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 10 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
MR. DARCY STOICALLY stood at the window in his study. Staring out at the full moon above illuminating the lands of Broadmeadow, a tightness in his chest gave the great man pause. He disliked awaiting word from his trusted staff as to Miss Elizabeth’s condition.
The few hours’ drive from the Grey Sheep inn to his estate were uneventful. So much so, both he and Peter could never fully rouse Elizabeth as they helped her into the carriage nor during the ride. A click of the door behind him sent tension to his shoulders, but Darcy did not turn around. Instead his eyes flicked to the reflection of his housekeeper, Mrs. Aldridge, allowing herself entrance into his study.
“This be a very different kettle of fish, sir. She is resting, but for the life of me, I cannot be sure what you were thinking in bringing her here without proper escort.” Mrs. Aldridge remained respectful in her tone, but the content of her words nipped at Darcy’s soul.
“This was not my best-laid plan. I could not leave her behind at the inn and there was no room.” Darcy turned around as Mrs. Aldridge raised an eyebrow. “With the poor weather we’ve been having, the state of the roads is an utter disaster.” Needing employment, he walked to his sideboard. “More than just the post carriage has been stranded from the poor road conditions.” Darcy’s hand shook as he reached to pour himself a drink, making him think better of the idea.
“Let me have a maid bring you a tea tray, sir. You must have much to do this evening with your plans not going as you expected.” At nearly threescore in age, Miriam Aldridge remembered Broadmeadow as a child being under the care of the Elliots. Housekeeper under Mr. Darcy’s father, she had watched the current master grow from a young lad into the great man he was today.
But she had never seen the master so rattled. Her correspondence from Mrs. Martin in London had prepared her for his poor condition since his annual spring visit to Rosings. The staff of the Darcy family was above reproach where it came to gossip, but the three housekeepers maintained regular correspondence so as to best serve the family. And with no parents to guide either Mr. Darcy or the young Miss Darcy, the three elderly women in Mr. Darcy’s employ justified their informative missives as a means to spare their young master and mistress from further suffering.
“Thank you, a tray would be most appreciated.” Darcy ruffled his hands through his hair and stalked to his desk, circling the imposing piece of furniture as if it was a beast of some sort. Resigning himself to the unwelcome task of letter writing, he first decided to pen a letter to his solicitor. With Miss Elizabeth above stairs residing in his home, there were certain matters that needed attention though Darcy almost dared not to hope. He had never intended to win Miss Elizabeth’s hand through compromise, but the particulars of their situation dictated he at least be prepared for all outcomes, even if Miss Elizabeth was reluctant to do so.
Next, Darcy hesitated to begin his second letter. He vacillated between giving into his anger and writing Richard about searching for Wickham in London or writing a rather uncomfortable letter to Elizabeth’s father, Mr. Bennet. During Elizabeth’s slumber, Darcy had managed to interview the young servant, Peter, who he asked to ride inside the carriage as a poor substitute for chaperone. At first, Peter had served his master well and refused to give any information. But as Darcy pointed out the grave condition of Miss Elizabeth, eventually the young footman spilled as much as he knew, which was not very much at all, but more than enough for Mr. Darcy’s purposes.
Realizing he had not a single clear idea on what to write Mr. Bennet, he scowled and wrote instead to his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam, a colonel in His Majesty’s Army. It was unfortunate to place such a burden on Richard’s shoulders when he had just taken a period of leave for their trip to Kent. But Darcy could not avoid it. At the very least, it would be a number of days before he could reach London with Miss Elizabeth, but a rider might reach there within half that time.
Darcy outlined a description of Lydia Bennet from his best recollection and recommended that Richard check with the former companion they had appointed to his sister, Georgiana, for her Ramsgate trip. Mrs. Younge was unlikely to welcome a visit by either Richard or Darcy, as she had aided Wickham in nearly absconding with Darcy’s sister just last summer. But he suspected a few coins might loosen her tongue. For good measure, Darcy included a letter of drafting privileges on his personal account with the bank for Richard’s use.
