Exquisite Excerpt from “The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy”

Posted on March 6, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF MR. DARCY

My last release from Ulysses Press is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-a-Million, as well as eBook formats. THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF MR. DARCY is a cozy mystery set in Dorset, and it is a real thriller. There are witches and resurrectionists and a mass murderer, oh my!!! I hope you enjoy the excerpt below. (FYI, I am currently working on a new Austen-inspired mystery to be released in early summer.)

A thrilling story of murder and betrayal filled with the scandal, wit and intrigue characteristic of Austen’s classic novels

Fitzwilliam Darcy is devastated. The joy of his recent wedding has been cut short by the news of the sudden death of his father’s beloved cousin, Samuel Darcy. Elizabeth and Darcy travel to Dorset, a popular Regency resort area, to pay their respects to the well-traveled and eccentric Samuel. But this is no summer holiday. Danger bubbles beneath Dorset’s peaceful surface as strange and foreboding events begin to occur. Several of Samuel’s ancient treasures go missing, and then his body itself disappears. As Darcy and Elizabeth investigate this mystery and unravel its tangled ties to the haunting legends of Dark Dorset, the legendary couple’s love is put to the test when sinister forces strike close to home. Some secrets should remain secrets, but Darcy will do all he can to find answers—even if it means meeting his own end in the damp depths of a newly dug grave.

With malicious villains, dramatic revelations and heroic gestures, The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy will keep Austen fans turning the pages right up until its dramatic conclusion.

(Excerpt from Chapter 22)

Elizabeth had finally fallen asleep with her head resting on her folded arms on the small escritoire in her chambers. She had removed Samuel Darcy’s journals from the hiding place among her most intimate wear to return to the coded passages. With Darcy searching for Mr. Barriton, it became more vital for her to solve the mystery of his cousin’s words. Steadfastly, she had manipulated the possible dates for Perdita Sanderson’s birthday, for Elizabeth was certain, after learning something of Samuel Darcy’s history with the child’s grandmother, it seemed only natural for Darcy’s cousin to hold a perverted heightened interest in the girl named for Samuel’s great love.

It had taken Elizabeth thirteen attempts before she had come across the correct combination. “14 September 1808,” she had announced to the empty room. “Fitzwilliam shall will be surprised to learn Perdita Sanderson is a year older than my dear husband recalled.”

Diligently, she had translated several related passages. She found with gratitude that Samuel had used the same coded pattern for the entries. In his own words, Darcy’s cousin spoke of contacting a gentleman in a newly minted state in what was once known as the Northwest Territory in America. According to the late Mr. Darcy, Ohio had become a state in 1803. Surprisingly, Samuel spoke of having explored several sections of the land beyond the mountains of Virginia some fifteen years prior, and having made the acquaintance of a Giles O’Grady. The gentleman of Samuel’s acquaintance had passed some ten years prior, but Samuel had maintained his correspondence with Mr. O’Grady’s son, Peter.

Three years prior, the younger O’Grady had contacted Samuel Darcy with news of an invention Peter thought would awaken Samuel’s scientific hunger. Samuel and the younger O’Grady had corresponded regularly, and Darcy’s cousin Samuel had offered financial support for the man’s efforts.

Samuel Darcy had traveled to America twice in the past eight years. The earlier of the journeys had served as a duty call on the O’Grady’s, for Cousin Samuel had held a great affection for the elder. Samuel had written, “Giles O’Grady had saved my life when I foolishly stumbled into a bear trap. Giles nursed me to health over a six-weeks’ period. In gratitude, I had made O’Grady a gift of a loan so Giles could purchase his homestead. A proud one, Giles refused my thanks, but I finally convinced O’Grady to accept my money. I held no doubts of Giles’ success. My friend repaid me every penny.”

Elizabeth enjoyed reading of the O’Grady family, but when Samuel Darcy began to speak of the likelihood of the young O’Grady’s creation exploding if not handled properly, she had ceased her translation and had studied the sketches Samuel had made in the margins. “Fitzwilliam referred to this device as some sort of torpedo.” Elizabeth turned the sketch on its side, and upside down. “I have not the right of it,” she grumbled as she compared one sketch to another. Each drawing displayed more details than the previous one. “I can give no account of what I have read,” Elizabeth said in frustration. “Perhaps Fitzwilliam or the colonel will understand these notations.”

She had left the pages behind to stand and stare out the window. Heavily, she leaned against the frame. Elizabeth’s cheek rested against the cool pane. “Protect him, God,” she whispered to the night sky. She said no more. God would know her sentiments regarding the probability of Darcy’s demise.

There she stood from three to five of the clock, staring out the window, gazing at the road, but seeing nothing. She kept an anxious vigil awaiting Darcy’s return. As dawn’s fingers broke through the blackness, her anxiety increased. “Where is he?” she whispered as she searched the outline of trees and shrubbery on the horizon. Elizabeth reasoned, “If he were injured, Mr. Holbrook would have brought word.” For a brief moment, she felt the satisfaction of Darcy’s continued health, but the dread Elizabeth had forcibly placed aside reared its ugly head. “But if Darcy were dead…” She stared intently at the narrow path leading to the main road, the same road her husband would ride upon his return. Hot tears pricked her eyes, and Elizabeth could not catch her breath. “Would …would they not inform me?” she sobbed. “Would they not permit me to comfort Fitzwilliam in his last hours? His last minutes?”

A figure appeared at the far end of the path, and for the pause of three heartbeats, hope swelled in Elizabeth’s chest. She clung to the sash and watched as the figure moved closer. Her heart lurched. “Not Darcy,” she whispered. The figure belonged to a woman. “Too spry for Mrs. Jacobs,” she reasoned.

Whoever she was, Woodvine was the female’s destination. Elizabeth turned from the window. She quickly gathered Samuel’s journals and shoved them from view between the mattresses of her bed. She would hide them more carefully upon her return. Elizabeth shed the satin robe she had worn over a simple chocolate-brown day dress. She had donned the robe to fight the night’s chill. She had chosen the brown dress for its warmth when she had hoped to accompany Darcy to the field. When her husband had refused, Elizabeth had remained dressed for an impending emergency.

Now, she caught up a heavy wool shawl before rushing toward the servants’ stairs. Elizabeth meant to meet their visitor and learn news of her husband. Surely, a woman would not be on the road at this hour without words of pressing importance.

Elizabeth burst into the kitchen just as the door opened quietly upon the room. Few servants were about at this hour, and other than a scullery maid filling a kettle with water at the well, no one stirred. The familiarity of the visitor’s countenance subtracted from the surprise Elizabeth might have felt otherwise.

“Mrs. Ridgeway?” Elizabeth hissed. “What has brought you to Woodvine at this hour?”

The woman glanced to where the door to Mrs. Holbrook’s small room was propped open with a broom. She stilled, her features, initially, going flat. With a grimace, the housekeeper caught Elizabeth’s arm and tugged her in the direction of an alcove that served as a stillroom. “I came to fetch you, Mrs. Darcy,” she whispered.

“Why all the secrecy?” Elizabeth asked.

“Mr. Stowbridge did not want the others to know what happened in Mr. Rupp’s field.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She let out a long exhale. It was her impatience showing, but Mrs. Ridgeway appeared to ignore Elizabeth’s exigency. “You have word of my husband.” The housekeeper nodded curtly. “Is Mr. Darcy in health?” Elizabeth asked through trembling lips.

Mrs. Ridgeway tugged Elizabeth along a passage to a side entrance. “I cannot say for certain,” she said seriously. “For I have not seen Mr. Darcy personally. Mr. Stowbridge thinks such matters are not in the realm of a lady’s disposition.”

Elizabeth could hear the strained words, a sound of contention between the housekeeper and the woman’s new employer, but she had more pressing concerns. “Speak to me of Mr. Darcy.” She rushed to keep pace with the housekeeper. They had exited Woodvine and had set off across the well-tended lawns.

Mrs. Ridgeway spoke over her shoulder at the trailing Elizabeth. “I possess only the knowledge of second tongue and in what I overheard Mr. Holbrook tell Mr. Stowbridge.”

Elizabeth caught the housekeeper’s arm and dragged the woman to a halt. For a discomfiting moment, neither of them moved. “I understand,” she said with more calm than she possessed, “that Mr. Stowbridge did not confide in you. Yet, if you possess any knowledge of Mr. Darcy, I demand you speak of it immediately.”

Mrs. Ridgeway’s eyes appeared distant, and Elizabeth could not read the woman’s true intentions; yet, she would let nothing stand between herself and her husband. The lady paused for what seemed forever, but was likely only a handful of seconds. Finally, Mrs. Ridgeway said, “If you will accompany me, I shall explain what I have learned. I think it best if we speak while we walk. It will save time, and, as I am certain you will wish to reach Mr. Darcy’s side as soon as possible, we should hurry our steps.”

Elizabeth offered, “Should I have someone saddle horses or bring around a gig?”

Mrs. Ridgeway tutted her disapproval. “By In the time it would take to rouse one of Captain Tregonwell’s men to assist us, and then have the gentleman find us appropriate transportation, you could be reunited with your husband. That is assuming you do not mind a walk across a country lane.”

Elizabeth despised the challenging tone in the woman’s voice, but she hesitated only a moment to glance toward the house before making her decision. “Lead on, Mrs. Ridgeway,” she said with determination.

The housekeeper strode toward the line of trees, and Elizabeth quickened her step to keep abreast of the woman. “This is what I overheard when Mr. Holbrook came to Stowe Hall in the early hours.” Their pace slowed when they reached the rough terrain of the wooded area. “Mr. Samuel’s groom called at the squire’s house at a little past four of the clock. He told Mr. Stowbridge a most astounding tale.”

Elizabeth and the housekeeper climbed a stile and emerged on the other side. Mrs. Ridgeway set a diagonal path across the field. “Mr. Holbrook spoke of discovering a coven celebrating Beltane under the stars where the old monoliths are found. Do you know the field, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth wished the woman would speak of Darcy’s condition, but she understood the housekeeper’s perverseness. Mrs. Ridgeway held all the high cards, and Elizabeth was a mere player. She said encouragingly, “I am familiar with Mr. Rupp’s land.”

The housekeeper continued her tale and the punishing exercise. When they exited the field over a like stile, Elizabeth realized this was a part of the estate with which she was unfamiliar, but she brushed the thought aside as she hiked her skirt to maintain her gait. If Mrs. Ridgeway thought her a pampered lady of the ton, the housekeeper was in for a surprise. Elizabeth was not afraid of a long walk or a steady stride.

