The plot thickens from Longbourn to London!!!!
XOXOXO Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 16 - The Blessing of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
The post arrived at Longbourn in Hertfordshire at the regularly appointed time into the hands of Mrs. Bennet. Kitty Bennet craned her neck as her mother rifled through the letters, searching furtively for another note from her eldest daughter, Jane. Unfortunately, it was not Kitty’s eldest sister that wrote to the family that day but her youngest, Lydia, who had been away in Brighton for some weeks with Colonel Forster and his wife.
“Oh, she writes! Lydia writes to her dear mama! She must have the best of news to share.”
Kitty sighed and turned away from her mother so that she might not see her impertinent scowl over the display of gross favoritism towards her younger sibling. “She’s not been gone yet a month, I should hope she has not fallen for the first officer to ask her to dance.”
“What a silly thing to say, Kitty. Of course, she should fall for the first man who offers her his hand. All of the officers are handsome and dashing, why should they not want my Lydia?” After this bit of matchmaking wisdom, Mrs. Bennet finally opened the letter and began to read.
As Kitty gazed out the window to watch one of the wagons heavy with greens roll into the main courtyard, her mother’s shrieks startled her into turning around.
“Oh, we are ruined! Utterly ruined thanks to that headstrong girl!”
“What has Lydia done?” Kitty held out for the letter to be handed to her but Mrs. Bennet continued to flap her arms with the missive pinched securely between her own fingers.
“No, not Lydia. That other sister of yours.” Mrs. Bennet snapped and Kitty knew immediately which daughter of Bennet her mother meant. It was the same sister no one mentioned after she was thrown out of the house the very evening the eldest Bennet sister married Mr. Bingley. And for Kitty, it was secretly her favorite sister, Elizabeth, who encouraged her artistic pursuits with no care for the cost.
Mrs. Bennet pulled out her handkerchief as she bounded up from the sofa to stomp her way to her husband’s study. Banging on the door with significant power, Mrs. Bennet continued to cry out for her husband by his name.
“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” She reached down to jiggle the handle but the door was locked from the inside, a habitual protection her husband employed against unwanted visitors to his sanctuary of reading.
The head of the household’s muffled voice acknowledged his wife’s urgent needs and before too long the door was unlocked and opened for her to enter.
“You appear distressed, my dear. Please, take a seat and whatever is in my power to correct, I shall.”
“Oh, but you-you cannot fix this! That girl has ruined all of her sisters! Our Lydia writes that our family is a laughingstock. In Brighton!” Mrs. Bennet began to cry as the initial shock of the intelligence wore off and despair over the ruined reputations settled in her mind.
Mr. Bennet frowned but refused to match his wife’s theatrics with his own reaction. Adjusting his spectacles as he accepted the letter from his wife, he read the lines very quickly and a hollow, empty feeling in his stomach attested his wife was correct. The exploits of his favorite daughter, Elizabeth, with Mr. Darcy had somehow reached the Forsters. As his wife carried on and on about the deficiency of character in Elizabeth, even imagined deficiencies, that lead to this single moment in time, Mr. Bennet reread the letter. Mrs. Bennet became quite emphatic that she had warned and warned her husband for many years about curtailing Elizabeth’s behavior.
Mr. Bennet shook his head at his wife’s accusations and finally reached the point of the letter where the logical part of his mind felt satisfied. Lydia included a line where Colonel Forster was in line for promotion to the Regulars but that promotion was somehow affected by the marriage of a Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Recalling his Brother Gardiner’s letter of Elizabeth going to Kent under the protection of Mr. Darcy and his cousin, a Colonel, the seemingly unrelated portions of the kingdom suddenly were indeed quite small and connected.
“Well? Whatever shall we do? Lydia is being packed for home as we speak and shall return as a disgrace!”
“Lydia’s young, in a few years this trouble shall blow over and the girls will be as they ever were, glistening jewels of the countryside. You wished for me to send my Lizzie from our home and I consented. I warned you there might be consequences of cutting off our daughter, of turning her loose to the capriciousness of the world, but you would have none of it.”
Mrs. Bennet began to cry anew as her husband shifted the blame to her folly and plan. But he continued: “The only remedy for our situation is to remain as we are, cut off from our second eldest daughter as she lives her life publicly documented in sordid detail by the papers and put on a brave face.”
Mrs. Bennet’s jaw flapped unattractively as her husband’s plan to make no changes did not satisfy her concerns “But, Mr. Bennet, the gossip —“
“The gossip will die down eventually. Quicker if you and your daughters put on your prettiest frocks, attend the social events where you are invited, and hold your chins high.”
