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My Dear Friend
Available September 2024

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available by Excessively Diverted Press

They never get along whenever they unfortunately cross paths. But when a matchmaking service anonymously links them up, will they pen a romance?

 

Elizabeth Bennet is an excellent judge of character. Eager to prove to her brokenhearted sister that worthy men do exist, the spirited and witty young woman subscribes to the new matchmaking service taking London by storm. And she’s pleasantly surprised when the female-empowering agency anonymously connects her with a fascinating correspondent.

 

Fitzwilliam Darcy is determined to move on from unwanted feelings for the alluring but inappropriate Bennet girl. He hopes his captivating prose partner from the matchmaking service might be the distraction he needs. But when he inadvertently reveals his inner thoughts, he can’t keep the letter-exchanging relationship from becoming something more.

 

As Elizabeth starts to fall for the mysterious man, her dislike for Mr. Darcy only grows whenever they meet in person. While the man in question still admires Elizabeth, he realizes in alarm that he may have also given his heart to his anonymous correspondent…

 

Have their letters opened an unexpected path to happily ever after?

​

This is a kisses-only happy ever after.

Excerpt

In this excerpt, Colonel Fitzwilliam has finally convinced Darcy to subscribe to the anonymous matchmaking service and has brought the list of eligible women. Darcy is trying to distract himself from Elizabeth Bennet and agrees to pick one of the women to write to...

***

Fitzwilliam arrived at Darcy’s house in Charles Street later that night while he dressed for an evening out.
“Here are our lists,” he said as he entered Darcy’s chamber. “They arrived in the four o’clock post.”


Darcy started. “So soon?”


“This is the latest list, although you are welcome to submit weekly for an updated list of your class. It is rather short since the enterprise has only been a fortnight in operation. I understand there are currently more men than women.”


“How does it work?” he asked while tying his cravat.


“I guess you should have come in with me,” Fitzwilliam said with a teasing look out of the side of his eye. “You pay a subscription fee to access the list, select the ladies you want to write to, and if any have likewise chosen you, the office arranges your correspondence. You are identified by number, and all letters go through the office in Bishopsgate. They release the names and directions only on mutual consent granted in person.”


“And is there a finder’s fee upon a marriage?” Darcy asked drily.


“One per cent of the bride’s dowry, or fifty pounds.”


“Truly?” he cried, turning from the mirror. “I was joking.” Fitzwilliam shrugged and set them down. “Do not put it aside. We may as well begin.”


“You want to choose now?” His cousin sounded surprised, but he picked up the sheets. “In the carriage this morning, you seemed ready to run back to Berkeley Square.”


Darcy felt his cheeks warm. “But I subscribed. It is done, and now I had best get on with it.” He had agreed to do this, and it was always best not to leave a task for later that could be done immediately. A duty, even a disagreeable one, ought not to be put off. And he thought about Elizabeth nearly as often as he breathed. A distraction was necessary. “Let me select a woman to write to. It shall not take long.”


Fitzwilliam shook the paper straight and theatrically cleared his throat. “‘I am nineteen, genteel figure, mild manners, income limited.’”


Darcy shook his head. “She won’t have any conversation.”


“How do you know?” his cousin cried. “Mild manners could mean she is demure and polite.”


“Her description was nine words.”


Fitzwilliam acquiesced. “Next is, ‘I am twenty-seven years of age, a widow, of a large family, full-made and tall, worth four thousand, enjoy poetry and plays.’ Large family?” He pulled a concerned face.


“As in many brothers and sisters, or in her brood of fatherless children?”


“I say no on your behalf. Let us move on. What about, ‘I am a young lady in the county of Surrey, worth one thousand, fair hair and small, very affectionate, active spirit, fond of conversation and cards.’ Fond of conversation would be good for you.”


The lady from Surrey sounded as if she wanted late parties with friends every night. “If she has to say ‘fond of conversation,’ she has been told she talks too much.”


His cousin swore. “You only look at women to find a blemish! Not enough talking, too much talking.” While Darcy put on his coat, Fitzwilliam read down the page. “What about, ‘I am thirty years of age, widowed and no children, father was in banking, fair hair and complexion, well-tempered and sociable, enjoy riding, worth fifteen thousand pounds.’ It is not every day you find a woman with a heart for riding.”


Fitzwilliam’s approving tone stopped Darcy while he fastened his coat buttons. He could not select this woman even if he had wanted to if Fitzwilliam seemed interested. “This is the first tier of ladies, is it not? Their dowries and incomes are not as high as I would have thought, aside from this woman.”


“Are you marrying for money?” his cousin asked after a pause.


“No!” He abhorred being pursued for his fortune and income; he would never allow that to be what drew him to a woman. “I was only surprised that most of the ladies in this first tier have small dowries. What about you? You need to marry with attention to money.”


“My per diem in the Foot Guards is two pounds a day, thank you. I can afford a wife.” Darcy held his gaze, and Fitzwilliam looked away. His father supplemented his income, but his brother would not continue the practice after he inherited. “Yes, it would be helpful if she had her own money,” he muttered.


“I suppose it would help if she was handsome also?” Darcy said, to lighten his mood. “Or enjoyed riding?”


“Always.” Fitzwilliam grinned.


If there were few women of means subscribing to this curious scheme, he ought to let his cousin write to those ones. Besides, it was not as though he was actually going to meet any of these ladies. “I am uncertain about the banker’s daughter. I will pass. Read on.”


“I am twenty years of age, of middle stature, tolerably  pretty, lively disposition, fond of books and the country, with one thousand on the death of my parents.”


Darcy reflected for a long moment. Lively meant her correspondence might be engaging. Fond of books might mean she was well-educated. Fond of the country might mean a gentleman’s daughter, although he was a spendthrift if she had only a thousand pounds after he died.


For the first time, he felt a small amount of excitement about the enterprise.


“Nothing?” Fitzwilliam asked. “Then what about ‘I am of age, auburn hair, short but with—’”


“No, the last one was suitable. I pick her.”


“Are you certain? There are four others I have yet to read.”


“That lady will suit the purpose.” A diversion from lingering thoughts about a different lively woman from Hertfordshire was all he needed. “Leave me that lady’s number, and I will write to the office to see if she will correspond with me. The rest of the lovely spinsters I leave to your witty correspondence.”

​

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