“Apparently, Mr. Barriton had taken Mrs. Jacobs prisoner and threatened to kill the woman.”

Elizabeth heard the derision in Mrs. Ridgeway’s voice. She supposed the woman thought Mrs. Jacobs deserved part of her punishment. Elizabeth said cautiously, “Mr. Darcy and Mr. McKye journeyed to Mr. Rupp’s field to stop Mr. Barriton.”

“Well, they certainly managed to accomplish their task,” the housekeeper declared. “One of Mr. Tregonwell’s men shot Mr. Barriton after the man shoved Mrs. Jacobs into the fire the coven had built in Mr. Rupp’s field.”

Elizabeth offered up a silent prayer that it had not been Darcy who had dispatched Mr. Barriton. She thought such an act would lie heavily on her husband’s conscience. “Was Mrs. Jacobs injured badly?”

The housekeeper led Elizabeth deeper into the woods. Elizabeth supposed this was the shortcut to Stowe Hall. She glanced around to learn her bearings.

“According to Mr. Holbrook, he was to seek the services of the junior surgeon Mr. Glover had once trained,” Mrs. Ridgeway shared.

“Mr. Newby,” Elizabeth provided the name.

Mrs. Ridgeway confided. “If Geoffrey Glover trained the man, Mr. Newby will serve this community well. Mr. Glover was a man of science.”

Elizabeth’s patience had worn thin. She had thought to permit Mrs. Ridgeway her moment. In some ways, she supposed she owed the housekeeper that much, for Mrs. Ridgeway’s forced exit from Woodvine had placed the woman in an untenable position. In truth, Elizabeth felt a bit of guilt for having dismissed the woman, but she could no longer tolerate the lack of news of her husband. “Please,” she said as she came to a halt. “I beg of you; speak to me of Mr. Darcy. I cannot bear not knowing.”

The housekeeper came to an abrupt standstill. She turned to Elizabeth, and with a smile of what appeared to be satisfaction, she said, “Mr. Holbrook was to fetch the surgeon to tend your husband. It appears Mr. Darcy fought with the kidnapper. Your husband was stabbed with some sort of ceremonial knife. Mr. Holbrook says Mr. Darcy has lost a significant quantity of blood.”

Elizabeth felt her legs buckle, and she could do little to prevent herself sinking to her knees. Darcy had been seriously injured. While she slept at her small desk, her husband had lain in a field, possibly bleeding to death. “Dear God,” her trembling lips offered in supplication. “Do not take him from me.” She swayed in place as the darkness rushed in.

“Mrs. Darcy,” the housekeeper said brusquely. “We have no time for histrionics. Your reaction is why I have waited to speak of your husband.”

Despite wishing to rock herself for comfort, Elizabeth gave herself a sound mental shake. She bit her lip to prevent the cry of anguish on the tip of her tongue. She looked up into the disapproving countenance of the housekeeper. However, she did not apologize; instead Elizabeth managed to stagger to her feet. “What else should I know?” Elizabeth asked fearfully.

“Mr. Stowbridge sent word of his late return to Stowe Hall. In the message, he indicated the surgeon had seen to your husband and had advised Mr. Darcy to permit Mrs. Rupp to nurse him until a coach could be sent from Woodvine. However, Mr. Darcy insisted on returning to your side.”

Elizabeth thought how like Darcy it was to recognize her concern and, therefore, place himself in danger in order to relieve Elizabeth’s anxiety. “Where is my husband now? At Stowe Hall?”

“They found him on the road after he could not sit his horse. Mr. Newby is treating Mr. Darcy in a small tenants’ cottage while Mr. Holbrook escorts Mrs. Jacobs to Woodvine and returns with a wagon. Tregonwell’s men assist Mr. Stowbridge with the investigation and the prisoners.” The woman turned back to the path, and Elizabeth fell in step beside her. “It was thought that Mr. Darcy would prove a better patient with you in attendance.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a smile shaped Elizabeth’s lips. She could easily imagine aristocratic Darcy barking orders to the young surgeon. That is if he were able, Elizabeth cautioned herself. “Where is this cottage?” she asked in concern.

“One more field to cross,” Mrs. Ridgeway said confidently. “See.” The woman pointed to where a thatched roof could be seen behind an overgrown hedgerow.

Elizabeth quickened her stride. “Why in the world would they have taken shelter in such a deserted area?”

The housekeeper shrugged her shoulders. “It is the way of men to make women’s lives complicated.” The woman looked off in the opposite direction. “If you have no other need of my time, Mrs. Darcy, I will leave you to tending to your husband. I am certain Mr. Darcy has no desire for my presence.”

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and watched as the woman turned her steps toward Stowe Hall. Alone in the early morning hours, she rushed across the field, which now stood in fallow. Her heart pounded in her ears from the speed of their journey and from the all-encompassing fear which surrounded her. Would she be in time? Mr. Holbrook said Mr. Darcy had lost a significant quantity of blood. Men did not normally worry so unless danger existed. Was Mr. Newby skilled enough to stop the bleeding? What of infection? She lifted her skirts higher and quickened her pace. Soon she was running, needing to reach Darcy before it was too late.

Gasping for air, Elizabeth burst into the small cottage, nothing more than a one-room sanctuary from the cold, to discover a profound silence. Nothing moved within. Her chest heaved from her run and from the heart heart-stopping realization that Mrs. Ridgeway had erred somehow. She caught at the stitch of pain in her side. “Where is he? Where is my husband?” she croaked.

An arm caught her across the neck while another hand placed a large damp handkerchief over her mouth and nose. “Dead,” a harsh voice whispered in her ear. ”Mr. Darcy is dead.”

Posted in British history, excerpt, Industry News/Publishing, Jane Austen, Ulysses Press | Tagged cozy mystery, Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Austen, Romantic Suspense, The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy, Ulysses Press | Comments Off

Regency Customs: Using the Social Call to Change a Story Line

Posted on March 5, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

In the 1800s, morning calls or visiting upon a household developed a certain protocol, and those who broke protocol were often shunned. First a calling card was presented to the household’s servant. It was common for those who came to London for the Season to drive about with a footman in tow to present one’s cards to acquaintances. Do you recall Mrs. Jennings doing so in Sense and Sensibility? “The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs. Jennings’s acquaintance to inform them of her being in town.”

One would leave three cards with the servant: one from the lady for the house’s mistress; one from the caller’s husband for the house’s mistress and another for the house’s master. Displaying cards of those who had called was commonplace. It gave one social status to display cards from those of the nobility. In Persuasion, the Elliots took care to display “…the cards of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple and the Hon. Miss Carteret, to be arranged where they might be most visible.”

If one came without a card, he may receive a snub. From her drawing room on the second floor, the house’s mistress could see who called upon her home, and she could make a decision whether to receive the caller or not. In Northanger Abbey, Catherine Morland calls on Miss Tilney and is sent packing. “She reached the house without any impediment, looked at the number and inquired for Miss Tilney. The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not quite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name? She gave her card. In a few minutes, the servant returned, and with a look which did not quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken, for she was walked out.”

Gentlemen did make calls, but they did not receive them from ladies. It would be a major breech in etiquette. Conversation remained light during the call, and one did not stay more than a quarter hour. One called between three and four in the afternoon if the house’s mistress was a casual acquaintance: Between four and five for a better acquaintance, and between five and six for a good friend. NO ONE called before one in the afternoon.

Visiting with one’s neighbors and acquaintances was a popular activity for those in the country and in Town. It was a common means to social mobility. To being accepted by those above one’s social status. Visiting is a wonderful plot device in all of Jane Austen’s novels. Remember Austen wrote of what she experienced. So, when in Pride and Prejudice is “visiting” an important plot ploy? Notice how key points in the story skirt around the event of a “visit” or an “invitation.”

How about Mrs Bennet’s disappointment at not having Mr Bingley’s acquaintance? “We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,’ said her mother resentfully. ‘Since we are not to visit.’”

Mr Bennet pleases his wife when he says, “It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”

Miss Bingley asks Jane Bennet for an evening at Netherfield by sending this message. “My Dear Friend: If you are not so compassionate as to dine today with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives; for a whole day’s tete-a-tete between two women can never end without quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam feels “at home” at Hunsford and calls often. “Colonel Fitzwilliam had called at the Parsonage more than once during the time, but Mr Darcy they had only seen at church. The invitations was accepted, of course, and at a proper hour, they joined the part in Lady Catherine’s drawing room.”

Mrs Gardiner writes of Mr. Darcy’s unexpected call at Gracechurch Street. “On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, you uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours.”

Mr Collins glories in his invitation from Lady Catherine De Bourgh. “Mr Collins’s triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, and of letting them see her civility toward himself and his wife was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon, was such an instance of Lady Catherine’s condescension, as he knew not how to admire enough.”

The Bennet sisters learn of the militia’s coming to Meryton. “Their visits to Mrs Phillips were now productive of the most interesting intelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers’ names and connections.”

Darcy brings Georgiana to Lambton to visit with Elizabeth Bennet. “Elizabeth had settled it that Mr Darcy would bring his sister to visit her the very day after her reaching Pemberley, and was, consequently, resolved not to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning. But her conclusion was false; for on the very morning after their arrival at Lambton these visitors came.”

Elizabeth Bennet deflects Miss Binley’s barbs while returning Georgiana’s call. “In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in London.”

Elizabeth arrives at Netherfield to attend the ailing Jane Bennet. “Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her immediately, and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance.”

Mr. Collins invites himself to Longbourn. “If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o’clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday sennight following, which I can do without any inconvenience…”

Jane explains to Elizabeth how Caroline Bingley has snubbed her. “Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the meantime.”

The Bennets and the Lucases hold a post mortem of the Meryton Assembly. “That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary, and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.”

The Gardiners spend Christmastide at Longbourn. “On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came, as usual, to spend the Christmas at Longbourn.”

Lady Catherine encourages Elizabeth to extend her stay at Hunsford. “Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came.”

Lady Catherine barges in on the Longbourn household. “They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction till the door was thrown open and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine De Bourgh.”

Mr. Bennet reluctantly agrees to accept the unrepentant Lydia into his home, but his wife relishes in having a married daughter. “But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister’s feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her husband at Longbourn as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed on to think as they thought and act as they wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing that she should be able to show her married daughter in the neighborhood, before she was banished to the North.”

