Darcy is so diligent… and the Colonel and Anne are so adorable… and yeah, that last chapter… hot tamale! 🙂
XOXOXO Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 10 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Three of the most modern coaches owned by the Darcy family lined up in the drive, heavily packed for their slow elopement to Gretna Green. The full accompaniment of staff and belongings would permit an extended wedding trip at Carver House, Mr. Darcy’s home that lay less than a day’s drive past the first anvil in Dumfries. Fitzwilliam Darcy crouched next to the vehicle in the middle of the caravan that was to carry him and his beloved. He peered through the spokes of the wheel to visually inspect the tongue and axles for himself.
“I tells you, sir, me and Jamie crawled each undercarriage ourselves and looked carefully for any signs of breakage.”
Mr. Darcy sighed, and pushed up from the gravel drive to stand his full height. He slapped his hands back and forth to loosen any small pebbles that stuck to his gloves before clapping his driver on the shoulder. “I believe that you did just as Simmons asked. Call me a superstitious groom, but until I have Miss Bennet across the border and before the anvil, I’m afraid I leave nothing to fate.”
The driver and his master shared a hollow laugh, but Darcy could not shake the ominous feeling of dread that lifted the small hairs on the back of his neck. He could not place his finger on it but, like a pressure drop before a great storm, he felt anxious.
A small lad ran up to the master and tipped his hat as Darcy accepted a letter from the boy.
“Mr. Arnold sent me to run from the gatehouse.” The boy gasped for breath. “He says the rest can wait, sir,” he gasped again, “but says this be a letter you’d want right away.”
Darcy complimented the boy for his diligence before he ran off on his next errand. Darcy inspected the letter that was not open but, upon seeing the return address, realized it was from his sister, Georgiana Wickham, in London. Darcy groaned and tucked the letter into his pocket, as above him on the steps of Pemberley stood a sight he wished to etch forever in his mind.
Attired in a full travel outfit of many layers in a soft petal pink, Elizabeth stood flanked by her maid and his man, Simmons, at the top of the steps, ready for leave at the appointed hour. Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. She giggled and began to take the steps, shaking Darcy out of his stupor. He dashed in a long stride of three to four steps at a time to catch up to Elizabeth and offer her his arm.
“I thought you would wait for me in the entryway,” he said.
“And I thought you would not take forever in checking the carriages. Honestly, Fitzwilliam, I watched you from the window and wondered if you were going to crawl underneath the carriage yourself,” Elizabeth teased her soon-to-be husband, but only lightly. She had come to rely on his steadfastness and acute attention to detail since January, when she had boldly decided to return a book of sonnets to his London home after she was cast out of Longbourn to her relations in Cheapside.
As the staff poured out of the main door to see the master and the woman who would return as his wife off on their journey, Darcy and Elizabeth continued to break with tradition by riding alone in the middle carriage. Simmons, Betsy, and other servants, filled the first and third carriage, with two additional armed footmen in each vehicle. For Darcy and Elizabeth’s coach, the armed footmen rode on the jumpseat. The height of the summer travel season dictated the necessity of the additional protection. The Darcys would be taking with them many valuables, as they did not intend return to Pemberley until late autumn at the earliest.
Had it not been for his love of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy held a good mind to find solidarity with his ancient clansmen and remain in the Lowlands of Scotland his remaining days. Looking over at the bright young woman sitting beside him, eagerly waving to the staff that offered her the minimum level of respect, though she took care not to show offense taken, he realized such a drastic escape to Scotland would take her too far from the world she loved. The couple lurched jerkily as the three coaches began the procession down the drive and took up a leisurely speed to the gatehouse. Elizabeth settled back against the bench next to her intended, her breath a bit rapid as she twisted her reticule between her hands. Darcy noticed her nervousness and gallantly reached his large hand over to comfort hers. Elizabeth looked up at him expectantly and managed a half-smile. But even he could see she was putting on a brave face.
Darcy cleared his throat. “I am ever so sorry this is the only way, my love.”
Elizabeth looked at him with a quizzical brow and then laughed. “I cannot say I am upset at the means in which we become husband and wife.”
