{"id":252809,"date":"2026-07-13T02:23:30","date_gmt":"2026-07-12T23:23:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/a-debt-of-gratitude-mary-alice-alexander\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T02:23:30","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T23:23:30","slug":"a-debt-of-gratitude-mary-alice-alexander","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/a-debt-of-gratitude-mary-alice-alexander\/","title":{"rendered":"A Debt Of Gratitude – Mary Alice Alexander"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\u201cI shall endeavour to remember that, Miss Bennet.\u201d The choice was made. A Companion Mr. Darcy sat in the wingback chair, his teacup balanced on his knee, resembling a man about to address an unpredictable tribunal. The tea tray had been cleared of its best biscuits\u2014mostly by Lydia\u2014and the drawing room had settled into a deceptive mid-afternoon calm. Elizabeth occupied herself with her needlework, though she had not taken a single stitch in several minutes.<\/p>\n

She knew what was coming. The engagement of Mrs. Annesley was settled, but the news had yet to reach the mistress of Longbourn. \u201cMrs. Bennet,\u201d Darcy began, his voice wary. \u201cI must inform you of an addition to our party. In light of Georgiana’s continued delicacy, I have engaged a companion to attend her during her stay here. Mrs. Annesley.\u201d Mrs. Bennet, who had been contemplating the trim on a new bonnet, stopped mid-sentence.<\/p>\n

Her brows knit together. \u201cA companion?\u201d she repeated, her tone sharpening. \u201cWhatever for, Mr. Darcy? Does your sister not have us? I am sure I have nursed three of my own girls through the scarlatina, and Jane through a bilious fever, and I know every thing there is to know about possets and draughts.\u201d \u201cIt is not a question of competence, Madam,\u201d Darcy said quickly\u2014too quickly.<\/p>\n

He shifted upon his chair. \u201cIt is merely that Georgiana requires a great deal of quiet attention. I would not wish to impose such a tedious burden upon your household.\u201d \u201cBurden!\u201d Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose. \u201cIt is never a burden to care for the sister of a man of such consequence! Do you think us incapable, Mr. Darcy?<\/p>\n

Do you think we cannot provide a quiet room and a bowl of gruel?\u201d Darcy appeared trapped. He glanced toward Elizabeth\u2014a silent plea for rescue. He was a man who could face down creditors or magistrates, but country matrons with wounded pride were evidently beyond his capabilities. \u201cIt is not that, Mrs. Bennet,\u201d Darcy tried again. \u201cIt is simply that her nerves require\u2060\u2014\u201d \u201cHer nerves are excellent!\u201d Mrs. Bennet declared, fanning herself with vigour. \u201cIf any one understands nerves, it is I. No, Mr. Darcy, I am wounded. I am truly wounded.<\/p>\n

To bring a stranger into the house implies you do not trust our care. People will talk. They will say the Bennets were not good enough to tend their own guest.\u201d Darcy opened his mouth, then closed it. He appeared ready to agree to anything if it would stem the torrent. Elizabeth set down her needlework. \u201cMamma, I believe you misunderstand Mr. Darcy’s intention\u2060\u2014\u201d A dry cough from the corner stopped her. Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper. He took a slow sip of his wine, regarding his wife over his spectacles with the calm interest of a natural philosopher observing a particularly vocal phenomenon.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dear,\u201d Mr. Bennet said smoothly. \u201cYou have entirely mistaken Mr. Darcy’s meaning.\u201d Mrs. Bennet turned on her husband.<\/p>\n

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\u201cI am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude.\u201d Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 60 1kitap1.com\/en For Stella, resilient and brave. And for my sweet, dearly missed Alex. 1kitap1.com\/en Copyright \u00a92026 by Delaford Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author\u2019s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.<\/p>\n

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No AI training. Without in any way limiting the author\u2019s [and publisher\u2019s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to \u201ctrain\u201d generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited.<\/p>\n

The author reserves all rights to licence uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models. Ebooks are for the personal use of the purchaser. You may not share or distribute this ebook in any way, to any other person. TYPOS: As an author, I appreciate readers pointing out where there are typos in my work. Even after editing, reading, rereading, re rereading, ARC readers and copyediting, the odd stubborn typos will remain.<\/p>\n

I welcome an email letting me know where corrections may be required and appreciate your patience. Maalexanderauthor@gmail.com No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. ISBN 978-1-966762-05-8 ebook Formatted with Vellum 1kitap1.com\/en T Chapter One The Empress he barn door banged open, admitting a swirl of snow and a very disgruntled Lydia, her hem heavy with wet mud.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome down at once, Josephine!\u201d she shouted at the rafters, stamping her boots on the stone floor. \u201cDo not ignore me! You are behaving like a common stray, not an Empress!\u201d A faint, defiant meow drifted down from the hayloft. \u201cYou will freeze out here, Josephine,\u201d Lydia muttered, grabbing the ladder. \u201cWhen my fingers turn black from frostbite, I shall make you into a fashionable muff.\u201d She scrambled up the wooden rungs, her breath hitching in the biting cold of the upper loft.<\/p>\n

Josephine was a shadow in the gloom, perched smugly atop a mound of loose hay near the back wall.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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