This is the book that was never planned in this series… but when I sat down to write what I wanted Book 3 of the series to be, Elizabeth Bennet had other plans . . .
XOXOXO Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 7 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
ELIZABETH AND THE injured servant made limited progress towards the village of Canonbie, but after roughly one mile of their strained procession, they came to a small bridge over a stream.
“Let us rest here a moment.” Elizabeth huffed and released her trunk, gaining her breath before stepping upon the luggage. Now standing a head taller than Peter, she scanned the horizon before them; her eyes shaded by her palm and a keen squint. The road curved steeply downhill, a welcome terrain for her aching arms, and in the valley below them the rooftops of the village lay nestled just out of reach.
“Thank you, Miss.” Peter hobbled over to the water’s edge and greedily cupped his hands to bring the refreshment to his mouth. Elizabeth clucked in sympathy at the poor young servant, estimating him to be in a great deal of pain, yet not the complainer. As gracefully as she might without assistance, Elizabeth lowered herself and caught the edges of her trunk as a great spell of dizziness threatened her balance. Blinking her eyes, and taking a few deep breaths, she felt steady once more and cautiously stepped off the trunk.
After fussing with the lock, Elizabeth opened her trunk and rummaged around for an older shift. Her cheeks burned red at the embarrassment of opening her clothing trunk on the side of the road, but Elizabeth reminded herself this was indeed an emergency, though mostly one of her own making. She reasoned there was nothing wrong with trying to restore one’s appearance before rejoining civilization. Peter suffered many nicks and scratches from his neck up to his cheeks and Elizabeth grumbled as she ripped off two healthy swatches of fabric from the bottom hem. She feared looking into the water’s reflection to spy the damage to her skin from the accident.
Elizabeth offered a strip of cloth to Peter and pointed at his face and neck to indicate he wash off the dust of the road from his cuts and scrapes. Feeling guilty, Elizabeth apologized.
“This is all my fault. I am so sorry my stubbornness has led us to this precarious situation.”
The cool water of the babbling brook offered much relief to the injured servant. Peter looked up at Miss Elizabeth with a toothy grin. “A bit of trouble keeps us on our toes is what my Pa would say. We’ll make it to the village and find a way back to Gretna Green. There’s been no lasting harm, so I’m sure my mistress will forgive us.”
Witnessing the cool cloth improve Peter’s spirits inspired Elizabeth to do the same. She thanked Providence no visual mark existed from their ordeal. She sighed as the coolness rubbed along the back of her hairline provided immense relief and she held the compress there for a moment before pulling it away to submerge it once more. However, the pristine white was darkened by a tinge of red. Her hand began to shake and she turned it over to see an even larger amount of blood across the back of her hand.
“Peter?” her voice cracked as she called his name. The young servant scrambled in an ungainly crawl to see what Miss Elizabeth needed. “Look!” Elizabeth held up the bloodied cloth with her eyes as large as saucers.
Gently, Peter turned Elizabeth’s head to the side and inspected the area she indicated with her hand. Just along her hairline, behind her left ear, was a nasty gash and accompanying bump. But the blood had clotted into a hard crust.
“You have a right nasty gash, Miss. But it be healed up. The water just now cleaned away some dried bits but to my eye there be no fresh blood.” Peter stood up and offered his hand to help her up.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth accepted his help and took a deep breath to stymie her rising panic. “I believe we should reach the inn soon if you’re still up to walking? I know your ankle must hurt–” Elizabeth paused when Peter shook his head but she frowned at his response. “You have winced and limped, you cannot fool me.” Peter shrugged his shoulders.
A pack of horses passed them ridden by the driver and postillon. Their passing renewed Elizabeth’s anger at the caddish behavior of the driver to deny her and her servant a horse.
Picking up the handle of her trunk once more, Elizabeth initiated their trek down towards the village below. The sun had crossed the mid-point in the sky and Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled in complaint of how long it had been since last she ate. Hunger pangs appeared to affect Peter as well for despite their injuries, the two wayward travelers quickened their pace. Within the hour, they arrived at the Grey Sheep inn much worse for the wear, but faster than they had taken the first mile from the accident.
