Confronting the Status of Regency Women in Writing: A Saving Grace Excerpt

I have a treat for you my dear readers. I have another excerpt to share with you from my story Saving Grace. I hope this will tide you over until I post my analysis on Bride and Prejudice.


This was one of the difficult scenes for me to write. I think every writer encounters a moment when they write where the scene is so emotional and do difficult that you are glad when it is over. Why was this scene do difficult?

Read the scene and see my additional thought below.



Lady Grace was successfully finding pursuits to distract her from her father's intense rhetoric. She found herself devouring Wollstonecraft on long walks across the countryside. It was far more preferable to anything she had to endure at home. It was a calming time when she was among the rolling hills and the sound of the wind teasing the branches of the trees were around to speak to her. When she didn't have her nose in Wollstonecraft or wandering the countryside she was closeted in her father's library. In an effort to distract herself from the impending marriage that was sure to come once her father found a man gullible enough to accept she found herself perusing any medical book she could get her hands on. She found herself searching for some clue to Colonel Fitzwilliam's condition.


It was on such a morning, while perusing the medical books in the library, that she remembered the evening at the ball and witnessing the Colonel's distress which had remained with her. She touched her neck where the bruises had been, having long since faded, and for a moment she was transported back to the first time Colonel Fitzwilliam had touched her in an intimate manner. Her lips unconsciously opened and she closed her eyes as she recalled the glowing embers of his eyes. His eyes had been a deep mahogany swirling with emotion she couldn't quite identify. The loud thunder of a door being thrown open jolted her from her thoughts, startling her.


"What is this rubbish doing in my house?" Lord MacKenna filled the doorway; his face flushed with anger, and was holding a book above his head.


Grace gasped. Her beloved Wollstonecraft! She stood and was surprised she didn't collapse right back down in fear. "Quinn gave it to me as a gift, Father."


Lord MacKenna's eyes narrowed at his daughter. He walked toward her with calculated determination before stopping mere inches from her. "I will not have this in my home. Burn it!"


Her father has spoken with such deadly calm but she was not ready to part with her brother's extraordinary gift. Her father had already taken so much from her and perhaps it was a last bought of resistance or maybe it was a desire to prove to herself that she had not truly died. She took a deep steadying breath, squared her shoulders and set her chin at a defiant angle. "No. I will not."


It was a tense moment before Lord MacKenna's anger ignited at her defiance. His face became red and his gaze full of furry. He took in the appearance of his only daughter, her red hair and flashing green eyes and more importantly her frail appearance. It almost gave his anger pause, but it was quickly demolished as her defiance was not to be borne. "You dare to defy me? You are in my home and just as I own this property, I own you Grace which means that you are mine to command."


Grace flinched as her father in his anger shook the book in her face. "This rhetoric is not welcome under my roof. I want it gone."


Despite her rising fear she could not bring herself to destroy such a beautiful book. It only meant more to her that it came from Quinn. Quinn her dearest brother who always made her laugh even when she was cross with him. "No! I will not destroy it," she cried.


Lord MacKenna was furious and Grace found herself pushed roughly aside as her father stalked in determination toward the fire. No! She moved and grabbed her father's arm, halting his attempt to throw the book into the fire. "Please, father," she begged. "Quinn gave this to me. Please don't take this from me. It is all I have left."


"Let go, Grace." Lord MacKenna shook his arm roughly in an attempt release his daughter's tight grip on his arm.


Grace made a grab for the book in his hand. However, he would not yield. It was but a moment of struggle before her father grew more furious. He roughly pulled his arm out of her grip and as he went to throw the book into the flames she made one last attempt to capture back her prized gift. It was in that moment when he finally lost patience and he violently pushed her away and sent her hurtling backwards. She saw the book go up in flames right before her head made contact with the edge of a table. She felt a searing pain as a scream ripped through her and she tumbled to the ground, barely catching herself before she hit her head for a second time.


She felt rather than saw her father move toward her. He had just placed his hand on her arm and she jerked back as if she had been burned. She slowly lifted her head to look at her father, despite the pain, and the look on his face was almost one of concern, but she knew better. "Don't touch me," she hissed.

A Meet Cute between a Hero and a Heroine

As you may or may not know I am writing a Jane Austen Fan Fiction titled, Saving Grace. I have mentioned before that my hero, Colonel Fitzwilliam and my heroine, Lady Grace MacKenna, have a meet cute that was perhaps one of my favorite parts to write. I have chosen to share an excerpt of the meet cute with you my readers.

I will preface this by saying that I do not pretend to be Jane Austen. She was an expert at her craft and I’d be a fool to try to be exactly like her, so I have not tried to be. Secondly, this story is a WIP (work-in-progress) and so I do not own to any perfection in the following excerpt. I hope you will forgive me. Enjoy!

Saving Grace excerpt

His eyes had been so beautiful. He'd made her feel special. She couldn't see his faults then and sometimes she still could not grasp how it had all gone wrong. She had missed the looks and the flirtations he had carried out with other women behind closed doors. She had missed his clandestine affairs behind the curtains of ball rooms and in the shaded darkness of a rose garden. She had missed the insults to her person subtly made. She had missed the true nature of the man and was blinded by what she had wanted to see. She had been greatly deceived. She had been burned down by a man with no care for her.

George Wickham had set her on fire!

And just like that George Wickham doused the flames with reality leaving but smoldering embers.

That anguished cry was what startled Richard Fitzwilliam astride his horse. He had been lost deep in remembrances of his battle torn mind. It was on nights like this that he wandered the countryside. It was the nights when he could not sleep because his memories of battle haunted his slumber in attempts to draw him back into their terrifying snare that he was forced to wander as if he was a lost soul meant to forever roam the countryside looking for a home. Trying to locate that source of such a retching cry Richard spurred his stallion through the foggy terrain.

It was some minutes before he beheld the silhouette of a woman through the fog. Her fiery auburn locks where almost like a burning beacon to him in the night. She wasn't moving, but was a motionless heap on the frozen ground. Richard had been so transfixed that he had unconsciously moved his horse closer and it was then that she slowly turned her head towards him and their eyes met. The most startling emerald green eyes started back at him. They were beautiful and as dormant as the rose bushes in his mother's garden. He had never seen the eyes of a living person look so dead.

Grace stared at the stranger before her. He was tall and his presence was strong. His blonde hair was disheveled and his brown eyes studied her and held her transfixed. He had a beautiful horse. He carried himself well atop such a fine stallion. The stranger's voice broke through her thoughts.

"Miss, are you well?"

His voice sounded like smooth chocolate and burning embers. It was a mixture of rough and smooth. It was a masculine voice which bespoke of authority. Still holding his gaze Grace opened her mouth to speak before a sense of self preservation seemed to grab a hold of her as she realized the stranger had left the top of his stallion and meant to approach her, and she bolted as fast as she could back to the estate. Grace expected the sound of hoof beats to follow her, but none ever came. She had made it back to the estate unscathed.

I hope you enjoyed this little excerpt.