The study door opened once more and Mrs. Aldridge carried in his tray. Darcy moved a number of letters and correspondence from the corner of his desk so that the older servant need not walk very far to unload her burden.
“The Cook added a basket of your favorite shortbread, sir.” Mrs. Aldridge lifted a pot of jam as well without mentioning it as it was one of the few peculiarities of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Since he was a boy he had always enjoyed a touch of strawberry jam on his shortbread, but it was not a treat he would allow himself in civilized company.
Darcy leaned back in his chair and cracked the bones down his spine with a wince. Looking at the pages of parchment in front of him scribbled most thoroughly with his own words, he had not realized how much work he had done in the half hour it had taken for his tea to arrive. “I wonder if I might trouble you, Mrs. Aldridge, for a very difficult letter I must write.” Darcy helped himself to some tea and a smear of jam on a shortbread biscuit.
Mrs. Aldridge wrung her hands on her apron and responded that she would help her master any way that he needed.
“How would you address a letter to a man to explain you have not kidnapped his daughter, but hold her in your house, and that you plan to marry her, if she would be so willing as to accept your addresses?” Darcy laughed, in spite of himself, to enumerate the ridiculousness of his situation with Miss Elizabeth.
Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes widened in a perfect impersonation of an owl. “The miss? You mean to say, you are to be married?” Mrs. Aldridge clapped her hands and cheered at the master’s good fortune. But Darcy held up one hand to temper her glee.
“Do not become too hasty, you should know there is a history between Miss Bennet and I. I asked for her hand in marriage when I visited my aunt in Kent and to my greatest chagrin, the woman refused me. She held good reason–”
“I cannot rightly believe that, sir.” Mrs. Aldridge bristled at the idea of a young lady having cause to reject her master, not even realizing she had interrupted him.
“Indeed, I can assure you she did. But I have made great pains to change in the few short weeks since our interview but I’m afraid now actions beyond either of our control have likely pushed Miss Elizabeth into the unwelcome eventuality of becoming my bride.” A sour taste of bile burned the back of Darcy’s throat as he considered a future of wedding Miss Elizabeth, a woman he loved and admired above all others, yet she would never return his affections in kind.
Mrs. Aldridge frowned and opened her mouth a number of times before she finally spoke. “I cannot pretend to understand the whims of the lady who might turn down a perfectly good proposal, but I can say there is one thing all lasses share.”
“And what is this commonality?”
Mrs. Aldridge offered Mr. Darcy a toothy grin. “Never be a bonny Lass that don’t enjoy a Lad’s proper attentions and compliments. If the lady has refused you, for cause as you have said, then there can be no obstacle if you have changed. You shall just have to show her.”
MR. DARCY STOICALLY stood at the window in his study. Staring out at the full moon above illuminating the lands of Broadmeadow, a tightness in his chest gave the great man pause. He disliked awaiting word from his trusted staff as to Miss Elizabeth’s condition.
The few hours’ drive from the Grey Sheep inn to his estate were uneventful. So much so, both he and Peter could never fully rouse Elizabeth as they helped her into the carriage nor during the ride. A click of the door behind him sent tension to his shoulders, but Darcy did not turn around. Instead his eyes flicked to the reflection of his housekeeper, Mrs. Aldridge, allowing herself entrance into his study.
“This be a very different kettle of fish, sir. She is resting, but for the life of me, I cannot be sure what you were thinking in bringing her here without proper escort.” Mrs. Aldridge remained respectful in her tone, but the content of her words nipped at Darcy’s soul.
“This was not my best-laid plan. I could not leave her behind at the inn and there was no room.” Darcy turned around as Mrs. Aldridge raised an eyebrow. “With the poor weather we’ve been having, the state of the roads is an utter disaster.” Needing employment, he walked to his sideboard. “More than just the post carriage has been stranded from the poor road conditions.” Darcy’s hand shook as he reached to pour himself a drink, making him think better of the idea.