Bingley returns to Longbourn. “Mr Bingley arrived. Mrs Bennet, through the assistance of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side might be as long as it could. She counted the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent–hopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire she saw him, from her dressing-room window, enter the paddock and ride toward the house.”

Are there other scenes in Pride and Prejudice or any of Austen’s novels that are pivotal moments and are associated with “visits”? I can think of several dozen without much effort. How about you?

Posted in book excerpts, film, Great Britain, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Regency era | Tagged calling cards, Jane Austen, Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, Regency Era, Sense and Sensibility, social calls | 6 Comments

Austen’s Most Infamous “Bad Boy,” George Wickham ~ What Do We Know of Him?

Posted on March 4, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Austen’s favorite bad boy, Mr. George Wickham, is a fan favorite, as well. I thought we might take a closer look at George Wickham’s importance to the Pride and Prejudice’s plot. For a minor character, with few lines and little description, the action of Pride and Prejudice greatly rests upon the scoundrel’s shoulders.

What do we know of George Wickham? There is much in Jane Austen’s introduction of Mr. Wickham.

But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with an officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny, concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger’s air, all wondered who he could be, and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under pretense of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say, had accepted a commission in their corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty — a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation — a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat — a salutation, which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? — It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

Elizabeth Bennet’s observation lays the basis for her believing Mr. Wickham’s lies about Mr. Darcy. What we do not see in this passage is what Mr. Wickham notes during the exchange. Some scholars believe Wickham is a good “reader” of Darcy’s notice of Elizabeth Bennet, and the man sets his sights on Elizabeth as part of his revenge on Darcy. At a minimum, Wickham, as Darcy’s childhood friend, would recognize how Darcy would react to Wickham’s presence. Poor Darcy operates within a strict code of behavior, and Wickham holds no scruples in manipulating his former friend.

Wickham is very much a scoundrel and a cad. He is perceptive. Likely, he has heard of Darcy’s snub of Elizabeth at the Meryton Assembly. It was common knowledge among several families in the neighborhood. Such gossip would provide Wickham with the opportunity to build on the general dislike of Mr. Darcy’s manners by coloring Darcy’s actions. Wickham is looking for a rich wife, and gossip is important to him in that cause. He will use whatever he discovers to his benefit.

Mr. Denny confirms that Wickham has spoken ill of Darcy to the regiment when he says, I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.

One must notice how Wickham’s attacks on Darcy’s reputation increase after the Netherfield Ball. First, Darcy has withdrawn, and Mr. Wickham no longer fears that anyone will “correct” his insinuations. Secondly, it is likely Denny and the other officers have informed Wickham of Darcy’s attentions to Elizabeth at the ball. Because Darcy has danced with no other female from Hertfordshire, he has labeled Elizabeth as someone he admires. Wickham would understand this fact.

Please recall it is Wickham who tells Elizabeth that Darcy will marry his cousin Anne De Bourgh, an assumption of Lady Catherine’s, but never a possibility in Darcy’s mind. Instead of listening to what Mr. Wickham does not say, Elizabeth concentrates on the irony of Miss Bingley’s ill-fated pursuit of Mr. Darcy.

He tells her that he is an expert on Mr. Darcy. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head myself – for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy. Elizabeth’s unexpected obsession with Mr. Darcy leads her to believe Mr. Wickham’s falsehoods. The man later reinforces her prejudices when Austen says, And in his manner of bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of what she was to expect in Lady Catherine De Bourgh, and trusting their opinion of her – their opinion of every body – would always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest which she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere regard. Notice this is right before Darcy and Elizabeth reunite.

After her return from Rosings and Mr. Darcy’s letter, Elizabeth has a better understanding of Mr. Wickham’s character, and she baits him. However, Mr. Wickham is not easily swayed from his goal of destroying Mr. Darcy. “You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right…I only fear that the sort of cautiousness, to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her, has always operated, I know, when they were together, and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss De Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.” Needless to say, Elizabeth has first hand knowledge that Darcy does not intend to marry his cousin Anne. He has proposed to Elizabeth and been refused.

Even after Wickham marries Lydia and returns to Longbourn, he does not abandon his tale. Did you go by the village of Kympton? I mention it because it is the living, which I ought to have had. A most delightful place! Excellent parsonage house! It would have suited me in every respect.

So, I ask dear readers what would Pride and Prejudice be without George Wickham’s manipulations? A bland short story? Mr. Wickham is the impetus behind Elizabeth’s continued blindness regarding Mr. Darcy’s true character; the designer of a carefully constructed “revenge” plan that disrupts the lives of each of the story’s families; a scoundrel and a cad; a master manipulator. George Wickham is the man we love to hate.

Posted in excerpt, Great Britain, Jane Austen, writing | Tagged Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy, George Wickham, Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, villain, writing | 10 Comments

Editing 101

Posted on March 3, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

EDITING 101

Early on in my career, I learned a painfully difficult lesson: an editor will NOT catch all my errors. Having been trained in journalism, I was accustomed to the concept of editors cutting out the “deadwood” in a piece, and I made the assumption that those hired in the publishing business had practiced their craft and had earned their positions. I was such a publishing virgin!!! Little did I know that finding an “experienced” editor, especially one well versed in the Regency Period, would be an ongoing issue. I am not here to complain. If anything, I am laughing at my “selective memory.” Life has blessed me, and if I have to be more proactive in the editing process, then so be it. I, too, was once a college graduate, sporting my degree in English and journalism, and seeking a job opening.

What I wish to highlight are some language lapses – those I commit, but try to rectify. What do I mean by “language lapses”? It is a term I have blatantly stolen from my dear friend George Arnold, who is preparing his sixth edition of the Media Writer’s Handbook: A Guide to Common Writing and Editing Problems. Arnold says, “[Language lapses] result from brains idling in neutral, not because writers and broadcasters do not know better.” Notice in the previous paragraph that I boldfaced the words try to. One should use try to, not try and. Likewise, be sure to, not be sure and.

*** A double negative occurs when one says “cannot help but.” Instead, say, “I cannot help thinking Mr. Darcy is too proudful.” Do not say, “I cannot help but think that Mr. Darcy is too proudful.”
*** Remember that “precede” means to go before, while “proceed” means to continue.
*** “Last” should refer to the final week, month, or year, and “past” should be used to refer to the previous week, month, or year. I must say this rule in my head as I write. Unfortunately, I often make this mistake. Sometimes the editor finds it; sometimes she does not.
*** One should use “because” to indicate a cause or a reason. “Wentworth says he cannot return to Kellynch Hall because of his previous relationship with Anne Elliot.” The word “since” refers to time, meaning between then and now. “Since her time at Pemberley, Elizabeth held a better understanding of Mr. Darcy.”
*** “Beside” and “besides” is a sore point in my editing experience. “Beside” means by the side of. “Besides” means in addition to.
*** “Blond” is used as an adjective in all references and as a noun to refer to males. “Blonde” is a noun to refer to females.
*** One item repeatedly irritates me. Often I use a pen to correct it in the books I am reading. I apologize if others find this offensive, but please recall that I spent four decades making this correction on countless papers. Exclusively, use “different from,” rather than “different than.”
*** “A lot” is two words. Never use “alot.”
*** “Altogether” means wholly or entirely, while “all together” means every person or thing in the same place.
*** “Amount” is an indefinite quantity and cannot be counted. “Number” consists of a quantity of people or things that can be counted.
*** “All ready” means everyone or everything prepared or available. “Already” means previously and refers to time.
*** “All right” should be used exclusively. Do not use “alright.”
*** “Farther” refers to distance. “Further” refers to degree or extent.
*** Use “proved” as a verb. “He proved to be a true gentleman.” Use “proven” as an adjective. “Her proven methods…”
*** The proper word for a reminder of the past (a souvenir) is “memento,” not momento.

My list, dear Readers, could go on forever. I make these mistakes also, but as a writer, I must be more diligent. I just finished another round of editing for my latest book in the Realm Series, A Touch of Honor.

My list has grown each day. Do you have pet peeves when it comes to word choices? Leave your comments below.

Posted in editing, Industry News/Publishing, language choices, word play, writing | Tagged editing, journalism | 10 Comments

Saint David, Patron Saint of Wales

Posted on March 1, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Stained glass, Our Lady and Saint Non’s chapel, St Davids, Wales, 1934

Saint David (Welsh: Dewi Sant; c. 500 – c. 589) was a Welsh bishop of Menevia during the 6th century; he was later regarded as a saint and as the patron saint of Wales. David was a native of Wales, and much is known about his life. However, his birth date is still uncertain, as suggestions range from 462 to 512. The Welsh annals place his death 569 years after the birth of Christ, but Phillimore’s dating revised this to 601.

Monasticism
Many of the traditional tales about David are found in the Buchedd Dewi, a hagiography written by Rhygyfarch in the late 11th century. Rhygyfarch claimed it was based on documents found in the cathedral archives. Modern historians are sceptical of some of its claims: one of Rhygyfarch’s aims was to establish some independence for the Welsh church, which had refused the Roman rite until the 8th Century and now sought a metropolitan status equal to that of Canterbury. (This may apply to the supposed pilgrimage to Jerusalem where he was anointed as an archbishop by the patriarch).

St David’s Cathedral,
built in its present form 1181
at St David’s, Pembrokeshire

He became renowned as a teacher and preacher, founding monastic settlements and churches in Wales, Dumnonia, and Brittany. St David’s Cathedral stands on the site of the monastery he founded in the Glyn Rhosyn valley of Pembrokeshire. He rose to a bishopric and presided over two synods against Pelagianism: the first at Brefi around 560 and the second at Caerleon (the “Synod of Victory”) around 569.

His best-known miracle is said to have taken place when he was preaching in the middle of a large crowd at the Synod of Brefi: the village of Llanddewi Brefi stands on the spot where the ground on which he stood is reputed to have risen up to form a small hill. A white dove, which became his emblem, was seen settling on his shoulder. John Davies notes that one can scarcely “conceive of any miracle more superfluous” in that part of Wales than the creation of a new hill. David is said to have denounced Pelagianism during this incident and he was declared archbishop by popular acclaim according to Rhygyfarch, bringing about the retirement of Dubricius. St David’s metropolitan status as an archbishopric was later supported by Bernard, Bishop of St David’s, Geoffrey of Monmouth and Gerald of Wales.

The Monastic Rule of David prescribed that monks had to pull the plough themselves without draught animals, must drink only water and eat only bread with salt and herbs, and spend the evenings in prayer, reading and writing. No personal possessions were allowed: even to say “my book” was considered an offence. He lived a simple life and practised asceticism, teaching his followers to refrain from eating meat and drinking beer. His symbol, also the symbol of Wales, is the leek (this largely comes from a reference in Shakespeare’s Henry V, Act V scene 1).