“But your father and your family? I confess that part of my design in pausing so long at Pemberley was hope that an express be sent. I made sure to instruct Bingley to make it known we would be stopping at Pemberley before continuing to Gretna Green.”
Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I am afraid you are not well acquainted with my father.” Her voice tried to keep a light tone, but a mixture of her embarrassment and anxiousness made her declaration come out shaky. “I am not entirely sure what caused him to become so prejudiced against you. At first, I thought after I rejected Mr. Collins I had insulted his pride personally, but he still cannot even admit how horrible of a man my cousin…” Elizabeth scowled as she struggled to get the words out, and she privately chastised herself that she would not cry. There would be no tears in the carriage on the way to her greatest dreams since she fell in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy at Netherfield Park.
Thinking back to when they first courted in her sickroom Elizabeth restored her countenance and, as the coach passed the stone arch to mark the end of the estate grounds, she offered Fitzwilliam a mischievous smile. “How was it that you knew when you loved me?”
“I could say I was in the middle before I realized I’d even begun,” Fitzwilliam said to Elizabeth’s groan at the man’s pretty, poetic speech. Seeing an opening, he took another ridiculous position. “In fact,” he paused to lean over quickly and kiss Elizabeth’s lips. Despite the great surprise to her she heartily welcomed his attentions, her hands snaking effortlessly around his neck. They broke apart so that he might continue. “In fact, I might say it was love at first sight.”
“Oho, I’m certain I looked my best, unconscious and bleeding in the ditch.” Though she had been seriously injured when she dove out of the way of his racing horse, and experienced many months of pain and suffering as a result, she could now find the folly in their first introduction of persons.
“But you could never claim to have loved me at first sight.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her chest, taking him up in his game of wits. “Never tell a lady which she may or may not claim as a position, sir.”
“Sir?” He leaned closer so that his nose tickled just below her ear, next to her jaw. Elizabeth shivered and scooted just ever so slightly away from him. She twisted her torso so that she might address him directly.
“I will have you know that from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, I found myself distractedly attracted to your good manners and sincere care for my well-being.”
Fitzwilliam leaned closer to her, as though he might kiss her once more, and Elizabeth tilted her chin up in anticipation. He paused right before reaching her.
“Truly? The moment that you saw me, as you lay in your sickbed, you felt such strong feelings?” His voice cracked with emotion, and Elizabeth nodded.
Fitzwilliam bellowed with a chuckle as he pecked Elizabeth’s lips, and then leaned back for what he expected to be swift retribution.
“Well, thank God Mr. Bingley married your sister, as you thought I was him!”
Elizabeth squawked and played up a sense of insult, but it was all just for sport. The happy couple on their way to the altar in Gretna Green was not the least bit upset with one another, and spent the better part of an hour reminiscing on all they had been through since that fateful day when Elizabeth jumped out of the way of his horse. She even thanked him for delaying them so long at Pemberley, just in case her father had a change of heart and granted his permission for them to marry in her home parish.
It was not until after two stops to switch out the horses, and the sun hung low in the sky as they neared their last stop for the night, that Elizabeth nuzzled up against Fitzwilliam’s broad shoulders and fell fast asleep. He did not mind holding Elizabeth as she slept, though the sun’s low angle nearly blinded him; he could not reach to pull the far shade without disturbing her. Neither could he reach his novel that he had packed away in the basket below them, thinking they would hold more conversation before stopping for the night.
Elizabeth murmured unintelligibly in her sleep, and stirred. Fitzwilliam gently squeezed her upper arms, and his embrace seemed to settle her once more. His right hand felt a sharp jab near his wrist, and he thought perhaps a pin from her hair or gown had poked him. He craned his neck around to see the offending item was not iron, but the sharp corner of a letter pressed into his hand right before they had left and forgotten almost as soon as he had tucked it away. Carefully, he reached down to pull the missive from his pocket, and managed to break the seal to unfold the parchment without disturbing Elizabeth.
He quickly read over the insincere lines of inquiry into his health and Elizabeth’s in his sister’s hand, around thinly-veiled complaints about being left in such poverty of lifestyle. He quickly skipped to the end where his sister made her pleas, confessing she was with child and that her greatest wish was to have the babe at Pemberley.