Chapter 8 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
INSIDE THE CANONBIE inn, the air choked with the smells of too many bodies and insufficient room for all. Elizabeth’s ears rang from the cacophony of children’s cries, the higher pitched voices of many ladies in distress, and the low baritones of men yelling. Most of the carriage accident victims had already reached the Grey Sheep by the time Elizabeth and Peter arrived, still, Elizabeth had to elbow her way to the front counter to speak to the innkeeper.
“I should like to rent a room, please.”
“Look around you, lass, I don’t be having any rooms left.” The great red-bearded innkeeper patted his protruding belly as he laughed at Elizabeth’s naïveté.
“Sir, please. I have been injured, as well as my servant, when the mail carriage crashed and we are in most desperate need of a place to rest.”
The innkeeper cast a wary eye to young Peter with the trunk, and then to the young woman before him. He frowned. Plenty of their sort came through to take care of their business and then hurry home to their mothers and fathers for undeserved reward. “It’s like I said, there are many others who were just as injured or worse. They arrived here first. I do not have any rooms left.” The innkeeper crossed his arms over his massive chest.
Elizabeth was about to argue further and ask if the innkeeper had another solution available when she was abruptly brushed aside by a tall gentleman in a blue overcoat.
“I require my change of horses.”
The voice Elizabeth heard sent shivers down her spine. “Mr. Darcy?” she said quietly and looked up at the man to her left.
Upon hearing his name, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire turned halfway around and looked down. His face paled as if he had seen a ghost.
Elizabeth furrowed her brows noticing how gaunt his cheeks had become and his handsome brown eyes nothing more than bloodshot orbs skittering around for more information.
“It cannot be.” Darcy blinked and wiped his eyes. “How would you – this is?” Fitzwilliam turned around to take stock of the very crowded inn looking for anyone he recognized that might be traveling with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Spying none, he reacted to her small tug on the sleeve of his coat for his attentions.
“I am traveling alone, sir, with my uncle’s servant here.” Elizabeth pointed at Peter who nodded to signal he was the man she referred to in her speech.
Darcy spotted a trickle of dried blood as Elizabeth turned her head away in shame, distracting him from asking a more rational question as to why Elizabeth traveled in Scotland with her uncle’s servant. Though, to even hear the question in his head, too large a portion of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s heart dreaded the answer.
“You are hurt. Come,” Darcy began to escort Elizabeth to a small empty table in the far corner. “MacFigan! A word!” Darcy bellowed as the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea before him. No sooner had they taken a seat than the innkeeper hustled over to the table, offering Mr. Darcy great deference.
“There appears, that is, there was a misunderstanding in the stables, sir. The team of horses reserved for your use was mistakenly let out to another traveler after the accident.”
“Then I suggest you find another team of horses for my purposes. Feed and wet down the team I came with and if you fail, then I shall use them for the last fifteen miles to Broadmeadow.” Ordinarily, Darcy would brook no failure of this sort from an inn he owned, but the delay afforded him time with Miss Elizabeth, and for that he privately became thankful for the mistake.
“Yes, sir, I shall see them well taken care of.” The innkeeper began to shuffle away when Darcy motioned for him again.
“And bring us two bottles of wine.” Darcy looked at Elizabeth as the woman flushed before him. “And two plates of stew with a trench.”
The innkeeper hesitated again, grimacing. “Afraid we’re out of wine, you see, much like the rooms. But Nann made a second kettle of stew and I can bring you whisky.”
Darcy nodded and the innkeeper left to see to the swift execution of the many instructions given to him by his employer.
“I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Darcy. But I would have been able to order for myself, you see. Peter needs to eat as well.” Elizabeth gestured towards the servant now sitting on her trunk and guarding it most carefully.
Darcy’s lips twisted in annoyance. “Yes, Peter. When MacFigan returns I’ll tell him to throw some scraps at the boy.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips at the tone of voice Mr. Darcy used. She remembered the gallant gentleman that she had horrifically misjudged, and regretted the day she spurned his proposal at his aunt’s estate in the springtime. In fact, it was those memories of Mr. Darcy, coupled with Elizabeth’s hopes for her sister Jane, that had convinced her that finding Lydia was the key to everyone’s happiness. But as she sat on the hard wooden bench in a foreign county with the same proud, and rude Mr. Darcy she experienced first in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth suddenly felt the full weight of her foolishness. She scowled as she began to cry.
