It's a pleasure to participate in Don Jacobson's blog tour for his latest book in the The Bennet Wardrobe series, The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn. I am sharing my thoughts on the book and Don is sharing an excerpt that you are going to love. I know I did when I read the book.
My review follows the excerpt, but before getting to the review and excerpt, let's take a look at the blurb and learn more about Don.
Blurb:
“I have been shaped by the events of over forty years. The
world is a nasty place full of awful persons, Mr. Wickham, and does not get any
lighter through complaining or blaming.”
The
Countess: An Enigma? A Mystery? Or a young girl all-grown-up?
Kitty Bennet, the fourth daughter of the Master and Mistress
of Longbourn, had spent far too long as the shadow of her youngest sister. The
all-knowing Meryton chinwaggers suggested that young Miss Bennet needed
education—and quickly.
How right they were…but the type of instruction Kitty Bennet
received, and the where/when in which
she matriculated was far beyond their ken. For they knew nothing of that
remarkable piece of furniture which had been part of the lives of clan Bennet for over 120 years: The Bennet Wardrobe.
Forty-six years from when she left her Papa’s bookroom, the
Dowager Countess of Matlock returned to that exact same moment in 1811 to tend
to many important pieces of Family business.
In the process, Kitty Fitzwilliam helped her youngest sister
find the love she craved with the hero who, as the Duke said, “saved us all.”
Who can resist the magic of time-travel? Pages of worldwide history rustle back and forth between Regency grand salons, Napoleonic battlefields and more recent conflicts as, guided by Don Jacobson’s masterful pen, the Bennet sisters grow as people and come into their own. ‘The Countess Visits Longbourn’ is a wonderful new instalment, and we cannot fail to revel in the excellent writing and the abundance of detail as the mysteries of the Wardrobe continue to unfold. This captivating series, that brings together real and much-loved fictional characters from all walks of life, is one to savour, and I will revisit it again and again.
Joana Starnes, author of Miss
Darcy’s Companion
Author Bio:
Don Jacobson has written
professionally for forty years. His
output has ranged from news and features to advertising, television and
radio. His work has been nominated for
Emmys and other awards. He has
previously published five books, all non-fiction. In 2016, he published the first volume of The Bennet Wardrobe Series—The Keeper: Mary Bennet’s Extraordinary
Journey, novel that grew from two earlier novellas. The Exile is the second volume of The Bennet Wardrobe Series. Other
JAFF P&P Variations include the paired books “Of Fortune’s Reversal” and “The
Maid and The Footman.”
Jacobson
holds an advanced degree in History with a specialty in American Foreign
Relations. As a college instructor, Don
teaches United States History, World History, the History of Western
Civilization and Research Writing.
He is a member of JASNA-Puget
Sound. Likewise, Don is a member of the Austen Authors collective (see the
internet, Facebook and Twitter).
He lives in the Seattle, WA area
with his wife and co-author, Pam, a woman Ms. Austen would have been
hard-pressed to categorize, and their rather assertive four-and-twenty pound
cat, Bear. Besides thoroughly immersing
himself in the JAFF world, Don also enjoys cooking; dining out, fine wine and
well-aged scotch whiskey.
His other passion is cycling. Most days from April through October will
find him “putting in the miles” around the Seattle area (yes there are
hills). He has ridden several “centuries”
(100 mile days). Don is especially proud
that he successfully completed the AIDS Ride—Midwest (500 miles from
Minneapolis to Chicago) and the Make-A-Wish Miracle Ride (300 miles from
Traverse City, MI to Brooklyn, MI).
Contact Info:
Buy Links: Paperback & Kindle
Blog Tour Schedule:
Excerpt:
This
excerpt from Chapter XXVII of “The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn,”
brings you into a waiting area in the offices of Wilson and Hunters, the Bennet
family’s London solicitors. The pas de deux between Laura Jenkinson, the
spinster sister-in-law of Mrs. Jenkinson who works as a lady’s companion in
Kent, and Sergeant Henry Wilson, late of the South Essex Regiment are the first
shots in a relationship that will help shape aspects of the Wardrobe’s
Universe.
This excerpt is ©2018 by Donald P.
Jacobson. Reproduction in any form of this work without the expressed written
consent of the creator is prohibited. Published in the United States of
America.
