"Learning to Love" by Brigid Huey ~ Blog Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Hello, my friends! Do you love Little Women and Pride and Prejudice? Brigid Huey has entwined the two stories in her new book Learning to Love! Brigid is here today to share an excerpt from the book. There's also a giveaway happening! Details for the giveaway are at the bottom of this page.  

Learning to Love 

by Brigid Huey 

Blurb

 

In this exploration of Little Women and Pride and Prejudice, can Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy help unite two young lovers? 

Amy March has been in love with her neighbor Laurie for years, but he only had eyes for her older sister. Now living in Europe, Amy is choosing her path to happiness despite her heartache. But her equilibrium is challenged when a single and melancholy Laurie pays her a visit.  

Soundly rejected by his childhood love and best friend, Laurie is now wandering around Europe, taking little interest in anything or anyone. Things change in France, where he reunites with his old friend Amy. Disappointed in his behavior, she convinces him to take charge of his life and engineer his own happiness. 

Laurie returns to London to make a fresh start, but he cannot get Amy out of his mind. Confused and lovestruck, he appeals to his grandfather’s close friends, the Darcys, for advice. Will this wise, elderly couple be able to guide him through his heartache?

 

Candy, thank you so much for having me here at So little time! I’m pleased to be back, and even more excited to share with you and your readers my newest work! Learning to Love is inspired by my two favorite historical novels, Pride and Prejudice and Little Women. I’ve brought a little excerpt to share. I do hope you all enjoy it! 

Oh, I should probably mention that a key plot point from Little Women is revealed here. So if you haven’t read the original, be warned! Here we find Amy in a little garden in Vevay.

Excerpt

     The yard offered a green sanctuary shaded by trees with an excellent view of the water, and Amy sat for hours each day staring out across its wide blue expanse.

     She sat there now, alone as usual, with a pile of letters in her lap. Behind her, a bed of flowers bloomed with roses, her black crepe dress standing in stark contrast to the riotous blooms of pink and yellow behind her. How she wished for Laurie to be here! But she had told him to stay with his grandfather, and she would not be so selfish as to pull him away. Nevertheless, she felt certain that, once he heard the sad news, he would come. Her dear sister had been gone almost a month now.

     Tears slid down her cheeks once again. She should have gone home long ago. How would she ever bear this heartache alone? And how could she have missed the opportunity to say farewell to her beloved Beth?

     She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, absentmindedly fingering the black cross she wore around her neck. Laurie had given it to her many years ago. Jo had laughed at such a serious gift, but Laurie knew her better. Amy had a solemn, serious side that her sisters did not often appreciate. Meg understood, perhaps, but Jo never would. Though they had quarreled often as children, she and Jo had come to a pleasant place of understanding as they grew older. Her sister’s letters were full of affection and came with endearing regularity. Jo’s pages overflowed with snippets of stories she was working on, tales of her life in New York as a tutor, and the everyday ups and downs of life at Orchard House. All that would change if Jo ever found out about Amy’s love for Laurie.

     Amy thought that Beth might have suspected, but—as was her gentle sister’s way—she had never asked about it, unwilling to force a confidence. She should have confided in Beth. Now she would never get the chance. A fresh wave of tears overcame her, and she buried her face in her handkerchief. The loneliness of Vevay was suffocating.

     She longed for Laurie with a force that shook her confidence. She had practiced for so many years! Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus on the mantra that she often repeated to herself: He does not care for you in that way. You will be respected if you cannot be loved.

     But the words did not bring her comfort now. The letters from Laurie had drawn him too close to her heart. She loved him so very much but was still in ignorance of his feelings. He had never shown her more than brotherly affection.

     Yet the tone of his letters had changed. He spoke to her now as an equal, not a younger sister to be teased. His words were of a man to a woman. And though they were friends as they always had been, she felt that their friendship had deepened in a way she didn’t quite understand.

     Laurie—would he not come?

     She looked up and gasped. He stood on the other side of the courtyard, handsome as ever, though he wore a suit of mourning. Blinking to be certain she was really seeing him, her lips formed his name, though no sound escaped them. 

     In a moment, she was on her feet and running toward him. The forgotten letters fluttered to the ground as she opened her arms. “Oh, Laurie! I knew you would come to me!”

     The words escaped her lips without her realizing it. In a moment, she was safe in his embrace. His strong arms came around her and she rested her head on his lapel, taking in his familiar smell and the comfort that only his presence could bring.

     “I came as soon as I got your letter,” he muttered against her hair.

     After a long moment, she realized she was still holding onto him. She stepped back, feeling the flush on her skin. “I’m so sorry! I couldn’t help it. I was just so lonely, and I looked up and saw you, and…well…”

     He took her arm in his, leading her back to the bench. She sat and watched him gather up the forgotten letters. She felt her cheeks heat again when she realized just how many of them were from him. As he sat beside her and handed her the letters, his look was almost shy. She tucked them away in her reticule and struggled to meet his gaze.

     “How are you doing, my dear? Really?” His voice was gentle, and she felt tears coming on again.

     “I shall be well in time.”

     “I wish I could say something to comfort you for the loss of dear Beth, but I can only feel and…” Unable to finish his thought, Laurie took her hand instead, giving it a gentle squeeze.

