As you read in the title, I have a new book that will be available for sale on Thursday, November 16. The book is entitled Only Exceedingly Shy, and will be available on Amazon Kindle, Paperback, and Hardcover, with an audiobook to follow in about March of next year. I would also like to announce a change, as Only Exceedingly Shy will be narrated by the talented Harry Frost! I wish I had a cover to show you, but as usual, I left it until the last moment. I’ll put it out there when I have it. Here is the description and a short excerpt.

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Disheartened and convinced by Elizabeth’s assertion of Miss Bingley’s character, Jane Bennet insists Elizabeth return to London with the Gardiners after Christmas to provide her with a reprieve from their mother, who has not accepted Elizabeth’s rejection of Mr. Collins’s suit.

What Elizabeth could never have imagined was her chance meeting with Mr. Darcy in London, and even more shocking is his request to introduce her to his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy. When Elizabeth agrees, she makes the young heiress’s acquaintance, immediately understanding Miss Darcy’s crippling shyness and her low spirits.

Amid her interactions with Miss Darcy, Elizabeth learns another astonishing fact, that Mr. Darcy looks at her with the eyes of a suitor. Though Elizabeth’s world is turned upside down, she learns there is more to Mr. Darcy than she ever thought. She also learns to be wary of the claims of a man who took advantage of her initial dislike for the gentleman.

With her usual fortitude, Elizabeth navigates these shoals, determined to provide friendship to a young girl, learn more about the increasingly intriguing Mr. Darcy, and discover the truth about Mr. Bingley’s abandonment of her sister.

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Despite Darcy’s disinclination for town, London was where he found himself long before he usually deigned to make an appearance had the situation been different. The season would begin in late February when the House of Lords went into session. It had been a habit since the year after Darcy’s father had passed, leaving him as the master of Pemberley, to arrive in London no earlier than mid-March. If he arrived then, he could use the excuse soon thereafter to break from the season to visit his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, at her estate in Kent. Visiting Aunt Catherine was, in many ways, more of a trial on his patience than even the season, but at least it took him from the path of the predatory debutantes who all seemed determined to relieve him of his bachelor status.

This year, however, was different for a few reasons, the most important of which being his man of business had summoned him to London on a matter of some urgency. An investment of Darcy’s had shown signs of difficulty, and his man had recommended he divest himself of it. Not wishing to make a judgment in error or haste, Darcy had journeyed to London to discuss the matter in person, eventually following his man’s suggestion. Which was what he was doing in a neighborhood far nearer to Cheapside than he usually ventured on the morning in question.

Now that he had resolved the matter, Darcy thought as he left the man’s place of business, he supposed it was hardly worth it to return to Derbyshire when he would need to turn around and make his way back to London in less than a month. It was not so terrible, Darcy supposed as he looked both ways down the street, noting humble residences, the cries of a boy on a corner selling newspapers while passersby ignored him, hurrying on their way to whatever business called them out on the dreary February morning. He could be unsociable in London as easily as he could do so in Derbyshire, though Pemberley was more comfortable than his London townhouse. If only he was not so concerned about his sister.

Thoughts of Georgiana entered Darcy’s mind, and he grimaced. A hint of open space down the road caught his attention, and knowing he would prefer to work off some of his energy walking rather than worry the problem over in his mind like a dog with a bone in the confines of his carriage, he had a word with his driver. A few moments later, he had reached the path leading into the park’s depths and entered with far more purpose than he felt.

Once he reached the trees bracketing the path, he slowed his steps to those of one deep in thought, ignoring the woods bare of their summer greenery, the brown patches of what had once been lush grasses, and even the direction his feet were taking him. The subject he had pushed to the side before he entered the park came rushing back, and he considered the dearest person in the world, his much younger sister.

Georgiana had always been a reticent young woman, a character not out of place among the pantheon of her Darcy forebears. She was, however, unlike them in that she was shy and uncertain of herself, for confidence had never been a virtue lacking in the Darcy scions. With the events of the previous summer, her shyness had grown into a crippling insecurity that threatened all she could be as an heir to a wealthy family. George Wickham was to blame.

