The Big Reveal

The Final Cover for In Westminster’s Halls

All new subscribers to Austenesque Thoughts can receive a free Audible Code (US or UK stores only) for Lessers and Betters, A Colonel Fitzwilliam-Kitty Bennet Love Story. I will email you to ask which you prefer.

At the bottom of this column is a link to a give-away opportunity for one of ten Kindle e-books of In Westminster’s Halls. The drawing will be random. I will email winners to see which Amazon store they use and send the copy from that.

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In Westminster’s Halls has been a journey of dedication and love. The gestation period for one of my novels is the same as for humanity—nine months. The earliest file I can find for the novel is dated November 2023, three trimesters ago. Since then, I've poured my heart into researching and writing tens of thousands of words. On June 4, 2024, the last period was inserted in the first draft. The past six weeks have been devoted to hard edits, beta reads, and eternal scrunched facial expressions as I pondered the eternal question Why did I write it that way?

Oh, and the design of the cover. Many moons ago, in my earliest days of writing Austenesque fiction, my friend Nicole Clarkston pointed me to a wonderful cover designer with a strong sense of the materials Indy authors needed to bring their books to fruition. Janet Taylor has designed covers (at different stages of their existence) for almost all my books. Along with the covers for e-books, print, and audible, Janet has also created memes and banners. Her strength lies in her willingness to look for the right image.

And that is precisely what she has done here. In Westminster’s Halls is a unique imagining of how Jane Austen might have put Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mr. Bennet to work ending the British slave trade in 1807. The book is a Pride and Prejudice Variation in the form of a historical romance, a premise which I hope will pique your interest.

Thus, the cover had to show both our Elizabeth and place her in an accurate—not generic—setting that reflects the title. What could be more dignified than having her considering the center of the British Empire (such as it was in 1807). That was sticky to a certain extent, as the Westminster Palace Darcy and Bennet would have known during the fight over the Slave Trade Bill burned to the ground in 1834. The current building was built beginning in 1835. Finding a visual that would work was a trial.

And Janet's dedication and talent shone through, as she emerged victorious in this trial. Her cover is a testament to her skill and understanding of the book's essence. I owe her a great deal of gratitude for bringing this vision to life.

Without further ado, I present to you the stunning cover that Janet has crafted for In Westminster's Halls. Prepare to be captivated by its beauty and the story it holds within.

Janet discovered the color artwork that entrances me as much as it does our Elizabeth. Westminster Abbey is on the right…and the Palace (Halls) is on the left. In the full wrapper, John Gendall’s 1818 View of Westminster Hall and the Abbey From the Bridge is revealed in its full glory.

Here is Gendall’s original. Yale University’s collection of British art is a fabulous resource.

I would love to know your thoughts on these covers. The book itself is in pre-order until July 22, 2024. It will be available in Kindle e-book, Kindle Unlimited, paperback and audible.

Westminster Halls Amazon US

Westminster Halls Amazon UK

As noted above, here is the link to the giveaway.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/9d1fdafb2/?

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Please enjoy this excerpt from In Westminster’s Halls ©2024 by Donald P. Jacobson. Reproduction is prohibited.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jane wandered through the library, imagining how much her father would love spending time in its calfskin-scented confines. Running her fingers along the gilt-embossed spines, she fought waves of sadness that threatened to engulf her. Even though she was not Lizzy, Jane, too, dearly loved the Mr. Bennet who smelled of dust and old paper: that peculiar combination that would identify him even in a dark room.

The idea of darkness sent her spinning into a brown study. She knew her father struggled through his dark night even though Helios’s January dawn had broken Nyx’s nightly hold over Darcy House. However, Jane was unaware of anything new about the battle upstairs besides the sounds of scraping outside as footmen scoured Grosvenor Square for ice and snow. Footsteps, more deliberate than panicked, still resounded in hidden stairwells. She was inclined to think that Mr. Bennet had rallied—or that his condition was less dire. But nobody had come to deliver good news or bad.

Jane had felt her resolve collapsing as she watched her father writhe on his altar of pain. The old Jane had tried to throw up her walls to protect her heart and mind from the awful scene before her.

She was thankful that Mr. Darcy had suggested she become her father’s apothecary, granting her distance’s surcease. However, from the moment she and Sarah had hurried to the kitchen, the idea of returning to Papa’s bedside chilled her to the bone. Jane knew Sarah was managing her and, for that, she was thankful. Longbourn’s staff were adept at dealing with the peculiarities of all seven Bennets, although Jane and Elizabeth required little shepherding. A tiny smile lifted her lips as she corrected herself; Lizzy frequently needed Mrs. Hill’s broad skirts to shield a grass-stained escape upstairs after one of her adventures.