Connections to Glastonbury
Rhygyfarch counted Glastonbury Abbey among the churches David founded. Around forty years later William of Malmesbury, believing the Abbey older, said that David visited Glastonbury only to rededicate the Abbey and to donate a travelling altar, including a great sapphire. He had had a vision of Jesus who said “the church had been dedicated long ago by Himself in honour of His Mother, and it was not seemly that it should be re-dedicated by human hands.” So David instead commissioned an extension to be built to the abbey, east of the Old Church. (The dimensions of this extension given by William were verified archaeologically in 1921). One manuscript indicates that a sapphire altar was among the items King Henry VIII confiscated from the abbey at its dissolution a thousand years later.

Death
It is claimed that David lived for over 100 years, and that he died on a Tuesday 1 March (now St David’s Day). It is generally accepted that this was around 590, and March 1 fell on a Tuesday in 589.

The monastery is said to have been “filled with angels as Christ received his soul.” His last words to his followers were in a sermon on the previous Sunday. The Welsh Life of St David gives these as: “Bydwch lawen a chedwch ych ffyd a’ch cret, a gwnewch y petheu bychein a glywyssawch ac a welsawch gennyf i. A mynheu a gerdaf y fford yd aeth an tadeu idi,” which translates as, “Be joyful, and keep your faith and your creed, and do the little things that you have seen me do and heard about. I will walk the path that our fathers have trod before us.”

“Do ye the little things in life” (“Gwnewch y pethau bychain mewn bywyd”) is today a very well known phrase in Welsh.

David was buried at St David’s Cathedral at St David’s, Pembrokeshire, where his shrine was a popular place of pilgrimage throughout the Middle Ages. During the 10th and 11th centuries the Cathedral was regularly raided by Vikings, who removed the shrine from the church and stripped off the precious metal adornments. In 1275 a new shrine was constructed, the ruined base of which remains to this day, which was originally surmounted by an ornamental wooden canopy with murals of St David, St Patrick and St Denis of France. The relics of St David and St Justinian were kept in a portable casket on the stone base of the shrine. It was at this shrine that Edward I came to pray in 1284. During the reformation Bishop Barlow (1536–48), a staunch Protestant, stripped the shrine of its jewels and confiscated the relics of David and Justinian.

Reputation
David’s popularity in Wales is shown by the Armes Prydein Fawr, of around 930, a popular poem which prophesied that in the future, when all might seem lost, the Cymry (the Welsh people) would unite behind the standard of David to defeat the English; “A lluman glân Dewi a ddyrchafant” (“And they will raise the pure banner of Dewi”).

Unlike many contemporary “saints” of Wales, David was officially recognised at the Vatican by Pope Callixtus II in 1120, thanks to the work of Bernard, Bishop of St David’s. Music for his office has been edited by O.T. Edwards in Matins, Lauds and Vespers for St David’s Day: the Medieval Office of the Welsh Patron Saint in National Library of Wales MS 20541 E (Cambridge, 1990).

David’s life and teachings have inspired a choral work by Welsh composer Karl Jenkins, Dewi Sant. It is a seven-movement work best known for the classical crossover series Adiemus, which intersperses movements reflecting the themes of David’s last sermon with those drawing from three Psalms. An oratorio by another Welsh composer Arwel Hughes, also entitled Dewi Sant, was composed in 1950.

Saint David is also thought to be associated with corpse candles, lights that would warn of the imminent death of a member of the community. The story goes that David prayed for his people to have some warning of their death, so they could prepare themselves. In a vision, David’s wish was granted and told from then on, people who lived in the land of Dewi Sant (Saint David) “would be forewarned by the dim light of mysterious tapers when and where the death might be expected.” The color and/or size of the tapers indicated whether the person to die would be a woman, man, or child.

Roman Martyrology

The flag of St David

In the 2004 edition of the Roman Martyrology, David is listed under 1 March with the Latin name Dávidis. He is recognised as bishop of Menevia in Wales who governed his monastery following the example of the Eastern Fathers. Through his leadership, many monks went forth to evangelise Wales, Ireland, Cornwall and Armorica (Brittany and surrounding provinces).

Posted in British history, Great Britain, legends and myths, real life tales, religion, Wales | Tagged patron saints, Saint David, Wales | Comments Off

Whuppity Scoorie?

Posted on February 28, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

So what is Whuppity Scoorie? It is a unique celebration of spring taking place in Lanark (on the east bank of the River Clyde), Scotland. On March 1, youngsters take part in the ancient custom of “Whuppity Scoorie.” They gather in early evening outside St. Nicholas’s church. Then as the bells ring out, they run around the church waving balls of paper around their heads. Years ago, it was a race, but now the celebration is a bit more structured. At the end, the children scramble for coins thrown by community members.

The celebration’s origin is vague. Many say it is a remembrance of days when miscreants were whipped around the cross, which was then “scoored” in the Clyde. It is supposed to reflect the spring’s light replacing the dark winter nights. Whatever its origins, generations of children have taken part and have made sure that this part of Lanark’s past endures. (www.thecapitalscot.com/pastfeatures/whuppity.html)

By the way, “a plaque on a stone plinth set in an unpromising gap between two buildings facing across to St. Nicholas’s church states, ‘Here stood the house of William Wallace who in Lanark in 1297 first drew his sword to free his native land.’”’

__________________________

And what is “Whoopy Do,” you may ask? It is what I utter as I do a little computer dance. The re-release of book 5 of my Realm series, A Touch of Mercy, with a new cover and a small rewrite has arrived, and I am shouting “Whoopy!”

Posted in British history, customs and tradiitons, legends and myths, Scotland, White Soup Press, writing | Tagged A Touch of Mercy, folk life, Regency romance, Regina Jeffers, Scotland, the Realm series, traditions, Whuppity Scoorie | Comments Off

Exquisite Excerpt from “His: Two Regency Novellas”

Posted on February 27, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Celebrating Re-Release of “His: Two Regency Novellas” with an Excerpt

My Regency romance, His: Two Regency Novellas is available on Amazon, Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. The book contains two novellas (each between 60,000 – 65,000 words). The first is “His American Heartsong.” It is the story Lawrence Lowery, the future Baron of Blakehell, and Arabella Tilney. Some of you may recognize Lowery as Sir Carter Lowery’s older brother in my Realm series. Many asked for more on how Law and Arabella came together. The second is “His Irish Eve.” The main character, Adam Lawrence, is my “go-to” guy. Adam makes appearances in nine of my novels and plays an integral part in The Phantom of Pemberley. This story is what happens to Adam after he released his mistress at the end of Phantom.

The Deepest Love Is Always Unexpected

His American Heartsong

Lawrence Lowery has been the dutiful elder son his whole life, but when his father Baron Blakehell arranges a marriage with the insipid Annalee Dryburgh, Lowery must choose between his responsibility to his future estate and the one woman who makes sense in his life. By Society’s standards, Arabella Tilney is completely wrong to be the future Baroness–she is an American hoyden, who demands that Lowery do the impossible: Be the man he has always dreamed of being. (A Novella from the Realm Series

His Irish Eve

When the Earl of Greenwall demands his only son, Viscount Stafford, retrieve the viscount’s by-blow, everything in Adam Lawrence’s life changes. Six years prior, Lawrence had released his former mistress Cathleen Donnell from his protection, only to learn in hindsight Cathleen was with child. Lawrence arrives in Cheshire to discover not only a son, but also two daughters, along with a strong-minded woman, who fascinates him from the moment of their first encounter. Aoife Kennice, the children’s caregiver, is a woman impervious to Adam’s usual tricks and ruses as one of England’s most infamous rakes. But this overconfident lord is about to do battle: A fight Adam must win–a fight for the heart of a woman worth knowing.

Chapter One of “His American Heartsong”

“I think…if it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.”

– Leo Tolstoy

“What do you mean, you left them above Derwerth?” Lawrence Lowery demanded. “Please tell me you have more sense than to leave three women alone on the mountain!”

“But two of them be Americans, Your Lordship.” The coachman frantically worked his hat’s rim.

Lowery, who stiffened at the groundless denunciation, turned to his father Baron Blakehell. “Did you hear that? It is acceptable to treat these women with no respect because two are Americans! What the bloody hell does that mean?” He loomed over the hired driver.

Lowery stalked away from the man. He told the estate steward, Mr. Beauchamp, to find out what else the imbecile knew and then angrily turned toward the stable. “I require my horse and another for a coach immediately, Sack. I want, at least, ten men saddled and ready to ride within a quarter hour,” he barked out orders.

“Yes, Your Lordship.” The head groomsman hustled to do his bidding.

Lowery spoke privately to the baron, “I must go.”

“You might send Beauchamp and the men,” his father counseled. “There is no need for you to face the danger yourself, Lawrence.”

Lowery touched the baron’s arm encouragingly. Although his father was still quite spry for a man of his age, Lawrence realized the time for his succession drew nearer. “You know I must, Father. I would not count myself a gentleman if I left three ladies in danger.” Lawrence knew what it meant to be lost in the hills surrounding his estate. At age ten, he thought himself quite grown when he set off on a dare toward the summit. He had not made it more than a mile into the wilderness before becoming disoriented. It had taken his father some six hours to find him, and Lawrence could still recall the fear bubbling in his throat. He could not imagine being both a woman and an outsider and to be lost in England’s famous Peak District.

“I understand.” Blakehell turned toward the manor house. “You will take care, Lawrence. Remember you are my heir.”

Law had heard those words his whole life. “You always have Carter.” Lawrence could not control his constant need to deflect his father’s demands on him.

“I love my youngest child,” the baron began, “but Carter is not the right person for this title.” Which only meant Carter had defied their father on more than one front–something Lawrence rarely did. “Besides, Carter has his property now; he does not require this one.”

“Yes, Father.” He knew the baron meant well, but Lawrence could not spend his life locked in the house, afraid to risk the title. That was the reason his mother had delivered forth Lawrence’s younger brother Carter after the three sisters they shared–an heir and a spare, as the old adage went.

* * *

“How long must we wait for that stupid man to return?” Abigail Tilney complained for the fifth time in an hour. She despised any form of discomfort. It was for her wellbeing that they had taken the small coach when traveling on horseback would have been more appropriate. Abigail did not ride well, and she had refused anything, which did not come naturally to her; therefore, keeping her perfection in tact.

