Hi friends! Happy Friday! I’m very excited to welcome back author Barry S. Richman to Austenesque Reviews today! 

And it extra exciting because Barry is releasing a new novel today – Before the Storm!

Before the Storm is a Pride and Prejudice prequel about a very beloved secondary character – and I’m sure you can all guess who…Colonel Fitzwilliam! ⚔️

Barry is here to celebrate his new release with an enticing excerpt and giveaway! 📖

We hope you enjoy! 

~ Book Description ~

He is a cavalry officer the kingdom relies upon—and dares not question.
Men like him are not born. They are forged.

Before reputation. Before legend.
Before the name Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam becomes synonymous with iron discipline and lethal resolve.

Before the Storm is the history of the second son of Matlock—the spare.
Fitzwilliam is marked early by a constitution that does not register pain as it should. What others feel, he notes only in passing. What is first regarded as peculiarity becomes a curiosity to physicians and, in darker hands, an invitation.

Sent across a Europe tightening towards war, Fitzwilliam moves through Paris, Berlin, and Vienna under constant appraisal by diplomats, soldiers, and men who recognise the hand of the state at work–and mean to harden it further. In him, they recognise something rare. What begins as appraisal becomes selection.

This is not the story of a hero’s rise.
It is the account of a man who submits to pressure and trial until the ordeal drives him beyond the last restraints of gentility.

~ Excerpt from Before the Storm ~

The ash tree still marked the bend. One limb lay lower than it had last year. The wall beyond it had shed a stone. The gap showed white.

Argus took the turn without cue.

The road ought to have sounded as it always did—wind in leaf, leather, wheel.

It did not.

A sound carried.

High. Brief. Unchecked.

Argus flicked an ear.

Richard’s hand shifted once on the rein. Two fingers lifted, low.

Villiers eased back a length.

The sound came again. Nearer.

The ground dipped where it always dipped. Argus took the fall without change of stride. The field opened below, broad and green, the pitch falling away cleanly.

Figures resolved in order.

A footman first—still, set apart. A woman in pale linen bent once, then straightened. A cap sat low; a spill of red showed beneath it. Two smaller forms moved without pattern, one circling, one dropping to the grass and rising again.

Richard kept the line.

Another figure stood beyond them.

Darker cloth against the green. A wide brim held steady. A parasol angled, its colour close to the gown, neither bright nor dull.

The fall of the ground brought her clear.

Lady Matlock.

Richard raised his hand.

The parasol shifted.

Argus’s ears flicked. His pace held.

The two small figures turned at once. They crossed to her skirts and pressed close.

Lady Matlock lowered herself. Her skirts pooled. Her arms encircled the children; they dipped their heads as her lips moved.

She looked up. Her mouth curved—not wide, but real.

She straightened.

The girls broke from her and ran. Their voices carried, high and excited.

“B’ruther!”

Richard halted Argus and dropped to the ground.

* * *

Divine Songs for Children lay open across Richard’s knees.

Phoebe sat at his left, her back straight, her head inclined toward the page. Ellie leaned against his right shoulder, one foot tucked beneath her, the other swinging.

Richard read.

“How doth the little busy bee

Improve each shining hour.”

Phoebe reached up and took his chin between her fingers and turned his face toward her.

“Why does it have to be busy?” she asked.

“To not waste the day,” he said.

She considered that. Her hand fell away.

Richard read on.

“And gather honey all the day

From every opening flower!”

Ellie caught his chin with both hands and pulled his face the other way.

“What happens if the flowers do not open?” she asked.

“They will,” he said.

She smiled and let him go.

Richard turned the page and continued.

Phoebe leant in again. Ellie followed.

“How skilfully she builds her cell!

How neat she spreads the wax!”

* * *

Steam lifted from the soup tureen as Hobbes dipped the ladle. Clear broth filled Richard’s bowl. Mace rose first; something green and sharp followed. Richard tasted, swallowed, waited.

Lady Matlock lifted her spoon.

“I am glad,” she said, “that we dine alone.”

Richard looked up.

“You need not guard yourself at table,” she continued. “Not here.”

Hobbes removed the bowls. Fenwick set the fish—river trout, pale flesh breaking beneath the fork. Lemon cut the butter. Richard ate neatly, eyes lowered.

“I do not see you until the sun stands high,” she said. After a moment, she added, “and when I do, you smell of horse.”

“At which hour would you wish me presentable?”

She smiled then— the line of her mouth easing.

“At any hour that is yours,” she said. “I only wish to see you.”

Richard inclined his head. He did not look away at once.

Clark entered and placed the express at her elbow.

“You indulge your sisters,” she said. Her tone gentled. “You give them ease.”

“Why would I not?”

Lady Matlock did not answer. Fenwick refilled the water. The clock marked the quarter.

Hobbes returned with the joint. He set down the mutton, well roasted, the fat crisped and salted. Richard cut and chewed. The meat required attention.

Hobbes cleared the plates. Fenwick removed the cutlery.

Lady Matlock set down her napkin. She took up the paper. Broke the seal. Read.

She folded it once, then rose.

The servants stilled. Richard folded his serviette, placed it beside his plate, and pushed back his chair. He offered his arm.

They crossed into the receiving parlour. The door closed behind them.

Lady Matlock lowered herself onto the settee and patted the cushion beside her. Richard sat.

She raised a brow and extended her hand. He accepted it into his.

“We return to London,” she said. “Your sisters and I will depart in the morning.”

“You may stay longer,” he said.

She reached towards his face. Her hand paused. He leant forward a fraction. She cupped his cheek.

“Your father calls us back.”

Richard inclined his head. His hand tightened once in hers “Thank you for seeing me, Mother,” he said. He stood, assisted her to her feet. “I wish you and my sisters a safe journey.”

He bowed.

Congrats on your new release, Barry! 👏🏼

I love the prospect of learning more about Colonel Fitzwilliam in his younger years, and his relationship with his family. 🤗

And, I’m excited to learn that there is to be another book following this one – After the Fall!  📕

~ Connect with Barry ~

Instagram    ❧    Facebook    ❧   Goodreads

~~~

GIVEAWAY TIME!!!

Barry is generously giving away 1 paperback book of Before the Storm in conjunction with his visit to this blog!!  Woot woot! 

To enter this giveaway, please leave a comment, question, or some love for Barry!

• This giveaway is open worldwide  (international readers will receive a gift card in lieu of a paperback). Thank you, Barry!
• This giveaway ends April 25th!