Hi Friends! I’m excited to welcome back author Amanda Kai – who just celebrated the release of her latest book earlier this month! 🙌🏼

Amanda’s new book – The Pleasure of Remembrance (brilliant title btw) asks what if Mr. Darcy lost his memory before meeting Elizabeth Bennet? 💭

I wonder how that will change their first impressions of each other, don’t you? 🤔

Amanda is here to share an excerpt from The Pleasure of Remembrance! 🙌🏼

We hope you enjoy! 🤗

Excited to be back at Austenesque reviews, Meredith! This month I’m celebrating my new release, The Pleasure of Remembrance.

This story puts a twist on the popular amnesia trope, in that Mr. Darcy loses his memory before meeting Elizabeth. Without the usual pride and prejudice getting in the way of their impressions, they fall in love quickly. Trouble comes in the form of Lady Catherine, who uses Darcy’s amnesia to persuade him that he is engaged to Anne, and with Mr. Wickham, who has some tricks up his own sleeve. I won’t give away more than that, but I can guarantee it will be exciting!

~ Excerpt from The Pleasure of Remembrance ~

June 4, 1811

It is a truth universally acknowledged that travelers on the open road must always be on guard against the threat of highwaymen. No matter how well-armed their coach may be, or how well-traveled the paths they cross, the chance that they might be overpowered by ruffians is a risk that all who journey along the highways must take.

These were the risks that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy assumed when he set out from Pemberley to surprise his sister with a visit at the place where she was staying by the seaside. His intention was to come down by way of London, spend a day or two at his townhouse, and then journey on to Ramsgate.

However, years of traveling the heavily frequented roads between Pemberley and London had made him lax concerning the dangers. Having already been on the road for five long, tiring days, he yearned for the comforts of his own bed and the peace and quiet that came with it. Thus, after a particularly restless night at the inn at Bedford, during which his neighbors’ heavy snores and nocturnal activities were continuously heard through the thin walls, he meant to press his luck to reach St. James’ Square by nightfall.

Darcy opened the lid of his ornate gold pocket watch to check the hour. Still plenty of daylight remaining. I shall sleep soundly in my own bed tonight. And by Friday, I shall be at Ramsey Place with my dear sister, he reminded himself.

He returned the watch to his pocket and surveyed the countryside. All the landscape in that region looked the same—large stretches of farmland, interspersed with rolling hills and quaint little market towns and hamlets. Instinctively, he fiddled with the signet ring upon his hand.

“Everything all right, sir?” His faithful valet, Perkins, asked.

Darcy nodded. “Yes. Just wondering if you had any inkling where we are.” He recalled they had changed horses and postillion nearly an hour or so before, but had not paid much attention to the town or coaching inn. He had not departed from the coach to refresh himself since a few stops prior, since the plush equipage was his own; only the horses were rented.

“I believe, sir, we are presently in the county of Hertfordshire,” Perkins replied. “If you are weary, perhaps we might stop for the night when we reach St. Albans.”

“No, that will not be necessary,” Darcy said, cringing at the mere idea of another sleepless night in an uncomfortable bed.

But reaching St. Albans was not to happen, it would seem. After a few more miles, they heard the postillion yell “whoa” to the horses and felt the coach slow to a stop. Darcy opened the window and poked his head into the open.

“What’s happened, Silas? Why are we stopped?”

“Bridge up ahead is out, sir,” the footman called down to him.

Darcy heard him alight from the box. He opened the door for Darcy and Perkins, who stepped out.

“Washed out from the swollen river, it would appear,” Silas said, pointing ahead at the remnants of a bridge crossing the flooded waters.

“Is there no way around it?” Darcy asked. His plans of a quiet night’s sleep seemed to evaporate. Turning back to the town where they last changed horses was an even worse prospect than staying the night in St. Albans. Yet a detour could prove catastrophic if they became lost in some rural place, far from any reputable inn. He did not relish the thought of wandering unfamiliar paths in the dark.

“Passed a fork in the road, about half a mile back, Master,” Silas informed him.

“Have you any idea where it leads?”

“Not a clue, sir. This part of the country is unfamiliar to me.” Silas shook his head.

John, the postillion, spoke up. “I saw a farmhouse not five minutes ago. If you please sir, allow me to inquire of the locals there about what road we ought to take. I am afraid my usual routes do not take me by way of any but the main roads, so I am unfamiliar.”

With Darcy’s permission, the young man was off, and returned in a half-hour’s time bearing news that the road Silas proposed would lead them to St. Albans, albeit by a slower, less direct path.

Faced without any better options, Darcy agreed.

The alternative road was less well-paved than the main thoroughfare, and soon became unpaved altogether. John was forced to go at an inchworm’s pace to avoid the many ruts and ditches, each which threatened to overturn the coach with a misstep.

Darcy’s backside soon grew sore from the frequent bumps and jostles, even in a carriage as fine and well-sprung as his was.

“We may do better to walk for a time, sir,” Perkins suggested.

Perkins’ proposal held merit. With a brief rap on the roof to let John and Silas know their intentions, Darcy and Perkins descended from the coach and began to walk alongside it.