     “You needn’t say anything. This comforts me.”

     They sat for a moment in silence, thinking of Beth and all they had lost.

     “Beth is at peace now,” Amy whispered at last. “I am so grateful you have come, Laurie. My Aunt and Flo have been very kind, but they didn’t love Beth the way we did.” She looked at him with sudden anxiety. “You need not return right away?”

     “I shall stay as long as you want me, my dear.”

     Something in his voice struck her heart in a way that stole her tongue. She could not trust herself to reply, so she nodded instead. Still, he said nothing, and she whispered, “I do want you. Very much.”

     She chanced a look at Laurie’s face and saw something there that made her heart beat faster. He was looking at her tenderly—in a way he never had before.

     The moment passed, and he said in his usual way, “Poor little soul! I am going to take care of you now. Come. It is too chilly to sit still here in the shade. Let us walk together.”

     He slipped her arm through his and led her out into the sunlight. They walked along the stone walkway near the lake’s edge, admiring its beauty together.

About the Author

Brigid Huey lives in Ohio with her husband and two kids. She
dreams of living on a farm where she can raise as many chickens, ducks, and goats as she likes and write romance novels in an airy study overlooking the wildflowers.

Connect with Brigid Huey

Website • Facebook • Instagram • Twitter

Book Links

Amazon US • Amazon Universal Buy Link

Add to Goodreads

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon US. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission, at no cost to you,  if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!

Other Books by Brigid Huey

A Chance Encounter in Pemberley Woods (Amazon US)

Interrupted Plans (Amazon US)

Spies of Our Acquaintance (Amazon US)

The Foll Stones (Amazon US)

Blog Tour Schedule

July 2 - So little time... you're here!

July 5 - From Pemberley to Milton

July 8 - Interests of a Jane Austen Girl

July 10 - My Jane Austen Book Club

July 12 - Delighted Reader Book Reviews

July 15 - Austenesque Reviews

* * * GIVEAWAY * * *

It's giveaway time! Meryton Press is giving away an eBook of Learning to Love to one of my lucky readers! To enter, leave a comment below with a way to contact you, or check back here, where I will announce the winner.

• One person will win an e-copy of Learning to Love.
• Winner will be randomly picked.
• To enter the giveaway, leave a comment below and provide a way of contacting you, or check back for the winner announcement.
• Open internationally.
• The last day to enter the giveaway is July 9th, 2024, by the end of the day.

Good luck!

Congratulations, Brigid, on the release of Learning to Love! Thank you so much for stopping by!

Thanks to Meryton Press for the giveaway, and a heartfelt thanks to Janet Taylor @ More Agreeably Engaged for organizing and including me in this blog tour!

So readers, what are your thougths about a Little Women/Pride and Prejudice mashup? Let me know in the comments! 

"Georgiana Darcy's Magical Meddling" by Leah Page ~ Excerpt & Giveaway!

Hello, my friends! I'm delighted to have Leah Page on the blog today with an excerpt from her new book, Georgiana Darcy's Magical Meddling! 

Leah is also giving away an eCopy of her book! Details are at the bottom of the page.

Book Blurb 

Sixteen-year-old Georgiana Darcy harbors a secret—she's recently discovered she is a witch! Under the tutelage of a wise and witchy companion, she spends her days casting spells and plotting the occasional hex against the irksome Miss Bingley. 

When the tea leaves reveal that her brother, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, is destined to meet his one true love at a local assembly, Georgiana cannot resist using her newfound powers to eavesdrop. Unfortunately, the encounter is far from magical. Fitzwilliam's clumsy attempts at affection are doomed without her intervention. Armed with her trusty diary and a knack for magical mischief, Georgiana vows to document—and secretly improve—each of her brother's courtship efforts, ensuring he never strays from his path to true love. But when Lady Catherine de Bourgh senses a budding romance, the stakes rise. 

Will the fledgling witch secure her brother’s happiness and manage the magical realm’s unpredictable twists? Or will her enchanted endeavors fizzle just when she needs them the most? 

Humorous, heartfelt, and utterly enchanting, Georgiana Darcy's Magical Meddling invites you to experience Darcy and Elizabeth’s romance through the eyes of a clever, charming, and slightly meddlesome young witch. Her diary isn't just a record of magical mayhem—it's a confirmation of the love, laughter, and lunacy that make up her witchy life.

 

Excerpt

Chapter One

Midday, 24 October 1811

Dear Diary, 

     I am bursting with excitement. Today I learned the most thrilling news! Tonight, my brother will meet his one true love! Mrs. Annesley, my companion, read Fitzwilliam’s tea leaves (after he left the table, of course), and that is how I discovered it. He is to attend a ball with his friend, Mr. Bingley. There, he will meet his one true love. Is that not the most romantic thing you have ever heard? It is doubly romantic given Fitzwilliam’s aversion to attending balls, as will be the case tonight.

     I suppose I should start from the beginning, little niece, as you are likely quite confused by now. Greetings from your Aunt Georgiana, who, as it happens, is also a witch. I have started a fresh diary for your benefit, as you are likely a witch as well. Do not worry about others finding this book. My companion has placed a spell on the pages that allows only witches to read them. After all, it would not be proper for those without magic to peruse the secrets held within this tome.