Darcy blew out an audible gasp, not realizing he had held his breath as he read the letter. Spying that Elizabeth still did not stir, he leaned his head back against the top of the bench cushion to look up at the dark ceiling of the carriage. The setting sun in a race with them to their last inn matched his mood, as it allowed the interior of the carriage to grow darker and darker.
Pressing his lips into a firm line, Fitzwilliam Darcy folded the parchment so carefully written by his sister days ago and lifted the window pane closest to him. Without a single regret, and no more willingness to sacrifice his happiness for the spoiled demands of his sister, Fitzwilliam Darcy tore the parchment into pieces and let them flutter out the window to the cow pasture beside the road.
Chapter 11 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
The Dowager Cottage at Rosings stood remarkably improved with the attentions of two months from the newly-married Fitzwilliams. Drafts along the windowsills and cracks in the plaster had all seen repairs. New challenges of improving the furnishings and linens of the home were all that stood between Richard Fitzwilliam and his bride, Anne, enjoying the fruits of their labor.
Richard opened the door to the cottage and accepted a gentle peck from his wife in greeting. “Was that Mrs. Collins walking down the lane?”
Anne sighed. “It was. She came for tea, but I’m afraid she could not stay.”
Richard grimaced, and rubbed his chin now sporting the beginnings of a most unfashionable beard. If his comrades in London could see him now, they would mock him for looking as though he had joined the Navy. “That is a shame; I had hoped to discuss with her the letter I received from Darcy–”
Anne hushed Richard and violently threw up her hands to make him stop talking. Her husband gave her a look of complete bewilderment as she pointed back towards the kitchens. She quickly lowered her voice.
“Julia has spied the kitchen maid making frequent trips beyond the kitchens of the main house.”
Richard walked closer to his wife as she retreated further to the dated sitting room off the main entry. He joined her in the conspiratorial whispers.
“Do you mean to say we quarter a spy?”
Anne shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot be sure, but perhaps we should take a walk to discuss the matter more.”
Anne Fitzwilliam reached out to divest the sofa of a quilt, to her husband’s snicker. Richard took the blanket from his wife as her personal servant, Julia, suddenly appeared with her charge’s spencer and bonnet.
“Thank you, Julia.” Anne accepted the assistance with gratitude.
“I thought I heard the Colonel arrive, and expected you would take a stroll.” Julia demonstrated a peculiarity of the Dowager Cottage. Anne prefered to be referred to as ‘Miss,’ while Richard eschewed any reference as ‘Master.’ And so the staff had fallen back to his military rank as a sign of respect, which suited Richard just fine. Though the man had changed his clothes, the clothing of a gentleman had not changed the man.
The many acres of Rosings produced the peaceful coexistence since the Fitzwilliams retreated from the main home to their own establishment. As the entire estate lay tentatively in a trust, due to the ridiculous last will of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, Anne’s mother did not formally control any of the holdings. And though that may be the case on paper, actually dethroning Lady Catherine de Bourgh from a home she had enjoyed for nearly thirty years proved an impossible task.
Anne had lived mostly a sickly life. Warmer weather abated most of the symptoms of her weakened lungs, yet she was no fool to think that when colder weather returned she would not suffer just the same as she had since she was a young girl. Therefore, having never enjoyed the chaos and excitement of London being a debutante, she held no interest in living in the main house if she and her husband could take find freedom from her mother’s rule in the Dowager Cottage. Cottage stood as a misnomer, the home boasted not less than ten bedrooms and required a small staff to run.
As a second son, Richard had joined the military with a bought commission at his earliest opportunity. Comforts had come and gone depending on the officers quarters he was assigned. A veteran of the Peninsula Wars, he had spent equal amounts of time sleeping in a tent on the ground or, if it was cold, in the stables. Though he begrudged his aunt for her stubborn ways and exceedingly meddling machinations, neither did he mind a good life in a smaller home that permitted him to be his own man.
