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 31 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
A FEELING OF tedious familiarity overcame Mrs. Darcy as she stood once more outside the double white doors of Mr. Darcy’s suite of rooms. She vacillated between knocking on the door and running away to her maid and restoring her toilette before embarking on the seduction of her husband. As she shifted her weight from slippered foot to slippered foot, her lips twisted into a look of mischief. Deciding to oblige her first aim, and not give in to cowardice, she gently rocked her weight to the back of her heels and rapped on the door. The confidence she willed to surge through her breast was faked as much as she had a full recovery the previous day.
When there was no answer right away, she raised her fist to knock once more, sure the butler had told her Mr. Darcy had returned, just as the door clicked open. Mr. Darcy stood in the doorjamb with a smile for his diminutive wife.
“Yes?”
“Oh, you are here.” Elizabeth had turned frantically towards the stairs and then back to her husband and then back to the stairs. Finally, she looked at him shyly once more as he spoke again.
“These are my rooms. After taking a ride with Jamie,” Darcy coughed and corrected himself as Elizabeth scowled, “Dr. Rowley to the edge of our property, I thought my state of dress would be an insult at the dinner table.”
Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered as she finally took her husband’s appearance into full consideration. The man smelled lovely, a mixture of musk and sandalwood, his hair was still damp, accentuating the dark curls that framed his face. Elizabeth’s expression softened as her fingers itched to reach up and know what it was like to touch that hair, but she quickly grasped each hand with the other and pinned them behind her back.
“Well, will you not invite me in?”
Darcy straightened from the slump he had occupied against the doorjamb and nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to simultaneously step backwards and to the side. Elizabeth laughed and patted his chest with the palm of her hand as she passed him to enter his room.
Although she had seen it that morning, the new Mrs. Darcy still marveled at the idiosyncrasies of the room’s furnishings and what it revealed about her husband. Nary an item looked out of place, though that was likely the work of his valet, Mr. Stewart, Elizabeth assumed that if Mr. Darcy enjoyed a certain amount of clutter, his man would obey.
Darcy closed the door and the latch click made Elizabeth involuntarily shiver. She tried to cover for her anxiety by changing the subject.
“So you truly own houses in Scotland and Derbyshire and London…” Elizabeth began to enumerate as Mr. Darcy walked forward and Elizabeth noticed the man’s feet. He was barefoot! She giggled the see his bare skin and he followed her gaze down to his toes. He agreed with her enumeration as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whisky and held it up. Despite her past with the beverage, Elizabeth licked her lips and nodded enthusiastically, which made her husband laugh again.
“We also have interests abroad, including India and two holdings in America.” Mr. Darcy handed his wife a small glass with only half the amount of whisky that was in his glass. “I believe Mrs. Aldridge intended to speak to you this afternoon. Did she not come see you?”
“Oh she came to see me,” Elizabeth said bitterly. She took her first taste of whisky. When her husband frowned, Elizabeth quickly changed her tone. “We had a lovely interview, but –”
“There was a but,” Darcy prompted as Elizabeth halted mid-sentence. His wife sighed and took a seat in the small reading area he kept by the bookshelf.
Darcy had no choice but to follow his wife and while he intended to sit in the arm chair across from her, she gently tapped the loveseat that she had chosen to sit on the very edge.
“Dr. Rowley said it was possible I might never recover my memory of the day we married.”
“There is no rush. We can remain at Broadmeadow for as long as you need.”
“Yes, but I may never remember. How many evenings have you lost from no carriage accident but a healthy dose of this?” Elizabeth held up her small glass of whisky and took another sip to emphasize her point.
Dark, twisting fear rumbled in Darcy’s insides. He set his drink to the table as if the whisky had offended.
“What precisely is your point, madam?”
Elizabeth straightened her posture and turned her body towards her husband so that she might address him directly. She too had placed her cup next to his, a rather poignant representation of his and hers that amused her sardonic sense of humor. From this vantage point, the overwhelming urge to touch the man consumed her as his soulful brown eyes revealed the complete vulnerability of a man in love. She reached up and gingerly touched her fingers to the side of his face, an intimacy that Fitzwilliam relished for a moment and leaned into before covering her hand with his own to bring it down to the space in between them.