     I learned of my powers when I met my companion, Mrs. Annesley. Before her, I had a terrible companion who took advantage of my youth and inexperience and led me astray. We will not discuss that further. Suffice it to say Fitzwilliam (your father) separated me from that lady posthaste upon discerning her vile nature. He then introduced me to Mrs. Annesley, and I could not have been happier with any other companion. 

     Mrs. Annesley is the third daughter of a baron. As she explained it to me, females of rank almost always have magical powers. Their power is, usually, the reason the family gained rank and power in the first place. However, the wealthiest and most powerful homes have long forgotten their powers and stopped practicing. Perhaps, having grown complacent like fatted calves, these families saw no need to pursue their arcane studies further. It is likely that my own mother, the daughter of an influential earl, was a powerful witch. Unfortunately, she died when I was a small child, so I never learned from her. It is possible she was never even aware of her talents.

     Yet, this tale concerns both Mrs. Annesley and my own foray into the craft. As I said, Mrs. Annesley is the third daughter of a baron. Though he held a title, he was not particularly wealthy or powerful, and thus, the ladies of that family never stopped practicing their craft. Witchcraft can be a potent boon for a gentleman. A witch who knows what she is about can secure bountiful harvests, avert blights, and influence her husband towards wise investments. Men may fancy themselves powerful and clever, yet it's truly the women steering the course. Remember that, little niece.

     At the age of twenty, Mrs. Annesley left home to marry Mr. Annesley. He was the second son of a gentleman farmer, and though he did not inherit the family property, he did receive a very lovely little place along the shore in Kent. Mrs. Annesley has shown it to me in visions, so I can attest to the beauty of the home and setting. Alas, their love was but brief, her husband succumbing to a consumptive disease mere years after their union. I asked once why she did not save him, and she explained that witchcraft does not work like that. She was able to offer him comfort, but even a witch cannot suspend God’s will. Currently, a tenant rents the house in Kent, which adds to Mrs. Annesley’s small annuity. She opts to serve as a companion until she deems herself ready to wed anew or till work becomes untenable with age. 

     That is quite a sad story and not at all why you are here, dearest niece. You are here to learn the story of your father’s one true love. And to do that, I must share my background a bit. When Mrs. Annesley became my companion, she began to test me in small ways to understand my powers. Given my father's considerable lands, she suspected our lineage harbored latent talents, but when she learned my mother was the daughter of an Earl, she was convinced I had dormant abilities. 

     At first, she tried me in little ways that were hardly decipherable to me. For instance, she once offered me tea that was terribly hot, but before it settled on my tongue, I had unwittingly cooled it. Another time, she spelled a young child with messy hands to hug me close. I was left with small handprints of sticky syrup along my skirt. While the child’s mother apologized for her son’s actions, I took out my handkerchief and dabbed at the stains. They removed themselves with no more effort than a wave of my cloth across the untidiness. I was quite unaware that I had used magic to clean myself, for it happened unconsciously. 

     Once she was satisfied that I did possess some powers, she tested me further. One day, Fitzwilliam joined us late for breakfast. He greeted each of us and turned to the buffet to make his selections. My reply of, “Good morning, Fitzwilliam,” barely had time to echo before the morning’s tranquility was shattered —not by the expected clink of China, but by an unexpected maneuver from Mrs. Annesley. Without warning, she sent the sugar bowl hurling through the air toward Fitzwilliam, who stood behind me, gathering his breakfast from the buffet. 

     A sudden "eep" escaped me, an instinctive reaction to the potential disaster I sensed rather than saw. My hands reached out futilely, as if I could somehow catch the bowl through sheer will. But the expected crash never came. Confused, I turned just in time to see the sugar bowl floating to the ground before landing innocuously behind me on the floor, as if it had chosen to leap from its perch in a bid for freedom and then thought better of it.

     “Georgiana, why is the sugar on the floor?” My brother placed his plate near mine and then stalked behind me to pick up the dish. 

     Stammering, I managed, “I, uh, deemed the sugar too great a temptation and opted to remove it from my sight, especially since my dresses have grown snug around the middle.” A lame excuse, but the only shield I could muster on the spur of the moment.

     “Nonsense. You look quite well, sister. In any case, if you desire to limit yourself, have a footman remove it from the table. Placing it on the floor is a filthy habit. What would Father have said had he lived to witness this?” His words were stern, yet I sensed his concern was born more of confusion than reprimand.

     My eyes darted across the table to my companion. Her expression was one of unperturbed serenity. She sipped her tea as if flying sugar bowls were among the most common breakfast activities. I admit I was a trifle irritated with her at the time. But when we settled in the yellow salon later that morning, she shared the news of my powers with me, and all was forgiven. 

     That is a bit of a stretch. All was not immediately forgiven because I did not believe her claims. She reminded me of the child’s sticky hands, but I dismissed that. “That was not magic,” I argued, “it was the result of my own actions.” With a scoff, she dotted my skirt with jam! Before I could set myself back to rights, she stilled my hand and suggested that I could clean one stain but leave the other for my abigail, La Roche. The spot I chose disappeared with no more than a wave of a napkin, but La Roche was forced to spend several minutes scrubbing the spot with water and soap before it was put to rights. 

