About the Book:
Tradition holds that Jane Austen lived a prim and proper life as a single woman. But what if she wed a man as passionate and intelligent as she—and the marriage remained secret for 200 years?
The Marriage of Miss Jane Austen is a trilogy that resolves the biggest mysteries of Austen’s life, the “lost years” of her twenties—a period of which historians know virtually nothing.
– Why the enduring rumors of a lost love or tragic affair?
– Why, afterward, did the vivacious Jane Austen prematurely put on “the cap of middle age” and shut herself away to write her books?
– Why, after her death, did her beloved sister destroy her letters, journals, and diaries from this period?
The Marriage of Miss Jane Austen trilogy presents an original love story, based on actual history, to put forth a believable, compelling, and plausible answer to Austen’s lost years.
See why critics call this historical fiction about England’s most beloved author “an imaginative journey of the soul.”
Go with Jane Austen as this thinking woman, and sensitive soul, seizes the opportunity for meaningful love with a man who inspires her and understands her independent spirit—the one man worthy of her mind, heart, and soul.
Read an Excerpt:
Featured in Feb/Mar 2017 Issue: Crossover Edition
Chapter 4
The hot-air balloon rose until the woods and farmlands formed a patchwork quilt of light and dark greens, with here and there a stripe of yellow; the texture of the ground resembled wool and moss. The basket swayed, then steadied.
“Monsieur Dennis,” said Monsieur Garnerin. “To impress this young woman, you have purchased the balloon—and taken away my livelihood.” He unstrapped an odd device from the carriage. It resembled a large umbrella with wooden sticks that went down to a small woven bucket. “But you did not purchase me.” He hopped onto the side of the carriage, stepped into the bucket, and pushed off. The balloon heaved sideways and simultaneously shot up. They saw the white umbrella blossom. Monsieur Garnerin disappeared beneath it. The parachute swayed below them, drifting like a dandelion puffball across the green fields.
“The weather is perfect,” Ashton said. “The company is delightful. We will drift along nicely and come down fine. We might exasperate a cow or two, but I doubt that any other damage will be done.”
The breeze strengthened. She could feel the wind cut through her thin summer dress. Yet she could also feel the sun on her face and the enchantment of the view. She understood the lure of the sky: woods and fields undulating beneath them, the blue reflective sheen of streams, a hawk hunting below them. But she sensed that something was not quite right. Of a sudden, the ground seemed to be welcoming them with rather too much eagerness. “We are falling too quickly! The balloon has cooled!” She took the large wooden fork and tossed a flake of fuel into the brazier. “Help, Mr. Dennis! I cannot do this alone!”
They worked furiously, but for the next thirty or forty seconds their rate of descent increased terrifyingly. At last the sensation of falling eased; the balloon stabilized a few hundred feet above the earth.
“We have done it,” she said. The brazier burned furiously. They both recognized what was going to happen. The balloon began to rise. Soon it was rocketing skyward. …