Laura
Jenkinson settled herself in one of the well-stuffed chairs. The modest waiting
area was made cozy by a coal-fed blaze sputtering in the hearth. Never one to
leave things to chance, the companion pulled a small folio containing nearly a
dozen foolscap quarto sheets from her reticule.[i]
She then settled herself in for a wait—long or short. Luckily, Miss J was
familiar with the tightly crabbed hand that had copied out the extensive
fragment entitled Canto The First.
She would have been otherwise utterly out-to-sea as she read the poetry that
covered the slightly yellowed fine linen paper.
To
this point, she had only briefly noticed the giant footman standing adjacent to
the mantle, so placid was he, although not in a bovine nature, but rather akin
to a South American jaguar poised upon a branch observing fauna passing
unawares underneath. There was a tension which emanated from him, a controlled
fury awaiting release, although not born of anger, but rather a potential for
unknown action, either for good or not. Beyond that, though, she expected to
consign him to blend into the woodwork, as was the nature of her class:
servants were seen only when needed.
Yet,
he defied this normal practice simply through his presence which overwhelmed
her efforts to ignore him: first unconsciously and then with awakened sentiments
as she tried to concentrate on the writing spread across the leaves resting in
her lap. Even though she kept her head bowed, Laura could not avoid the sense
of his thereness. T’was not his
massive frame, towering well over six feet nor his near white blond hair above
eyes bluer than the skies above the North Sea on a midsummer’s day. His body,
broad—impossibly wide—at the shoulders, v’ed down to narrow hips leaving the
impression of an inverted arrowhead. His entire being—both physical and spiritual—unsettled
her in a manner thoroughly unfamiliar.
He
wore a livery with which she was not acquainted: black wool of the finest
quality—cashmere, perhaps—and richly dyed, with gold frogging anchoring richly
embossed buttons. The device embroidered on his coat’s left breast, a deeply
entwined “M and H,” bore testament to his position as a member of a household
of note.
His
eyes stopped their perpetual perambulation around the room and concentrated on
her. She could feel their boring gaze penetrating through the brim of her
bonnet as it blinkered her vision. Her inner self trembled under the intensity
of that observation, that dissection which was laying her naked before him.
Soon the vibrations that had plucked her psyche’s hidden strings manifested
themselves in her lightly shaking hands.
This has to stop! He is a footman…a
man…no more, no less! And I am his better.
Laura
raised her eyes from the poem and shot a potent look toward the servant fully
expecting him to avert his attention, ignore her, and allow her to slide back
into the anonymity of her position. Instead he refocused his orbs swallowing
hers in their depths, further rocking her sensibilities.
The
titan cleared his throat. He wished permission to address her, but was aware
enough of his lowly status to petition her. She nodded her assent.
In
a rolling baritone that annihilated her last defenses he spoke, not as a
servant, but as an educated man, “Please forgive my forward behavior. I am
aware that you are Mrs. Wickham’s companion. Since it appears that we are to be
near one another for some time, I hope you will allow me to introduce myself.”
Given
another stuttering nod by the young lady, he slowly continued, “I am Sergeant
Henry Wilson, soon to be of Wellesley’s own 33rd, that is infantry,
ma’am. I am on detached duty in the service of the House of Deauville. I
accompanied my Lady here today for her meeting with your charge.”
She
absorbed his military background that explained his powerful presence to her.
However, his cultured speech surprised her.
This is a man who has probably spent
years dispatching His Majesty’s foes. That he is a Sergeant means that he has
survived long enough to be recognized by his commanders. However, he speaks as
a man with education. Perhaps there is more to him than a common soldier and
footman to be scorned as a creature of the slums.
She
quickly and graciously responded. “I am pleased to meet you, Sergeant Wilson. I
am Miss Laura Jenkinson, lately from Northumberland where I lived with my
brother and his wife. However, fever swept the vicar and his children off,
forcing Mrs. Jenkinson and me to find employment. I am now under the protection
of young Mr. Hunters and this firm.
“As
you may divine, I receive various commissions from the gentleman in exchange
for my bed and board. I live at Oakham House.”
Wilson
paused as pieces clicked into place.
A preacher’s sister, like dear Miss
Smythe. Thankfully when Mr. Smythe passed on, he did not leave her without
resources. Me and the other Mersey boys who’d made something of themselves,
thanks to his ministry, worked all the bawdy houses and hellholes around the
docks until we added another 100 guineas to send the poor lady off to her
cousin in Bath with a decent inheritance.