“I imagine at least a couple of hours,” Annalee Dryburgh, Abby’s cousin assured her. “Walking the horse after it threw a shoe must slow Mr. Moss’s progress.”

Abigail pulled her cloak tighter about her. “I hope it is soon. The air is much cooler in the uplands.”

“Lord, Abby, one would think a woman from Virginia’s mountainous region would appreciate the land’s beauty. I certainly prefer it to the coast lines.” Arabella Tilney stood, feet shoulder width apart and hands on hips, admiring the craggy landscape.

“It is a bog!” Abby asserted.

Bella sighed deeply. “But this day trip’s purpose was to explore the sights. The plateau above from this angle is spectacular. Come look!”

Abby turned her body to rest her head on the coach’s soft cushions. “The only view of which I wish to partake is the one from my room at the inn,” she grumbled. “Wake me when Mr. Moss returns.”

Bella sat good-naturedly on an uprooted tree trunk. They had left Hayfield to visit the Kinder Plateau, but did not reach their destination on this day. The horse had thrown a shoe, and now there was nothing to do but to wait and look out on the land’s beauty. If they had traveled by horseback, as she had preferred, then they could double up and still make it back safely to the inn. They foolishly had taken an open carriage to pacify Abigail, and now she, her sister, and her cousin were without options. Bella wished she had persisted when Mr. Moss suggested that they all walk the horse out, but again, they had deferred to Abby’s insensibility. Now, Bella prayed for Mr. Moss’s early return. She would not wish to hear her younger sister’s tirade if the man did not come before nightfall. Abigail would not be happy, and Bella knew that when Abby was not happy, her sister made everyone else within earshot miserable.

* * *

“Storm comin’ in, Your Lordship!” Mr. Beauchamp pointed to the encroaching cloudbank. “We should call off the search until it passes. Too dangerous out in the open.”

“Lead the men to the Cliff Hole cottage and wait it out. I will take the extra horse into Brook Pass. If I discover nothing, I will follow you.” The wind had increased, and debris had begun to swirl about them.

“Are you certain, my Lord? I could go.” Law knew the baron would have Beauchamp’s head if Law placed himself in real danger, but he felt he had to see this through.

Lawrence shook his head in the negative. “I must go, Beauchamp. I know it sounds unreasonable; yet, I cannot desert the search so soon.”

“Seek shelter, Sir, if it the conditions become worse.”

“I have it.” Lawrence took the horse’s leading rope. “See to the men.” Law rode toward where the path split, taking the one leading to the plateau. He thought the women quite foolish to have attempted such a trek in a carriage, but he understood the female mind as well as any man. He possessed three sisters, and he could easily picture one of them doing the same.

The wind whipped his coat tails, and Law had removed his hat so as not to lose it. He scanned the pathway, knowing it unlikely that the women strayed from the worn road. He felt the urgency of finding them. Lawrence knew the rain line spread across the valley below. He and the women would require immediate shelter; therefore, he nudged the horse forward, picking up the pace.

* * *

“Abby, we must find shelter,” Bella tugged on her sister’s hand. “A storm is coming!”

“I am going nowhere,” the girl asserted. “Unlike you, I am not afraid of lightning.”

Bella looked to where the storm clouds rolled over a nearby ridge. Thunder and lightning preceded nature’s drenching. “Well, I am! Please, Abby!” She had managed to bring her sister to a standing position just as the man approached on a coal black stallion–like a dark angel riding toward them. He whipped the horse’s reins, barreling down on them, but Bella experienced no fear. As dark and as foreboding as the man appeared, she felt her heart lurch in recognition.

Dismounting, he offered them no British civilities. There was no time: Large droplets accompanied him and quickly soaked the open carriage seat. “This way!” he yelled over the tumult, catching Bella’s hand and taking off on a run. Automatically, the other two women followed.

* * *

Without forethought, Law tugged the girl’s hand again, but she stumbled, unable to keep up with his long strides. Feeling her go down, he instinctively, grabbed the woman about the waist, lifting her petite form. In the other hand, he kept a death grip on the horses’ reins. When he saw the familiar cave, Law half shoved the woman he carried into the narrow opening, turning awkwardly to pull the other two along the trail.

The rain pelted them with a staccato of droplets, and Lawrence felt the dampness soak his greatcoat, but before he entered the rock face’s slit, he tied the horses to a Spanish oak’s lowest branches. Finally, Law squeezed his large form through the opening, impulsively, shaking the water from his hair and coat.

Law could barely make out their forms in the shadowed light. They hugged one another tightly, cloaks wrapped around each other–unopened wings of a gigantic eagle. “Is anyone hurt?” he asked between thunderclaps.

From somewhere within the monstrous depths of cooing females, a melodic voice rang clearly, “No, Sir. We thank you for finding us.” The butterfly wings opened and closed and became three.

Although he already offered a “bow,” being hunched over in the low-ceilinged crevice, Lawrence remembered his manners at last. “I am Lord Hellsman.” He timed his introduction between God’s fireworks. “I apologize for my rude entrance on the trail.”

“That is quite acceptable under the circumstances, Your Lordship.” Annalee straightened her clothing. “Without you, we could be miserable, suffering the storm’s worst. I am Miss Dryburgh. Annalee. My father, Lord Dryburgh, is Lord Graham’s second son.”

“From Staffordshire?” Law had prided himself on knowing the British nobility’s countryseats.

“Yes, Sir.” The woman remained the group’s spokesperson. “And these are my cousins from America, Miss Tilney. Arabella. And her sister Miss Abigail.”

Again, Lawrence could not make out their faces in the darkness. He could discern only their sizes–both small in stature–one downright petite. He could still feel the pressure of the smallest one along his side where he had carried her with him to the cave. Surprisingly, Law found he missed that brief feeling of warmth.

“We are pleased for the acquaintance, Your Lordship,” the sweet voice came from the shadows. Another lightning flash made the smaller one jump and clutch at her cousin’s arm. “My sister does not like storms,” the taller one explained.

“Forgive me, Ladies. I plan to practice rudeness again. I can barely see you in the cave’s recess, and I am a bit disoriented. I have discerned that Miss Dryburgh is the tallest in height among the three of you, but between the Miss Tilneys, I am confused.”

The melodious voice continued, “I am Abigail Tilney.”

Law turned his attention to the petite one, the one who trembled from the storm, the one he had carried. “Then that must make you, Miss Tilney,” he half teased. A squeaky “Yes, Sir” brought a smile to his face.

Miss Dryburgh asked, “How did you know the cave was here, Your Lordship?”

Law mocked himself. “When I was ten, I quakingly proved my manliness by hiding in this cave until my father rescued me from my wild imagination. If I am riding in the area, I revisit this spot. It keeps me humble.”

The squeak became a screech with a powerful flash. “How…how long will the storm last?”

Lawrence glanced toward the downpour. “The rain usually lasts several hours.”

“Hours?” The woman’s voice betrayed her fear.

“Do not worry, Miss Tilney. The fireworks will end soon, even if the rain remains.”

“It will be dark before long,” Miss Dryburgh noted. “I mean darker than it is now.”

Law stared at the sheets of rain streaming along the opening. A waterfall rushing down the cliff face and splashing outside their refuge. “When it eases a bit, I will gather some wood so we may have a fire.”

“You plan for us to spend the night in this cave, Lord Hellsman!” The sweetness left Miss Abigail’s voice. “That is not possible!”

“Miss Abigail, if there was no storm, we might maneuver the limited path down the mountain with some degree of safety. However, between the rain and the fog, which will blanket the woodlands with the darkness, there is no possibility of us driving your carriage off this peak tonight. Nor would I consider walking out at this point or even riding the two horses I have brought with me. The road is narrow, and one false step could send us plummeting into emptiness. Plus, who knows creatures the woods hold?”

“Are you attempting to frighten us, Your Lordship?” Miss Tilney found her voice. His exaggerations caused her to momentarily forget the storm.

“Absolutely, not, Miss Tilney. Simply speaking the truth. I will not assume the responsibility of endangering you after rescuing you.” Thinking on the conversation, Law could not help but to chuckle.

“What is so amusing, Lord Hellsman?” The petite one took a confrontational stance.

Law wiped the grin from his lips, but something shifted in his chest. “I suppose, Miss Tilney, I find it a bit bizarre to be having this discussion hunched over from my surroundings and attempting to impress the three ladies of my most recent acquaintance with my ability to protect them through the night. It is somewhat surreal.”

“It is out of the ordinary,” Miss Dryburgh took the sting from her cousin’s tone. “We Brits are practical that way, are we not, Your Lordship?”

Although the faces were still in shadows, he could recognize the timbre of their voices. “Absolutely, Miss Dryburgh.”

“Well, I shall not sleep a wink. What if the walls collapse in on us? What if there are bugs or even snakes!” Abigail declared.

“Then by all means, Abby, be unreasonable,” Miss Dryburgh asserted. “If you had been “reasonable,” we could have ridden out of here hours ago. So, if you do not wish to accept His Lordship’s protection, then walk down the mountain at your own risk.”

“You do not have to snipe,” the girl retorted in an obvious pout.

Surprisingly, Miss Tilney took her cousin’s side. “Yes, Annalee does. You pay no attention unless we “snipe,” Abby!”

Law felt as if he had stepped into a parallel universe, one where men finally heard how women really spook to each other. Mayhap the cave held some sort of magical power: He had believed so as a child.

Miss Dryburgh approached a now seated Hellsman. “When you wander out for the firewood, Your Lordship, there is a basket under the coach’s seat. The bread is likely ruined, but the other items should still be edible.”

“More British practicality, Miss Dryburgh?” he responded in bemusement.

“Someone must make decisions for our American counterparts. We Brits possess the impeccable manners,” the woman taunted.

“So, we do, Miss Dryburgh.” Lawrence began to silently count to ten, seeing how long it would be before one of the Tilney sisters reacted to her cousin’s assertion. He reached two.

“Annalee, we are not barbarians! We have culture also. America does not exist only as in the eleventh century with stampeding hordes!” Miss Tilney closed the distance between them.

Miss Dryburgh laughed aloud. “I am well aware you were raised by Lady Althea, Cousin. You need not convince me.” She straightened her cloak. “And…by the way, Bella…you have forgotten the storm.”

Arabella Tilney held her fists on her hips but the length of a breath before she laughed also. A laugh that Law thought the most perfect one he had ever heard. It held the timbre of soft tinkling bells. Turning in Law’s direction, she asked, “How might we be of assistance, Your Lordship?”

