Once Upon a Time in Pemberley by Summer Hanford - Guest Post, Excerpt and Giveaway

Today I am really happy to be welcoming Summer Hanford for her first visit to Babblings of a Bookworm. Summer usually releases books with her writing partner Renata McMann, but this latest title, Once Upon a Time in Pemberley is a solo project. Summer has joined us with a guest post explaining how this book came about. There are aspects to this book that I didn’t pick up on from reading the book description so I found Summer’s post a really interesting read and I am sure you will too.  

Summer has also brought a giveaway, plus a nice long excerpt from the book. So, grab yourself a cuppa and settle in for a read! I’ll share the blurb first and then hand over to Summer so she can tell you more.

Book Description

Can the course of a life be altered by the stroke of a pen?

Widowed at a young age, Fitzwilliam Darcy has no reason to think he'll ever find the love his first marriage lacked. Instead, he dedicates himself to his roles as father and co-guardian, determined to excel at both. But when love finally finds him, will he be too mired by the strife of the past to recognize it?

Elizabeth Bennet does not care for the newest addition to Meryton society, no matter how handsome and wealthy Mr. Darcy might be. She is, however, rather fond of his children and his sister. If only Mr. Darcy needn't be so certain of his own worth, she would tolerate him on their behalf, but that change in him seems very unlikely.

Once Upon a Time in Pemberley is a sweet, Regency era Pride & Prejudice Variation of approximately 92,000 words. While this is Summer Hanford's first variation without co-author Renata McMann, it will not be her last. Plus, you can look for more joint Renata McMann & Summer Hanford variations to come.

Guest Post from Summer Hanford

Why this book, why no Renata McMann, and why the related Children’s Books?

I pose those questions together because their answers are intertwined.

I, as so many of us do, wanted to create a main character who was personal to me. I settled on Darcy as the most likely candidate because of the personal interpretation I could overlay on some of his less amiable traits. Not that I am haughty or, I don’t think, superior or even judgmental, but because it seems justifiable that those traits in Darcy might spring from similar challenges to some I faced growing up. Challenges which did leave me (at the time) aggravated, I’d say at least a touch unpleasant, and not very sociable.

Namely, what back in the day were called ‘learning disabilities.’ I highly doubt they’re called that now and, regardless, I prefer the word ‘challenges.’ A challenge implies that obstacles can be overcome and that, possibly, overcoming them will improve you in some way. Regardless of the name, most pertinent for me were my inability to learn to read, to write, or to recognize faces. These obstacles made school difficult, which in turn left me, let us say, prickly and withdrawn.

Darcy here (and his daughter Laurel but in different ways), reflects some of the behaviors I used to see in myself. Unlike me, however, Darcy was the heir of a wealthy man and had connections to the peerage. He would have faced considerable pressure to overcome or hide any traits that could be seen as deficits. Add to that a Lady Anne who is not only alive but also quite similar to her sister, and you get the deviation in plot I wished to examine. A mother like that, combined with a Darcy with certain challenges and who was grieving for the loss of his father, allowed me to hypothesize one wild night of rebellious misbehavior at age seventeen, which resulted in a marriage and children.

Yes, children. Three of them. I wanted to write about children, specifically Darcy’s children, but still keep my favorite storyline of Elizabeth and Darcy meeting, not caring for each other, and then falling in love. I also did not want Darcy to have been in love before. My requirements made for a very particular situation. How to get our noble hero to have children with a woman he didn’t actually love? Whether or not I succeeded in rendering that situation convincingly is, of course, up to readers.

Overall, this is a story about love. All different kinds of love. Familial love, friendship, parental love. As part of that, I wanted Elizabeth to learn to love Darcy’s children, and for that love to help her grow as a person, as all good and true love should. Being a writer, I had her express that love through writing, and being a writer, I couldn’t help but write what I thought she would have.