Miss Jenkinson, though, has more steel
in her. Not for her the predictable life of a lady’s companion…or a governess:
instead she is an operator who takes the unusual and makes it her own.
And, she is all lady, not like that
vacant piece of fluff who just flounced past here on her way into that meeting
from which both Miss Jenkinson and I have been barred.
He
frankly, but not obviously, appraised the lady’s attributes. What he saw was a
full-grown woman with medium brown hair—based upon the curls that were escaping
from her bonnet’s confines—and an attractive face graced with light brown eyes.
A blush of health suffused her cheeks that framed a pert nose above a mouth
that may have been characterized by the tabbies of the ton as unfashionably wide. When her lips parted, he could spy white
teeth evenly spaced. A gentle dusting of freckles bore testament to her love of
the outdoors. Little could be made of her body that was now curled in the
chair. However, Wilson recalled watching her approach after she was sent back
to wait. He could attest to the fact that she was neither thin nor plump and
had the requisite curves in all the right
places.
Her
loveliness nearly unmanned him. Shaking himself, he asked Miss Jenkinson what
she was reading.
Taking
the opportunity to regain her composure, Laura happily replied, “This is a
wonderful little bit of work by a friend of Mr. Hunters. You may have heard of
him, perhaps: Mr. Gordon who is also Lord Byron.
“He
has long been a friend of the Hunters family. When Mrs. Hunters, whom I
attended during the last year of her life, was failing, Byron, knowing that she
loved lyric poems, presented her with a rough draft of the new verses upon
which he was working…Childe Burun.[ii]
“Byron
is one of those new breed of poets rising in England—the Romantics.”
Wilson
nodded and offered back as he, more comfortable now, circled around from his
station by the hearth, and settled into a chair, “I myself favor the
Romantics…in fact their Founder, Mr. Blake, is someone who has brought me
comfort many a cold night on the lines in the Peninsula.
“His
words speak to me and remind me of the trials and matching wonders that
confront us every day.
He
lifted his head and quoted, entrancing Laura with every word,
The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wandering light,
Began to cry, but God, ever nigh,
Appeared like his father, in white.
He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.[iii]
Laura
was astonished at the depths to which the currents of the Sergeant’s soul ran.
She could well imagine him as a child alienated from his mother through
circumstances beyond his control. How Blake’s words helped him mourn his loss
of a mama’s love, she knew not, but that these were the stanzas he was able to
quickly quote told the tale.
However,
not to be outdone, she challenged back, “Mr. Gordon has yet to fully make his
name, so the comparison may be unfair. If, my fine sir, you chose to quote an
established poet to me, then I can only respond with Mr. Wordsworth.”
What
possessed her to select that poet or those specific verses would cause her to
wonder that evening and the countless thousands more of her long and joyous
life. Perhaps it was the cant of the universe at that odd moment…or not. The dice
with which the gods determine the fates of men and women tumbled out of the cup
to her eternal pleasure.
If
I should be where I no more can hear
Thy
voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of
past existence—wilt thou then forget
That
on the banks of this delightful stream
We
stood together; and that I, so long
A
worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied
in that service: rather say
With
warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal
Of
holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That
after many wanderings, many years
Of
absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And
this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More
dear, both for themselves and for thy sake![iv]
The
gleam in his eyes told her all. He was as captured as she. Agape exploded throughout her being.
At
that exact moment, the door to Mr. Hunter’s office popped open and the Lady,
her shroud lifted, strode out with Lydia and Mr. Hunters trailing behind her
like two frigates attending the flagship of the fleet, eagerly awaiting their
orders. Miss J and Wilson both shot to their feet and turned expectantly.
She and he both felt the Countess’
appraising glance speedily read them far better than any Gypsy fortuneteller.
Then the Lady nodded and mumbled mostly for her ears only, “Hmmmpf: as I expected.
Besotted!
“They are utterly
lost to us. Liam and Sean were correct. The story was assuredly not
apocryphal.”
[ii] Byron retiled the reworked final poem and published it
in 1812 as Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.
My review includes some thoughts on the Bennet Wardrobe as a whole, as well as
The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn.
A Book Review, The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn by Don Jacobson
I love The
Bennet Wardrobe Series and have been fascinated with it since reading the first
book, The Keeper: Mary Bennet’s Extraordinary
Journey. Don Jacobson is an exceptional writer and his interweaving of
history, fictional characters, real-life people, and events is brilliant. He
makes it all fit together seamlessly, not contrived nor forced, but realistically,
as if his world was truth. It is, isn’t it?