“I would not have you exposed to the elements, Miss Tilney. My coat is heavier and my gloves thicker.” Lawrence peered through the opening. “The rain is not relenting, but it shall soon be dark. I must go while I can still make out shapes. I will bring the supplies to the opening and hand them to you? If my idea is acceptable?”

Miss Dryburgh shared conspiratorially, “You have discovered Arabella’s weakness, Lord Hellsman. My cousin lives to be of use to others.”

“There are worse vices, Miss Dryburgh.” Law pulled up his coat’s collar. Then he squeezed through the opening and ran toward the carriage. He retrieved the basket from under the bench. There were two lap blankets stuffed behind the box; he quickly placed them under his coat and ran once again toward the cave. “Here!” he called as he shoved the items into Arabella’s waiting hands.

Immediately, he turned to where he had tethered the horses. At least, under the trees’ thick canopy, the rain did not fall relentlessly. The thick foliage blocked the light, as well as the moisture. He efficiently removed the saddle and blanket from Triton’s back and carried them to the cave. He dropped it in the opening, saying he would move it when he returned, but Law noticed as he reversed directions that Miss Tilney tugged the leather in from the rain.

Next, he located as much dry wood as he could muster. The copse seemed the most likely source. He found several broken limbs and some branches he could use for kindling. It took four trips to stock enough wood for them to maintain a fire during the night. Law knew his men would not come until the morning, and it would be his responsibility to protect the women until then. He found it exhilarating in many ways to have to fend for himself. Occasionally, he enjoyed being out of the drawing room and into nature. He often made overnight hunting or fishing trips with some of the local gentry. As one of the highest-ranking men in his shire, Law felt the responsibility of maintaining a sense of Society in his home. Yet, having been raised essentially alone, always in training to replace his father, he appreciated the communion of a group of men enjoying sport.

“That should serve us,” he announced as he bent over to reenter the cave. He laid the wood to one side of the opening. Forgetting about the low ceiling, he banged his head when he instinctively straightened. Law laughed at his error. “Surprisingly, this cave’s roof has descended since I was age ten.”

“It is perfectly tall enough for me, Your Lordship,” Miss Tilney taunted as she spread one of the two blankets he had retrieved from the carriage on the earthen floor. He looked closely at the diminutive form moving freely about the dead end crevice in which they had sought shelter. Miss Arabella Tilney was as busy as the mouse of which she reminded him. First the squeak and now darting everywhere. He shook his head in amusement.

Law turned his attention to removing his drenched greatcoat. He sat close to the cave’s opening. “I will start a fire. We should place it close to the opening. That will serve for circulation, keeping the heat in and the smoke out. Plus, I think it important to deter any animal, which might also seek shelter from the elements.”

Abigail half whined as she sat bundled up against the back wall of the enclosure. “Is there no way we might leave here tonight?”

“Personally, Miss Abigail, I pray my men do not attempt to rescue us this evening. I want none of them to perish. The danger is eminent, and although we may be a bit uncomfortable, we shall not perish. However, the fire at the cave’s opening will serve as a signal if they do search against my orders.” Law noticed how Miss Tilney and Miss Dryburgh busied themselves with preparing what food they had, as well as a space the ladies might share overnight, while Miss Abigail offered no assistance. He disapproved of those who would not assist themselves.

He used a small spade he kept attached to the saddle to dig a shallow pit; then, Lawrence stacked the wood he had found, lacing the kindling between the logs. He removed the flint and matches he stored in his saddlebag. The kindling flamed and soon they had a small fire burning steadily. The heat radiated throughout the tiny enclosure, removing the damp chill and driving away the encroaching darkness. “That is better,” he declared as he turned toward the women.

“Come join us, Your Lordship,” Miss Dryburgh gestured to the spread.

Law moved forward on hands and knees. “Thank you, Miss Dryburgh.”

“One end of the bread remained untouched. It appears you reached it in time, Lord Hellsman,” Miss Tilney revealed.

Lawrence reached for an apple, allowing the women to eat before he chose any of the scarce offerings the ladies had laid before him. He took a small bite, trying to make the fruit last longer.

The fire’s muted light provided him a better look at the three women. Abigail Tilney appeared the youngest, likely seventeen or eighteen years of age. She had a head of golden locks that reflected the dancing flames’ brilliance, as well as a long, slender neck. Miss Abigail was likely very lithe in stature based on his peek of her thin arms when the girl reached for the bread. She had yet to remove her cloak so he had no true idea of her figure.

Annalee Dryburgh’s full figure showed well in the dark gown she had chosen for the day. Her corset cinched her waist, making it seem small compared to her ample bust line and hips. Not plump, but compared to the excessively thin Miss Abigail, Miss Dryburgh appeared well fed. Her chestnut hair framed a heart shaped face.

Then his eyes rested on the elder of the Tilney sisters. Arabella. She was nondescript–dull, brown hair–very wavy–small breasts–excessively petite–and always moving–foot tapping–fingers drumming. Amorphous. Yet, for some reason, Lawrence’s eyes remained on her.

“Might we know more of your family, Your Lordship?” Miss Dryburgh asked as she wrapped some bread about hard cheese.

Lawrence’s gaze scanned all three women. “My home seat is Blake’s Run in Derbyshire, and I am the eldest son of Baron Blakehell, Niall Lowery. There are three sisters–Louisa, who is married to Ernest Hutton, Lord MacLauren; Marie, who recently married Viscount Sheffield; and, lastly, Delia, the Viscountess Duff. From them, I have one nephew and two nieces. The youngest of the family is my brother Carter, upon whom the Prince Regent quite recently bestowed a baronetcy for Carter’s service during the war.”

“Two seats within one family? Quite unusual, my Lord.”

“It is Miss Dryburgh, but my father is more than pleased to have both his sons holding a title. Sir Carter is renovating Huntingborne Abbey in Kent, under my father’s guidance, of course. Actually, I believe it has given the baron new life to have another son to instruct in the way of the land.” Lawrence grinned knowingly. “The baron is a great one on duty and responsibility.” He took a small sip of the wine, which Miss Tilney had poured for him. “And what of you, Ladies?”

“We are seeing some of the English countryside before we travel to London for the Season,” Miss Dryburgh shared. “This will be my second Season. Unfortunately, we did not stay the entire Season last year because Grandmama took ill. My cousins are being presented by our Aunt Sarah, the Marquessa of Fayarrd.”

“And you, Miss Tilney? What of you? Are you anxious for a London Season?” His face told her he half teased.

* * *

Arabella took a closer look at the man who had literally carried her into their shelter. She thought it amusing in some ways. If His Lordship had manhandled either Abby or Annalee as he had her, they would have had a case of the vapors. But Bella knew hard work’s value and was accustomed to being around men. However, Lord Hellsman held a mystique, which made her a bit uncomfortable. Gentle and aristocratic, Lawrence Lowery exemplified the English nobility; yet, raw masculinity exuded from him. He made decisions based on reason and followed them through. Bella found those qualities very appealing.

“Our mother, Sir, was at one time a member of the court, but she left to the Americas with our father some two and twenty years prior. However, she always dreamed of sending her daughters to London to enjoy what she determined was real society.”

* * *

“And is there no society in America, Miss Tilney?” he taunted.

She smiled at him, and Law felt something like desire shoot through him. “The Appalachian Mountains possess their own culture, but it is not society as you know it, Lord Hellsman.”

“The Appalachians?” he questioned, rolling the word around in his mouth. “I am not familiar with the area.”

Miss Tilney countered, “You are in error, Your Lordship. They are the same mountain range the English celebrates in Scotland and Wales.”

Lawrence enjoyed being challenged. Miss Tilney’s audacity was quite beguiling.

“That is just your theory, Bella,” Miss Abigail asserted. “To think the mountains at home might be under the oceans and part of this land demonstrates your blue stocking education.” To draw his attention to her, the girl lightly touched Lawrence’s arm. “I am certain His Lordship does not wish to discuss geography with a mere female.”

Lawrence casually shifted his weight to allow the lady’s hand to fall away. “Far be it from me to correct you, Miss Abigail, but I find any mental challenge invigorating. Regrettably, any woman who chooses to be successful during the Season must temper her words. Many men prefer their potential wives to simply be an excellent household manager.”

“See, Bella, even His Lordship agrees with me,” Miss Abigail preened. “You cannot be Papa’s hoyden if you expect to attract a husband.”

Miss Tilney shrugged her shoulders. “Who says I wish a husband? I would be content to return home and to take care of the manor house.”

“Of course, you wish a husband,” her sister corrected. “Mama would have been horrified to have you return to American unmarried.”

“Papa insists I meet my obligations this Season,” Miss Dryburgh also did not guard her words. “I have two younger sisters who have yet to know a Come Out.”

The parallel world remained: Even his sisters never spoke so liberally before him. Mayhap the openness of the Americans led them all into an instant intimacy. The Tilneys exemplified the American spirit and the American primitiveness, especially Miss Tilney, but Lawrence thought he would not trade this moment in this cave for all the drawing rooms in England. It was “freedom.”

“Did you travel from Staffordshire?” He asked to change the subject.

“We came to Matlock with my parents,” Miss Dryburgh shared. “They traveled to Lincolnshire to share time with my paternal grandparents. We thought my cousins might enjoy the Peak District after leaving western Virginia. We departed Hayfield this morning.”

And so, the conversation continued over the next ninety minutes. Lawrence told them of the areas’ history, of his estate, and of some of the other families in the area. Miss Dryburgh related like information regarding Staffordshire, and the Tilneys spoke of their life–describing the land, the people, and their situation. Ironically, Miss Abigail spoke of rolling hills and Southern manners and a genteel lifestyle at her mother’s feet, while Miss Tilney spoke of rugged mountains, poor tenants, and the use of slaves on the adjoining properties. A more diverse description of their home could not be had. It was as if the sisters had described two different lands. Yet, as he thought on it, little difference existed with what he knew of England. Poor tenants and rich landowners subsisted side by side on English estates.

Outside, the rain had not lessened, and Law added more wood to the fire. He could not imagine women of the ton adapting so quickly to their surroundings. Although he suspected Miss Abigail would easily matriculate into the ways of the “beau monde,” her cousin’s and her sister’s censure managed to quail the girl’s constant complaining.

