Celebrate spring with In Want of a Wife: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary by @reginajeffers #Regency #ro
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  • N. N. Light
    • Apr 27, 2019
    • 7 min read

Celebrate spring with In Want of a Wife: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary by @reginajeffers #Regency #ro


Title: In Want of a Wife: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

Author: Regina Jeffers

Genre: Traditional Regency

Book Blurb:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” - Jane Austen

Elizabeth Bennet Darcy wakes in an unfamiliar room, attended by a stranger, who claims she is his wife and saying she has suffered an injury to her head. He accuses her of pretending her memory loss, but to Elizabeth, the fear is real.

“Surely you know me,” he protested. His words sounded as if he held his emotions tightly in check. “I am William. Your husband.”

She thought to protest, but the darkness had caught her hand and was leading her away from him. With one final attempt to correct his declaration, her mind formed the words, but her lips would not cooperate. Her dissent died before she could tell him: I do not have a husband!

Fitzwilliam Darcy despises his new wife, for he fears she has faked her love for him, better to see her family well-settled, and if love is not powerful enough to change a life, what is?

“This is unacceptable. I realize I was never your first choice as a husband, but it is too late to change your mind. The vows have been spoken. The registry signed. You cannot deny your pledge with this ploy. I will not have it. No matter how often you call out George Wickham’s name, he will never be your husband. I will never release you.”

Excerpt:

“Open your eyes, Elizabeth,” a voice near her ear demanded, but she could not seem to find the strength to lift her lids. A pain so intense that the idea of her willingly encountering it caused her to grimace.

“Come, love,” the same voice insisted. It was a very nice voice. Smooth baritone. Cultured. A slight accent buried within the words.

Even so, a hint of fear skittered up her spine. She attempted to shake off the idea, but pain—immediate and excruciating—had her squeezing her eyes even tighter. Instinctively, she reached for her head, but he stopped her, catching her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. The warmth of his breath across her knuckles was comforting in an odd sort of manner; yet, she knew she should not be permitting him to continue to caress her fingers. She gave a little tug, but he enclosed her hand in his two.

“Easy,” he cautioned. “You have injured your head. My personal physician has treated the laceration and applied a bandage. Just know, you are safe now. I will protect you. Nothing and no one will harm you again.”

Despite his assurances, she did not feel safe. Instead, foreboding crept into her chest, constricting her breathing. She attempted to remember what had happened to her, but she could recall nothing of the details. Questions. What felt to be hundreds of them scampered through her mind, but none she could name, except one. She cracked one eyelid open and then the second, attempting to focus upon his features. Forcing moisture to her lips, she rasped, “Who are you?”

The effort exhausted her, and her eyes drifted closed again.

“Surely you know me,” he protested. His words sounded as if he held his emotions tightly in check. “I am William. Your husband.”

She thought to protest, but the darkness had caught her other hand and was leading her away from him. With one final attempt to correct his declaration, her mind formed the words, but her lips would not cooperate. Her dissent died before she could tell him: I do not have a husband!

* * *

It was several more days before she could open her eyes without experiencing the continued pain in her head and the feeling of despair plaguing her thoughts. Fortunately, today the harsh white pain had lessened substantially, and her vision had cleared. With care, she turned her head to the side to examine the room further. A variety of fragrances emanated from a large vase of flowers, which filled the gentle breeze from the open window with the scent of a spring day. She could see more than two dozen yellow roses mixed with bits of greenery. She wondered what flower was her favorite.

Turning her head to the opposite side of the room, she realized she was not alone. The same man she recalled from her first awakening sat in a nearby chair, one leg crossed over the other, a book upon his lap. His strong profile stole her breath away. Like it or not, he disturbed her. Although she had yet to view him standing, she could tell from his perfect posture, he was quite tall. His jacket, a dusty black, nearly gray, spread across his wide shoulders as if it would never tolerate a wrinkle in ne plus ultra. She studied his averted profile and realized he was classically handsome: His hair was the darkest of browns, but with hints of red, his brows the same rich shade of russet. His features square and angular. A strong, straight nose.