When they were first married, Richard and Anne discovered the privacy of a grassy clearing in a forest on the property, a clearing within walking distance of their smaller home. They no longer needed such privacy to enjoy time in one another’s company; the first habits of their young marriage continued to bring a source of excitement and thrill of the chase. It was the same clearing that two months ago Anne confessed to Richard she knew all about the particulars of her father’s will: though she was married, unless she produced an heir she would not inherit Rosings. The other possible heir had no idea he might stand to inherit, as that was none other than George Wickham. In his last years, Sir Lewis grew obsessed with the notion of his bloodline failing to carry his legacy further. Thus he placed his estate in a trust to thwart his shrewish wife, and unconventionally included his bastard child with a woman married into the aristocracy in his line of succession. Without an entailment or title, his solicitor, Longwell, held no choice in the matter to overrule his wishes.
“So what does our cousin Darcy have to impart? I fear I have not yet received a letter from Elizabeth, though I daresay she might be more than occupied with her own life to write.” Anne began the conversation as Richard settled the blanket over a thicket of grass. The sun’s rays made the day uncomfortably warm; he swiftly removed his coat, placing it along the edge of their impromptu seating area while Anne began to unbutton her spencer.
“I am happy you suggested we come here, because I am afraid my news will not be to your liking.”
“Oh?” She settled against her husband’s chest as he supported them both with his arms behind him. Tucking a lock of his wife’s hair behind her ears, he leaned forward for a gentle nibble before pressing a kiss against her temple.
Richard sighed.
“He wishes for me to personally deliver the documents against Parson Collins to his Eminence, the Archbishop.”
Anne remained thoughtfully silent, as the mention of the Archbishop conjured both happy memories of the day they clandestinely married in the chapel before the godfather of both Darcy and Anne, yet also a sadness as she had grown to rely on the company of Charlotte Collins.
“But what should happen to Mrs. Collins?” Anne asked. She felt her husband shrug behind her.
“I would assume she could return to her family, or some other arrangement could be made for her here. Or she might follow her husband, as he is due an inheritance.” Richard scowled at how hopelessly tangled all their lives were with one another. Without the help Elizabeth Bennet and his cousin, Darcy, the Fitzwilliams would not enjoy the happiness they now possessed. Yet Elizabeth’s home of Longbourn would pass to the same man who had nearly killed her with a violent beating before Easter. William Collins was a squat, sniveling sort of man who simpered before all demonstrations of power, and yet took out his own insecurities on any and all weaker than him.
“Does Elizabeth wish for this retribution upon her kin?” Anne thought highly of the young woman who had strongly defied her mother and cousin and saved a young family from starvation on the glebe lands. But Anne was most grateful for when Elizabeth brought a lively reading of A Midsummer Night’s Dream to her sick room, as just those few months ago she could scarcely walk due to her illness.
“That is why Darcy asks for me to take the evidence to London.”
“Evidence of the assault? Is there a statement from Dr. Matthews?” The same physician who had treated Elizabeth was instrumental for Anne to find a way to live as full a life as she might, despite her condition. The regiment required an abundance of rest on her part, but as she no longer fell victim to coughing spells, she trusted the syrups he prescribed had recovered her health so she might carry a child. Her mother’s physician, Dr. Smeads, never relieved Anne of any symptom but to provide her with laudanum.
A sour taste filled Richard’s mouth.
“The ecclesiastic court will not find fault with a vicar for correcting his cousin; it is only through the mismanagement of the glebe lands that we have a claim to potentially remove him from the living without having to pay restitution.”
“And what if we must pay him the value of the living for the rest of his days?” Anne knew as well as Richard that the coffers of Rosings suffered through years of mismanagement and limitations from lying in trust. They could not endure such a ruling to pay the old parson as well as the new parson. A portion of her dowry provided for the repairs to the Dowager’s Cottage!
“This is why all hinged upon Elizabeth’s wishes. Darcy has assured me they want satisfaction for the man and, if it comes to a matter of cost, he shall provide.”
Anne leaned forward and twisted around to look at her husband directly.
“But what do you think about Fitzwilliam’s plan?” Anne held up her hand as though taking an oath. “That he has done much for us I cannot complain, nor can you. But it is different now, and we must act only so far as we are both willing to carry a cause forward. If you act, I just wish for it to be on your own accord and not as some order of Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Anne jutted her chin out as she challenged Richard’s personal opinion on the issue. Seeing the muscles in his neck tense, she tentatively feared she had pushed too far in questioning her husband’s independence from their cousin.