“This is mortifying to admit but I find myself unequal to the task of resisting your charms.” As Elizabeth confessed that her vexation was the result of their celibacy, Darcy broke into a half-grin as he allowed his wife to ramble on.
“I am at a loss, confused,” Elizabeth looked down away from her husband. She found no words to explain what she wished for them to do.
“I have told you that I will not take my rights as a husband until you are well.”
“And I might wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected! ” Elizabeth snapped at her husband as his explanation did not absolve her of the frustrating passions stinging her heart and soul every time she was in the man’s presence!
“You would use my words against me, madam.” Darcy released his wife’s hand and reached for his whisky. A sudden sour taste filled his mouth at the unhappy memory of his first proposal in Kent.
“I am attempting to remind you that once you loved me most ardently and now,” Elizabeth’s voice cracked and she looked away from her husband and bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying. Why did it feel so gut wrenching to have him reject her? How long had she desired nothing more than his embrace and kisses?
As if reading his wife’s mind, Fitzwilliam Darcy cleared his throat and began his own inquiries to soothe his fragile ego. “Is this another spell of your playacting? Are you toying with me?”
Elizabeth sniffed to try to hide her tears but she turned back to face her husband. “During my discussion with Mrs. Aldridge I asserted my position as your wife and in this house. And with the others. Doing so, I had the unfortunate recollection that I am not fully your wife,” her voice diminished in volume as she continued her confession. “I am not truly the matron but still a maiden. The ache in my heart–”
“Yes, the ache indeed. I assume this is a new companion to your sentiments.”
Elizabeth gaped at the man in horror as Mr. Darcy stood up from the loveseat with his back to her. Clutching her hand into fists, Elizabeth pounded the poor upholstery beside her.
“Why are you always so cruel?”
Darcy spun around and asked his wife to explain as Elizabeth shot up from the loveseat with all of her might and practically launched herself at her husband.
“You have admitted yourself we have had a strange courtship, very little of one. I am here to confess that I love you and my feelings cannot be repressed. And yet you—” Elizabeth never finished her thought as Fitzwilliam seized his wife and silenced her with the most passionate, deep kiss.
The watershed broke between them and the overflow of emotions they both had endured over the last four days tumbled from one kiss to the next. Then another. And more.
Finally their passions cooled slightly and they both gasped for breath, unwilling to let either go. Fitzwilliam blinked his eyes at the wondrous feeling of Elizabeth’s small fist gripping the back of his shirt. Mr. Darcy whispered close to his wife’s ear.
“Are you absolutely certain, Elizabeth?”
Feeling her heart might burst with both trepidation and excitement over what was to come, Elizabeth whispered back.
“Make me yours, Fitzwilliam.”
Chapter 32 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
ELIZABETH BENNET’S LEFT nostril twitched in a perturbed fashion. Without opening her eyes, she dreamily attempted to scratch the offending body part with her right hand. But her right hand, attached to her right arm, felt an enormous weight that would not signify in her half-asleep mind. Therefore, the consequence of an itchy nose demanded at least one eyelid to lazily lift and give a blurred glance at her invalid arm.
Intelligence gathered by one eye quickly required the confirmation of a second eye, followed by a smile of delight. Next to her slumbered the form of the man she would forever call her own: Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Rolling over to release her arm pinned beneath her husband, she forgot all about her itchy nose as she nuzzled him in the delicate space between his shoulder blades.
“Mmmm,” he murmured.
“Wake up, Mr. Darcy. Your wife commands you,” Elizabeth whispered, tucking her face further and further into his neck and feeling so bold as to place a kiss at the nape.
“You command me, do you?” Fitzwilliam roared to life, tossing himself her way as he knocked her flat on her back and rolled to his side to face her. Taking in her naked form and the beauty of waking up next to a woman who remembered who he was, the roguish groom tickled his Elizabeth until she cried for deliverance.
Regaining her composure, she nearly giggled again as he propped his chin on a crooked arm.
“Are you well? You are not in pain?”
Elizabeth mouthed a “No,” as she recalled the gentle, yet unmistakably firm, manner in which they had spent the evening. Her stomach growled as both of them had forgotten to eat last night in their raptures.