“Let me have a maid bring you a tea tray, sir. You must have much to do this evening with your plans not going as you expected.” At nearly threescore in age, Miriam Aldridge remembered Broadmeadow as a child being under the care of the Elliots. Housekeeper under Mr. Darcy’s father, she had watched the current master grow from a young lad into the great man he was today.
But she had never seen the master so rattled. Her correspondence from Mrs. Martin in London had prepared her for his poor condition since his annual spring visit to Rosings. The staff of the Darcy family was above reproach where it came to gossip, but the three housekeepers maintained regular correspondence so as to best serve the family. And with no parents to guide either Mr. Darcy or the young Miss Darcy, the three elderly women in Mr. Darcy’s employ justified their informative missives as a means to spare their young master and mistress from further suffering.
“Thank you, a tray would be most appreciated.” Darcy ruffled his hands through his hair and stalked to his desk, circling the imposing piece of furniture as if it was a beast of some sort. Resigning himself to the unwelcome task of letter writing, he first decided to pen a letter to his solicitor. With Miss Elizabeth above stairs residing in his home, there were certain matters that needed attention though Darcy almost dared not to hope. He had never intended to win Miss Elizabeth’s hand through compromise, but the particulars of their situation dictated he at least be prepared for all outcomes, even if Miss Elizabeth was reluctant to do so.
Next, Darcy hesitated to begin his second letter. He vacillated between giving into his anger and writing Richard about searching for Wickham in London or writing a rather uncomfortable letter to Elizabeth’s father, Mr. Bennet. During Elizabeth’s slumber, Darcy had managed to interview the young servant, Peter, who he asked to ride inside the carriage as a poor substitute for chaperone. At first, Peter had served his master well and refused to give any information. But as Darcy pointed out the grave condition of Miss Elizabeth, eventually the young footman spilled as much as he knew, which was not very much at all, but more than enough for Mr. Darcy’s purposes.
Realizing he had not a single clear idea on what to write Mr. Bennet, he scowled and wrote instead to his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam, a colonel in His Majesty’s Army. It was unfortunate to place such a burden on Richard’s shoulders when he had just taken a period of leave for their trip to Kent. But Darcy could not avoid it. At the very least, it would be a number of days before he could reach London with Miss Elizabeth, but a rider might reach there within half that time.
Darcy outlined a description of Lydia Bennet from his best recollection and recommended that Richard check with the former companion they had appointed to his sister, Georgiana, for her Ramsgate trip. Mrs. Younge was unlikely to welcome a visit by either Richard or Darcy, as she had aided Wickham in nearly absconding with Darcy’s sister just last summer. But he suspected a few coins might loosen her tongue. For good measure, Darcy included a letter of drafting privileges on his personal account with the bank for Richard’s use.
The study door opened once more and Mrs. Aldridge carried in his tray. Darcy moved a number of letters and correspondence from the corner of his desk so that the older servant need not walk very far to unload her burden.
“The Cook added a basket of your favorite shortbread, sir.” Mrs. Aldridge lifted a pot of jam as well without mentioning it as it was one of the few peculiarities of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Since he was a boy he had always enjoyed a touch of strawberry jam on his shortbread, but it was not a treat he would allow himself in civilized company.
Darcy leaned back in his chair and cracked the bones down his spine with a wince. Looking at the pages of parchment in front of him scribbled most thoroughly with his own words, he had not realized how much work he had done in the half hour it had taken for his tea to arrive. “I wonder if I might trouble you, Mrs. Aldridge, for a very difficult letter I must write.” Darcy helped himself to some tea and a smear of jam on a shortbread biscuit.
Mrs. Aldridge wrung her hands on her apron and responded that she would help her master any way that he needed.
“How would you address a letter to a man to explain you have not kidnapped his daughter, but hold her in your house, and that you plan to marry her, if she would be so willing as to accept your addresses?” Darcy laughed, in spite of himself, to enumerate the ridiculousness of his situation with Miss Elizabeth.
Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes widened in a perfect impersonation of an owl. “The miss? You mean to say, you are to be married?” Mrs. Aldridge clapped her hands and cheered at the master’s good fortune. But Darcy held up one hand to temper her glee.
“Do not become too hasty, you should know there is a history between Miss Bennet and I. I asked for her hand in marriage when I visited my aunt in Kent and to my greatest chagrin, the woman refused me. She held good reason–”
“I cannot rightly believe that, sir.” Mrs. Aldridge bristled at the idea of a young lady having cause to reject her master, not even realizing she had interrupted him.
“Indeed, I can assure you she did. But I have made great pains to change in the few short weeks since our interview but I’m afraid now actions beyond either of our control have likely pushed Miss Elizabeth into the unwelcome eventuality of becoming my bride.” A sour taste of bile burned the back of Darcy’s throat as he considered a future of wedding Miss Elizabeth, a woman he loved and admired above all others, yet she would never return his affections in kind.
Mrs. Aldridge frowned and opened her mouth a number of times before she finally spoke. “I cannot pretend to understand the whims of the lady who might turn down a perfectly good proposal, but I can say there is one thing all lasses share.”
“And what is this commonality?”
Mrs. Aldridge offered Mr. Darcy a toothy grin. “Never be a bonny Lass that don’t enjoy a Lad’s proper attentions and compliments. If the lady has refused you, for cause as you have said, then there can be no obstacle if you have changed. You shall just have to show her.”
Chapter 11 - The Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
A MONSTROUS HEADACHE greeted Elizabeth Bennet as she opened her eyes and silently cursed the pain ripping through her head. Blinking, she began to panic as she did not recognize any of the furnishings around her, nor could she recollect even what day had dawned. She flung the covers off of her body and swung her legs over the side to escape the bed, but her wobbly knees betrayed her. Losing her balance, Elizabeth found herself on all fours to break her fall and a strange voice calling to her through her mental fog.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet! Oh please tell me you have not injured yourself.” Elizabeth looked up into the worried face of an unfamiliar maid.
“Where am I?” Elizabeth asked hoarsely, scarcely above a whisper.
“You are at Broadmeadow, ma’am. Just south of Langholm.”
“Broadmeadow?” Elizabeth rocked herself back to kneeling and grabbed the bottom rail of the bed to steady herself as merely sitting upright invoked too much dizziness for her tastes. “I am not familiar with a Broadmeadow. Where is Broadmeadow?”
“In Scotland, ma’am. The master, he brought you and your servant last night but we could not rouse you. We were instructed to allow you to rest.” The maid offered her hands to help Elizabeth up and back into the bed, but Elizabeth was not compliant. She accepted the maid’s assistance to stand, then willed her legs to move forward to take in the grand room that comprised her accommodations. Elizabeth’s heart rate continued to climb as she wracked her brain for some memory of how she came to be at this foreign estate and could find none.
“What is the name of the servant who came with me?” Elizabeth hoped her question did not appear too silly, but she could not bring herself to outright ask who owned Broadmeadow estate. Perhaps if she had some small piece of information, her memory would oblige her with an indication of what had happened.
“Why, Peter, Miss. He rode with you and Mr. Darcy in the carriage from the tavern in Canonbie.” If the maid began to find her charge’s behavior quite odd, she did not say so. Still, the young woman jittered and held her hands out as Elizabeth began to trust her own strength to move about.
“Mr. Darcy! Of course, of course, how could I have lost my bearings?” Elizabeth laughed hollowly as inwardly she felt enormous dread over the identity of who had saved her from whatever calamity robbed her of her memories.