Miss Bennet’s smile broadened when she recalled how Sarah thought herself so sly in her efforts to keep Jane from returning to the sick room to take up the cudgels in her father’s defense. However, the maid’s subtle glances at Cook and the housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, were obvious to a Hertfordshire familiar. Jane gratefully accepted the young woman’s heartfelt efforts.

Once satisfied with the willow bark tea, Sarah conspired with the cook to boil fresh water for her mistress’s tea. Then there was a light meal because “Miss Bennet has gone hours since her dinner tray.” Sarah’s last ploy was to cast a chary eye on Jane’s rumpled gown, wordlessly reminding Miss Bennet that her mother would have called for her salts if she had come upon her eldest clad in yesterday’s frock.

Standing in her shift in the chamber she shared with Lizzy, Jane required little coaxing from the maid before she slid between the tempting sheets for a restorative nap. She knew that had been Sarah’s goal all along, as the late-evening cup had carried the bitter tinge Jane associated with her mother’s tonic. Guiltily, Miss Bennet remembered wishing for a full night, so worn she was from watching Mr. Bennet’s fight. So, she took the draught. The drama playing out down the hall faded as the poppy took hold.

As she walked through Mr. Darcy’s collection, Jane thought how fraught her nerves must have been. She was overly susceptible to laudanum: a drop would have left her dead to the world for eight hours. Sarah knew that and would never have given Jane more. But Jane remained abed for only four.[i]

The maid must have assumed her mistress would not appear before midday, for she was nowhere to be found when Jane awakened. While not as schooled as Lizzy in assembling herself unassisted, Jane nevertheless made a credible showing. Swiftly undoing her evening plait—When did Sarah braid my hair? I must have been genuinely exhausted if I cannot remember her laying strand over strand—Jane coiled her hair in a serviceable bun before warping on a front-tying muslin day dress. The nauticism reminded her of Guillaume Rochet, who served as a midshipman on HMS Surprise. Then she slipped into the kitchen to beg for a cup of chocolate and a sweet roll. ’Twas full early, and Miss Bennet was reluctant to act the entitled houseguest and insist on a filled sideboard in the dining parlor. If the staff had followed Mr. Darcy’s instructions—and she had no reason to think otherwise—none had slept a wink.[ii]

***

Roaming about the bookroom, looking but not seeing, Jane did not anticipate encountering anyone until a discreet cough cracked her concentration. She spun toward the noise. A young gentleman sat in a cordovan leather wingback chair in an alcove near one of the windows. Backlit as he was, she could not distinguish his features, but the rays turned his red-blond mane into a gilt halo. A non sequitur thought broke through; Jane wondered if he was cold because he was far away from the hearth. It was January, after all.

He shot to his feet and left the window behind. “My apologies, madam: I had hoped to alert you to my presence gently. I did not want to startle you; hence, I cleared my throat.”

Jane tried to regain her equilibrium as the angel became a man she knew. Yet, she remained reserved. “Please, sir…do not be uneasy.” She paused and looked out the window next to him. “It is early, so I did not expect to meet anyone. Any surprise, therefore, is of my own doing.

“Please do not think I criticize you for arriving before calling hours. The house is upside down and has been so for days. I am unfamiliar with Mr. Darcy’s habits. He has given Colonel Fitzwilliam the freedom of the house. Perhaps he has likewise granted it to you, Mr. Bingley. Are you another of his cousins like the colonel?”

The gentleman smiled broadly. “You remember me, Miss Bennet! Our time together at the ball was brief, but I cannot recall a more enjoyable hour.”

“Would that I was one of Darcy’s cousins. My life would be much easier with my younger sister comfortably situated in society. However, my family is unrelated to either Darcy or the Matlocks. I am one of his friends and enjoy carte blanche to drop in when I will.”

He sobered. “I came as soon as I heard.”

At Jane’s confused look, he expanded, “…about Mr. Bennet’s accident…”

Jane sharply interrupted. “It was no accident. Some fiend pushed my father into the street.”

He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand.

Jane clasped her hands and dropped her shoulders, breathing carefully to recover her poise. The process both calmed her and allowed time to refresh her recollections from the ball. Aside from a pleasing countenance and broad shoulders veeing down to narrow hips, Mr. Bingley’s most distinct trait, accentuating his eye-catching hair, was his sky-blue eyes. She would use these features if asked to describe Mr. Bingley to another. There was more, much she hoped, beneath the surface. He was a handsome man, attractive to her in ways she had never felt.

He also looked at her as if he sought the essence beneath her outward appearance.