“Come, we need to dress and go below stairs.” Fitzwilliam scrambled up to kiss his wife directly on the nose, the same nose that offensively woke him that morning, and began to push up to leave the bed. This displeased Mrs. Darcy, so she flung her arms around him and pulled back, causing him to crash back down on top of her.
“Must we? I dine in my rooms. Let’s call for a tray and languish a little. Please, Fitzwilliam?”
Shaking himself free of his wife, he sat up in bed and considered her beside him, now pulling the sheets to cover herself up.
“You would wish to start the morning together?”
She nodded. Neither of them spoke how such a practice was unheard of, let alone spending the entire night in the same bed.
Darcy cleared his throat. “My parents were a very loving couple. I know I do not speak of them very often, but…” He gave his wife a half-smile as she reached out for him. Feeling an avalanche of emotions threaten to consume him, Fitzwilliam Darcy took comfort in his wife’s embrace.
“I see no reason why either of us should ever awake alone again,” she said, decidedly.
Darcy nodded and bestowed a kiss they both were coming to find familiar: a deep, passion stirring exchange that tantalized them both, dressed or undressed. As Elizabeth recognized signs that her husband might be persuaded for another journey to Cupid’s throes, she involuntarily winced.
“You are in pain! Do not hide it.”
“No, no, truly I am not. I am just in a vexing position. I should love to spend more time as we did last night, but I am sore.” Elizabeth explained her case, wondering if he would ever trust her again to know her own body.
Suddenly embarrassed, Darcy recalled his uncle telling him of the discomfort some wives felt after an act of sexual congress. He was a bully.
“You should have a warm bath, I am told that — that helps.”
Elizabeth sat up in bed to join her husband, clutching the sheets still to cover her breasts. “If I promise to take a warm bath in a little while, will you lay with me now for a small time?”
“If you command me, madam.”
“I do. I most heartily do.”
The happy couple resumed another round of cuddling and enjoying each other’s company despite both of them feeling their passions rise. As Elizabeth’s stomach growled again, this time joined by Fitzwilliam’s, they both laughed at the indignant behavior of their stomachs.
“I will call for a meal to be brought up and warm water for your bath.” Fitzwilliam finally left his marital bed and pulled the bed curtains shut for Mrs. Darcy’s privacy. “And I will tell the carriages to ready for an afternoon departure?” He asked as he hunted for the pair of breeches from last night. Hearing his wife squeal in delight Darcy nodded to no one but himself as he pulled a shirt over his head and the bell cord for Mr. Stewart.
Alone and ensconced in the intimate darkness of the bed, Elizabeth Darcy snuggled down into the covers and closed her eyes. She was Elizabeth Bennet no more, in fact and in deed. She only wished that she could remember her vows to the man just as well as she revisited every moment of ecstasy from the night before.
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 33 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
THE ENTIRE BROADMEADOW staff of maids, footmen and even many of the groundsmen stood in a receiving line to see the master and mistress off. Elizabeth walked the gauntlet on her husband’s arm, even accepting a golden bouquet of meadow buttercups and lady’s bedstraw from the youngest scullery maid. Saying goodbye to all of the kind people who helped her from the first moment she arrived at Broadmeadow brought a great sadness to Elizabeth’s heart. So much of her did not wish to leave Scotland!
Near the end of the line, a new face for the staff would remain behind as a new hire. Peter, the footman from her aunt and uncle’ house in London, stood next to Mrs. Aldridge who had taken a slight shine to the boy. Eager to earn his way, Peter worked hard, a personality trait any housekeeper could appreciate in a large estate.
“Congratulations Miss, excuse me, Mrs. Darcy,” Peter said quickly and bowed his head.
“If I am able, I will arrange to have your effects shipped here to Broadmeadow. I’ll never forget your service to me.” Elizabeth beamed up at her husband who had not argued in the slightest when his wife asked if Peter might find a position there. For Darcy’s sake, he would much prefer the footman to remain in Scotland, as he could not control the unreasonable pangs of his jealous heart.
“Please help him find his place here, Mrs. Aldridge? If there are any concerns, feel free to write to me.” Mr. Darcy said as his wife gently cleared her throat. Darcy’s right nostril flared in embarrassment. “Perhaps you should write to Mrs. Darcy, and she will relate to me if I may be of assistance.” Darcy gave his wife’s arm a gentle squeeze not perceptible to anyone but the couple.
