Guest Post: Jayne Bamber and "A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings"

Dear readers, today we have a guest on the blog: my friend and fellow JAFF author, Jayne Bamber, who is here to share with us a little about her latest release. Take it away, Jayne!

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Hello again, Janeites! I’m excited to be promoting my newest release, my tenth novel, A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings – a fun fusion of Pride & Prejudice with Mansfield Park.

The excerpt I am sharing today is a glimpse at the circumstances the force first Elizabeth, and then Jane to shelter at Netherfield Park during a storm that lasts several days. Their cousins Mary and Henry Crawford are staying there as Mr. Bingley’s guests, and Mary is shocked when Lizzy is rescued by Mr. Darcy in the rain – Lizzy herself has a pretty intense reaction to the experience….

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Mary leaned forward, searching for what could possibly be on the horizon that would be of any importance to her. There was something in the distance, though she was obliged to move closer to the window to make it out.

There were two men on horseback – presumably Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam returning to the manor. But no, there was more. The taller of the two riders, Mr. Darcy, appeared not to be alone. There was a woman in his arms, her stockinged feet peeking out from a very muddy dress. And if Mary’s eyes did not deceive her, it was her cousin Elizabeth.

“Good God,” she cried. For a moment there was space for nothing in her mind but panic. The perpetual calculations screeched to a halt, and she fixated on the pained expression that was evident on Elizabeth’s face as the riders drew nearer the house.

She had never fainted before, and always thought if she were to do so, it would only be to advantage. As luck or fate would have it, that was very nearly what occurred next. She staggered backward, her mind overwhelmed by the fear that something truly dreadful had befallen her cousin. But she did not fall; strong, warm hands braced her from behind, and she spun about to find herself in Mr. Bingley’s embrace.

Her lips parted as she looked up at him. She was distantly aware that this was the closest she had ever been to a man, besides the occasional familial embrace of her brother and her uncle Gardiner. She could see the flecks of color in Mr. Bingley’s eyes, the faint freckles that peppered his chiseled cheeks, the plumpness of his lips. She could smell the earthy but sophisticated scent of him. She could have kissed him if she moved but an inch.

It ought to have been pleasant, even if it was for but a brief moment. Instead, it was exceedingly awkward, for she had been falling over as he caught her in his arms; she was twisted about so strangely that she clung to him in a way that did not at all resemble a passionate embrace, and her attempt to right herself was far from graceful. And she was, all the while, still afraid that Elizabeth was in peril.

Once she had extricated herself from this shambles, Mary turned back to the window and pointed to Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. “Something dreadful must have happened – I must go to Lizzy at once.” Still mortified, Mary hastened to meet her cousin in the entryway.

Behind her, Mr. Bingley shouted something indiscernible and urgent to the rest of their companions; Mary did not realize he was following her until she had reached the vestibule, where they nearly collided once more. This time Mary latched onto him more deliberately, clasping his arm to steady herself as Mr. Fitzwilliam strode in first, and then Mr. Darcy carried Elizabeth in his arms and set her down after several paces into the vestibule.

Mary flew to her cousin’s side at once. “Lizzy, are you injured? What are you doing here? What has happened?”

Elizabeth held out a hand to prevent Mary from embracing her; she was wet through and covered in mud. Though Mr. Darcy had given her his coat, she was still hugging herself and shivering. Mary unfurled the shawl that was about her shoulders and draped it around her cousin.

“I thought to take a walk, as the rain had finally let up,” Elizabeth said, her voice shaky as she tried to prevent her teeth from chattering. “I have ever been in the habit of cutting through the meadow behind Netherfield, Mr. Bingley, and now I have paid the penalty for my trespassing.”

Despite Elizabeth’s laughter, Mary and Mr. Bingley still gaped at her, holding on to one another as they braced for something truly dreadful.

“I found her by the little footbridge on the northern edge of the property,” Mr. Darcy said.

“I was nearly across it when it simply dissolved into the stream,” Elizabeth added.

“The wood beneath the surface had likely rotted away some time ago, and gave out at last when you tried to cross,” Mr. Darcy told her.

“You fell off a bridge?” Mary gasped at her cousin’s frightful experience, though Elizabeth did not seem to be bothered by the ordeal.

“Nothing was hurt worse than my pride,” Elizabeth said ruefully. “The stream is not very deep, though the mud at the bottom was enough for my boots to get stuck – and there they remain.” With a cheeky grin, she lifted her ruined gown just enough to reveal her stockinged feet, and wiggled her toes at them.

Mr. Bingley was pale with alarm. “Miss Elizabeth, I am terribly sorry – you could have been seriously injured, or drowned or….”