Hence, the accompanying Children’s Books. I put a lot of thought into if they should simply be a part of the larger novel, or be written as Elizabeth, perhaps even published under the penname Elizabeth Bennet, but then I realized it would be so much better if they were real full books, accessible to everyone. A fateful decision if ever there was one because the reason this story was not written before now is because I couldn’t find an illustrator. For years I have searched.

Enter the talented Tabatha Lines, illustrator, and now became the time for Once Upon a Time in Pemberley to be told, along with modernized versions of each of the stories written by Elizabeth for Darcy’s three children.

And to conclude this likely longer than it ought to be discourse on the origins of Once Upon a Time in Pemberley, you may be wondering where Renata comes in, or rather why she did not. The truth is, I had made the story and the intertwined stories too related, the entire paradigm too complex and too personal to permit anyone, even Renata, to have a say in the book. Once Upon a Time in Pemberley had to be all my own.

Thank you for your diligence in reading about my book. I can only hope you will also apply it to Once Upon a Time in Pemberley. I also hope, with great sincerity, that you enjoy this tale. 

Lastly, thank you so much to Ceri of Babblings of a Bookworm for hosting me. I appreciate you giving me a voice on your blog.

Happy Reading Everyone,

Summer

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Author Bio

Summer Hanford is an author of sweet, adventure-filled Historical Romance, Pride and Prejudice retellings (often in conjunction with Renata McMann), Children’s Picture Books, and Epic Fantasy. She lives in the Finger Lakes Region of New York with her husband and compulsory, deliberately spoiled, cats. The newest addition to their household, an energetic setter-shepherd mix, is (still) not yet appreciated by the cats but is well loved by the humans. For more about Summer, visit www.summerhanford.com.

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Excerpt from Once Upon a Time in Pemberley by Summer Hanford

CHAPTER ONE 

Twenty-Three Years Ago

My Dearest Catherine,

How wonderful to hear of little Anne’s improvement. You must be overjoyed with relief. As I have long endured the same ailment as troubles my dear niece, though never so severely as she, I understand how the child must suffer. It brings joy to my heart to know she improves, and that improvement is indeed possible.

On which vein, I feel compelled to ask, would you share Dr. Herrington’s expertise? His remedies? Perhaps they would provide some relief or recourse for me. I would love to give George another son, someone for our little Fitzwilliam to play with other than the steward’s boy, who is an unfit companion, no matter how my husband dotes upon him. Yet, I find I am generally in a state of health too precarious to manage the task, though I have come near at times.

Trust that I understand how important Dr. Herrington’s presence is by my niece’s side, but please consider my request. You know I would not ask were it not so important to me, and to George.

Your loving sister,

Lady Anne Darcy

Lady Catherine de Bourgh raised her gaze from the letter, lips pursed. In years past, she would readily have declared her sister to hold paramount importance in her heart, but that was before being blessed with a daughter. Anne, named after Catherine’s most beloved sister, now took precedence. Over Lady Anne. Over Catherine’s husband, Sir Lewis. Over any and all things.

Laughter rang out, bubbling in through the window beyond Catherine’s desk. Anne, playing in the garden with her maids. Sturdy enough now to run, though Catherine wished she would not. She would speak to the girls. Remind them that Anne must be kept to a walk. Catherine hadn’t scoured country and Continent, brought the very best doctor, and watched as Anne struggled to achieve better health, only to see her trip and come to harm.

A light breeze meandered through the open panes to ruffle Catherine’s curls. More of Anne’s laughter followed, accompanied by a squeal of delight. Catherine smiled. Unable to curtail her daughter’s joy quite yet, she dropped her attention back to her sister’s letter.

Lady Anne had been ill always, it was true. Growing up, Catherine recalled countless days spent at her sister’s bedside, reading to her because she was too unwell to rise, or to even hold a book. But her sister had fought back. She’d triumphed over the illness for long enough to wed George Darcy, a wealthy landholder in Derbyshire. Not titled, but no titled man would take a sickly wife, too much in need of an heir. George Darcy had been happy to acquire the connections their family brought, and seemed truly enamored with his ethereal, willowy bride.

