Let me reintroduce you to Jenetta James, a lovely writer with really good stories. Today I am not reviewing her latest book as unfortunately I have not read it yet 😦 (I need 40 hours in every day, as many of you would like to have). However, everything that I have read about it tells me that it is going to be great! Moreover, with her previous book The Elizabeth Papers, a book that I dearly love, I cannot imagine anything but a super novel.
I would like to congratulate Jenetta James, not only on her latest book but something more important, that is, the birth of her little baby girl who has a very beautiful name and her birthday is just a day before mine (with a few years of different though). Congratulations!!
In case, you do not about her, here you have her short biography:
Jenetta James is a mother, writer, lawyer and taker-on of too much. She grew up in Cambridge and read history at Oxford University where she was a scholar and president of the Oxford University History Society. After graduating, she took to the law and now practices full-time as a barrister. Over the years, she has lived in France, Hungary, and Trinidad as well as her native England. Jenetta currently lives in London with her husband and children where she enjoys reading, laughing, and playing with Lego. She has written, Suddenly Mrs. Darcy and The Elizabeth Papers as well as contributed short stories to both The Darcy Monologues and Dangerous to Know: Jane Austen’s Rakes and Gentlemen Rogues.
You may be wondering, and the book? What can you tell us about it? Here you have the blurb of the book, enjoy 🙂
A great love. A perplexing murder. Netherfield Park — a house of secrets.
Fitzwilliam Darcy is in a tangle. Captivated by Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a girl of no fortune and few connections. Embroiled in an infamous murder in the home of his friend, Charles Bingley. He is being tested in every way. Fearing for Elizabeth’s safety, Darcy moves to protect her in the only way he knows but is thwarted. Thus, he is forced to turn detective. Can he overcome his pride for the sake of Elizabeth? Can he, with a broken heart, fathom the villainy that has invaded their lives? Is there even a chance for love born of such strife?
Lover’s Knot is a romantic Pride & Prejudice variation, with a bit of mystery thrown in.
Let’s read that again bit by bit… murder? secrets? detective? What happened to: misunderstandings? pride? prejudice? How can it get so complicated?? We do not know yet, but it does, yes, it does!
If you cannot wait, you can find the book on:
This book is free through KindleUnlimited
Jenetta is sharing an excerpt taken from Chapter 5 of Lover’s Knot. I hope your imagination will start working and fast.
The early morning mist is far from lifted and the earth hard and blanched with frost. The stable boys at Netherfield are surprised when I appear just before dawn. Even so, they saddle my horse without ado and shortly after I am away, galloping to the edge of the estate and beyond. The countryside opens before me, the soft undulations of the South, the vast wakening sky, flecked with pink, the thickets of trees bordering fields, bone-chilling cold. It has none of the drama of Derbyshire, but I admit that it has its own beauty. As I reach the top of Oakham Mount, I rein in the horse. It is a good vantage point, high for the region. From here, one can see the edge of the village, the main artery north and the Longbourn Road snaking through the fields. My eyes study all of those in the murky morning light, wishing it were clearer, but nothing stirs.
I feel in my pocket for the letter and rub it with my thumb, as though the act of touching the parchment should add to its value. It was the work of many hours, and now that it is done and folded within my coat, I am certain that writing it was the best course of action. I have never been a man for lengthy disquisitions where short ones would do. Even as a boy in the school room, I would never waste words nor give too much of my inner self away. And yet, I have spent a sleepless night, writing a letter to Elizabeth Bennet. By candlelight, I procrastinated. However, at length and with no little effort, I achieved it. I managed to write as I seemed unable to speak when in her presence. I apologised as best I could. I told her about Wickham. Not a few weeks previously, I would not have dreamed of being so open, so unguarded, still less on paper. But by some means, I have been moved. I have shifted away from my usual place in thought and word and deed, and no one is as astonished as I. The deaths, the spectacle of the inquest, the force of the lady herself has worked upon me. It was my obligation to give her some indication of Wickham’s true character, and I did. If it keeps just one young woman safe, then it is better done than left undone. More than that, I realise that I owe Elizabeth an apology for approaching her in the manner that I did.