I love that
the Wardrobe takes its occupant to a place where he/she needs to go, to become
the person that he/she is meant to be, to develop to their full potential. The person
of Bennet blood does not have a choice of where to travel. The Wardrobe makes
that decision for them.
Don Jacobson’s
newest release in The Bennet Wardrobe series is the second part of book two, The Exile, with the continuation of Kitty
Bennet’s story. Kitty is now Lady Kate Fitzwilliam, the Dowager Countess of
Matlock, and is of an age, forty-six years more than when she first entered the
Wardrobe. Kitty is at her beach house in Deauville, making plans to return to
Longbourn. After much research, Kitty believes she has discovered the driving
force behind the Wardrobe, and that discovery stretched her mind almost beyond what
was sanely possible. ‘Without revealing her stunning conclusion’, she must make
sure her father has sufficient knowledge to secure the Wardrobe and the future
of the Five Families. She can scatter ‘a fistful of breadcrumbs’ without
changing any events to come or destroying the purpose of the Wardrobe.
I loved
reading about Kitty and her father. Per the Wardrobe rules, Kitty returns to
the moment in time when she left. She is now sixty-three, but her father has
not aged, thus he is younger than Kitty. It was fun to see her older than Mr.
Bennet, yet at times still feeling like the girl of seventeen. How strange that
must have been for them both. Lady Kate is now a strong, independent woman of
means and influence. She sets some events in motion that give answers to a few
things mentioned in earlier books, ah-ha moments. The inception of and the
reasons for the Founder’s Letters were excellent and satisfying. There are so
many neat things in this story of Kitty and her visit back to the point of her first
departure. Those tasty morsels I will leave for the reader to glean themselves.
I loved
learning more about Wickham and Lydia. I began to like him and that is quite
unusual. Mr. Jacobson teased us well with this inclusion. Now I eagerly wait
for Lydia’s book!
There are new characters, relatives of some from P&P
and some that are introduced for the first time. There are minor characters
from canon that are developed and grow into strong forces of nature, as the
author envisions they could and will be.
At the front of each book, Mr. Jacobson gives a dramatis
personae, a list of characters and from whence they came. The Gibbons’ Rules of
the Wardrobe will follow this list. Next is the Bennets of Longbourn, and it is
the family tree, past, present, and future. I enjoy going back and perusing these
inclusions as I read each book in the series.
Toward the
end of this Bennet history, Kitty
travels back to the beach house in Deauville, where her future awaits. It is a touching,
yet bittersweet grand finale to the story that is the life of Miss Kitty Bennet,
the fourth daughter of Mr. Thomas Bennet of Longbourn. It leaves us a with a hint
and hope for what awaits us in the next book.
I am amazed at the author’s ability to bring to life this
universe that is the Bennet Wardrobe. He makes it a reality and keeps the telling
of it, flowing smoothly and with ease. I highly recommend this series by Don
Jacobson. His stories have depth and a style that move them into a league of their
own. They are different from any in this genre I have read in the past. I am glad
that I have had the opportunity to encounter this author and his books. Thank
you, Don Jacobson.
Giveaway:
Don Jacobson is offering a fantastic giveaway of 12
books – 10 eBooks and 2 Paperbacks. Enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win.
Terms and
Conditions:
Readers may enter the drawing by tweeting once a day and daily commenting on a blog post or review that has a giveaway attached for the tour. Entrants must provide the name of the blog where they commented (which will be verified). If an entrant does not do so, that entry will be disqualified. Remember: Tweet and comment once daily to earn extra entries.
A winner may win ONLY 1 (ONE) eBook or Paperback of The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn by Don Jacobson. Each winner will be randomly selected by Rafflecopter and the giveaway is international.
Colonel Fitzwilliam cannot get past the feeling that
Darcy lives. Thankfully, he never gives up his quest for the truth. At Colonel
Fitzwilliams’ request, Elizabeth stays with Georgiana at Pemberley, and Lydia
tags along. Lydia is a light spot in this tale and totally unpredictable. She was
refreshing and fun. In the search for what happened to Darcy, dear Colonel
Fitzwilliam meets up with his past. What a thrill it was to have him play such
a leading role. At times, he stole the show and it was delightful! 