When their son Fitzwilliam was born, at nearly the same time as little Anne, Catherine had entertained the hope that, through some miracle, her sister was finally cured, but it was not to be. Worse, Catherine’s daughter showed signs of the same ailment that had always plagued her sister. The strange weakness. The loss of appetite. The inability to keep food down. The pallor and frailty.

It wasn’t fair, because little Fitzwilliam remained strong and Catherine had never been touched by the malady. Why should it pass to her Anne and not to the boy? Why skip Catherine but appear in her precious daughter?

Rhyming lyrics reached her ears, Anne’s maids singing along with her in a cheerful rendition of the five-year-old’s favorite song. A children’s rhyme Catherine had taught her daughter. Catherine squeezed her eyes closed, recalling singing that same song over and over with her sister. Pain tightened her throat.

Opening her lids, she reached for a clean page and picked up her pen to dip it into ink. Her hand hovered over the blank sheet. Surely, with Anne so improved, Dr. Herrington could be spared for a short while to go to Derbyshire.

But what if Anne relapsed? What if she fell ill while Herrington was away?

Catherine’s hand didn’t move. Her gaze went from the page, out the window to the garden where her daughter sang, and back. In her mind she saw the joys of now and those of the past. If only she could see into the future as well, she would know whether to send Herrington to Pemberley to her sister, or to keep him at Rosings with her daughter.

Finally, lips pressed into a firm line, Lady Catherine began to write.

CHAPTER TWO

Present Day

Fitzwilliam Darcy lowered his book to his knee, trying to turn the page one-handed in the jostling carriage. His other hand, or rather his arm, was wrapped around five-year-old Fitz, who slept tucked peacefully to Darcy’s side. Reading was a pleasant way to pass the carriage ride, but not so important as the slumber of his son.

Across from him, seated on one side of her Aunt Georgiana, his middle child, Laurel, swung her feet, face angled to the window. Her eyes looked far away, and Darcy didn’t think the seven-year-old saw anything without. Laurel’s mind often wandered the paths of her imagination. Sometimes that troubled Darcy but what to do about it, he’d no idea. Certainly, he wouldn’t consult his mother. Lady Anne’s parenting advice rarely proved sound.

“How do you like the Hertfordshire countryside thus far, Bee?” Georgiana asked Darcy’s eldest, seated on her other side.

A very severe nine, she turned to her aunt with annoyance. “It’s Beatrice, Aunt Georgiana. Would you care for me calling you Aunt Georgie?”

Seven years older than Darcy’s eldest, Georgiana used to be worshiped by the younger girl and was having trouble adjusting to Beatrice’s recent strides into growing up. “I wouldn’t mind at all. You used to call me that.”

Beatrice sniffed and said, “I used to be a child,” then turned to look out the window.

Darcy caught his sister’s eye and shook his head. Commenting that Beatrice was still a child would only end in screeching…as he’d discovered already. Georgiana grimaced at him and Darcy shrugged slightly in reply. He didn’t care for the change in his daughter either. They both knew it to be the result of their mother’s influence.

Lady Anne, previously dedicated to ignoring the existence of grandchildren she deemed unworthy, had recently decided to take an interest in Beatrice. She’d declared Bee a suitable candidate for her attention and proclaimed that she would mold her into a proper young woman. Darcy readily recalled the red that had risen to Georgiana’s cheeks when their mother had added, ‘And this time, I won’t have a recalcitrant nature to contend with, endlessly undermining my attempts.’ Likely Georgiana thought on the same conversation, for her entire countenance drooped.

Beatrice, unaware of the turmoil of her elders, turned back from her scrutiny of the view. She angled her nose into the air, a habit fostered by Lady Anne, and said, “I believe the countryside of Hertfordshire to be adequate, Aunt Georgiana.”

