🎉 Surprise! The Slipper Scandal Is Live!
I had this delightful romantic romp scheduled for release yesterday, but when everything came together early (paperback AND ebook!), I simply couldn’t wait. So they dropped last week and the response has been amazing. Austen Variation readers really are THE BEST readers.
Haven’t seen it yet? Here it is: The Slipper Scandal, a forced marriage romance where Elizabeth Bennet absolutely refuses to be forced—and Mr. Darcy has no intention of making her. Except . . .
What begins with one lost dancing slipper, an accidental scandal, and a lion-masked stranger ends up with an entire ballroom whispering about propriety, impropriety, and what happens when you find yourself in the garden with a gentleman holding your shoe.
This Darcy and Elizabeth rom-com has:
Masquerade mayhem
Sharp banter and reluctant partnership
A protective hero who'd rather lose her than trap her (but really doesn’t want to lose her).
A heroine who doesn’t need rescuing (but could use her shoe back)
Want to see how it all begins?
Here’s the first chapter!
(Scroll down for lost slippers, looming scandals, and a garden encounter in the moonlight. Too bad it all goes wrong.)
Elizabeth Bennet had spent precisely an hour at her first London ball before she required a quick escape—or perhaps just a suitor-sized hole in the floor.
This was not at all what she had expected when her friend Arabella had invited her to town. Oh, she had anticipated some manner of revelry; after all, a Twelfth Night masquerade in London was bound to be a little freer than a country assembly. But she had not counted on the level of forwardness displayed by certain gentlemen. This one, all false charm and cool entitlement, was currently attempting to steer her into a shadowed alcove with all the subtlety of a fox herding a particularly naïve hen.
She was not a hen.
Elizabeth took a step backward, her laughter light but her eyes sharp. “I do believe the drink has addled you . . .” Her voice trailed away, for she had been introduced to a great many people this evening, but not him.
“Lord,” the man said with a smile he clearly believed charming. “Lord Ellington.”
“You seem to have mistaken me for someone else.” She glanced around but could not find Belle or her friend's parents. Could not see much at all, in fact, when so many of the guests were taller than she.
Lord Ellington’s teeth flashed behind his mask, his eyes glinting with amusement rather than offence. “Oh, I think not. And even if I had, would it matter? It is Twelfth Night, after all.”
Elizabeth bit back her irritation at this paltry excuse for ungentlemanly behaviour. She glanced towards the grand entry, weighing the likelihood of reaching it and slipping out of the ballroom without notice. Unfortunately, Lord Ellington had manoeuvred her far too well, placing himself between her and the safety of the rest of the house. Perhaps she was safer here, though? She shuddered to think of Lord Ellington finding her alone with none but the servants to protect her. At least the ballroom was filled with people, though with the laughter, the hum of music, and conversation too loud for anyone to overhear her firmly protest, it was not much better.
So she smiled. “Indeed, it is. But I find that the very best part of Twelfth Night is the revellers changing partners.”
She did not wait to see if he took her meaning. Instead, she turned lightly on her heel and walked away. Not so hastily as to draw pursuit, of course. The trick was to vanish before a gentleman realized he had been left.
She strolled in a random manner, first weaving through couples to the left, and then, when she thought he could no longer see her, to the right. She glanced over her shoulder and did not see him following. For a moment she felt relief.
But then she heard his voice.
She hid herself among a lively group of several couples, raising her fan to disguise the quick flick of her eyes as she scanned the ballroom. Where was Arabella? If she could just find her friend, she could concoct an excuse, something that would allow her to slip away unnoticed. Perhaps to the card tables, perhaps even back to the Abernathys’ home.
Before she could spot her friend’s familiar figure, the very group she had been using as a shield began to move.
Elizabeth hesitated just long enough to make retreat impossible. A lady ahead of her had looped her arm through her husband’s, laughing at something he had murmured to her. The two gentlemen behind her reached out to usher their own ladies forward, blocking Elizabeth in-between. The three couples moved together as one towards the wide-open terrace doors, chattering about how stiflingly warm the ballroom had become.
Elizabeth had two choices: either push against the tide and risk drawing attention to herself or allow herself to be carried along and extricate herself once they were outside.
She chose the latter.
A rush of cool air met her as they stepped onto the terrace, a welcome relief after the oppressive warmth of the ballroom. The group paused only briefly, and Elizabeth slowed her steps, hoping they would linger so she might slip back inside unnoticed.
But then, a giggling lady whispered something to her companion, and the entire party continued towards the garden.