Jane Bennet was aware of—and often despised—her physical glory. She was not vain like Narcissus. Her looking glass was not her best friend, but she understood that her splendor riveted all who met her.

Except for Mr. Bingley: his first glance briefly appraised her from head to toe. Contrary to encounters with other men, though, Jane sensed this was undertaken only to establish her presence. As their conversation aged, his head cocked to one side, and he listened to her. He appreciated, but was not mesmerized, by her appearance. She, too, quickly set aside her superficial cataloging of Mr. Bingley in favor of drinking deeply of this man.

The new Jane Bennet, forged during her early morning hejira from Meryton, found hope rising in her heart. That elixir had been a hazy residue coating a flask poorly corked and left in the sun for too long. Now, she faced a man who acted differently from anyone she had known before.

Other men of brief acquaintance talked about themselves as if she were an empty vessel waiting to be filled by them with endless tales of horses, hounds, and house parties. They acted as if what they saw standing before them was nothing more than five-and-a-half feet of decoration. These creatures studied her like a painting at the Academy, their only thought being how it would fit above a mantel or the signature gracing the canvas’s corner. She politely drowned in their superficiality while thirsting for true communion.

Mr. Bingley looked at her beauty, but he seemed to move past it and concentrate on seeing her and uncovering what drove her at this moment. “How fares your father?”

That single question unlocked one of the latches on Jane’s heart. “It is difficult.”

His face darkened, and his forehead furrowed. “All I heard was that he had been run down and suffered a grievous injury to his leg. And, as if that were not enough, you tell me this was no mishap but rather an attempt on his life. This news is monstrous.”

Jane inhaled deeply, and her shoulders slumped in dejection. “Why someone would push him, I cannot begin to answer. My sister Elizabeth thinks it involves Papa’s support for the Great Cause. Seclusion here in Darcy House has kept us from learning more, although Colonel Fitzwilliam is investigating.

“When my father landed in the gutter, his right leg was in the path of the carriage’s wheels. Front and rear crushed it below the knee.” Jane gulped as the enormity of the situation slammed home. “The doctor had to amputate, and fever set in late yesterday.”

Bingley stepped toward her, reaching out in comfort, hesitating to touch her arm. “Oh, Miss Bennet, I am so sorry—for your father, your family, and you.

“If by doctor you mean Mr. Campbell, I must assure you that there could be no better man to foster Mr. Bennet through his travails than that wondrous Scot.

“I know the man. He spent ten years after Edinburgh ministering to the Highland regiments. He has dealt with battle wounds in more trying conditions than Darcy House.

“You might find comfort in that Campbell treats the Darcys and Matlocks. Word is that even the Regent’s physicians have consulted with Campbell.

“Your father could not be in better hands.

“And, Miss Bennet, if Colonel Fitzwilliam is searching for the blackguards who would wish your father ill, he will run them to ground before long. I know little of the colonel’s business, but I have heard that when he and Sergeant Wilson are on the trail—you may have seen a massive man in the colonel’s company—the Crown’s enemies have a habit of vanishing.

Bingley paused before standing straighter. “I thought these villains would attack only the principals. Clarkson and Wilberforce never go anywhere without a cloud of footmen and outriders. I intend to double the guard on my family. As dear as the Cause is to me, my sisters are much more so.

“You will be safe here. Darcy has a veritable army on the walls—most of his footmen are former soldiers and sailors.

His resolve brightened Jane’s outlook. She felt a weight vanishing from her shoulders. “Mr. Bingley, you have no idea how much you have relieved me. I have been wandering in a daze these past several hours. You, sir, are akin to a wind rolling off the Chilterns near Meryton, fresh and laden with springtime’s promise. All my mental fog has disappeared. I can now help my sister care for Papa.”

Jane turned to go before remembering that she had one other task with the gentleman, one demanded by the new Jane. She spun on her heel and curtseyed. “I regret that I must hurry off, sir. Our conversation was quite refreshing.”

Her boldness excited her. “Perhaps, once my father is on the road to recovery,” she stood tall but still only reached slightly above his chin, “we could continue this chat when you call on me: either here or at my uncle’s house—he is Edward Gardiner—in Gracechurch Street.”

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[i] A traditional liquid measure, a drop is also known as a minim--.06ml. A dram is 3.55 ml or 1/8 fluid ounce.

[ii] Guillaume Rochet is the son of Madame and Monsieur (Comtesse et Compte de) Rochet, who arrived in Meryton during the French Revolution’s Reign of Terror. They own the town’s Maison de Chocolat, featured in The Bennet Wardrobe Series. Rochet later commanded the West Africa Squadron, which throttled the slave trade. He also appears in The Sailor’s Rest.