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    Audrey's Mr. Darcy
    Audrey's Mr. Darcy
    Audrey's Mr. Darcy
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    Audrey's Mr. Darcy

    By Paula Freda

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    Audrey Lambert is a self-sufficient woman, newly appointed as Manager of a Financial Consulting Department. Tall, sophisticated and well-educated, she hides well the simple dreamer within who finds immense joy seated in a window alcove reading the journals of her great grandmother's adventures and romance as she traveled with her husband in search of rare artifacts, often mysterious and mystical. To everyone, Audrey appears unattainable, especially to one of the financial consultants under her supervision, who considers himself cursed, because his name is William Darcy, from a long line of Darcys that had nothing whatsoever to do with Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy. What's worse, he resembles to a tee, the popular actor who portrayed the character in the movie based on Austen's novel. Inevitably, most women who date him, insist on comparing him with the character, to their eventual disillusionment. He doesn't have an English accent, born and bred in a small hamlet on Long Island, New York, a nice town with trees and malls, buses and trains and taxicabs. He isn't as tall or as confident, or as proud of bearing, and not one hundredth of a percent as rich as the fictional Fitzwilliam Darcy. One disappointed woman actually told him he had no right facially to resemble Austen's Darcy. She suggested plastic surgery. If only he could find a girl who dislikes Austen's Mr. Darcy. That's as improbable as finding a needle in a haystack. To his edification, he learns that Audrey dislikes the Darcy character, preferring looks akin to Bronte's Edward Fairfax Rochester. Attracted to Audrey, Wil is prepared to go to all lengths, even to growing his hair longer, dyeing it black, wearing elevator shoes to add more height to his 5' 11", and dressing in apparel a mix between respectable 18th century and cool contemporary. He is mortified when he reads the controlled laughter in Audrey's eyes. But surprised, soon after, at her request that he accompany her on an archaeological trip. Her trip has to do with company business and a multi-millionaire's account. Audrey tells Wil that she considers him one of the best and most conscientious worker in the department. He is honored, and sees a glimmer of hope for his chance to win her affections.
    Excerpt: Wil turned on his back and opened his eyes. He groaned with relief, glad the dream was over and he was awake. He wasn't overly fond of this dream. As a child, the occasional recurring dream terrified him. As a teen, it had made him wonder what was going on in his subconscious. As an adult, it made him speculate. Perhaps he should visit a psychologist. The setting wasn't always the same, but it evoked the same feelings; not fear any longer, yet strange. He didn't actually see himself, but he felt the tentacles, and he knew they were his arms and legs. That was the weird part of the dream. The part that he didn't mind at all was the woman who stood on the dais. Her flowing garment was sheer and spun from silk, and she wore a gold ankh pendant across her chest and a golden diadem with an ostrich feather at the front on her straight, black hair. Behind her was a royal throne garbed in red silk. Wil had long since deduced she was an Egyptian Queen from ancient times. She did not appear afraid of his appearance, almost as if she did not see the tentacles, as she smiled at him, admiration and warmth in her onyx gaze. She was as beautiful in form, as were her thoughts and her soul, inexplicably clear to him. And he, as the creature, loved her. The dream puzzling as ever, Wil ran a nervous hand through his darkened hair. What was his subconscious trying to tell him? He took a deep breath and climbed out of bed. A steaming cup of coffee sweetened with cream and sugar, followed by a nutritious breakfast, would help him shake off the dream's effects. Audrey is the great granddaughter of Elizabeth Grace whose story is told in the author's novellas and novel, The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPaula Freda
    Release dateMar 8, 2015
    ISBN9781311079381
    Audrey's Mr. Darcy
    Author

    Paula Freda

    About the AuthorDorothy Paula Freda, is also known under her pen names Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose. Herbooks range from Fiction and Non-fiction Adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Poetry, Articles, Essays and How-to-Write Instructional complete with Lessons and optional assignments.Homemaker, mother of two grown sons, and former off-the-desk publisher of a family-oriented print small press, (1984 thru 1999), The Pink Chameleon, that she now publishes on line, Paula was raised by her grandmother and mother, and has been writing for as long as she can remember. Even before she could set pencil to paper, she would spin her stories in the recording booths in the Brooklyn Coney Island Arcades for a quarter per 3-minute record. She states, "I love the English language, love words and seeing them on display, typed and alive. A romantic at heart, I write simply and emotionally. One of my former editors kindly described my work, '...her pieces are always deep, gentle and refreshing....'" Paula further states, "My stories are sensitive, deeply emotional, sensual when appropriate, yet non-graphic, family fare, pageturners. My hope is that my writing will bring entertainment and uplift the human spirit, bring a smile to your face and your soul, and leave you filled with a generous amount of hope."