“You need not apologize,” Elizabeth hastened to assure him. “I ought to be sorry for cutting through your lands to reach Oakham Mount, though in truth I cannot promise it will not happen again, in fairer weather.”

“You are welcome to trespass any time, so long as you are not endangering yourself,” Mr. Bingley replied.

“But you are in some danger yet,” Mary cried. “I am sure you shall catch your death of a cold, standing about in your stockinged feet, drenched to the bone! You must come up and change into one of my gowns,” Mary insisted.

“Perhaps a hot bath,” Mr. Darcy suggested.

“Yes, at once,” Mr. Bingley agreed; he called out for a servant and began giving instructions for Elizabeth to receive every attention.

“And send word to Longbourn, if you please,” Mary added. “I would not have our relations worry for her.”

By now the rest of their companions had ventured down from the drawing room to sate their curiosity. Miss Bingley was horrified at the spectacle; Mary and Elizabeth shared a look of private glee at their hostess’s screech as she strode into the vestibule and raised a hand to her heart in dramatic dismay. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, what ghastly misfortune has befallen you? You look simply medieval!”

Elizabeth spread the skirt of her wet, muddy gown wide as she dipped into a curtsey. “Good morning to you, too, Miss Bingley. Your amiable brother has been so kind as to extend his hospitality to me while I recover from a most refreshing walk and an unexpected swim in the Oakham Stream.”

Holding her head up high despite the color in her cheeks, Elizabeth motioned for Mary to lead her upstairs. She paused as they reached the carpeted stairs, and then bent down and discreetly pulled off her muddy stockings by the toes, eliciting a scandalized gasp from Miss Bingley. With an air of incongruous dignity, she followed Mary up to the guest wing. The two cousins managed to keep their composure until they reached Mary’s bedchamber, and they allowed themselves to be overcome by the absurdity of the situation.

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The hot bath was a luxury Elizabeth savored for as long as she could. Mary’s maid had put a handful of fragrant herbs in the water to ease the pain of Elizabeth’s aching muscles; the effort of trying to pull her boots from the thick mud in the stream had left her sore and exhausted. She was amazed she had even made it up the stairs to Mary’s room without collapsing under the weight of her waterlogged gown and pelisse; she had perhaps been propelled by sheer delirium.

The dried herbs and flowers that had been generously strewn over the surface of the dark, steaming water produced a soothing effect, not only in easing the strain of her muscles, but in relaxing Elizabeth’s mind. She drew in slow, deep breaths of the rich aroma, her eyes fixed abstractedly on the leaves and petals that floated idly on the surface of the warm water.

She had managed to push aside every thought of Mr. Darcy rescuing her from the stream – the way his hands had seemed to linger on her body as he helped her onto his horse, the way he held her as they had ridden to Netherfield, and how she hoped he had not noticed her fingers digging into his arms and delighting in the fascinating feel of their strength. It would have been mortifying indeed if he had caught her out admiring his broad, muscular shoulders, or the way his damp, curly hair hung about his face.

Elizabeth had at least some consolation in believing she had seen some little appreciation in his gaze, too. When Mr. Darcy pulled off his gloves and caught her hand to help pull her out of the stream, he had stroked her wrists with his thumbs for the briefest moment and then he ran his hands up her wet sleeves, his fingers nearly caressing her arms as he helped her steady herself. Even now, ensconced in the warm bath, Elizabeth felt herself shiver at the recollection. He had brushed away the wet hair from her face, his fingers bare, his skin on hers; it had felt like the most natural thing in the world, but the remembrance of it was thrilling.

She conjured up the image of Mr. Darcy’s eyes as he gazed unabashedly at her. Elizabeth had read enough novels to know how a man might be affected by a young lady in rain-drenched garments. There was no doubt in her mind that he had not looked at her to find fault – not today, at least. No, she had been far better than tolerable; he had shamelessly drank in the sight of her and she had enjoyed it far too much – as much as she had done the same to him.

Elizabeth let herself slide down in the bathtub, her knees curling so that she could fully submerge herself in the warm water. She lost herself to this sublime comfort until she was obliged to come up for air, and then she relaxed once more. The sound of heavy rain had resumed, and the occasional roll of thunder lulled her back into a pleasant reprieve from the thoughts she had indulged in. As the water began to cool, a sudden crashing sound drew Elizabeth fully out of her reverie, and she sat up with alacrity. There was a distant scream from somewhere in the house.

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Wow, what an intriguing excerpt! Thanks again Jayne for sharing it with us. Happy to have you stop by anytime!

A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings is available on Amazon. But if you want a chance to win an ebook copy that Jayne is giving away, click this link. You can also connect with Jayne on her blog, But Do Not Faint, Facebook, and Instagram.