Never one to miss an opportunity for new gowns, Fanny Bennet pounced on her husband’s vulnerability. “Prettiest frocks you say?” She sniffed.
“Yes, madam, and before you needle me further, take yourself and my purse to Meryton. Have new dresses made for Mary and Kitty . . . and Lydia might perhaps have one when she is returned home.”
Nodding her head, finally in acceptance of her husband’s plan to weather the storm, Mrs. Bennet began to enumerate the assemblies and dinners they might all attend. Mr. Bennet coughed and interrupted her.
“Do not fill my calendar with social gatherings, I shall only attend what I normally do.”
“But, Mr. Bennet, that is only two dinners per month and no assemblies!”
“Indeed, my dear. I shall wear my bravest face, here, in my study, as my contribution.”
Scowling at her husband’s hard-headedness, Mrs. Bennet dropped the subject so as not to jeopardize the increase in pin money. Finding an excuse to tell Kitty and Mary of their plans to shop in town, Mr. Bennet happily waved his wife off so that he might return to his reading. But once the door shut, Mr. Bennet curled his hand into a fist and bit down on it to keep his emotions at bay. He had worried that Mr. Darcy had taken his daughter on as a companion, not a wife, and his greatest fears were true. His Lizzie was forever lost to him.
Chapter 17 - The Blessing of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
By early evening, Syon House in the heart of London loomed as imposing as its formidable owner. A decorated hero of the war with the American rabble, the Duke of Northumberland had a quiet power about him that influencing any gambling den or smoking room he patronized. For an aristocrat, the former general was a hard man, but a fair one. Acquainted with His Grace more through his cousin, Richard, than his uncle’s disastrous business tactics, the younger property owner felt little trepidation as the staff of Syon House escorted Darcy to the duke’s personal study.
Feeling at ease in the marbled hallways, Darcy fleetingly wondered how Elizabeth would react the interior design of Syon House as the internal dressings were much on par with his late mother’s tastes for Pemberley. His forward reflections were stalled as two thick, hand-carved oaken doors were opened and Darcy strolled in at his announced name. Well-mannered, Darcy politely stood in the center of the room until the duke addressed him first.
“Thank you, Monty.” The Duke dismissed his loyal servant who bowed and closed the doors with a shuddering thud.
Silence punctuated the air in a test of wills, but Darcy’s patience won out. He waited and waited, with the stoic posture impressed upon him from his mother’s tutelage, knowing fully the Duke was sizing him up. The mettle makes the man and Fitzwilliam refused to show any signs of anxiety or anticipation for the Duke’s inspection, just in case any negotiations moved beyond his comfort.
“I must say, it is not every day a nephew of your bloodlines writes to me with a request for an audience.”
Darcy waited. His Grace had not asked him a question. To volunteer information at this juncture would be a disadvantage. Darcy offered the greater man a pert nod to acknowledge he heard the observation.
Sighing, the Duke of Northumberland placed the glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand on the small consort table and rose from his chair. He approached Fitzwilliam but stopped before coming close enough for any sort of formal greeting.
“My men have looked into your affairs and I fail to see any area where you are floundering. The shades of Pemberley appear to be evergreen as they say, and my intelligence says that you are not mixed up in any of this bad business in Derby. So I must confess I am rather intrigued, Mr. Darcy, as to how I might assist you this evening.”
Now it was time for Darcy to speak. “I’m afraid I am here to share rather sensitive information, my Duke, about the son of the Earl of Derby, Lord Strange.”
“The mining hoax? I am well aware there is no silver to be had in the hills of Derby. If you’ve come to warn me off such a silly investment, you had no need.” Hugh Percy, the second Duke of Northumberland shook his head and began to walk away. His shoulders hunched as the man of three score and ten felt his age most acutely by evening, though began his days spry and energized.
“I should not think I need to warn a man of your strategic experience, I come to you because my sister’s husband, George Wickham, is entangled most desperately with Strange and his men.”
“I suspect many families are going to find themselves entangled in this nasty business before autumn.” The Duke lowered himself with a slight carefulness back into his chair.
Darcy nodded. “Indeed, with the markets being as volatile as they are, I suspect many families will be looking for their payoffs if their harvests come up short. But my sister’s husband is not a stupid man, my father educated him at Cambridge. Since I cut him off some years ago, he has been forced to live his life rather on the power of his wits. I should like nothing better than to see Lord Strange found responsible for his plot. Because if he is not, it is almost assuredly likely it will be my family’s name caught with the bag or worse. I’ve heard there’s gossip the Prince Regent himself has invested in the scheme.”