“What? You should like that I invite him to sit and dine at our table?” Mr. Darcy understood the boy to be special to Elizabeth, but he could not bring himself to break bread with a servant in public.
“No, of course not! He may eat in the kitchens or stable, but he must eat as well. I am afraid this is all my fault. . . ”
Elizabeth was about to explain when an argument near them spilled into a crash upon their table. Without a moment’s hesitation, Darcy sprung into action, grasping the tussling men by the shoulders and heaving them in the opposite direction. He flanked Elizabeth and began yelling, which caused the two men fighting to cease almost immediately.
Elizabeth shook with fright as her mind refused to process any further information regarding the day. There had simply been too much. Before she could use her coat sleeve to wipe the embarrassing display her crying produced, a calmer Mr. Darcy handed her a handkerchief. She accepted it without a word as he took his seat once more.
“Your father does not approve of this?” Mr. Darcy asked as casually as he could muster while looking from Elizabeth to Peter.
“My father? He is probably not yet aware. I left my aunt with a note this morning and convinced Peter to go with me as far as Coldstream.”
“Coldstream? But that is at least a two day journey from . . . where were you coming from again?” Darcy knew Elizabeth Bennet to be an intelligent woman. If she was running away to marry a servant, a situation his rational mind found highly unlikely but his jealous heart suspected nonetheless, they need not travel any further.
“Gretna Green.” Elizabeth winced as she suddenly realized how it must look to everyone around for her to travel alone with a servant near to her age. Why, she had not only made a dangerous decision, but made herself an utter laughingstock!
MacFigan arrived with the repast and apologized again to Mr. Darcy that he did not have a spare room. Darcy inquired about the innkeeper’s quarters and the man explained another family had already paid for the privilege of the room and that he and his wife were going to sleep in the loft for the extra coinage. Ever a shrewd businessman, Mr. Darcy understood the tough position of his manager. It was only that very morning that a rider was sent ahead to arrange his personal horse train.
“Peace, I am sure this will do quite nicely and in an hour or two, my horses will be well enough for the last leg of our journey.” The innkeeper raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he glared at the woman who sat with his employer. Her dress and situation offered little to recommend her, but Seamus MacFigan knew when to keep his gob shut.
Elizabeth cast her eyes down to her stew and waited for the innkeeper to leave.
“You and Peter were in that carriage I saw toppled a few miles out of town? How badly are you hurt? My estate is another fifteen miles away, but the doctor here is a good man. I am sure I could take you to his home—”
“Thank you again, but no.” Elizabeth’s stomach protested as the smell of the venison and root vegetables reached her nose and her mouth watered. “I really should take the next carriage heading back to Gretna Green.”
“The mail post? There is not another until morning. The heavy winds and rain felled two trees to the north and this carriage you were in was to do a loop in Langholm until the morrow.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “You possess a great deal of intelligence about this place and many appear to know you well. How do you know about the trees and the post?”
Darcy laughed and dug into his stew, urging Elizabeth to do the same by nudging her spoon towards her. “My grandmother’s surname was Elliot before it was Darcy. Her brother’s family died, sadly, in a fire, and the estate passed to my father since he was the only living male relative.” Darcy waited for Elizabeth to actually take a bite of her stew. While waiting, he poured a glass of whisky for each of them.
The bowl of stew steamed piping hot and Elizabeth nearly dribbled her bite before managing to save herself further embarrassment. She thought she spotted a twinkle in Mr. Darcy’s eye at her near flub, but she could not be certain. “I am familiar with distant cousins inheriting.”
“Yes, well, thankfully my father and I spent many a summer here to win over the local townsfolk despite being Elliots by a maternal line. Blood is blood though . . .” Darcy trailed off as his eyes flickered to Elizabeth’s left ear. He remembered now seeing signs of her injury and wished to ask more.
Anticipating the next line of questioning, Elizabeth attempted to stymie any inquiry by taking a deep gulp of the whisky.
“No, you mustn’t!” Darcy tried to say, but it was too late.
The amber liquid burned her throat and produced a nauseating smoky flavor to fill her mouth. She sputtered and coughed and winced, wondering why on earth anyone would drink such a vile spirit!
“I should have asked for tea. I am so used to traveling with Richard I did not think—”
“I take the title of scatterbrained for the day, I believe.” Elizabeth whispered, not quite finding her voice after nearly choking on her drink. A warmness began to spread through her chest as the whisky found its way to her core and the drink’s odd calming power initiated its effects.