Elizabeth stiffened. They had no chaperones. No one carried a lantern. Their laughter dropped into something more hushed, more private.
Ah. They were not seeking fresh air. They were seeking privacy.
Elizabeth finally spied an opening and stepped to one side, intending to retreat before anyone noticed she had been swept along in their wake. But they were already disappearing beyond the hedges to the far corners of the garden, their footsteps crunching softly against the gravel path, their murmurs growing fainter.
And then, quite suddenly, she was alone.
The terrace doors were still open, but she did not move. A smug voice floated towards her from just inside. Lord Ellington. Elizabeth’s heart hammered in her chest.
She needed him to move on. If she stepped back into the ballroom now, she would be walking directly into his path. He might not have seen her being pushed outside, but if he found her out here, alone?
Her jaw tightened. She could not return to the ballroom yet, but she must find a place to hide until she could.
The garden was less illuminated than she expected, its paths marked only by dim lanterns flickering at intervals. Elizabeth moved swiftly, her heart still thrumming with the need to put distance between herself and her unwelcome admirer.
Then—disaster.
She stumbled upon the uneven stones, and as she moved awkwardly to regain her balance, she lost one of her dancing slippers. She stumbled, catching herself against the cold marble of a bench before she could fall entirely.
“Gordon!” she heard Lord Ellington shout from near the door. “Have you seen a little Athena pass by? Olive branch on her mask, gilded tiara?”
She did not stop to retrieve the shoe.
Elizabeth ducked behind the first well-trimmed hedge she could reach, pressing a hand to her chest as she caught her breath. Had Lord Ellington seen her?
The door opened, and she heard footsteps. What was she to do? He would think, in his arrogance, that she had led him out here intentionally. She peeked around the hedge as a man stepped into the light of one of the lanterns.
The man was too tall to be Lord Ellington. Relieved, she took a longer look and thought she recognized him. He had a proud, aristocratic bearing and powerful build. His mask, a dark bronze affair with tufts of hair meant to mimic a lion, did little to disguise the sharp cut of his jaw.
Elizabeth remained still, willing herself to blend into the hedge. She had no desire to be discovered, whether by Lord Ellington or by this man, a friend of Mr. Abernathy’s who had barely spoken ten words during their introduction earlier in the evening, most of them delivered in a tone of such solemn gravity that she had wondered whether he was attending a funeral rather than a ball. Mr. Darcy, that was his name.
The footsteps stopped.
She peeped around the hedge.
Mr. Darcy stooped.
She watched as his hand closed around her slipper, lifting it as though it were some rare and puzzling artifact. His brows furrowed slightly above his mask, and Elizabeth felt a ridiculous urge to laugh. There was something absurd in the way he studied it, as if he had never before encountered such an object. Well, he probably had never found one in a garden before. She must allow him that.
He turned his head towards the house. No! He could not leave with her shoe!
“I should like that back, if you please.”
His head snapped up at her voice, and for a moment, he only stared. Then, to her astonishment, he stepped forward, holding the slipper aloft like some victorious knight returning from battle.
"Miss Bennet," he said gravely, but did not move closer.
Elizabeth attempted to appear unaffected by her predicament. "Mr. Darcy. I do not recall requesting your assistance in retrieving my slipper, but I suppose I must thank you all the same." She held out her hand.
The corner of his mouth turned up, though whether in amusement or disapproval, she could not say. He glanced at the slipper, then at her. “It seems you were in some haste to part with it.”
She was sure she was blushing and hoped he could not see it. “Yes, well, I am testing a theory.”
His brows lifted slightly. “A theory?”
“That one can outrun an unwelcome suitor more expeditiously with two shoes than with one.”
At that, Mr. Darcy exhaled sharply, something almost like a laugh. “I might suggest a simpler solution. Do not allow yourself to be separated from your companions in the first place.”
Elizabeth’s spine stiffened. “Ah, of course. What wisdom you possess, Mr. Darcy. I shall simply keep my friend always tethered to me. Perhaps a length of ribbon tied at the wrist? Though I suppose that might make it more difficult to dance when one is asked.”
His lips curled again, though his voice remained maddeningly steady. “A more cautious approach might have sufficed.”
“Yes, well, when at least ten other blonde women of similar height are also wearing Aphrodite masks in a crowded ballroom, it is difficult to keep track.”
His expression did not change, but there was something in the pause before he responded, something in the measured way his gaze swept over her mask, that made her suspect he had not noticed any of the Aphrodites in attendance.
What an odd man.
