Hey everyone! I'm here with a blog tour post today, consisting of the book's info and a excerpt for all of you to enjoy! I'll post my review on Monday :D
Title: Kellynch
Author: Kwen D. Griffeth
Genre: Jane Austen Fanfiction / Romance
Jane Austen completed “Persuasion” in August
1816. It was to be her last book. She left us with the story of Anne Elliot and
Captain Wentworth and she left them approaching “happily ever after.” What happens the day following “happily ever
after?”
The story of Kellynch picks up three years after the
couple married and were able to secure the Kellynch estate from Sir Walter and
Cousin William Elliot agreed to waive the entailment.
It would seem all is well with the young couple, but
all is not as it seems.
Kellynch is a story of deceit and treachery as well as
courage and overcoming the odds. It is a
story in which those who were assumed to be friends are not and where support
comes from unexpected places. Love
again, will, be tested in a story set against the backdrop of historical
events.
Throughout the book, I have tried to remain true to
the characters as Miss Austen created them.
I sought to develop and introduce new characters that would meet with
her approval.
Author Bio
When describing my life, I think Douglas Adams said it best, “I may not
have gone where I intended to go, but I have ended up where I needed to be.”
Books have always been a large part of my meandering.
I grew up on a ranch in southeastern Idaho and my friends were a mixed
and rowdy bunch. Louis L’Amour told me
tales of the west, but Edgar Rice Burroughs took me to the jungles of
Africa. Sir Author Conan Doyle walked
with me through the fog-covered streets of London, and Jane Austen taught me to
be a gentleman.
I read several other authors but I was fourteen when I met the man. Sitting in an English class, I chose a book
from a required reading list and I was introduced to Ernest Hemingway. His book, “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” allowed
Mister Hemingway, Robert Jordan, and I to fight in the Spanish Civil War and I
never left Idaho. When I closed the back
cover, I knew that no matter whatever else I did, I would be a writer. Even today, when I think back, I am still in
awe of how Hemingway’s words touched the soul of an adolescent boy.
I entered the Army a year after high school and stayed in uniform for
the next two decades. The military
offered me the opportunity to live my own adventures separate from the ones I
lived vicariously in books. While in
uniform, I worked in a variety of fields, Infantry, Military Police, and
Military Intelligence. I worked on a psychiatric
ward and later at a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. I took trips to Mexico, Canada, and twice to
Germany. I have visited the forty-eight
contiguous states and desperately want to see the other two.
Along the way, I met and kept
printed friends Allister Maclean, Robert Ludlow, John Grisham, and Tom
Clancy. I had flings with several
others, Joseph Wambaugh, Clive Cussler, and Stephen King.
I started to write and failed.
Repeatedly, I would start a story, only to end it and discard it as it
sounded too much like the works of one of my friends. I went through periods when I refused to
read, because I was frustrated and angry with those friends. Those friends who were what I wanted to be.
Fifteen years ago, I got sick. I
got sick and it was misdiagnosed. I
almost died, but then I met the doctor who figured out the riddle and, with his
help, I started working my way back. As
I got better and my brain got stronger, stories, characters, and plots started
to form. I found my voice and I published
my first book, a novella called “Dear Emma,” in February 2012.
I used to feel strange telling people, “I got better and now I hear
voices,” but the statement is accurate.
I feel I am in good company as several authors have made such
references. As I said at the beginning,
I am exactly where I need to be.
Links
Excerpt
The landscape of quilts moved as the woman beneath
them stretched and a good morning hum accompanied the movement of bed
covers. A hand showing manicured nails
appeared from under those covers and slowly lowered them to reveal a tousled
head of brunette hair and then, brown eyes.
The eyes squinted as they glanced at the angle of the sunshine beamed
through a nearby window. The sun was
bright, sharp, and rude; the eyes closed in self-defense. Even so, the brightness of the intruder triggered
a much more intense stretch and the accompanying hum sounded more like a groan.
“Oh, if I do not force myself from this bed this
instant, people will begin to mistake me for my sisters.”
A chuckle from the distant corner of the room
responded and the woman sat up. Across
from her, a rounded woman, in her fifties, sat on a chair. On her chubby face was a smile as she studied
her needlepoint from under the ruffle of a white mob cap that sat so low on her
head; it could have been made there.
“Anne Elliot Wentworth, if you slept until noon, every
day, no one of any importance would ever mistake you for your sisters.”
Anne Elliot Wentworth joined the chuckle and replied,
“Charlotte, you have been with me since I was but eight years old.”
“And a better student there was not.”
“Let me finish.”
The older woman lowered her gaze in an act of
deference, but kept the smile of familiarity, “Sorry, Milady.”
“As I was saying, you have been with me most of my
life and in many ways, my best friend.
So, I believe your opinion of me compared to my sisters to be a bit
skewed.”
“Yes, Milady, I might plead guilty to such a charge,
but I remain convinced of my assertion.”
Anne threw back the covers and rose from her bed. Wearing only her nightshirt, she walked to
the aforementioned window. She stood
modestly to the side and looked over the lush gardens and closely cropped lawns
before her.
The gardens of Kellynch stretched along the east side
of the main house and circled around to the south end. The collage of colors that greeted her forced
an intake of breath. Though the flowers
were at a distance, simply their overpowering beauty triggered the memory of
their perfumes. She shook her head
slightly and marveled.
“Charlotte, I have lived here most of my life and I am
still amazed at the beauty of Kellynch.
This has to be the most beautiful spot in all of England, maybe the
entire world.”
“This is a beautiful house,” Charlotte nodded, “and I
believe with all my heart you are the proper lady for it. I have to admit though; being married to a
fine gentleman like the Captain has more benefits than just the acreage before
you.”
Anne turned away from the window and watched as her
companion warmed water in the fireplace.
The older woman had originally been her nanny, then one of the
housemaids, and as the years passed, she became her personal maid. Now, due to Anne’s ascension, she had become
the maid for the lady of the house.
“I am the wife of Captain Fredrick Wentworth. How I love the sound of that. We have been married almost three years and
still I find myself repeating that in my mind.
I am the wife of Captain Fredrick Wentworth. Through all the years of wishing it were so,
I did not realize how happy I would actually be. If but for one disappointment, I would be
living the life of a fairy tale.”