“I will sleep near the fire to assure it does not go out overnight,” Lawrence announced as the time on his pocket watch indicated sleep might be possible. His clothes remained damp, and a chill ran up and down his spine. If alone, he would remove his boots and his waistcoat, but a gentleman would never think of doing so before a lady. Besides, if he removed the boots, Law was not certain he could get them on in the morning. The leather would likely shrink.

He gave the women the blankets to use along with their cloaks, and they made a “group” bed near the enclosure’s back wall. Lawrence used his saddle as a pillow and his damp greatcoat for a blanket. Miserable as he remembered being in a long while, Law forced himself to settle on the floor of the rock face.

“Your Lordship,” a half sleepy voice he recognized as Arabella Tilney’s called out, “do you have a gun for protection?”

He smiled at her practicality. “Aye, Miss Tilney. Several.”

“That is exceedingly fine, Lord Hellsman,” she said huskily. “So do I.”

Law did not answer. He just widened his smile as he closed his eyes to welcome sleep.

* * *

He did not know how long he had slept–ten minutes or ten hours–but definitely not long enough. A sharp sound came from behind him and to the left, and Law forced his eyes open to let the fire’s light in. A squeak told him immediately who and a sharp crack of thunder told him what, as he scrambled to his feet to reach her. This new storm, was, obviously, more violent than the previous one.

Arabella Tilney huddled, like a broken animal, against the cave’s sidewall, shivering and incoherent. A quick glance behind told him that neither Miss Dryburgh nor Miss Abigail had heard their traveling companion, and for a moment, Lawrence wondered if he should not wake them. But Miss Tilney cringed and covered her head with her arms in a protective stance, and Law could do nothing else but to take her in his arms. He draped an arm about her small form. On his knees before her, he gently encompassed her, hiding the woman’s face in his chest and pulling Bella to him. “Easy, Sweetling,” he whispered close to her ear. “I have you.” Another thunderclap and an accompanying lightning bolt sent her clawing at his shirt and whimpering. “Come, Mouse.” He instinctively rocked Bella in place, stroking her back and caressing her arms. “I will permit nothing to harm you.”

She clutched at him, attempting to, literally, crawl under his skin, seeking his body as her shield. Bella plastered herself to him. “Do not leave me,” she begged.

“Never, Sweetling,” he murmured. Madness must have taken his reason. He held this woman in an intimate embrace, and if either of her relatives awoke and observed them, Lawrence would be honor bound to offer for her; however, he could not release her. Besides, Bella Tilney’s obvious distress, Law realized belatedly that he liked the feel of her along his body: her heat suffused into him. The blood rushed to his groin. She fit. Fit as if she was made for him alone. “Come, Mouse,” he nuzzled behind her ear. “Come with me.” Bent over, he led her to his makeshift bed. “I will hold you until the storm passes.”

Posted in book excerpts, British history, Industry News/Publishing, White Soup Press | Tagged " "His American Heartsong, "His Irish Eve, His: Two Regency Novellas, White Soup Press | 2 Comments

Locations for “Pride and Prejudice 2005”

Posted on February 24, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

For this movie discussion, I decided to visit some of my favorite places in the UK for filming. The places below were all used in Pride and Prejudice 2005. I have also included some of the history. If you know additional facts, please chime in. Most of these facts came from http://www.infobritain.co.uk.

Groombridge Place and Enchanted Forest, Kent (Longbourn)
In 1662 by architect Philip Packer, with the help of his friend, Christopher Wren, the seventeenth century’s premier architect, built Groombridge Place. Packer’s house was built on the site of a series of former manor houses owned by wealthy nobles, including Richard Waller, who famously kept Charles Duke of Orleans at Groombridge after capturing him at the Battle of Agincourt. Completing his new house in 1662 Packer then started thinking about his garden. Beginning in 1674, Packer began designing the gardens surrounding Groombridge House He was assisted by John Evelyn, a horticulturist and famous diarist. Evelyn was a multi-talented man who showed an unusually modern concern with the problems of urban living, and a reverence for gardens as an escape from them. Evelyn conceived a series of formal gardens arranged as “outside rooms” of the house. Although Evelyn was generally formal in his gardening ideas, the sense of blurring the boundary between indoors and outdoors was actually a theme that would emerge once again in the 20th Century. Some of Evelyn’s garden rooms at Groombridge also preempted modern design in creating an artfully “natural” landscape. The Secret Garden is the best example. It is suggested that this was Packer’s favourite garden. He is supposed to have died here in 1686 while reading a book.

Basildon Park, Berkshire (Netherfield Park)
Building of Basildon Park began in 1776 under Francis Sykes’ tutelage. A farmer’s son, who joined the British East India Company to make his fortune to support his political career, Sykes became governor of Kazimbazar. Returning to England in 1771 a rich man, Sykes bought the Basildon estate. Although facing financial difficulties, he managed to win a baronetcy and to become an MP. Sykes struggled on with the building of his grand house, in a palladian style, which was already going out of fashion. When Sykes died in London in 1804, Basildon Park remained unfinished. Sykes’ son inherited the property, but he too died within a few weeks, and the new owner, Sykes’ grandson, Francis Sykes the third baronet, was only five years old. With little money, ownership somehow remained with the boy, who at age 14 started entertaining Prince George at the house. Prince George was famously dissolute, and Sykes’ association with him only drained the family fortune further. With the family in a state of financial turmoil, Basildon Park was offered for sale. Just for good measure, personal turmoil was also thrown into the mix, when Sykes’ wife Henrietta started having an affair with future Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli. Henrietta also had an affair with the painter Daniel Maclise. When her husband denounced Maclise he broke the unwritten rule that such goings on in high society should be kept discreet. As a result, Charles Dickens, a friend of Maclise, decided to use the name Bill Sykes for a villainous character in a new book he was writing. Oliver Twist, complete with Bill Sykes, was published in 1838, and Francis Sykes was humiliated. He finally sold Basildon Park that year.

Burghley, Lincolnshire (Rosings Park)
Burghley is perhaps the grandest of all England’s sixteenth century Elizabethan houses, capturing the drama and other-worldly spirit of that time. Lord Burghley, William Cecil, Treasurer to Elizabeth I, and her most influential advisor, directed its structure. His grand house is like others of the period, Longleat or Wollaton Hall for example, except Burghley just had more of everything. In fact it may claim to be the definitive grand house of late Tudor England. Burghley, like most great properties, housed lavish collections of art and valuable objects. The Heaven Room became Lady Catherine’s drawing room in the 2005 film. The fifth Earl, Lord Exeter, commissioned the Italian artist Verrio to paint the murals on the wall and ceiling. There is a Hell Staircase leading to this room. Owned by a family trust, Lady Victoria Leatham, daughter of the Marquis of Exeter, the medal-winning Olympic runner portrayed inChariots of Fire, manages the estate. (As footnote,s the late Ian Charleson, who played Exeter in the film, has a RSC Award named after him. Matthew Macfadyen previously was nominated for the award. Also, Lady Victoria appears regularly on Antiques Roadshow.) Burghley has been used as a location for a number of films including Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth, the Golden Age, and The DaVinci Code.

Chatsworth, Derbyshire
Chatsworth is home to the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. Since Chatsworth was first built in the early sixteenth century, it has been closely involved with religious disputes that have shaped Britain into modern times. Elizabeth Hardwick, and her husband Sir William Cavendish, treasurer to Henry VIII, built Chatsworth. When the king decided to marry Anne Boleyn, he needed to escape the influence of the pope who refused to grant Henry a divorce from his first wife Catherine of Aragon. In the upheaval of the Reformation that followed, huge amounts of money were taken from dissolved Catholic monasteries. From 1532 onwards a significant amount of this appropriated money went to Sir William Cavendish. He was made First Earl of Devonshire, and Chatsworth benefited from William’s newfound wealth. The Earls of Devonshire remained Protestant champions thereafter. Protestant Elizabeth I held the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots prisoner at Chatsworth on a number of occasions between 1569 and 1584.

Wilton House, Wiltshire (Mr. Darcy’s music room at Pemberley, where Elizabeth first meets Georgiana)
Wilton has been linked to royalty since early Anglo Saxon times. A nunnery was founded here, which figures quite frequently in Anglo Saxon royal history. The twelfth century saw the nunnery at Wilton being replaced by a Benedictine abbey, which was disbanded during Henry VIII’s Dissolution of the Monasteries. In 1542 Henry VIII granted the abbey and its lands to William Herbert, whose descendents, the Earls of Pembroke, still own Wilton. A year after acquiring his new property William Herbert began creating a Tudor house, incorporating parts of the old abbey. This house was famous during Tudor times as the residence of Mary Sidney, sister of Elizabethan poet Sir Philip Sidney. In the 1630s the 4th Earl of Pembroke commissioned Inigo Jones to re-model Wilton House in a Palladian style. The Double Cube Room used in the film is an example of the style. Many films have used Wilton House as a location including The Young Victoria, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility,The Madness of King George, Mrs Brown, and The Bounty.

Haddon Hall, Derbyshire (the inn at Lambton)
Originally built as a fortified manor house in the eleventh century, Haddon Hall belonged to the Vernon family, and then passed by marriage to the powerful Manners family. In 1703 John Manners, 9th Earl of Rutland left Haddon Hall, and went to live at the Manners family seat at Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire. A long period of neglect followed for Haddon Hall. For over two hundred years it lay in a kind of suspended animation in an almost unaltered sixteenth century condition. A lesser house would have fallen down, but this was a strong stone built, fortified manor house. The empty house endured through the centuries until the 1920s when the 9th Duke of Rutland visited his long forgotten family property and realised how important it was. With the help of a restoration expert named Harold Brakspear the building was restored, not as a building representing a single time period, but more as a building that had accreted layers like sedimentary rock over long periods of time. There are small sections that date to the eleventh century, but there are also parts of the building which date to rebuilding between the thirteenth and early seventeenth centuries.
With Haddon Hall illustrating a long period in history it is fitting that the house is often used as a film location for historical film and drama. Haddon Hall has been used for The Princess Bride (1986), Jane Eyre (1996), Elizabeth(1998), and Pride and Prejudice (2005).