At last, he spoke. “I have sent Lord Ellington off on a false scent,” he said, changing the subject with abrupt efficiency. “He is now in pursuit of an entirely different goddess, and though she is thirty-seven and a widow, I cannot promise she will be any more receptive to his attentions. Allow me to lead you back to Mrs. Abernathy.”
Elizabeth exhaled, tension she had not realized she was holding easing from her shoulders. “You truly sent him away?”
“I did.”
“That was kind of you.”
“A practical necessity, I assure you. I rather like Mr. Abernathy, and a woman alone in a garden, pursued by a man of Lord Ellington’s character, is bound to lead to . . . trouble.”
“Trouble, indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, stepping around the hedge and reaching again for her slipper. “Now, if you will just—”
But before she could retrieve it, a raucous chorus of laughter spilled from the direction of the steps.
Mr. Darcy tensed, and Elizabeth’s hand froze mid-reach.
And then, before either could react, Lord Ellington and his companions had poured into the garden.
“There he is!”
Elizabeth’s stomach plummeted, and just as she lurched forward to grab her slipper, Mr. Darcy’s hand fell to his side.
Lord Ellington hurried over to them, his eyes gleaming with delighted malice. He stopped abruptly at the sight before him, and Elizabeth could only imagine the scene through the blackguard’s eyes. Mr. Darcy, standing tall and imposing in the garden’s dim light and—most damningly—holding her slipper in his hand.
For a moment, silence hung in the cold night air.
Then Ellington let out a delighted laugh. “My word, Darcy, you astonish me.”
She watched as Mr. Darcy’s grip on her shoe tightened. His voice, when it came, was like steel wrapped in velvet. “You astonish me as well, Ellington. I had not thought you so lacking in manners as to hound Miss Bennet all the way out into the garden. I came to escort her back to her party.”
Elizabeth frowned. She had never given her pursuer her name, but Mr. Darcy just had.
Ellington waved a hand, unconcerned. “Oh, I quite lost interest once I heard you had followed her out.” His smirk widened. “But now I find I was mistaken. You were not following her, were you? You two had a planned assignation.”
“What?” cried Elizabeth, all indignation.
She was ignored.
“Playing hunt the slipper! At a ball!” Ellington crowed.
One of Ellington’s companions gave a mock gasp. “And all alone in the moonlight!”
“I find I must question my entire understanding of the man,” another added, sputtering with laughter.
Lord Ellington smiled, and Elizabeth shivered. “Darcy.” He tsked. “You work fast. And here I thought you too dignified for such debauchery.”
Elizabeth could barely contain her outrage. “This is ridiculous! I was running from you, you overbearing, pompous—”
Lord Ellington’s gaze flicked to her, his malicious smile deepening. “Absolutely scandalous. I knew you had it in you, my Athena.” He spread his hands. “By all means, tell us what does explain why dear, solemn Darcy is standing in a garden, cradling your slipper?”
The men enjoyed this very much. “What lady would wish to flee from a lord?” one cackled.
“Any true lady if the lord is Ellington,” Mr. Darcy answered, and Elizabeth shivered at the coldness of his tone. “You forget, Harstead, that I attend nearly all the same balls as his lordship, and he seems to have great difficulty finding a woman willing to accept his addresses at any of them. Perhaps he ought to revisit his approach.”
“And pretend to be an honourable man such as you?” Lord Ellington inquired, enjoying this all very much indeed. “One who behaves with all propriety in the light of day but meets willing ladies in dark gardens where no one can see? At least I am honest.”
Elizabeth held out her hand. “Mr. Darcy, please give me my shoe.”
Mr. Darcy did not move. His jaw was taut, his gaze fixed on Ellington.
She took an urgent step forward, lowering her voice. “Mr. Darcy, I do not require your protection. Give me my shoe.” She turned to glare at Lord Ellington and his friends. “I shall handle this.”
But even as she spoke, she knew it was too late.
Lord Ellington had already turned, murmuring something to his companions that sent another round of knowing chuckles through the group.
There it was. The plan to spread gossip. Elizabeth swallowed hard.
The damage had been done. This miscreant who had chased her away, who had caused her to hide in the first place—he had won. In the space of a single moment, she had gone from trying to avoid one scandal to stepping headlong into another.
And judging by the rigid set of Mr. Darcy’s shoulders, he knew it too.
What Happens Next?
Now that the whispers are about to begin, there’s only one way to keep her reputation intact—and it is most certainly not what either of them would have chosen.
She won’t be forced.
He doesn’t want her to be.
But London society thrives on appearances, and a hasty marriage might be the only way out . . .
The Slipper Scandal is available HERE.