The Duke of Northumberland snorted at Darcy’s bold accusation, but he overplayed his hand. It was no rumor that the Prince Regent had invested in the silver mining schemes, it was a fact. Darcy only learned of the royal involvement by accident as he was following the trail of money Wickham had left behind when he arranged the terms of Elizabeth’s marriage settlements. His solicitor Ovi had not meant to show Fitzwilliam figures from other accounts, but Fitzwilliam hadn’t given him much of a choice when he had stormed into his office, desperate for the papers to allow them to abscond to Scotland.
“And so you are offering what? That I should believe in your ability to gather evidence against Lord Strange, but I turn it over to the Crown and take credit for implicating a peer in what might become the largest financial scandal the Court has ever seen?”
The balls of Darcy’s feet began to ache as the Duke sat comfortably in his seat, but did not invite Darcy to join him.
“I suppose that is one potential outcome, but not my aim this evening. I must leave town, it is unavoidable.”
The Duke raised his glass and took a sip. “The mistress’ belly be growing, aye? Whisking her way to the country to give birth to your first bastard?”
The sour taste of scorn filled Darcy’s mouth, but he swallowed it back. “Sorry to disappoint you, my Duke, but I am to become a married man just as soon as we cross the border. But in the meantime, my cousin, excuse me, my sister’s husband is running around like a desperate man. He’s cut off from my funds and I have no hesitation in believing that his next move will be to go after Lord Strange. I shall not be here to help guide his best efforts and I thought perhaps you should like the opportunity of dangling the mouse to capture the cat.”
The Duke of Northumberland licked his lips then squinted his right eye before pressing his mouth into a firm line. Darcy knew he intrigued the man, there were so many avenues this information could be used for the Duke’s own gain.
“I suppose you want me to forgive your uncle’s debts in exchange for this opportunity?”
Darcy shook his head and pulled papers from the inside of his coat pocket. “If Lord Strange is brought to justice and my sister’s husband finds a way to America or some other colony, I should like to offer you a thirty percent stake in the Darcy family holdings in India. I know your own plantations were seized in a rather unprecedented way,” Darcy trailed off and handed the paperwork to His Grace, lightly touching on the fact that he knew the plantation seizure was in retaliation for then Brigadier General Percy refusing to work under General Howe.
“They were not seized, I willingly turned them over to the –”
“Yes, my Duke. I know you willingly handed them over, but I also know a man with your shrewd business sense would not have done such a thing without great incentive to do so.”
Hugh Percy, the second man in a family line on the rise, perused the letters of the Darcy India holdings quickly and found nothing out of place. Not that he expected to find any oddities, he knew enough of Fitzwilliam Darcy to recognize the man lived among the steady sorts.
“I shall have to consider these holdings, but I should like a fifty percent stake.”
“I’m afraid thirty percent is all I can offer. Don’t forget the value of the pawn I’m handing over to your capable hands.”
The Duke tucked the paperwork into his own coat and finally poured Darcy a drink and motioned for him to sit down.
“About this pawn of mine, what sort of a man is he? What are his vices that I may use to keep them in line?”
Darcy took a seat with a small tug at the knee of his trousers to prevent creasing. He accepted his drink and took a sip of a very fine scotch. “You name the vice, George holds it. He’s a particularly dedicated gambler though he rarely wins. A large windfall to allow a significant loss and some heavy-handed guidance should place him on the correct path.”
“And women?”
“He is more of a Lothario, his current mark is one Mrs. Younge. She aided him in his scheme to force marriage to my sister and I believe aids him now.”
“Ah, the love match between the steward’s son and pearl of Derbyshire. Between that, your dalliances and your other relations’ debts, I’m not certain I should embroil myself deeper with the Fitzwilliam and Darcy bloodlines.” The Duke allowed his mulling to hang in the air and said nothing more, putting Fitzwilliam on the spot to offer some argument.
“It is true that my family could not possess more scandal than if it had set out for that very aim, but I can say that some of what my family wrestles with is the ghosts of scandals from long ago. I should not be the one to say, but George Wickham is the natural son of Sir Lewis de Bourgh and —”
“Hold your tongue, the name need not be spoken. Not in this home.” The Duke’s rising blood pressure began to turn his skin a deep shade of scarlet.
Darcy finished his drink and placed his glass back on the table. “Forgive me, I knew you were very kind to your wife’s sister in her later years. I thought perhaps you’d see to it her son avoided the gallows.”
Darcy stood and bowed to the Duke of Northumberland as the man pulled a bell cord strategically hanging from the corner. The heavy doors of the study opened as if by magic and Darcy dismissed himself. Famous for his temper, once the Duke’s ire was raised, it was always best to retreat and hope one’s efforts landed at their true target.