Gingerly, Elizabeth walked without assistance to the chair by the fire. She wrapped her robe around her, thankful that the cloth was at least one source of familiarity as she continued to will herself to remember more about her current situation. Finding herself beyond distraction, as the name Peter only reminded her of a servant in her aunt and uncle’s household, Elizabeth tried to remember as far back as she could and suddenly the journey to Gretna Green with her Aunt Gardiner flooded her mind. She recalled searching inn after inn for signs of her sister Lydia, to no avail, but the leap to being a guest in Mr. Darcy’s Scottish estate proved elusive. Meanwhile, the cheery maid chattered on and on about Mr. Darcy this and Mr. Darcy that and Elizabeth began to at least hear the details of how she came to arrive at Broadmeadow, even though she could not retrieve the information as to why.
“Forgive me, I was very tired last evening from my travels, but what was your name again?”
“My name is Fiona, Fiona Grace, if it pleases you, ma’am” The maid dipped into a perfunctory curtsy.
“Fiona. I believe I like that very much.” Elizabeth offered the maid a genuine smile as she represented her only ally in the mess of confusion. Shouts from outside her window attracted Elizabeth’s notice and she rose from her chair to walk over to gaze out the pane of glass. Gently, she tucked the curtain aside so as to remove obstruction from her view and became rewarded with the most intriguing sight.
Down below, a group of men in laborers’ clothing, chopped wood with great expediency. But one man caught her eye. He dressed not in the plain cotton threads of his fellows, but in a lawn shirt and breeches. Wearing no cravat or top hat or any other gentlemen’s trappings, Fitzwilliam Darcy laughed and cajoled with the groundsmen as he lifted his own axe and swung it down to split a stump most decidedly in half. Elizabeth gasped to spy the ever proper Mr. Darcy not only in a casual setting and attire, but found herself mesmerized by the alluring display of manhood so deliciously staged just below her rooms.
The maid Fiona came over to her lady’s side and looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder at the vista below.
“Does Mr. Darcy so very often chop his own wood?” Elizabeth tried to ask the question without conveying any censure of the gentleman’s behavior. She truly felt amused and intrigued by such a different side to the man she had met in Hertfordshire and again in Kent.
“Oh no, Miss. But whenever he comes to Broadmeadow to see to the estate, I hear the lads say he is never averse to rolling up his own sleeves. I believe he chops wood with Young Hamish MacGuffin down there for the enjoyment.”
Elizabeth followed the maid’s finger as she pointed to the younger servant who cleared the wood from Mr. Darcy’s chopped pile and carried it over to the main wagon they were loading. A large bandage could be seen just below the groundsman’s hairline and Elizabeth gasped.
“But he is injured!” she exclaimed as Fiona chuckled.
“Aye, an injury he deserves, too, if you don’t mind me saying, Miss.” Fiona backed away from the window and though reluctant, Elizabeth did the same. But not before spying a footman deliver a note on a silver tray to Mr. Darcy, thus delaying any further displays of masculine strength for the moment.
“However did he hurt himself?” Elizabeth wondered aloud as Fiona poured fresh water into the basin so that Elizabeth might clean her face and hands before dressing.
“He and young Robin nicked a bushel of apples to aggravate the Cook. But Mrs. Nolan would have none of it and her broom caught his legs as he turned around and fell backwards. The stone steps broke his fall, but he won’t be playing any pranks on Mrs. Nolan for a good spell, I reckon.”
Elizabeth laughed at the very idea of two young woodcutters trying to steal a bunch of apples from the kitchens and getting caught.
“Will he face punishment for his behavior?”
“Not likely, as even the Cook had a good laugh and felt the boy had punishment enough with the knock to the head.”
Fiona’s words reminded Elizabeth of another piece of information from the last few days and tentatively her hands lifted to just behind her left ear where she could feel the bump and abrasion. She suddenly remembered now that she had hurt her own head but still, she could not recall how. Thankfully, Fiona watched her miss and clucked her tongue in sympathy.
“Carriage accidents be a nasty business, ma’am. But don’t worry, I shall do your hair in such a way to loop some curls and hide the mark.”