They had gone more than an hour since their departure from the main road, and the sun was making its slow descent towards the horizon. Darcy began to wonder if they should even reach St. Albans before the light disappeared from view entirely and they were left with only the stars and moon to guide them.

Ahead of them, a buxom woman limped into view, her clothes torn and dirty, and her bonnet disheveled. “Madam, are you in distress?” Darcy called to her. He prepared to hasten to the lady’s assistance, but Perkins beat him to it.

“Allow me, sir,” Perkins said, attending to the strange female as they drew near. He permitted her to lean on his shoulder as she limped to where their carriage was.

“Help me, kind sirs!” The lady cried in a thick, nasally voice. “I was attacked in the woods by thieves. They beat me, and took my money and my horse.”

Highwaymen. Darcy’s hand instinctively flew to his pocket. Though he did not travel with an exorbitant amount of money, he had enough banknotes and coins in his purse to make an attractive target for thieves. His fine dress and luxurious carriage would be enough to make them guess that he was someone of wealth and status.

“How came you by this path, unaccompanied?” he asked. “From whence have you departed, and to whence are you bound?”

“I was on my way to call upon my aunt in the neighboring village,” she murmured, “but I was waylaid on my journey by these ruffians.”

“You appear to be bleeding, madam,” Darcy said, glimpsing a red-stained stocking peeping out from beneath her gown. “Is there any house or inn nearby where we might bring you to receive proper treatment?”

By this time, Silas and John had come down from the box and drawn near to be of any assistance they could.

“There is an estate nearby, but it is presently vacant.” Her voice dropped. “Which means, there will be no one to hear you either.” A wicked gleam leapt to her eyes as she pulled a single-shot pistol from her reticule and pointed it at Darcy’s chest. The stranger stood up, limp gone, and Darcy discerned that this was in fact a man, posing as a woman.

A rustling sound was heard all around them, as three other men emerged from the trees, all wearing cloaks, their faces masked. One carried a heavy club, another a sword, and the third, a pepperbox pistol.

“Now, if you please, sir,” the first highwayman said in feigned politeness, “hand over your purse and other valuables, and there will be no need for any unpleasantness.”

“Better do what he says, sir,” Perkins warned in a faint voice, his face pale with terror.

Silas glanced at the box, where his own pistol had been left, perhaps gauging whether he could make for it in time to defend them. Poor John stood motionless, his feet locked into place.

“Very well,” Darcy acceded. “I will do as you ask.” Careful not to make any sudden movements, he reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a sizable pouch of coins, handing it to the man pointing the gun at him. The thief took it with his free hand, bouncing it a few times in his palm as if to guess the amount by the weight of it.

“Now your other valuables,” one of the masked men directed.

Darcy removed the jeweled stick pin from his cravat, then reached into his pocket and withdrew his watch. He would be sore to lose it; it had been a gift from his father, along with his ring bearing the Darcy crest. But one could not afford to cling to sentimental keepsakes when one’s life was at stake.

Before he could hand his priceless treasures over to the fiends, a movement caught his eye. Silas tried to climb on the step of the coach to reach for his pistol.

A shot rang out, echoing through the trees. Silas fell.

“You fool!” the masked man with the pepperbox pistol, who appeared to be their leader, cried. “Now we shall have to kill them all.”

The “lady” highwayman who had fired the single-shot grabbed John and held him tight while the beefy one with the club bludgeoned him. Perkins made a break for the woods. Another shot reverberated, this time coming from the leader with the pepperbox pistol. Perkins’ form disappeared from sight.

“Follow him!” the leader shouted. The one with the club dropped John’s lifeless form to the ground and pursued Perkins into the woods.

Darcy seized the momentary distraction and attempted to flee in the other direction. But at closer range, the leader proved to be a better marksman.

He felt the burning sensation in his body before his ears could recognize the sound of the shot. Darcy staggered forward, the earth colliding with his face as he slammed into the ground. Blackness fell all around him as the certainty of imminent death drew upon him. He prayed that they would have mercy and end him quickly.

Oh my! Such a harrowing scene! What despicable and sinister ruffians! Poor Mr. Darcy and his men – I’m all eagerness to keep reading and see what happens next…😲

~~~

About the Author ~

Amanda Kai’s love of period dramas and classic literature influences her sweet historical and modern romances. She is the author of seven award-winning books inspired by Jane Austen, including Sudden Awakenings and Swipe Right for Mr. Darcy. Prior to becoming an author, Amanda enjoyed a successful career as a professional harpist, and danced ballet for twenty years. When she’s not diving into the realm of her imagination, Amanda lives out her own happily ever after in Texas with her husband and three children.

~ GAME~

Just for fun,  Amanda has created a Pride and Prejudice Wordle game. (I mat have lost a half hour challenging myself with it just now…🤭)

~ GIVEAWAY TIME!!! ~

To celebrate the release of The Pleasure of Remembrance, Amanda is giving away some fabulous prizes – 1️⃣  The Other Paths paperback bundle + 2️⃣  The Other Paths paperback bundles + 4️⃣ ebook copies of The Pleasure of Remembrance.

To enter this giveaway, leave a comment, question, or some love for Amanda below and fill out the rafflecopter form.

Click Here to Enter

• This giveaway is open worldwide (ebooks only). Thank you, Amanda!
• This giveaway will end March 8th!