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 18 - The Blessing of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
The Earl of Matlock cursed his luck as yet another flop house failed to produce his wayward eldest son. Feeling affronted by the madame’s brash language, asking him if he’d need a poke, Henry Fitzwilliam considered his choices. A young guttersnipe ran past him with a letter in his hands and the Earl reached out to grab the boy by the scruff of his neck.
“Let off! Let off!”
“A word, if you don’t mind?”
Henry released the boy who rolled his shoulders to remove any traces of bunching to his scraggly shirt.
“I’m looking for a man, who looks like me, but younger in the face. Blue eyes, fancy dress.”
“I ain’t seen no one.”
“I can make it worth your while. I need to find James Fitzwilliam, he would be holed up in one of these houses, perhaps with friends.”
The young boy slanted his eyes at the fancy man demanding information. “How much you pay?”
The Earl motioned to his man standing near the carriage who produced two shiny shillings and the boy licked his lips. As the Fitzwilliam servant handed the coins to the boy, he pointed with his grubby hands across the way.
“There are some Oxford boys, they call them, over there in that house. Been there all week, Miss Sally making a fortune. Only fancy men I sees.”
The Earl nodded as the boy darted off to complete his original mission. Sniffing his handkerchief doused in lavender water, the street had not been mucked in some time and crossing the mire did not appeal to the earl’s finer senses.
“Go see to it! If he’s there, signal.” The earl commanded his servant to cross the street. The man complied, avoiding the hustle and bustle of the new morning’s business beginning to crowd the thoroughfare. The patriarch of the Fitzwilliam family entered his carriage to further remove himself from the early spring sun beginning to bake the day’s dirts. He watched for a signal from the window.
Minutes ticked by as the carriage began to warm as well. The Earl of Matlock wiped the sweat pooling at the nape of his neck as a clear whistle and frantic waving of his man’s arm. On command, the carriage began to wheel away to round the block, arriving in a few minutes just before the flop house pointed out by the street urchin.
The carriage rocked and swayed as two burly footmen left their perches upon the roof and the box on the back of the equipage was opened. Pulling a pinch of snuff from a jeweled box from his pocket, the great man waited. Finally, his own door was opened and the Earl of Matlock steeled himself for the pounce.
The first servant held the dilapidated excuse for a door and stench instantly assailed the senses of all who entered. An involuntary gag at the back of his throat caused Henry Fitzwilliam to take pause, as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the murky den of sin.
“There, sir. On the divan.”
Henry Fitzwilliam looked beyond his servant’s pointed hand to a pile of human beings in various states of undress. On the bottom of the pile appeared to be his heir and eldest son, the illustrious Viscount Brahmington, sprawled across the sagging daybed in a deep state of snoring.
“Get the lout up by any means necessary,” Henry Fitzwilliam ordered through clenched teeth to avoid breathing in any of the foulness.
The two burly footmen pushed past their master to begin moving the two whores to a swelling cacophony of screeching and whines. Still, his pampered elegance slumbered, oblivious to all.
The earl gave a nod to his footman Frank who picked up the rotting piece of furniture and unceremoniously dumped the future of the Fitzwilliam line in a swift clatter to the floor. Startled awake, James Fitzwilliam groggily flailed his arms at a quarter speed of a healthy man.
“Do you know what I have been through to find you? And this is the life you choose apart from the luxury your mother and I can provide you?”
The younger Fitzwilliam began to laugh in a maniacal manner.
“You laugh as you sit, soiled and filthy.”
“We all sit soiled and in filth. I merely choose my poison and portion.”
The women of ill-repute began to argue more, demanding payment for their services. The earl gave another nod and a servant began to pay them off as the two footmen lifted and dragged the feeble heir to the Fitzwilliam fortune. Fortune, that is, if someone in the family made an advantageous marriage.
You’ve been reading The Blessing of Marriage
Book 3 of the Moralities of Marriage. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet find nothing but a mess in London after they escape Kent. The town home bare and the Wickhams caught up in Lord Strange’s illegal business venture, Darcy has little choice but to make unsavory friends as Elizabeth heals from her cousin’s attack. With the support of the Bingleys, Darcy and Elizabeth are finally ready to secure their future at the anvil in Gretna Green when Elizabeth has one small request.
A novel of 55,000 words, The Blessing of Marriage continues the rewriting of Jane Austen’s amazing story of Pride and Prejudice, wondering what might have happened if Darcy never saved Georgiana from the clutches of Mr. Wickham.
The Blessing of Marriage, Book 3 of the Moralities of Marriage
a Pride and Prejudice novel variation series
Release Date: March 14, 2016
310 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.