And now, all that remains, is to give her the letter. To that end, I scan the horizon again. The horse exhales noisily and the leather of the saddle creaks as I move to get a better view. I have almost given up when a moving figure appears on the track below. A simple skirt peeps out at the bottom of a red cloak and atop it, a bonnet, ribbons billowing in the wind. It is Elizabeth, alone. I slow the horse to a walk and wend down the incline to the flat field. My gaze, I keep fixed on her. There are few women of my acquaintance who would venture out alone and at this hour. But then, if Elizabeth did not keep such habits, it would be all the harder for me to speak with her. Having reached the field, but still some distance from her, I pick up speed. She looks up, the thin winter sun bouncing on her countenance. And although I am still some distance away, I rein in the horse and dismount. Elizabeth continues upon her course and I close the gap between us on foot, leading the horse.
As I approach her, she stops. Stepping closer, I bow low to her.
“Miss Elizabeth—” come our simultaneous greetings as our wispy breath mingles in the air. I note how her gloved hands knot before her waist and how her fine eyes flicker around me, as if looking for answers.
“Miss Elizabeth, forgive me. I have been surveying the area for some time in the hope of meeting you.”
“Please, madam. Be not afraid that I—it is not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her face.
“In that case, I thank you,” she says quietly and makes as if to pass me and continue with her walk. But having her so close, I must complete my task. Reaching into my pocket, I hand her my missive.
“Please would you do me the honour of reading this letter?”
Tentatively, she takes it, turns it over and studies it before returning her eyes to me.
“I should not.”
“It is not proper.”
“You are perfectly right. It is not proper. And you are within your rights to refuse it. But I ask on this occasion that you do not. I have made many mistakes, Miss Elizabeth, but I have considered this thoroughly. There is nothing in the letter that can cause you harm or distress. Although, it does contain truths which I would impart to you, if you are willing to read them.”
Her eyes play between the letter and my face and her half boots shuffle on the icy earth of the track. The smallest smile of resignation appears, not of passion or friendship, and I feel that my heart might break.
“It is written, of course, without expectation of there ever being a reply.”
“Of course not. In that case, I shall read it.”
She pauses, and my pulse quickens. Her cape-covered shoulders, which have been so tense ease for a moment and I move slightly closer, not wishing to miss any whisper of a change of heart. A blush creeps up her cheek and the wind stirs the dark ringlets that hang below her bonnet. Suddenly, the horse whinnies and the moment shatters. Elizabeth looks away sharply and slots the letter into her pocket with fast moving fingers.
Before I was ready, she says, “Thank you, Mr. Darcy” and departs. As she moves in the direction of the village, I slacken my hold on the horse but remain standing in the place where we spoke, my feet rooted to the ground. Before me, framed by bare branch and bracken, her figure shrinks. As she recedes, she begins to look like a small, red doll climbing the gentle hill and then as she crests the top, she is gone.
So… still in Hertfordshire and a letter, about Wickham… no reply needed. She blushes, he is not ready to leave her… mysterious, right?
Tell me what your thoughts are and what you think may have happened or how would you like this to carry on.
Blog Tour Schedule
As usual, a lot of blogs are involved on the tour and I am pretty sure that you would enjoy reading more about this enigmatic book. Follow the tour on:
29th March My Jane Austen Book Club/ Guest Post & Giveaway
30th March Savvy Verse & Wit / Guest Post & Giveaway
31st March Liz’s Reading Life / Book Review & Giveaway
1st April My Vices and Weaknesses/ Excerpt Post & Giveaway
2nd April Of Pens and Pages / Book Review & Giveaway
3rd April So Little Time / Guest Post & Giveaway
4th April Austenesque Reviews / Author Interview & Giveaway
5th April From Pemberley to Milton / Excerpt Post & Giveaway
6th April Babblings of a Bookworm / Book Review & Giveaway
7th April More Agreeably Engaged / Book Review & Giveaway
8th April My Love for Jane Austen / Guest Post & Giveaway
9th April Diary of an Eccentric / Guest Post & Giveaway
10th April Laughing with Lizzie / Excerpt Post & Giveaway
11th April Margie’s Must Reads / Book Review & Giveaway
12th April Just Jane 1813/ Author Interview & Giveaway
Time To Give Away
Jenetta has selected a lovely giveaway package where one lucky winner will receive a Pride & Prejudice scarf, a Kindle cover and paperback copies of all five of her JAFF books.
How could you not participate? Such and awesome giveaway! Read the terms and conditions below the link.
Terms and conditions: Readers may enter the drawing by tweeting once each day and by commenting daily on a blog post or review that has a giveaway attached to this tour. Entrants must provide the name of the blog where they commented. The winner will be randomly selected by Rafflecopter and the giveaway is international.