“Only?” Georgiana looked out the window over Bee’s curl-bedecked head. “I find it quite lovely. I will enjoy drawing and painting it during our stay.”

“Drawing and painting are suitable occupations for a young woman,” Beatrice recited importantly. “I may prevail upon you for instruction so my accomplishments do not suffer at being confined to this rusticated environment.” She stumbled over the words ‘rusticated environment’ but otherwise mimicked Lady Anne perfectly.

“I would enjoy drawing and painting with you,” Georgiana answered.

“That is, if no one more skilled is available,” Beatrice continued. “Which there will not be. We are visiting people who come from trade.” With that last, she leveled a disappointed look on Darcy, the expression an exact mirror of the one used by his mother when he’d informed her of the trip.

Darcy raised his book and returned to reading. He planned to enjoy his friend Bingley’s invitation for so long as possible. At the very least, through Christmastide. Perhaps some time away from Lady Anne, residing with people his mother wouldn’t deign to visit, would return his little Bee to normal. Certainly, Georgiana could use the respite from their mother’s constant disapproval, and Darcy from Lady Anne’s mounting pressure, now that his first wife was gone and his year of mourning long over, that he marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh.

Behind the screen of his book, Darcy squeezed his eyes closed. He hadn’t meant to marry Juliet, but they’d made the best of their life together. She’d given him an heir and, for a time, his mother and aunt’s constant pressure for him to marry Anne had come to an end. Juliet had given Darcy that.

Had they been happy? Yes, so long as they led their separate lives. Unfortunately, her life had included George Wickham, who’d always encouraged her wild streak. The one that had found her and Darcy wed in the first place, and the one that led to her galloping about the countryside, taking risky jumps, and dead.

“You’re squeezing me,” Fitz mumbled, lifting his head, then curled back into a ball on the seat at Darcy’s side.

Darcy loosened the arm he wrapped about his son. He gave up attempting to read the latest innovations in husbandry and turned his attention out the same window as his middle child, asking, “And what do you think of the countryside hereabouts, Laurel?”

Laurel didn’t answer, stubby legs swinging. Darcy realized she either hummed or sang under her breath, but couldn’t make out which.

Bee leaned forward to look around Georgiana. “Laurel, Father asked you a question,” she said, voice penetrating in the confines of the carriage.

Fitz lifted his head again. “Bee, I’m sleeping.”

“It’s Beatrice,” Bee reiterated, her voice barely shy of a shriek.

Laurel turned to look at them all, blinking large blue eyes reminiscent of her mother. “I beg your pardon, Papa.”

Darcy mustered a smile for his ethereal middle child. “As do I, for interrupting your thoughts. I merely inquired as to your liking of the Hertfordshire countryside.”

“It’s full of magic. I can tell.” She turned back to the window.

Beatrice sniffed in disdain, another habit Darcy decidedly wished his mother hadn’t fostered in the girl.

“Stop sniffing,” Fitz said, sitting up to rub his eyes with balled fists. “You’re always sniffing, Bee. Are you sickly like Aunt Anne?”

“It’s Beatrice,” Bee shrieked.

Georgiana winced. Laurel turned from the window again, eyes wide, legs still.

Darcy frowned at his eldest. “That is not an acceptable tone for inside a carriage, Beatrice. Or for any occasion.”

Beatrice’s lower lip jutted out. She squeezed her features tight, suppressing whatever emotion his reprimand evoked. Finally, under the weight of his gaze, she muttered, “Yes, Father.”

“What if someone was taking her away?” Laurel asked softly. “She could scream if someone was taking her away.”

Darcy turned his frown on her and she dropped her gaze to her lap, twining her fingers. “No one is taking anyone away,” he assured her.

“Mama went away,” Fitz said.

“That was an accident,” Darcy said calmly. They’d had this discussion many times but his children were understandably fixated on the incident. “No one took her away.” If anything, Juliet had removed herself from their lives, through her continued impetuous behavior. What mother of three rode wildly through the countryside, jumping walls, brooks and ravines?