     Since that day, she has been teaching me to harness my powers. I have practiced just a few short months, so I have not yet learned much, but I am able to make the roses bloom on command, and I can sweeten my tea as desired without adding so much as a cube of sugar or a drop of cream. That is a more useful spell than one might imagine. Miss Bingley’s tea, so bitter it could scandalize, would surely appall you. She allows it to steep for far too long, and the result is an undrinkable brew. With a small tap of my index finger against the porcelain cup, I can take tea with the lady without gagging. 

     Mrs. Annesley has advised me to keep my powers secret for the time being. Fitzwilliam himself remains oblivious to these powers. He is also, obviously, ignorant of her tea reading skills. Be careful of the lady who always offers to take up the teacups, for I have discovered that is Mrs. Annesley’s tactic. Whenever possible, she reads everyone’s leaves. 

     And that, my dear niece, is the abbreviated tale behind this new journal’s beginnings. But let us move on to more exciting things. As I mentioned, I have delicious news. Tonight, your father will meet his one true love (as told by his tea leaves this morning) and I have chosen to record their love story for you. If your mother turns out to be as reticent as your father, then you shall never hear the story without my intervention. 

     My brother and I recently arrived at the estate of Mr. Charles Bingley. Mr. Bingley is Fitzwilliam’s good friend. I believe they met during their time at Cambridge, though Mr. Bingley is a few years younger. Mr. Bingley resides at a place known as Netherfield Park. It lies in the county of Hertfordshire just outside a small village called Meryton. I do not believe Fitzwilliam has yet to meet anyone in the community, though perhaps he has met a gentleman or two. He and Mr. Bingley did go shooting yesterday and men do like to do those things in groups. But the point is that Fitzwilliam needs to meet a lady, and I do not believe he’s yet had that pleasure. So, unless he plans to accidentally stumble upon a lady this afternoon, the only place he could possibly meet his one true love is at the ball.

     My brother is the best of men, but young as I am, I am not blind to his faults. Fitzwilliam might, at best, be described as reticent. He might, at worst, be described as a pompous snob. He hates to be the center of attention and is very uncomfortable among new people. Unfortunately, when he is uncomfortable, he often appears to be rather terrible, at least to those who do not know him. That is why tonight is so special. For a man as reserved as my brother to find his one true love amid a public ball —oh, it will be truly amazing! I cannot help but wonder about the lady who will capture his attention. Will she be shy like Fitzwilliam, or will she possess a natural wit and vivacity that will help to draw him out?

     Because I am not yet out, being sixteen, I asked if there was a spell that would allow me to watch the events unfold without attending. Mrs. Annesley believes there are several that might work and is just now checking her books to determine the best options for a young, inexperienced witch. While she is searching her spell books, I shall share some necessary background information for the sake of my future nieces. 

     I have been studying the art of tea reading myself, but I have not yet mastered it. Yesterday I believed I read that Mr. Bingley would fall off his horse, but it turns out that he was only to fall off the porch, and even that interpretation was not quite right, for he simply tripped down the final step and landed with surprising grace on his feet in the driveway. 

     Mrs. Annesley’s predictions always prove themselves to be correct, however, which is why I was so excited to hear this morning’s forecast. My brother (your father) will meet his one true love this evening, and I will finally have a sister! And eventually, little one, I will have you, too. 

***

     Mrs. Annesley returned with a list of possibilities. There are, it appears, three spells suitable for a witch of my novice level to witness another's experiences. The first is a transformation spell. This enchantment might allow me to attend the ball not in person but cloaked in the guise of a small creature. Alas, as a fledgling witch, it is unlikely I could master the art of assuming a form as complex as a bird, to perch unnoticed at the event. Mastering a mouse's form might be within my reach, yet how much could I discern from a vantage so low upon the ground? Inevitably, I would startle at least one lady, and likely a gentleman too, with my mousey presence. Someone might even swat at me with a broom, or perhaps a cane. Attending a ball as a mouse seems like a very good way to lose my life. 

     The second type is a mirror spell. This would necessitate charming an object already present at the ball. It would then act as a mirror, allowing me to see events happening around the room. Unfortunately, I do not have the ability to place an object at the ball because I will not be attending. 

     The final option is a riding spell. This is the most complicated of the options, but it is probably the only one that is truly available to me. A riding spell would enable me, the witch, to experience events through another's senses. Obviously, I would need to charm Fitzwilliam for his are the eyes and ears that will matter this evening. Mrs. Annesley has assured me this is physically taxing magic and has urged me to take a long afternoon nap so that I can maintain the connection for the duration of the ball. So that is what I shall do. 

     I will return this evening to share what I learn. Wish me (and Fitzwilliam, of course) luck!

About the Author

Leah Page loves books, hiking, and the Bengals (Who Dey!).  She has a passion for travel, is doing her best to learn Spanish, and has plans to live “a little bit of everywhere” when her husband retires. For now, you can find her sitting at her writing desk in Kentucky while her sidekick pup sleeps in her lap.   