“Heavens alive, sir. This boy is home. He may have spent much time away from home, but I say we’ll claim him as a Scot.” Mrs. Aldridge looked beyond her master to her mistress. Very deliberately she slowly bowed her head as a final signal of great respect for her mistress.
With no additional staff to farewell, the trunks and carriage completely packed including a basket of shortbreads and treats from the Cook, the last twenty yards to the carriage appeared insurmountable. Elizabeth Darcy’s knees began to weaken with each step closer and closer to the open door. A cold sweat broke out across her skin and Mr. Darcy perceived her hesitation in the link between their arms.
“Can’t… I cannot . . . Fitzwilliam, the carriage I – I… please,” she hoarsely whispered, overcome with panic and fear and at the very same time not wishing to reveal such a weakness in front of the assembled staff.
“Take a deep breath, Elizabeth. I am here. All is well.” Mr. Darcy said quietly and repeated the same phrase with almost each step. His wife concentrated more and more on his words than her fears that the carriage might crash.
The steady cadence of Mr. Darcy’s speech carried them all the way to the door but Mr. Darcy still worried Elizabeth might not make it all the way inside. Wishing to save his wife from further embarrassment yet also feeling surprisingly joyful as a young groom, Mr. Darcy bent down and swooped up his wife dramatically into his arms.
Elizabeth Darcy wrapped her hands around his neck but he forgot she still held the bouquet of flowers. The bouquet was thrust directly into his face before Elizabeth could adjust.
Darcy sputtered from the petals and sharp nettles before shaking his head and giving his wife a kiss, to the enormous cheers and hoots of his Broadmeadow staff. After he turned around, he took a step up and cautiously lifted Mrs. Darcy directly into the carriage and set her upon a bench. But the unpredictable master of Pemberley, Darcy House, and Broadmeadow had not ceased in his merriment. As he motioned for all of the grooms and driver to be ready, Mr. Darcy stood on the rail and waved off as he ordered the carriage to begin moving before tucking inside and slamming the carriage door shut.
As it had not rained since Elizabeth arrived at Broadmeadow, the Darcy carriage rolled away with a great cloud of dust down the lane toward Canonbie and beyond. Inside the carriage, Elizabeth could not help but cry, making Darcy feel dreadful.
“My darling, please forgive me. I should not have forced you into the carriage.” Darcy reached to help his wife wipe her tears away. She defiantly shook her head.
“Mrs. Darcy cannot fear riding in carriages. It is not to be borne!” Elizabeth said in a perfect mimic of Darcy’s Aunt Catherine’s voice, a very opinionated lady who took great pleasure interrogating Elizabeth when she visited Kent.
Darcy cupped his wife’s face with his hands and gave her a sweet kiss of his support and love. Elizabeth calmed as the carriage reached a steady pace and she settled herself amongst the items placed inside the carriage for their comfort. The staff had worried after them so much, there was scarcely any room to stretch their legs!
“I did suspect with your memory restored you might rightly have an aversion to travel and so I brought a friend,” Mr. Darcy reached in front of him to pull a book from underneath the bench seat.
“How clever, do all of your carriages have spring-loaded seats that lift up to reveal secrets?” Elizabeth asked still daily coming to accept the life of luxury and ease Mr. Darcy lived. And by consequence of marriage, she also now lived.
“Our carriages,” he corrected. “Soon you will stop asking me do my carriages and my houses have this or that.” Mr. Darcy pecked his wife’s cheek and ran his fingers over the gold lettering imprinted on the front cover. The complete works of William Shakespeare was a volume he kept in all of his houses just like the Bible and a few classical texts from Homer and Plato.
“You would help me pass the time by reading plays? I am the luckiest wife.” Elizabeth gently jostled her elbow into Mr. Darcy’s side, finding an occasion to take a deep breath herself and brave looking out the window. The beautiful Scottish countryside in full bloom of summer passed by in vivid blues, reds, and yellows. There were six days yet for their journey, but Elizabeth could not fret as Mr. Darcy’s baritone voice began to read.
Two houses, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we set our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
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.