“Yes, you did not fully explain to me why you were even traveling. If your aim is not to . . . that is, what brought you to Scotland, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth braved another taste of whisky, finding the effects of the drink worth the initial burn, but only a sip this time. She licked her lips and considered Fitzwilliam Darcy in the crowded, rough roadside inn and wondered if she would ever enjoy his company again once she confessed all? Still, despite hoping he might provide her aid, she would not lie to him knowing her options for safety were limited if he abandoned her at this moment.
“Prepare yourself for something very dreadful, I’m afraid.”
Darcy put down his spoon and cradled his chin upon his interlaced fingers, daring Miss Elizabeth to give her worst, much as he had in Kent. The man actually smiled a half-smile, and this time Elizabeth was certain she saw the twinkle in his eye.
“My sister Lydia has run off with Mr. Wickham.”
NEW RELEASE
For the Love of a Bennet
What if Elizabeth Bennet traveled with Lydia to Brighton?
A reimagining of Jane Austen’s most beloved tale, Pride & Prejudice, join author Elizabeth Ann West as she writes the romantic adventure story she always wanted! When Lizzy and Lydia arrive in Brighton, it’s very clear that the younger Bennet sister came with very serious plans towards Mr. Wickham. Thankfully, an old ally is also in town, with problems of his own to solve. After Mr. Darcy, himself, is summoned to Brighton to hopefully solve two dilemmas with one wealthy member of the gentry, the whole militia is thrown into an uproar by Wickham’s most dastardly deed, yet. Together, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy have to save Lydia from her own undoing, or it will mean more than just mere reputations are ruined.
For the Love of a Bennet is a novel length story, currently being posted chapter by chapter on Elizabeth’s author site. This story was originally conceptualized in 2019 as a part of the All Go to Brighton challenge.
Chapter 9 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
THE DIN OF the common room of the Grey Sheep continued unabated despite Elizabeth Bennet’s explosive confession. Anger. Disgust. Surprise? All were emotions Elizabeth hoped to see cross Fitzwilliam’s face, but the man remained stoic and hard as cut marble. Feeling ashamed, Elizabeth continued to sip her whisky and alternated bitefuls of the chunky venison stew with as much grace as she could muster.
Over time, the silence between them grew to be too much of a discomfort for Elizabeth and she elected to change the subject entirely.
“I am most appreciative of your care, Mr. Darcy, but after this meal I believe I shall ask one of the families if they might allow me to sleep on the floor of their room for the night.” The utter defeat of the situation cast Elizabeth’s mood into despair. But she could not think of another solution. To beg Mr. Darcy for further assistance mortified her beyond reason, and she looked around for a family with a number of young children as a suitable candidate.
Her announcement snapped Fitzwilliam out of his contemplation and the man refocused his eyes upon her.
“You would sleep with strangers rather than return to my estate? I can assure your perfect safety in my care if that is what you fear.”
“Fear you? Never, sir, but I could not ask you to take on such a burden when so much has passed between us. . . and besides . . . you have not formally offered.” Elizabeth blew out a breath as her cheeks suddenly felt too warm. She lifted the backs of her hands to cool her skin but even her hands, which were normally chilled without gloves, refused to perform as they ordinarily would. Her efforts only placed warm skin against uncomfortably warmer skin, a failure her mind struggled to reconcile without a giggle.
Darcy raised his eyebrow. “I believe that is enough whisky for you, madam.” He reached to take the glass away from her, but Elizabeth’s hands moved from her face to stymie his effort. Her hand collided with his and the glass slid away, precariously close to the edge of the table, but did not fall. If Elizabeth’s hands had been warm earlier, touching Mr. Darcy’s lit them positively on fire and without knowing what she was about, she smiled at the man.
“You have been so kind. So very kind, always. And I am forever ruining it.” She locked eyes with him, feeling as if she had finally seen the man for the first time. He was sensitive, just as Jane had warned. Gently, she removed her hand, wishing she might allow it to linger longer but it was too painful to do so knowing there could never be more between them. Not with Lydia gone and the identity of the man she ran away with already revealed.
Darcy cleared his throat, bringing the glass closer to Elizabeth and pouring them both a touch more liquid courage.