Elizabeth mumbled her thanks as Fiona left to pull a gown for her lady.
Elizabeth wanted to return to the window and watch Mr. Darcy some more, but she dared not. She had been in a carriage accident and Mr. Darcy had rescued her. She would have to forgive the man any of his other trespasses. Especially now that Lydia was lost to the dastardly Wickham.
Feeling so utterly overwhelmed by the enormity of her ordeal, Elizabeth’s spirits could not even rise when Fiona managed to select her favorite gown from her trunk. Dutifully, Elizabeth donned the red spotted frock and allowed the maid to do her hair so that she might go below stairs and address her many shortcomings directly with the gentleman woodcutter himself.
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 Whisky Wedding, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
THE GRAND DINING hall at Broadmeadow existed primarily to accommodate an enormous hunting party in days past. The walls boasted intricate wood carvings of forest animals and nymphs. A pleasing pale green ceiling arched overhead with a dozen chandeliers hanging from heavy chains. Large windows along the far wall allowed a surfeit of sunlight to pour into the room. As Mr. Darcy rarely entertained the local gentry in sport, the expansive room offered a loud echo and still carried a much more masculine decor than the dining rooms Elizabeth had enjoyed in London and Hertfordshire. A luncheon of mince pies and various breads baked on-site had made Elizabeth’s mouth drool as her mind could not easily recall her last few meals but her body certainly felt the lack thereof.
“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth, for not calling Dr. Rowley. I believe your condition far worse than perhaps you understood.” Mr. Darcy apologized to Elizabeth with his normal splash of unintentional offense. “But I shall send for him now if you’d like?”
“I feel very well indeed, sir. I believe I just needed to rest.” Elizabeth’s cheeks tinged pink at the embarrassment of discussing the particulars of her health, but she tried to smile at the man nonetheless.
Darcy dropped his fork and considered the woman next to him intently. “How can you state you only needed rest? Your uncle’s servant and I were both gravely concerned you did not awaken fully after falling asleep at the inn. Please say you will inform me if your condition worsens so that I might send for care?”
Elizabeth became lost at the intensely smoldering gaze Mr. Darcy offered her as her body temperature rose in response to the man’s attentions. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her lips to speak civilly as a flood of regret and shame washed over her nerves in a familiar storm of emotion. When he finally broke his gaze, Elizabeth helped herself to a sip of wine and continued to eat her meal, hoping a display of a healthy appetite would make some inroads at reassuring Mr. Darcy’s concern.
“I am not certain you should travel so soon after your injury, but I did promise my carriage’s use to return you to your aunt.”
Elizabeth nodded and smiled. “Your hospitality has been beyond any kindness I have ever received, sir. I was the fool for ever thinking that traveling beyond Gretna Green on my own stood as a sound plan. Very lucky I did not perish in that carriage accident.” As Elizabeth said the words, she began to involuntarily tremble. Flashbacks of the jumbled carriage interior and the image of a dead boy in the grass played in a nonsequential manner in her mind. She became frightened by the incomplete information. Who was the boy?
“Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy’s hand reached out gently to touch her elbow as the man struggled with what comfort he might provide a woman clearly in distress in his presence. For her part, a single tear slid down Elizabeth’s cheek. As she wiped it away, he released her.
“I am so terribly sorry. When I read your letter . . . the treachery you endured at that man’s hands, I could not believe my own vanity had carried me so far.” Elizabeth drew a deep breath and released it before drawing another. After three such breaths, she began to feel restored once more and inwardly cursed her female sensibilities that suffered her such a topsy-turvy ride of emotions. “You have been so kind. So very kind, always. And I am forever ruining it.”
Darcy stumbled for a moment as his ears heard a similar sentiment from her just the previous afternoon. ”I believe your vanity played less of a villain than my proud and selfish behavior. Last night, and again today, you have called me kind. It is a change that I hoped you might notice. But I was not kind in Hertfordshire nor in Kent.”