Leah writes Pride and Prejudice fan fiction. If you would like to learn more, visit www.leahpageauthor.com. 

Book Links

Amazon (paid link) • Goodreads

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission, at no cost to you,  if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!

* * *GIVEAWAY * * *

Leah Page is offering one free e-copy of Georgiana Darcy’s Magical Meddling to a lucky reader. To qualify for the drawing, enter below. Good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Many thanks to Leah Page for stopping by today! Congratulations on the release of Georgiana Darcy's Magical Meddling! 

I absolutely loved that excerpt. It was so fun. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the story! How about you? Let me know in the comments below. 

"Darcy's Struggle" by Kelly Dean Jolley ~ Blog Tour ~ Excerpt & Giveaway!

Hello, my friends! I'm excited to have Kelly Dean Jolley visiting today with an excerpt from his new book, Darcy's Struggle! Plus, Meryton Press is giving away an eCopy of the book. Details are at the bottom of the page.

Darcy’s Struggle

by Kelly Dean Jolley

Blurb 

Brilliant, sensitive, and private, Fitzwilliam Darcy finds himself at the Meryton Assembly, consciously troubled by recent events in Ramsgate and unconsciously troubled by himself.  He insults Elizabeth Bennet, at whom he has only glanced. 

It is not until she appears at Netherfield—full of life, skirted in mud, and eager to attend to her sick sister—that Darcy truly looks at her. When he does, he knows she is the woman he has been searching for, the elusive her of his heart. He falls for her completely…despite her apparent unsuitability to be the Mistress of Pemberley and his half-hearted efforts to convince himself he can live without her. 

Shortly before Elizabeth leaves Netherfield, Darcy apologizes for what he said at the Assembly. Will that apology and the depth of his sudden but durable feelings give him hope with Elizabeth? Might George Wickham’s arrival frustrate his hopes, especially after Darcy blunders into a marriage proposal to Elizabeth?  

Romantic, reflective, and ironic, this is a story told from Darcy’s point of view, a story of the struggle from intellect to heart—a deliberate character study and a delicate love story. 

 

Excerpt

Darcy’s knock at Richard's door received a hearty "Enter!"

     He did and found Richard already changed. Darcy envied him in small ways—particularly his readiness, his quickness, the product of a soldier's life. The lack of formality. It showed not only in the man’s ability to doff and don clothes but also in his comfort in circumstances high and low, his adaptability. He was a soldier, dutiful, a man of rectitude, but even Wickham would not claim Richard had a stick up his bum.

     Richard carried his territory with him; he belonged everywhere.

     Darcy, by contrast, was comfortable only in few places, around few people. Luckily, one of them was Richard. They jostled each other, sometimes hard, but they were as close as brothers.

     Richard smirked at him. "So, it finally happened—a woman mounted up to that tiny window at the top of that tall, tall tower, and found you there, entangled in yourself, waiting to be rescued."

     Darcy could not help it—he barked a loud laugh. Richard! "Am I the damsel in distress?"

"I fear it has long been so. You have been under a curse. ‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge.’”

     The quotation made Darcy think of his parents again and their mismanagement of their children's education.

     "Why is everyone quoting scripture to me lately? Bingley's been doing it!"

     "Eh? Returning the favor. And by the way, where is your hypochondriac, lovesick friend?"

     "Genuinely lovesick this time, I judge. He entered into a courtship on Friday with the sister, Jane Bennet, of my betrothed. But you've missed him today. He must have passed you on the road; he's gone to London to prepare for the wedding…and to attend to errands."

     "And where is Bingley’s sister—that is, his other sister, the one who intends to give you an heir and a spare before she begins to conduct personal virility tests with London's fashionable male population."

     "Richard! She is, well…she is insincere—but that?" He was never quite prepared for his cousin’s frankness, although he knew to expect it.

     "I do admire you, Darcy, but you are sometimes an imbecile. That woman does not want you, she wants Pemberley. But she does have wants, other wants, itches, that she's left unattended, and she will eventually scratch them…on someone."

About the Author

     Kelly Dean Jolley, a professor at Auburn University, has penned several novels. His first, Big Swamp, is a detective novel, which he followed with a Christmas mystery, The Vanishing Woman. He also composed a book of poetry, Stony Lonesome.

 

       Using the pseudonym Newton Priors, he released three additional novels: Balter (A Retelling of Pride and Prejudice), Tides of Bath (A Retelling of Persuasion), and a Western, Heaven and Hell: A Romance. 

       Professor Jolley has made contributions to many academic publications as well. He is the author of The Concept 'Horse' Paradox and Wittgensteinian Conceptual Investigations, the editor of Wittgenstein: Key Concepts, and has published over forty academic articles. He is a past Alumni Professor and currently the Goodwin-Philpott Endowed Chair in Religion and Professor of Philosophy. 

Connect with Kelly Dean Jolley

Facebook • Instagram • Blog

Purchase Link for Darcy's Struggle

Amazon US (paid link) • Universal Buy Link

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon US. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission, at no cost to you,  if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!