The mere memory of the scoundrel provoked a scowl to Darcy’s lips, furrowing his brow into what he knew would send others fleeing if they saw it. Fitzwilliam had always teased him for the utter ferocity of his displeasure, but Darcy, though he tried to mitigate it to a certain extent when in company, felt no need to hold back on that lonely path, where none but a rabbit or intrepid squirrel, braving the February weather might witness it.

“There is no choice but to give her time.”

Even now, Fitzwilliam’s words seemed hollow to Darcy, for Georgiana’s despair had not abated, even six months after the affair with Wickham.

“She will come to terms with it eventually,” Fitzwilliam had added when Darcy had not responded at once.

“You do not think her sadness has persisted far too long to expect such a spontaneous improvement to her spirits?”

“Spontaneous, no,” said Fitzwilliam. “If we continue to show her our love, I am certain she will break free from the malaise. No one can continue in the depths of depression for long, Darcy. Show her that her misstep does not affect your devotion and she will heal.”

In truth, Darcy blamed himself more than he had ever blamed his sister. Darcy had known what George Wickham was since before he had entered Eton, for Wickham had shown his utter lack of character even that early in his life. After his father passed and Darcy had paid Wickham to leave and not return, he had not seen the need to inform his sister, who had possessed fond memories of Wickham from her childhood, of his depravity.

That decision now haunted him, for Wickham had used her innocence and ignorance to worm his way into her heart, to convince her of his love. Love! Darcy snorted at the mere notion. The only person George Wickham had ever loved was himself—there was simply no room in his heart for anything other than the most rudimentary feelings for anyone else.

Georgiana, however, had fallen into his trap, and only Darcy’s intervention in the most fortunate of circumstances had saved her from a life of misery married to such a man. If he had eloped with her, Wickham would have held legal power over her and owned her fortune which he could then deplete at his leisure. Then, when he had used it all, Darcy knew he would have applied to Darcy for ever more funds, secure in the knowledge that Darcy would never allow his sister to live in the penury that was her destiny as Wickham’s wife. Oh yes, Wickham’s revenge would have been complete had he succeeded.

Yet even with his failure, Wickham continued to haunt Georgiana. Her confidence, never robust, Wickham had trampled underfoot while he moved onto other marks, worked his wicked deceits with other unsuspecting targets. Only two months earlier, Darcy had come across his detested nemesis in the most surprising of places. Had Darcy thought Miss Elizabeth was anything other than capable of seeing through any front Wickham might choose to show her, he might have cast his infamous reticence aside and ensured she understood exactly what sort of man Wickham was.

Those thoughts, of course, led to what had become Darcy’s bane since he had left Hertfordshire. The mere notion of Hertfordshire, Meryton, Netherfield, or anyone he had met in that blighted place brought memories of Miss Elizabeth Bennet back to his mind. The fascination had not waned at all in the time since he had last seen her—if anything, it had increased. Darcy could still recall every detail about her with frightening accuracy, from her teasing grin to her fine eyes, flashing with displeasure or mirth, to the way she nibbled on her lower lip when she was deep in thought.

Nothing Darcy did removed her from his recollections, for when she returned, it was as if she invaded every corner of his mind, lighting every dark alcove with radiant light. Sometimes she even visited in his dreams, leaving Darcy feeling at peace in one moment, then frustrated with his inability to banish her the next. What occult power did she, the insignificant daughter of a minor country gentleman, possess over Fitzwilliam Darcy, man of the world and master of his affairs? Had Darcy believed in witches, he might have thought she cast a spell over him!

Whatever it was, Darcy was powerless to rid himself of it. Even now, when he had set out to consider his dear sister and plan for her redemption, he could not help but consider Miss Elizabeth Bennet, she of the beautiful and captivating eyes. Would that he could rid himself of those memories forever!

Then, when Darcy shook his head, intending to turn his attention back to his sister, Miss Bennet appeared before his eyes as if conjured by his subconscious. The sight so surprised him that he came to an abrupt halt, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He might have dismissed her as a phantom of his imagination and pressed on had she not caught sight of him at the same moment, her eyes widening in disbelief, an expression he knew was mirrored on his face. Inarticulate though it was, Darcy could only blurt out two words.

“Miss Bennet!”