Through clenched teeth Richard issued his final decision on the matter, which more than satisfied his wife.
“If the man had so much as raised a hand to you I would have choked the life out of him. That Darcy did not is the only mercy that our cousin Elizabeth has afforded the man, and he should be grateful for that kindness.”
Anne nodded, and plucked a daisy from the small patch growing in their clearing. She ran the stem through her fingers; she agreed with her husband, despite her care for Mrs. Collins.
“How long do you believe you’ll have to be in London, and when do you leave?” She gently beat his chest with the poor flower, punctuating her inquiry.
Richard leaned forward, almost to a crawl. He took a deep breath to inhale the scent of the flower in his wife’s hands. She giggled at his antics, and Richard growled before snapping his head up to kiss Anne properly on the lips.
“I believe our cousin’s business can wait until tomorrow,” he said, kissing her again. “Or the next day.” They kissed once more, this time longer as a release of the building passion between them. Anne gently kept possession of her husband’s lower lip for half a second longer than she ought before she allowed him to pull away.
“Or perhaps next week?” she asked, eliciting more of his amorous attentions as he heartily agreed there was no rush. London could wait one more week.
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 12 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Despite pushing the teams of horses and his staff to the limits of their travel abilities, Mr. Darcy and his bride arrived in Gretna Green after the blacksmiths closed for the day. With none to marry them, the fatigued couple remained inside the carriage while Darcy’s man, Simmons, went inside The Three Hammers on the northern side of the village to inquire about a room. A bit of extra coin and mentioning the Darcy name quickly persuaded the innkeeper and his wife to remove themselves to the loft for the evening. The tragedy of waiting another night for their wedding, a night that seemed longer than all of the rest, would at least pass with a bed to sleep in.
Across the border there was no need for pretense, as most of the couples intending to marry at the anvil took only one room and no one raised an eyebrow. The business of Gretna Green brought money flowing by providing accommodations for the young people seeking to escape the demands of relatives. A side business cropped up around such intrigue as, after a happy couple passed through, soon came their angry relatives looking for answers. Silver and gold could buy you both a swing of the hammer or a flap of the lips, depending on which side a patron fell on the disputed marriage match. In the case of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet there would be no angry relatives, thus their union would provide merely half the profit.
An unusually wet summer had delayed their progress north of Derbyshire, with the roads becoming nearly impassable just before they crossed over into Scotland. More than once Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth alighted from the carriage so the equipage could be pushed with the least amount of weight through the muck and mire. The first two times were quite exciting and broke up the monotony of their travel, but by the third and fourth time Elizabeth grew weary standing on the side of the road in a strange country, no longer wishing to comment on the sights; they looked much the same as the previous two delays.
In spite of the late hour of their arrival the staff of the inn provided hot water for their baths, and Elizabeth made faces at herself in the looking glass. As she brushed out her curls, having wished for some time alone even from her maid, she flipped her long tresses back, shocked with how quickly she was transforming into a Mrs. Darcy.
How could she dare complain about any of their travel experiences thus far? With her sister, Jane, Elizabeth had often taken the Mail Coach to London for visits to their aunt and uncle. Never had her travel accommodations been as luxurious as her trips with Mr. Darcy! Yes, the mud became a great inconvenience as she looked at her skirts drying by the fire, that Betsy had already washed and beaten to the best of her ability, but it was unlikely the light blue skirts would come clean again. A short burst of laughter escaped Elizabeth’s mouth and she covered it with her hand, as she realized she immediately regretted the loss of the gown. However, for the first time in her life she did not worry where the money would come for its replacement.
A knock on the door interrupted her inward musings, and Mr. Darcy entered. His own bath plastered his wet curls around his forehead like the ringlets of a babe and Elizabeth immediately rose from her chair to enjoy the new, forming intimacy between them.
“Did you strike your head on the shelf above the tub?” Elizabeth asked, standing on her tiptoes to search for a bump as Fitzwilliam instinctively touched the crown of his head.
“Yes! Confounded decoration. How did you know?”