Other Meryton Press Books by Kelly Dean Jolley

Big Swamp - Amazon US (paid link)

The Vanishing Woman - Amazon US  (paid link)

Coming soon from Kelly Dean Jolley and Meryton Press

Pride, Prejudice, and Pretense (A spy novel, a romance, and a character study)

Blog Tour Schedule

June 12 - From Pemberley to Milton

June 13 - My Vices and Weaknesses

June 14 - Austenesque Reviews

June 17 - My Jane Austen Book Club

June 18 - So little time… ~ You're here!

June 20 - Interests of a Jane Austen Girl

June 21 - Delighted Reader Book Reviews

* * * GIVEAWAY * * *

It's giveaway time! Meryton Press is giving away an eBook of Darcy's Struggle to one of my lucky readers! To enter, leave a comment below with a way to contact you, or check back here, where I will announce the winner.

• One person will win an e-copy of Darcy's Struggle.
• Winner will be randomly picked.
• To enter the giveaway, leave a comment below and provide a way of contacting you, or check back for the winner announcement.
• Open internationally.
• The last day to enter the giveaway is June 25th, 2024, by the end of the day.

Good luck!

Many thanks to Kelly Dean Jolley for stopping by and sharing an excerpt with us! Congratulations on the release of Darcy's Struggle.

Thanks to Meryton Press for the giveaway, and a big thanks to Janet Taylor @ More Agreeably Engaged for organizing and including me in this blog tour!

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt as much as I did! I can tell I will love this Colonel Fitzwilliam, my favorite secondary character! Let me know your thoughts in the comments! 

"What Ought to Have Been" by MJ Stratton ~ Blog Tour, Excerpt, & Giveaway!

Hello, my friends! Today, the lovely MJ Stratton is visiting with us! She is sharing an excerpt and is giving away a copy of her new book, What Ought to Have Been! 

Details for the giveaway are at the bottom of the page.

What Ought to Have Been

A Sense and Sensibility Variation

by MJ Stratton

Book Blurb

Retribution belongs to God, and I am ill-equipped to carry it out in His place. ~Elinor Dashwood 

     Before leaving Norland forever, Elinor Dashwood forms an attachment to Edward Ferrars. Her tender regard remains constant when the four Dashwood ladies remove to Devonshire, taking up residence at Barton Cottage. Elinor’s hopes for the future are shattered when she unwillingly becomes the confidante of Lucy Steele, learning that Lucy has been betrothed to Edward for four years.

     However, Lucy fails to secure Elinor’s vow of secrecy. When Marianne finds Elinor in her misery, the sisters share confidences, leading Marianne to compare Edward’s honorable conduct with that of John Willoughby. Her musings lead to some startling revelations, igniting a spark of defiance within her. 

     Determined to right the wrongs done to her and her beloved family, Marianne takes matters into her own hands. While Elinor may be ill-equipped to exact God’s retribution, Marianne is not. Armed with determination and resolve, Marianne Dashwood sets out to achieve her aims by any means necessary. But can she complete her journey without losing herself in the process? 

     Told from both Marianne and Elinor’s points of view, What Ought to Have Been is a Sense and Sensibility variation that ensures all the story’s villains receive their just desserts.

 

Excerpt: Poor Elinor! After learning of Edward’s engagement, she seeks privacy to grieve.

Elinor sat on the bed and pulled open the drawer of the small bedside table. She pulled out a thick sheaf of papers that were carefully stored inside an oiled cloth. She had sewn pockets into the pouch to keep her drawings from being damaged. Opening it, she leafed through the sketches until she found the one she sought.

 

Edward’s face smiled up at her, and her heart fluttered. She cherished this picture, for it captured his expressive eyes and the true character that hid beneath his usual reserve. Yet now, Elinor wanted to tear it up and burn the pieces, so intense was the anguish that now overwhelmed her. Typically not prone to overt displays of emotion, she longed to scream out the injustice that had been done to her. 

She understood that Mrs. Ferrars held stringent expectations for her son's choice of a wife—expectations that Elinor markedly did not meet. And yet, she had dared to hope that someday he would be free to claim her hand if he resolved to make his own way in the world. Now that hope was gone; even if Edward were free of his mother’s requirements, he would still not be able to marry her. Yes, he was even more out of reach than she had realized.

Tears began to fall, and Elinor did nothing to stop them. She buried her face in her pillow, weeping quietly, the picture of Edward clutched tightly in her fist. When her tears finally subsided, she sat up and smoothed the wrinkled paper. She then slid the sketch back into the pouch, placing it behind all the others where she would not readily come across it, and then returned the pouch to the drawer. 

Her room was bitterly cold, as the fire would not be lit until closer to bedtime to save fuel. Elinor welcomed the frigid air, allowing it to seep into her bones, willing it to numb the pain. When her mother called her for dinner, she felt more composed and joined her family directly.

       Marianne sat silently at the table, as had been her habit since John Willoughby had departed Devonshire. Though her sister had not spoken of it, Elinor assumed that she and the gentleman had formed an understanding before his departure. Charlotte Palmer, Mrs. Jennings’s daughter, had brought news from London that it was being said around Town an engagement was indeed in place; Marianne had not confirmed it was so, at least not to Elinor.

