, his eyes dancing, “so I will only say it was my parents’ wish that I should bear my mother’s maiden name.”

“A family tradition?”

“No. Just their wish.”

“That is a relief. I would have found it very strange indeed if our firstborn were to be christened Bennet,” she spoke without thinking, only to see the new and rather pleasing hint of mischief vanishing from her companion’s eyes, to be replaced with the warmest look of unadulterated tenderness. She blinked, shocked at how much it changed him, and no less at the sudden thrill that coursed through her without warning at finding herself enveloped into a gaze such as that. “What is it?” she asked, still unthinkingly, and inwardly chided herself for how ludicrously breathless she sounded.

His first response was a little smile. His second was to raise her hand again, but this time the kiss was not a light brush of his lips over the back of her fingers, but a soft and lingering caress on the skin of her palm. Soft lips, eliciting the strangest of sensations that made her fingertips twitch against his cheek. He sighed – nay, drew a deep breath – and whispered, “You think of such things? Thank you.”

“For?”

“Not dismissing the matter out of hand. Not dismissing me.”

Elizabeth chuckled ruefully. “You are making it very difficult indeed for me to dismiss you.”

“How so?”

She shrugged as she gave a little conscious laugh and a flourish of her other hand. “You have an uncanny ability to fluster me, as you well know.”

Still warmed by tenderness, his eyes widened with such stark surprise that she could not but regard it as genuine.

“Oh? I assure you, this is news to me,” he said, unmistakable delight in his low and pleasantly rumbling tones. “Exceedingly welcome news, I would call it if I dared say something quite so ungentlemanly, but news nevertheless.” He did not press his lips into her palm again, but brought their hands down, hers still ensconced in his. His gaze did not veer from hers either, not for a long time, until at last he smilingly remarked, “In that case, I expect it would be unfair to use that information to my advantage and ask if I might kiss you.”

Another rueful chuckle left her lips.

“What amuses you?” Mr Darcy wished to know.

“Only that you would give yourself the trouble to ask, this time round.”

“Ah, but I try to learn from my mistakes, you see.”

(© 2018 by Joana Starnes)

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Photo: BBC

I think that’s another thing that keeps me hooked to the genre: it’s great to see Mr Darcy learning from his mistakes. Not just him, but Elizabeth too. And if this involves a teensy-weensy bit of trouble along the way (or a lot of it), then so much the better. But of this, thereafter, as Mr Collins would say. Bye for now, and thanks for reading!