Despite the distance between them, she sensed his power—his complete control of his world. He raised his head. Their eyes met and held. Strangely enough, she could not look away. His gaze threatened to steal her breath away. His eyes were a pale silver and unsettling in a manner that had her wondering if he had judged her and found her wanting.

She knew she frowned, but she could not prevent her reaction. He had told her his name, but she could not recall it. His was not a face easily forgotten, and she was certain she did not know him. Even so, as there was no one else about, she cleared her throat to say, “Could you assist me?”

As if released from a cold winter, he rose quickly, permitting the book to drop to the floor. He immediately moved to the bed to sit upon the edge and capture her hand again. He caressed the back of it, silently studying her with close scrutiny.

“Elizabeth, my love,” he said in tones speaking of relief. “Thank our dearest Lord. How do you feel?”

She swallowed hard against the panic filling her chest. He called her Elizabeth. Was that truly her name? Surely he would not call her such if it was not her name, but she did not feel as if the name fit her. Elizabeth was a most proper name. Lying in a bed while a strange man held her hand certainly did not feel proper. Could he have confused her with another? Yet, if Elizabeth was not her name, what was it?

“Elizabeth?” Concern marked his tone. “Tell me what ails you. Do you still have a headache? Doctor Nott promised the pain would decrease when the swelling abated.”

“I do feel stronger,” she assured him, although the words provided her nothing of calm. A thousand questions rushed to her lips, but she could not speak any of them aloud, for she was not certain she wished to know the answer.

“You are so pale.” He caressed her cheek, and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and sigh. His touch held great tenderness.

“Where am I?” she asked, attempting to right her memory.

“In our home in London. In Mayfair. You are in the mistress’s quarters.”

“What happened to cause my injuries?”

She watched as indecision briefly flickered across his features before he reined in his emotions. “A carriage accident.”

She attempted to keep her expression as blank as was his. “When?”

“Nearly a week prior. Your head struck a paver stone, and you were kicked in the leg by a donkey pulling a cart. Fortunately, you incurred only a large bruise from the stubborn animal. My sister and your maid have taken turns throughout the day, massaging your legs and arms to be certain the blood does not pool because of inaction. The fact you are considered a great walker proved advantageous in this matter. We could have lost you. Everyone was so frightened.”

“Including you?”

“Most assuredly. You must know—”

“But I do not,” she insisted.

A muscle jerked in his jaw, and a frown creased his forehead. “I do not understand,” he said after a long pause.

She stilled under his piercing gaze. “I remember nothing of this room. Of my name. Of—”

“Of me?” he demanded.

She sighed deeply, before squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment. At length, she said, “Nothing of you either.”

He quickly released her hand and stood to pace the open area. She watched as he ran his hand through his hair in what appeared to be frustration. When, at last, he turned to her, his face was in shadow. When he spoke, he enunciated each syllable carefully, as if willing her to remember. “I am your husband. William. Fitzwilliam Darcy. And you are my wife, Elizabeth Darcy.”

“It cannot be—” she began, but the scowl claiming his features silenced her protest.

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If money were no object, where would you go for a Spring Break vacation and why?

Derbyshire, England.

I am a bit of a romantic. I would wish to walk where Fitzwilliam Darcy walked in Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.”

What’s your favorite thing about Spring and why?

I love the cool mornings in North Carolina, where I can sit outside and enjoy my tea and get away from the computer for a bit.

Spring Break Bookapalooza Giveaway:

Enter to win a $50 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card

Enter to win a $50 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card

Enter to win a $25 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card

Enter to win a $15 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card

Enter to win a $10 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card

Open internationally

Runs April 1 – 30

Drawing will be held on May 1.

Author Biography:

Regina Jeffers, an award-winning author of historical cozy mysteries, Austenesque sequels and retellings, as well as Regency era romances, has worn many hats over her lifetime: daughter, student, military brat, wife, mother, grandmother, teacher, tax preparer, journalist, choreographer, Broadway dancer, theatre director, history buff, grant writer, media literacy consultant, and author. Living outside of Charlotte, NC, Jeffers writes novels that take the ordinary and adds a bit of mayhem, while mastering tension in her own life with a bit of gardening and the exuberance of her “grand joys.”

Social Media Links:

Austen Authors: http://austenauthors.net

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