Stourhead, Wiltshire (location of The Temple of Apollo used for the first proposal scene)
Henry Hoare, whose father, Sir Richard Hoare had made his fortune in banking, built Stourhead between 1717 and 1725. Stourhead and the banking fortune, which created it, date from a financial revolution that accompanied the Glorious Revolution of 1688. After 1688, British monarchs were obliged to work within the constitution set out by Parliament. Now debt run up by the country became the “national debt.” Debt became increasingly accepted, and this new attitude was one of the reasons Britain became such a powerful country in the 18th century. The gardens at Stourhead illustrate the worldwide power that Britain began to enjoy following the financial revolution. It became increasingly fashionable to have exotic foreign plants in gardens, brought back from countries under British influence. The estate is huge, and includes King Alfred’s Tower, a folly of monumental proportions. This fifty meter high building lies at the end of a long coach track leading away from the house. It commemorates King Alfred’s victory over the Danes in 878 A.D. Stourhead remained with the Hoare family until 1946. Henry Hoare, the Sixth Baronet lost his only son during World War One, and a year before his own death in 1947, he gave Stourhead to the National Trust.

Posted in buildings and structures, film | Tagged locations, Pride and Prejudice 2005 | 4 Comments

“X” Doesn’t Mark the Spot

Posted on February 21, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

“X” Doesn’t Mark the Spot

Recently, I spent a delightful morning counting words in Pride and Prejudice. Why? You may ask: Regina, do you not have enough to do with your retirement years than to sit around counting how many times Jane Austen used the word “sex” in this novel? (That would be seven times, by the way.) The truth is I am a bit OCD about some things. (Okay, I’m a lot OCD at times, but not as afflicted as my friend Brooke who turns all the paperclips in the holder on her desk in the same direction. Yet, that is another story.) Counting and numbers actually are distracting. It exercises the other side of my brain, and on that particular day, I had hit a wall with my new novel. I had three possible scenarios for endings, and I could not make up my mind, which one would play out the best. Of course, choosing the ending affected the events I would choose early on in the storyline. My writing was at a stand still. (Yes, that is one of my glorious duties as the person who runs the contests on this site.) Therefore, I turned my attention to the post I had yet to write for my own blog.

Preparing to post the last in my three part series of “Do You Speak Jane Austen?”, I needed to find a word or two in Austen’s writings that began with the letter “X.” I was soon to find out that “X” as the beginning letter was quite elusive. I scanned Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Mansfield Park. No “X” words were to be found. However, that doesn’t mean that our Jane never used the letter. On the contrary, 158 different words containing the letter “X” are used within Pride and Prejudice alone.

The most commonly used word containing “x” was “next,” and I shall take great pleasure in telling my editor, who seems to frown on the word, that Jane Austen used “next” one and seventy times in Pride and Prejudice. Other “X” words that our Jane used repeatedly were “expected” (43); “expect” (35); “exactly” (30); “exceedingly” (27); “expressed” (25); “anxious” (25); “express” (to mean both “to state” and “the mail”) (24); “expression” (22); “fixed” (22); “except” (22); and “excellent” (20).

Jane was also quite fond of “expectation” (19); “anxiety” (18); “extraordinary” (17); “excuse” (used both as a noun and a verb) (16); “extremely” (14); “excessively” (11); “expressions” (11); “vexation” (10); and “excited” (10). Of course, there are the variations of each of these words:
“vexing” (1); “vex” (1); “vexed” (8); “vexatious” (2): “vexations” (1); “exceeding” (1); “exceeded” (2); “exceed” (2); “expectations” (7); “expecting” (8); “expects” (1); “expecting” (1); “excepting” (4); “fixing” (2); “fix” (3); “inexpressibly” (1); “expressing” (3); “inexpressible” (1); “expressly” (1); “expressed” (1); “expressively” (1); “anxiously” (1); “excessive” (4); “excess” (2); “excellency” (1) “unexpected” (8); “unexpectedly” (3); “excuses” (2); and “extreme” (4).

However, some of my favorite finds had nothing to do with Austen’s repeating of these common words. Instead, I enjoyed finding “Oxford” (1), “annexed” (1), “exigence” (1), “bandbox” (1), “beaux” (1), “proxy” (1), “expostulation” (1), “exercise” (6), “exertion” (9), and “foxhounds” (1). Another thing I noted (minus the deep scientific study I should have executed) is that Austen seems to use the number “six” quite often in her writing. In Pride and Prejudice, she used “six” ten times, “sixth” once, and “sixteen” seven times. I laughingly told myself it was because our dear Jane had to handwrite her stories (which you might recall is an act in my writing process) and “six” is much shorter to write than say “seven” or “eight.” That reasoning died away when I thought of the words “one,” “two,” and “ten.” Perhaps, “six” was Austen’s lucky number. After all, in Mandarin, “six” is good for business and can mean happiness. Did our Jane anticipate her literary success by using the number “six” often? Yes, it is used multiple times in Sense and Sensibility also. Or, mayhap, I am simply looking for a good story behind all this counting. My mathematical brain is now assuaged. (Did I ever tell you that I began college as a math major? Eventually, I switched to language arts, and the rest is history.) Hopefully, some of you are also both right and left brained and can understand my need to be whole brained in my daily life. If not, you will continue to see me as quite eccentric. [By the way, if one is looking for more delicious Jane Austen words, check out the Jane Austen Thesaurus (http://writelikeausten.com/).]

Posted in Jane Austen, language choices, word play | Tagged Jane Austen, language choices, Pride and Prejudice | Comments Off

I See Jane Austen Everywhere!

Posted on February 19, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

I See Jane Austen Everywhere!!!!

As much as I love Jane Austen, one of my best friends loves Elizabeth Gaskell equally as well. I admit to having read only three Gaskell pieces in my time: Cranford, North and South, and Mary Barton. Last Christmas Season, I reread Cranford, but it has been many years since I have truly studied Gaskell’s works. However, recently, I agreed I would reread North and South, and my friend Jasmine and I would have a two-person book discussion. (Unfortunately, I’m a bit behind in my reading – working on the sequel to The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy and working on a release of Book 7 of my Realm series, A Touch of Honor.) Gaskell’s brilliance lies in her ability to negotiate the relationships between the social classes, while adding Unitarian values of freedom, reason, and tolerance.

That being said, first, permit me to clarify one major misconception regarding North and South. That delicious scene in the mini-series where Margaret Hale (Daniela Denby-Ashe) spies on John Thornton (Richard Armitage) at his factory, and the air is filled with the cotton fibers, is NOT in the book – at least, not in the first 20 chapters. (I have read through the scene where Margaret and her father dine with the Thorntons.) The director, Brian Percival, and screenwriter, Sandy Welch, have followed in the traditional romantic period dramas of the late 1990s and early 2000s.

So, you may ask, why discuss Gaskell’s North and South on a blog, essentially dedicated to the Regency era? Well, the problem lies in the fact I keep seeing Darcy and Elizabeth and Pride and Prejudice‘s influence in Gaskell’s passages. I am not suggesting Ms. Gaskell “borrowed” her ideas from my Miss Jane. On the contrary, the fault lies with me. I see Austen’s influence in story line after story line.

For example, in Chapter 7, “New Scenes and Faces,” I imagine Darcy realizing Elizabeth’s power over him when I read, “Mr. Thornton was in habits of authority himself, but she seemed to assume some kind of rule over him at once. He had been getting impatient at the loss of his time on a market-day, the moment before she appeared, yet now he calmly took a seat at her bidding.”

From the same chapter, Thornton’s first meeting with Miss Hale could easily have been Darcy and Elizabeth’s. “She sat facing him and facing the light; her full beauty met his eye; her round white flexile throat rising out of the full, yet lithe figure; her lips, moving so slightly as she spoke, not breaking the cold serene look of her face with any variation from the one lovely haughty curve; her eyes, with their soft gloom, meeting his with quiet maiden freedom. He almost said to himself that he did not like her,before their conversation ended; he tried so to compensate himself for the mortified feeling, that while he looked upon her with an admiration he could not repress, she looked at him with proud indifference, taking him, he thought, for what, in his irritation, he told himself he was–a great rough fellow, with not a grace or a refinement about him. Her quiet coldness of demeanour he interpreted into contemptuousness, and resented itin his heart to the pitch of almost inclining him to get up and go away, and have nothing more to do with these Hales, and their superciliousness.”

From Chapter 10, “Wrought Iron and Gold,” Thornton and Margaret have a heated discussion over the merits of living in the North versus residing in the South. I was reminded of Darcy and Elizabeth saying, “And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.”
“And yours,” he replied, with a smile, “is willfully to misunderstand them.”

John Thornton and Miss Hale says, “You do not know anything about the South. If there is less adventure or less progress–I suppose I must not say less excitement–from the gambling spirit of trade, which seems requisite to force out these wonderful inventions, there is less suffering also…. You do not know the South, Mr.Thornton,” she concluded, collapsing into a determined silence, and angry with herself for having said so much.
“And may I say you do not know the North?” said he.

Later on, when Thornton means to shake Margaret’s hand in farewell, but Margaret is unfamiliar with the custom, I am reminded of Elizabeth’s refusal to dance with Darcy at Sir William Lucas’s house, and of Elizabeth’s initial “first impression” of Darcy. “When Mr. Thornton rose up to go away, after shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Hale, he made an advance to Margaret to wish her good-bye in a similar manner. It was the frank familiar custom of the place; but Margaret was not prepared for it. She simply bowed her farewell; although the instant she saw the hand, half put out, quickly drawn back, she was sorry she had not been aware of the intention. Mr. Thornton, however, knew nothing of her sorrow, and, drawing himself up to his full height, walked off, muttering as he left the house– ‘A more proud, disagreeable girl I never saw. Even her great beauty is blotted out of one’s memory by her scornful ways.’”

From Chapter 9, Thornton explains to his mother that Miss Hale has not set her sights on him. “‘Well! I only say, take care. Perhaps our Milton girls have too
much spirit and good feeling to go angling after husbands; but this Miss Hale comes out of the aristocratic counties, where, if all tales be true, rich husbands are reckoned prizes.’
Mr. Thornton’s brow contracted, and he came a step forward into the room. ‘Mother’ (with a short scornful laugh), ‘you will make me confess. The only time I saw Miss Hale, she treated me with a haughty civility which had a strong flavour of contempt in it. She held herself aloof from me as if she had been a queen, and I her humble, unwashed vassal. Be easy, mother.’”

Although the situation is reversed: Thornton is rich, but of the working class, and Miss Hale is poor, but of the genteel class. Despite her poverty, the lady does not view Mr. Thornton as a possible suitor, but he is enthralled with her with his first glance. In fact, Chapter 11 is entitled “First Impressions.” Must I say more???

Posted in book excerpts, British history, George IV, Great Britain, Jane Austen, language choices, political stance, real life tales, Victorian era | Tagged Cranford, Elizabeth Gaskell, Jane Austen, Mary Barton, North and South | 11 Comments

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