Elinor’s relationship with Marianne had been strained since their father’s death. The sisters were very different in manner and temperament. Where Elinor was quiet and strived to maintain propriety in all circumstances, Marianne was not as circumspect; her passion and zeal for life often overrode good sense, and she had some strange ideas about love. Marianne’s heart was good, though, and she did not love by halves.

 

Elinor’s sister had been pale and quiet for some time. After Mr. Willoughby’s departure, she had wept for days, inconsolable by anything or anyone. Now, her grief was melancholic; she stared through the window at nothing for hours or played sad songs on the Middleton’s pianoforte. Marianne took long, solitary walks and came back looking wind-chapped and ill. Elinor thought she looked frail, and her dresses hung on her frame, a testament to her depressed spirits.

Elinor had disdained her sister’s overt behavior these last weeks, but now after her own trying afternoon, she thought she understood Marianne better. It took all her will to keep her emotions tightly contained, and she wished she could let herself be more like Marianne—that she might cry and wail, and wander about morosely in her heartbreak. But no, she was the reasonable, responsible sister, and falling to pieces before her family would do nothing to aid in her heartache.

After dinner, the family gathered in the small parlor just off the hall. A large fireplace warmed the room, and they settled around it, reading books, mending, or working on their embroidery. Marianne stared listlessly into the blaze, her hands idle in her lap, and Elinor felt irrational anger rising in her chest at her sister’s behavior. No such luxury would be given to Elinor! But was it truly anger, or was it jealousy? She was uncertain.

 

       She forcefully stabbed the needle into the handkerchief she was embroidering, yelping as the point pricked her finger. She stuck the wounded finger into her mouth. Mrs. Dashwood eyed her curiously, but Elinor ignored her, returning her attention to the fabric in her hand. Blessedly, her mother did not remark on Elinor’s uncharacteristic carelessness and simply returned to helping Margaret with the stitch she was learning.

Elinor glanced down at the fabric and was relieved that no blood had stained the white cloth. It was sure to be a lovely handkerchief when it was finished, but Elinor suddenly found herself too restless to focus on the fancy work. She set it aside and pulled a novel out of her workbasket. Opening it, she attempted to read.

She was grateful when it was finally time to retire. Marianne followed her up the stairs like a wraith—silent and slow. Their bedchamber was warmer than it had been earlier, but barely so. The coals in the fireplace burned low, a reminder of their limited resources. Elinor knew that she and Marianne would have to manage with what little they had, for their funds were in short supply and fuel was deemed a luxury.

They readied for bed in haste; the numbness of a broken heart did not shield from the cold. With woolen socks on their feet and dressing gowns worn over their night clothes, she and Marianne huddled under their covers, waiting for their shared body heat to warm them.

Marianne drifted off quickly, leaving Elinor alone in the dark, staring into the blackness and reliving the terrible recitation of Miss Lucy from earlier that day. The equanimity she had strived for earlier shattered, and tears once began to fall onto her pillow once more.

 

She began to better understand Marianne’s despondency at being separated from Mr. Willoughby. How fortunate her sister was to have secured her lasting happiness! Oh, how Elinor envied her.

About the Author

MJ Stratton is a long-time lover of Jane Austen and her works, having been introduced to Pride and Prejudice by a much-beloved aunt at the age of sixteen. The subsequent discovery of Austenesque fiction sealed her fate. After beta reading and editing for others for nearly a decade, MJ started publishing her own work in 2022. MJ balances being a wife and mother with writing, gardening, sewing, and many other favorite pastimes. She lives with her husband and four children in the small, rural town where she grew up.

Purchase Links

Amazon (paid link)

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FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!

* * * GIVEAWAY * * *

It's giveaway time! As part of this book tour, MJ Stratton is giving away an eCopy of the book What Ought to Have Been! Enter through the Rafflecopter below! 

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Good luck!

Many thanks to MJ Stratton for stopping by today!

Oh my, poor Elinor! But I'm so glad that Elinor isn't sworn to secrecy to Lucy and can confide in Marianne in this variation. I'm so curious how this will play out! How about you? What do you think? Let me know in the comments below!

"To Pledge Allegiance" by Robert W. Smith ~ Excerpt

Hello there, my friends! I've been missing for a while again, but I have a few upcoming posts, so stay tuned for that.

Today, I'm thrilled to bring you an excerpt from To Pledge Allegiance by Robert W. Smith. 

 

To Pledge Allegiance

A World War I 

Windy City Novel

by Robert W. Smith

Book Blurb:

Assassination, espionage, war, and vigilante violence. 

Welcome to Chicago in 1917.

Within this caldron of intrigue and deceit, live nearly half a million Irish and German American immigrants, among them Irish-born lawyer Conor Dolan and his wife Maureen. The Dolans are among thousands of immigrants marked as “hyphenated Americans,” their reluctance to support the war cry branding them “enemy aliens.” 

When one of the legendary Chicago Newsboys takes a lethal bullet from a German Luger during a warehouse break-in, his mysterious companion escapes, and Conor is determined to find the killer. He discovers instead a link between the burglary and the murder of a prominent Chicago arms broker with ties to the Allied powers and possibly the mob. Despite warnings from a powerful group of government-backed vigilantes and a suspicious lack of cooperation from the police, Conor presses on at his own peril to root out the boy’s killer. 