Elizabeth shrugged and wondered what all she had confessed yesterday. Had she called him kind?
“I lived in arrogance that I thought justified by my position and status in life. But you–” Darcy paused and looked up from his plate to treasure the view of Miss Elizabeth Bennet sitting with him alone at a dining room table. He willed the image to burn into his memory as a comfort he might have when he lost her again later that day in Gretna Green. “But you taught me, madam, that arrogance is still arrogance and can never be kind because the chief concern is one’s own comfort.”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip to try to keep her tears at bay. This man challenged her, cared for her, and would never suffer her a single day of diminished resources. Whatever they might have had was lost months ago when she rejected him and further when Lydia ran off with Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth’s mind took a position of Plato in reflecting about the negative ramifications of such regret. Had she accepted Mr. Darcy’s offer of marriage she might have dragged him down with her sister’s scandal. The small sacrifice she might make today to cut Mr. Darcy out of her life grieved her, but it was the only way she could think to repay the man’s generosity and good opinion.
“I do not relish leaving your lovely estate, but I should return to my aunt as soon as we might manage. How soon do you think the carriage might be readied?” Elizabeth could not answer to Mr. Darcy’s soliloquy on her good graces, but a change of subject might help them both.
“I anticipated your wishes and the carriage has been readied as we sat here to eat. If you should like to check your trunk before it is loaded–”
“No, that is not necessary. I believe your staff here to be of the highest caliber.” Elizabeth broadened her smile as Mr. Darcy’s eyes softened at her compliment.
“I’m happy to hear you say so. But yes, as soon as we are finished here, I have arranged for the maid, Fiona, to ride with us to Gretna Green if you have no objections.”
“None, and I thank you for preserving my reputation by riding with young Peter to Broadmeadow.” Finding her appetite fleeting at the settled plans for leaving Mr. Darcy’s company, Elizabeth looked down at her hands in her lap.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth looked up at Mr. Darcy with a paleness that betrayed her conflicting emotions. Darcy struggled with what he wanted to say next, and just as she was about to look away, he found some way to broach the subject that would likely be most uncomfortable for them both. “I just wish to say that even after we restore you to your aunt, you have my regards and blessing. I should very much like to be your friend.”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched in her throat. She began to hyperventilate that such sentiments could still be there after all that she had done to wrong him and her family’s fall. Mr. Darcy, for his part, misinterpreted her body language and began to offer excuses for his perceived blunder.
“Forgive me, madam, I did not mean to distress you further. Please forget my last statement, ’tis a boundary I should not have crossed.” Darcy motioned for the servants to clear the dishes and to allow them both to rise from their chairs.
All of the movement confused Elizabeth further as she silently stamped her slippered foot on the cold stone floor, frustrated that in addition to her loss of memory she felt herself unable to think so quickly as she had before. It was not until Mr. Darcy was practically leaving the room that she finally found her voice.
“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth also found her feet, but felt most unladylike as a steep dizziness and imbalance to her steps forced her to walk with her hip brushing against the chairs pushed in on the long side of the table. “You misunderstand my silence, sir. There are not many phrases a lady might use without giving herself away, I could never dare to hope for more than an acquaintance with you and your family given the monstrous tumble mine has taken.”
Mr. Darcy began to shake his head, but Elizabeth held her hand up so the man allowed her to speak further. “It would grieve me, sir, to take advantage of your gentleman-like behavior knowing that nothing but scorn and scandal face the friends and family of the Bennets. My sister Lydia is lost and there’s nothing I might do, or you might do, to change that. So I accept your offer of friendship as the greatest gift that I cannot possess in good conscience.” Elizabeth bowed her head and curtsied at the man, hoping he understood she was not trying to spurn his advances, but spare him the disastrous future she knew faced her as soon as she crossed the border once more into their homeland.
“As you wish, madam” Darcy’s mask that he wore in many social situations descended and he and Elizabeth exited the dining room to begin their journey to Gretna Green.
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.