“I should like to offer the shelter of my home to you and your uncle’s servant. If our past dealings bring hesitation, please know I would offer my lodgings to any lady of my acquaintance in such duress.” He took a sip and waited for Elizabeth to join him. He rather enjoyed the unreserved Miss Elizabeth Bennet in his presence. “I understand you take the blame for leaving your relations in Gretna Green, but your intentions must be taken into account. If you shall allow, I can promise a night of peaceful rest at Broadmeadow and in the morning, escort you and young Peter to your aunt.”
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered more than it ought at the simple, friendly invitation. As grateful as she was for the man’s hospitality, she still worried about the subject matter that she knew he could never forgive.
“But my sister. I should not blame you for cutting all ties with me and my family. Especially after . . .” a lump formed in Elizabeth’s throat and she reached for her glass. This time she did not take a sip, but a gulp, and the burning sensation hardly registered.
“Yes, it is an unfortunate business . . ” Darcy shifted his weight in his seat across from Elizabeth. “If it is not too taxing for you to endure my presence–”
Elizabeth snorted and began to laugh.
“Pardon me, madam. I did not know I had made a jest.”
“Mr. Darcy, you are too generous to trifle with me. My behavior in April abused you so abominimbally . . . abominabolly . . .” Elizabeth crossed her eyes at her mouth’s inability to properly pronounce a word she had said many times. Realizing it was a lost cause, she changed tacks. “After reading your letter, I realized how very wrong I was about our previous interactions . . .”
Darcy stifled a laugh as he finished his own glass of whisky, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. He had not had so much to drink outside of his normal limits as to affect his behavior, and the effects on Elizabeth were highly amusing to say the least. He was about to speak, when she continued her rant.
“Why did you call me ugly, sir?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“You know of what I speak. Not handsome enough, I heard it plainly the first night you ever met me. And now, I must look an absolute fright,” she glanced down at her dirty frock, with rips and tears, that she had not considered before entering the inn and finding an acquaintance. “And you gaze at me like I am . . . like I am . . .” Elizabeth trailed off, her head tilting to one side. Her tongue darted out to moisten her parched lips and Darcy held his breath.
Blinking profusely, Darcy spun his torso a quarter turn on his bench to raise a hand to MacFigan. Surely the horses had to be ready by now, he thought.
As Elizabeth fumbled for the bottle of whisky to pour herself more, Darcy swiftly pulled it out of her reach.
“Truly, that is enough whisky for you and I shall not be moved otherwise.” Darcy shook his head in disbelief as the woman pouted before trying to remember her manners, though she was much too drunk to behave properly.
“But I am thirsty.”
“I shall order you some tea.”
“And when we reach your estate I can rest?” Yawning, Elizabeth leaned her head against the wall and slumped forward slightly, giving Darcy a clearer view of her injury. Spying the horrific bulge blows to the head were known to create, he clenched his fists under the table. As Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered closed, he allowed her the brief rest until an hour later, his team of horses were ready for another leg of the journey. He would not drive them hard, and it would take longer to reach Broadmeadow than usual, but he would at least get Elizabeth to safety before nightfall.
And though he did not comfortably speak in a crowded inn, Darcy resolved himself to speak to her in the morning to disabuse her of the notion of guilt. Only one person stood responsible for the mess, the same person it always was since he was a mere lad. George Richard Wickham.
You’ve been reading The Whisky Wedding
When Elizabeth Bennet of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice learns of her sister’s elopement before leaving for the Peaks District, she and her aunt are off to Scotland to chase the wayward couple. Inn after inn, there is no sign of Lydia or Mr. Wickham, but Elizabeth won’t give up. A foolhardy decision to continue to search on her own lands Elizabeth right into the arms of a familiar face . . . Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Join author Elizabeth Ann West in a tale of carriage accidents, amnesia, and a forced marriage, but happy endings for all. Well, maybe not Mr. Wickham!
The Whisky Wedding
a Pride and Prejudice novel variation
Release Date: December 28, 2016
514 pages in print.
+ 23 additional Pride & Prejudice variations are available at these fine retailers . . .
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A Jane-of-all-trades, mistress to none! Elizabeth Ann West is the author of 8 novels and 11 novellas, 18 of which are story variations of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.