Was it a German agent? An Allied agent? The mob? Or maybe even the police themselves by some deceitful plan? The closer he gets to the answer, the greater the danger to those he loves.

 

Excerpt

It was nearly one in the afternoon when the funeral crowd began to trickle into the restaurant. Most had arrived by rail, making the short walk up Wolf Road to the restaurant. MoMo Storino, One-Ear Raimondi, even the recently paroled Irish thug, Lucky O’Leary, like the Litany of the Saints performed live on stage. The politicians in attendance were largely retired and immune to bad publicity. Conor spotted reporters and cops, lots of cops, with no way to distinguish among dirty cops, curious cops, and on-duty cops. A few might have attended only to be certain the gangster was dead.

The drinks were free after one-thirty, and around two o’clock the crowd began to mill upstairs for the luncheon. The meal officially began with Father Militello’s rendition of the Grace, an obligatory act of the Catholic mourners. The old priest’s manufactured tears and fond recollections of “a great and generous” man warranted a Jameson, but Conor decided against it. He was here for a reason. No doubt this cleric would miss his regular cut of the ill-gotten proceeds from the “great man.”

The disgustingly effusive speeches and stories carried beyond the antipasto, the minestrone, three types of pasta, and clear into the tiramisu until, at last, the gathering began to dissipate, and the mourners left or gathered in small groups at the bar. The drinks were still free, but Conor held it at three. He wasn’t here to drink any more than he was here to mourn. 

Viviana came to him at the bar as he’d hoped, where they stood shoulder to shoulder without acknowledging one another. “Water,” she said to the bartender.

Conor didn’t turn to face her. “I need to talk with you.”

“I know,” she replied. “Let’s go outside. They have a few tables. It’s cold so we’ll be alone.”

Conor knew only too well how much she detested her father, at least he thought he did. He struggled to find the appropriate words. Keep it simple, nothing religious or hypocritical. “I’m sorry, Viviana. He was your father.”

“I keep telling myself that.”

“I saw in the papers you were performing in St. Louis when he died.”

She laughed gently. “Are you still stalking me?”

He shrugged. “I like to think I’m not but. . .”

Once outside, she said, “It’s time we talked.” Then she leaned back in the chair. “How would you like to do this? Would you like to ask me questions or should I give it to you all at once?”

“First let me take a guess. You have a three-month-old baby and I’m the father?”

She laughed as a waitress came out the back door. The woman seemed surprised to see them. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here. Too chilly. I just came out for some air. Can I get you folks something? Open bar closes in fifteen minutes.”

Conor waved her off. “No, thanks. We’re fine.”

Viviana turned back to Conor. “I wish that were the case. It would be simpler. Go ahead. Fire away.”

“This means you know more than you’re telling me.”

“Much more.”

He was afraid to go further down this road. Was he about to learn all the answers? How much did she know? Was she going to say she lied to him? He wondered how ugly this could get and that fact terrified him to his core. Alright, get to the heart of it and find out. “First off, I’d like to know who killed Mumbles.”

“It was my father’s dog, Lucchesi. It had to be. Lucchesi didn’t know my father was helping the Allies. It’s still possible the boy was meant to die from the beginning. But it doesn’t matter and it’s all my fault.”

“I don’t know about that. Remember, your father called the Bureau of Investigation to verify the identity of the agent who approached him with the British. He didn’t exist. Your father might have thought he was in trouble running a rogue operation for the British.”

“I still think Lucchesi was acting alone, as much as I believe my father capable.”

How would Viviana know that? She only knew what her mother told her. And why was it her fault? He tried to prepare himself to be shocked. “Why your fault? And what plan?”

“That’s complicated, but I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t alert the cops.”

She was fumbling. Why? It didn’t matter whether her father ordered the hit or not. He thought briefly about telling her to stop. Did he really need to know more? Mumbles was dead and Ruffulo was involved up to his ears. Now Ruffulo was dead. Game over. But it wasn’t over, not for Conor and not for Mumbles. He had to know for sure, and he had to know everything. Did this woman know the whole story? If so, what is she? Who is she? “I have time. How do you know all this? Does that mean everything else you told me was a lie? Even the personal . . . things?”

“Of course not. I was as honest with you as I could be. It’s a long story.”

“I have time. I could even buy us a drink.”

About the Author

Bob was raised in Chicago, enlisting in the Air Force in 1968. Following four years of service as a Russian Linguist in the Security Service Command, a branch of the NSA, Bob attended DePaul University and The John Marshall Law School. With over thirty years of experience as a criminal defense lawyer in Chicago, Bob brings a lifetime of understanding and experience to his novels. His Running with Cannibals is the Grand Prize winner of the CIBA 2022 Hemingway Award for best 20th-century wartime fiction. 

The author lives in the Chicago area. 

Connect with Robert W. Smith

Website

Buy Links

To Pledge Allegiance (Amazon paid link)

Also, by Robert W. Smith

A Long Way from Clare (Amazon - paid link)

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission, at no cost to you,  if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!

Many thanks to Robert W. Smith for stopping by with an excerpt and to Janet @ More Agreeably Engaged for organizing this book tour.

So, friends, what did you think of the excerpt? I'd love to know your thoughts!