“She went riding with Uncle Wickham,” Beatrice said, voice and face normal again. “She fell. It was a very tragic accident.”

Those words, too, were Lady Anne’s. Darcy gave silent thanks that Bee didn’t mimic, hopefully didn’t notice or understand, the smug undercurrent in his mother’s voice each time she said them. Lady Anne hadn’t wanted a seventeen-year-old Darcy to do right by Juliet, her pregnancy the disastrous result of his one night of youthful indiscretion, a desperate act of rebellion against the pressure to marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh. His mother had wanted Juliet, daughter of a nearby landholder, paid off and their child sent to distant Welsh relations, but Darcy had refused.

And never regretted the decision. True, he and Juliet had found little common ground, his single injudicious night an aberration for him, but her enthusiastic participation indicative of her wild nature. She’d been faithful to him, though, and done her duty in producing an heir for his house. As a mother, she had been rather uninvolved for his liking, but his children had him, his sister, nursemaids and, until recently, a nanny. They didn’t lack for love.

Juliet had been easy enough to reside with and a good influence on Darcy’s longtime friend, George Wickham. A sort of bridge between George’s too careless ways and Darcy’s more rigid ones. Deeply troubled by her death, Wickham had eventually given up the cloth, asking Darcy to exchange the living Darcy’s father had left him for a commission in the army, where he could hope to see battle on the Continent. Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, slightly older and well respected by both Darcy and Wickham, had talked Wickham into a colonelship in the militia instead. Grief, Richard said, was not a good reason to go to war.

Darcy was glad Richard had stepped in. Juliet would have wanted him to talk Wickham out of going to fight Napoleon, but Darcy had been too beleaguered, with his three grieving children and his own chaotic feelings. Not to mention staving off his mother’s and aunt’s renewed demands.

Lady Anne had despised Juliet, and the feeling had been quite mutual, which hadn’t troubled Darcy at all. While his night of indiscretion had cost him the opportunity to find a wife who would be a boon to him, mind and heart, at least he’d transgressed with a woman strong willed enough to stand up to his mother, and his Aunt Catherine.

“Nanny Younge went away too,” Fitz said into the silence of the carriage, now quite awake.

“That’s not the same,” Bee said in haughty tones. “Nanny Younge isn’t dead. Father sent her away for in-propriate behavior.”

Fitz turned to look up at him. “What’s in-pro-prate behavior, Papa?”

Across from Darcy, Georgiana’s cheeks went pink.

“It’s when you do something bad,” Laurel said, once more kicking her feet.

“What did Nanny Younge do bad?” Fitz asked.

Georgiana went redder still, as well she might. Mrs. Younge had been fired for helping her sneak out to meet a gentleman that past summer, and Georgiana not even sixteen then. His sister still wouldn’t name her paramour, but she assured them nothing more than conversation had taken place between them. That indiscretion, Darcy had agreed with his mother in hushing up.

His words slow with care, Darcy said, “Nanny Younge fostered a relationship that she’d no right to foster.”

“What’s foster?” Fitz asked.

“To foster something is to encourage it.”

Fitz became thoughtful, likely seeking a new question. He loved to question.

“What relationship did she encourage?” Bee asked, eyes alight with interest.

“That is a matter for adults,” Darcy replied.

All three of his children sighed. Once Darcy labeled something a matter for adults, he never relented. Laurel turned back to the window and her nearly silent singing. Bee twisted a curl around her finger, her expression one of deep thought. Fitz pulled out two chess knights from his pockets and made them race up and down Darcy’s coat sleeve. Darcy decided not to reprimand his son, yet again, for stealing the knights. Since Fitz got out of strings, Darcy had replaced the knights in the parlor chess set at Pemberley over a dozen times. He’d have to ensure that, if Netherfield Park had a chess set, all the knights were accounted for before they departed after Christmas. With a final glance out the window at the slowly passing countryside, Darcy took back up his book, ignoring the chess knights galloping on his coat sleeve.