Elizabeth giggled as she pressed an embrace around the man who would be her husband on the morrow. “Betsy warned me when I stood up and, as I’m a great deal shorter than you are, I wondered if Simmons would have the presence of mind to give you the same.”
Darcy scoffed. “He did not possess the same diligence in his duties. I shall have a stern talking to him!” Mr. Darcy said in a tone Elizabeth now understood to be his teasing one. To the unpracticed ear it sounded a great deal like his normal tone, with only the subtle difference of an abundance of seriousness he did not mean. Flashing a devilish smile after his bombastic complaints, a drop of his most practiced social manners he reserved only for the company of his closest friends and family, she curtailed any notion of taking the master of Pemberley, Carver, and Darcy Houses seriously.
Yawning, Elizabeth glided over to the bed as Fitzwilliam locked the door and inspected the fire. This far north the air chilled even in summer, and he stoked the coals before placing the poker back on the hook. He gave a valid pantomime of looking for a chair suitable for him to sleep in as Elizabeth sat up in the bed and clapped her hands in frustration.
“Oh, do not bother with such ridiculous behavior. Come to bed, Mr. Darcy. Your Elizabeth commands it.”
“My Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth sighed and rolled her head from side to side. “I cannot say your wife commands so until tomorrow.”
Mr. Darcy froze his progress. “I am so terribly sorry. We should have arrived here much earlier.”
“Ah, I see. You must command the heavens now as well.” Elizabeth thoughtfully placed a finger on her chin and tapped. “I did ever so wonder if the Almighty listened more carefully to the wants and wishes of a rich man over a poor one.”
Darcy frowned, and veritably launched himself into the bed over Elizabeth’s form to her shrieks and giggles before tucking under the blankets and pulling her into a snuggled enclosure.
“You, Madam, are blasphemous.”
Elizabeth pulled the coverlet up to her chin. “Oh dear, whatever shall be my penance?”
Darcy propped himself up on his elbow and leaned forward to kiss her lips, coaxing her lower one to relax and allow for a deeper exploration to pass between them. His free hand reached over and pressed her lower back against him, and Elizabeth moaned, a sound he had heard before and yet which always sent his blood coursing through his veins at a much heightened rate.
“Fitzwilliam…” Elizabeth whimpered, and silently began to cry. He reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her once more in a chaste manner but she pressed further, wanting more. “Please, these stirrings are ever so strong…”
Darcy knew what she wanted; he was certain he wanted it more than she. But they were so close to their aims; only one more night stood between them and a marriage with the most respectability he could offer to her.
“Shh, we’ve waited this long—”
“And it matters to whom?” she asked angrily.
Darcy closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. Only the creaks and groans of a night at a public house could be heard at this late hour. He licked his lips as he thought hard about what to say. Finally, he opened his eyes, pulled back, and cupped her face in his hands. He searched her eyes, to see the same desire and need he felt burning in his own soul.
“To us. And that’s who we answer to. Each other.”
Elizabeth frowned and closed her eyes. She tried to turn away from him, but his strong hands gently held her face towards his.
The seriousness of the moment cooled their ardor as Elizabeth finally opened her eyes and offered Fitzwilliam a small smile.
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
Darcy leaned over and lifted a brass snuffer to douse the candle with his long reach. He settled down in the familiar position that had calmed her nightmares for a number of months.
“Tomorrow.”
You’ve been reading The Trappings of Marriage
Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet are off to Gretna Green!
In Book 4 of the Moralities of Marriage series our dear couple have survived accidents, forced marriages, and meddling relatives. After a short stay at Pemberley where the future Mrs. Darcy comes to terms with the kind of wife Fitzwilliam Darcy will need on his arm, they take off for the border to marry over the anvil. When Mr. Darcy plans an idyllic wedding trip to his family estate just outside of Dumfries, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Darcy discover the trappings of marriage have yet to relinquish their hold.
The Trappings of Marriage delivers the highs of the Darcys’ love and devotion in spite of the lows of scandal and destruction they left behind in England. Join author Elizabeth Ann West and the thousands of readers who read this book as it was posted chapter by chapter for a unique visit into the world of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.
The Trappings of Marriage, Book 4 of the Moralities of Marriage
a Pride and Prejudice novel variation series
Release Date: August 26, 2017
394 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.