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      Book preview

      Audrey's Mr. Darcy - Paula Freda

      Audrey's Mr. Darcy

      by Paula Freda

      © March 7, 2015 by Dorothy P. Freda

      (Pseudonym - Paula Freda)

      Smashwords Edition

      Bookcover photos Licensed

      by Dorothy Paula Freda from iStockphoto

      Poem How Do I Love Thee

      by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

      http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/How_Do_I_Love_Thee

      This work was published before January 1, 1923, and is in the public domain worldwide.

      All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

      Dedication

      With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 44 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.

      CHAPTER ONE

      He could pass for his twin, but of course, he wasn't. He just had an uncanny resemblance to the actor most associated with the Jane Austen character. He had even been stopped in the street a few times and asked for his autograph. He grew a moustache and a goatee, but it didn't help, because as improbable as it was, his name was William Darcy, from a long line of Darcys that had nothing whatsoever to do with Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy.

      It was inevitable that most women who dated him, insist on comparing him with the character, to their eventual disillusionment. He didn't have an English accent, born and bred in the hamlet of Hicksville, Long Island, New York, a nice town with trees and malls, buses and trains and taxicabs. He wasn't as tall or as confident, or as proud of bearing, and not one hundredth of a percent as rich as the fictional Fitzwilliam Darcy. One disappointed woman actually told him he had no right facially to resemble Austen's Darcy. She suggested plastic surgery.

      Wil tried gaining twenty-five pounds. But that only led to his cholesterol rising. Under strict orders from his doctor, he shed the extra weight. If only he could find a girl who hated Austen's Mr. Darcy. That was as improbable as finding a needle in a haystack.

      Riding the Long Island Railroad to his job in the City as a financial advisor, he kept his head lowered behind his newspaper while he struggled to read with the print hugging his nose. Fortunately, most of the passengers that crowded into the morning express were not fully awake yet to bother with faces and identities.

      He had been riding the LIRR for over ten years, since his employment at the financial consulting firm, and, as had happened several times during those years, five minutes before the train's scheduled arrival at Penn Station, it slowed to a crawl. It took another twenty minutes for it to pull onto the 34th street track. The passengers, grim-faced, most of them now late for work, nearly tripped over each other as they hurried out of the train cars and up the stairs to the central lobby toward the street, or to transfer to city trains or buses.

      Wil's firm was only a block away. He was late, but so were six of his fellow-employees. The time clock would mark him tardy, and note the date and time on his personnel record. At least he'd have company when the department head called him into his office suite to remark on his lack of punctuality. The department head, Jack Habbernacky, was basically a tolerant chap. He rode the trains as well to work and knew when an employee's tardiness was or was not the fault of the railroad.

      Wil entered his cubicle just as his phone rang. He picked up. Wil Darcy, here.

      Habbernacky's secretary greeted him. Everything okay? Heather asked.

      Yes, I'm fine. The train stalled.

      Well, you know the routine.

      Now?

      All six of you. she told him.

      Okay, he sighed. On my way.

      Habbernacky's suite of offices took up most of the side of the twentieth floor. He'd been with the company twenty years, starting out as a clerk and working his way up to management.

      Wil fell in line with his five co-workers headed for Habbernacky's suite. They reached Heather's desk.

      Hi, beautiful, Ken Lunden, winked.

      Heather made a face. You better all get in there.

      It's that bad?

      Get in there, she repeated, pointing with her thumb to the closed door behind her.

      Wil exchanged worried glances with his compatriots. All six filed into the executive office.

      A woman in a grey tailored business jacket and skirt stood looking through the floor-to-ceiling window that extended the width of the room. The shoulders of her fitted jacket were padded. She was a good 5' 8", a few inches shorter than Wil. Her posture was straight, shoulders back, head up. Wil exchanged puzzled glances with the others.

      The woman turned, and Wil swallowed. Joan Crawford? he thought. But on closer inspection, he revised that impression. Her eyes were hazel, and her features softer, her shoulder-length hair golden brown and wavier.

      She smiled at the men. Good morning, I'm Audrey Lambert, the new head of this department.

      Good morning, M— in unison, gazes went to her left hand. Miss Lambert, they greeted.

      "That's right,

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