Several hours later, the carriage turned off the roadway and up a drive. As they rounded the top curve, Darcy found the manor house of Netherfield Park, as Bingley had described it in his letter, a perfectly fine looking place. Three stories rose at the top of the drive, composing a boxy, slightly severe structure crafted from the dusty-colored local stone. What Darcy could see of the grounds as he disembarked appeared quite well maintained. It was good to stretch his legs as he and Georgiana marshaled his children, though he suspected his tired team felt the opposite. Grooms appeared to direct his driver and Darcy led the way up the unimposing front steps.

When they reached the top, a butler opened the door to reveal that Bingley’s younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, waited directly within. She stood situated to good effect in the center of the entrance hall, the light from a candle-filled chandelier brightening her skin and hair. Uncharitably, Darcy wondered for how long she’d debated exactly what to wear and where to stand. With Juliet nearly two years gone, it wasn’t only his mother and aunt who felt the time had come for him to remarry.

Miss Bingley hurried forward as Darcy removed his outerwear. “Mr. Darcy. Miss Darcy. Welcome. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

“Miss Bingley,” he greeted. He’d found that the fewer words he used, the less various females would feel encouraged.

“What a lovely estate your brother has found,” Georgiana said in a rush and Darcy imagined she’d been worrying over what to say for the past several miles, if not longer.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy. It’s not nearly so lovely as Pemberley, to be certain, but adequate for a rented property.”

“Yes,” Bee said with a sniff, behind Darcy. “Adequate.”

Miss Bingley’s welcoming expression turned brittle around the edges. “Your luggage and servants arrived over an hour ago. I wasn’t informed of a governess among them. Is she with you?”

Darcy shook his head. “She was let go this summer. I’m in the process of hiring a new one.” He had his man in London looking into his choice, a Mrs. Annesley, wanting to be doubly certain of her suitability after Mrs. Younge’s behavior. “Each of my daughters has a maid and Fitz a valet. They were among those who came ahead.” Not that he expected Miss Bingley to speak with servants. Or even give them orders. She would have the housekeeper manage any interactions with Darcy’s staff.

“Nanny Younge was in-pro-prate,” Fitz offered, peeking out from behind Darcy’s leg.

Miss Bingley looked down at him as one might a salamander but quickly marshaled a smile. “You must be little Fitz. You’ve the look of your father about you.”

Fitz ducked back behind Darcy.

“Yes, well,” Miss Bingley said, refocusing on him. “I can call your staff to take the children in hand while I show you and Miss Darcy to your rooms?”

“Our rooms aren’t by Papa’s room?” Laurel asked softly.

Miss Bingley looked questioningly at Darcy.

“Are our rooms together, Miss Bingley?” he repeated on behalf of his daughter. He’d instructed his staff to inform Netherfield’s staff that he wanted his children nearby.

“Certainly not. The housekeeper here came to me with some nonsense on that front, but I put an end to it. You know how simple rural staff can be.” She raised her gaze in silent supplication. “You and Miss Darcy are in the back wing, overlooking the gardens. The very best view.” She met his gaze squarely and continued, “Charles, the Hursts and I occupy the eastern wing, with my bedchamber nearest your wing.”

Darcy waited a moment to see if she meant to say more before asking, “And my children?”

“Oh, the western side.” She leaned forward, conspiratorially. “To neither be heard, nor hear.”

Meaning that she’d ignored his request entirely. “Very well. Lead on.”

Miss Bingley frowned. “The children?”

“Would care to see where Georgiana and I are and how to find our rooms from theirs.”

Miss Bingley nodded, though surprise shaded her features, and turned to lead the way up a broad flight of steps.

Darcy exchanged a pained look with his sister, then caught Bee studying his features and smoothed away the expression before following. The last thing he needed was his eldest deciding that she should treat Miss Bingley the way Lady Anne would.

He would simply have to see what had been arranged and ascertain how much trouble alterations would be. He was, after all, a guest. His hostess’s wishes must be adhered to, insomuch as was reasonable. Despite her tendency for snobbery and her machinations concerning his marital status, Miss Bingley generally proved reasonable.

At least, she had in the past, before he’d become a widower. He’d found that his lack of a wife had a distinctly deleterious effect on the cognition of women.

To read on, visit https://getbook.at/OnceUponATimePemberley

Buy Links 

Once Upon a Time in Pemberley is available to buy now in Paperback, Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.

• Amazon Universal Link • Amazon US • Add to Goodreads shelf

As Summer mentioned in her guest post, above, she has also released some children’s books. These are the books that Elizabeth writes for Darcy’s children (how precious is that?!) but modernised for today’s children.

Boxing Day (Little Fitz’s Book)

How about a real Boxing Day?

When all the animals on the farm steal each other's food, they decide to settle their disagreements with a boxing day. Hopefully the farmer will intervene before the fisticuffs begin!

Boxing Day is a fun and lively illustrated children's book that makes light of the potentially confusing holiday name, Boxing Day, and is recommended for the 3 to 5 year old age group. Boxing Day also includes a brief explanation of what Boxing Day means around the world and has some fun examples of countable animals and rhyming.

Amazon Universal Link for Boxing Day

Lufu (Beatrice’s Book)

Lufu is a carefree and lovely fairy child with one big problem, she doesn’t have her wings! 

Investigate the magical fairy glade with Lufu and learn how fairy children spend their days. While you’re there, meet some of Lufu’s friends, and see if she can earn her wings.

Lufu is a children’s picture book for ages 5 to 9 and speaks about the importance of seeing things from not only your own point of view, but also from that of others.

Amazon Universal Link for Lufu

Bunny Lore (Laurel’s Book)

What could be better than a lovely story of hope told by bunnies?

Poop diagrams!

Bunny Lore is a tale of two parts. A whimsical look at imagined rabbit society, full of amusing details of their bunny culture and myths, coupled with a real-life guide to how to be a good owner should you ever decide to bring a bunny friend into your home.

Highlights include amazing bunny poems sure to become your new favorites, a real-life bunny dictionary, and loads of fun!

Bunny Lore is a Children's Picture book most appropriate for ages 9 - 11 but enjoyable by all. Within these pages, you will find a lighthearted take on bunnies, assorted poems and nursery rhymes sure to become family favorites, and an actual guide to being a good bunny companion, if you choose to invite a bunny into your life. With proper love and care, bunnies can live as long as many breeds of dogs and will fill your home and heart with joy.

Amazon Universal Link for Bunny Lore 

 

Giveaway Time!

 

To accompany this blog post, Summer is offering a giveaway of an ebook of your choice of this or one of her previous works, or possibly a print book for US readers. To enter, visit her website. Please note that entering this giveaway will sign you up to Summer’s email list, however, you can unsubscribe at any time. Summer will choose a winner 7 days after this blog post is published.

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So, what do you think about this concept? I think it's a really interesting idea to look at people with additional needs in history because when I think how far understanding has come even since I was a child I dread to think how much harder it would have been in those times. As I'm sure you will know, one of Austen's elder brothers lived apart from the family due to his differences (I don't think it's entirely certain what they are, but he is known to have had epilepsy, and was deaf and non-verbal). 

The other thing is that if the heir to a large estate had additional needs or health issues for that matter then the knock on could be huge, as so many other people's lives would depend on the estate. Certainly when the child was small and differences became noticed I am sure it would have caused a lot of worry. I was interested to hear that Summer's book touches on this, and that it was something she was drawing from her own life. 

Note about comments:  If you have any problems adding a comment to this blog post please contact me and I will add your comment for you :)

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