So I have a new cool thing. As I am setting up my permanent writing systems, I remembered a long time request: Patreon. Since I also have struggled with posting WIP chapters here and mixing the backlist and frontlist etc, in my quest to get back to being 2014 me who wrote 20,000 words a week rain, shine or snow, I am now posting new chapters on Patreon asking for a $1 a month support. I have tested Adsense ads here on my site for years, and they do not work. I have 1 year to BE a 100% full-time author like I was in 2014-2015 releasing 8 titles between July and April. I will have a more detailed plan posted on this website and to my newsletter later this week, but first I am focusing on finishing A May for Mary that should release end of this month. There are 3 chapters on Patreon with a 4th on the way tomorrow. Tacking the 3 projects on my plate for the next 3 months (A May for Mary, Moralities of Marriage #5 for release in June/July, and secret summer challenge project July/August release), I will cross over 1 million JAFF words written. If you have $1 a month to pledge, I would dearly love to have you with me on my journey this year!
XOXOX,
Chapter 16 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Elizabeth’s personal maid, Betsy, stood frozen in astonishment as she alighted from the carriage just after Mr. Darcy’s man, Simmons. Mr. Darcy’s valet held little interest in keeping conversation with Betsy throughout the many days of travel they endured in the service of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Betsy could only stare at the intricate stone façade that looked almost as if it touched the clouds with Gothic features in every arch, when a sudden bump to her shoulder jostled her from admiring the house further.
“Look alive there; they ain’t paying you to look at the windows.”
A young lad Betsy did not recognize spoke in a heavy Scottish burr, taking her to task after perceiving she was not seeing to her duties. As a personal maid of Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, the breach of protocol incensed the promoted housemaid from Netherfield Park.
“They told me this place was called Carver House?”
The boy lifted a trunk of Mrs. Darcy’s and hoisted it right to his shoulder, displaying the strength of a Scotsman.
“Careful with that; it holds delicate items,” Betsy admonished.
The young man tipped his cap and gave the maid a quick wink. “Aye and, yes, this be Carver House. You daft?”
The bustle of activity swarming the carriages added an element of confusion to Betsy as she realized she held no idea where she was to go. The master and the mistress made a great show of crossing the threshold in a typical fashion for a married couple, and it was quite clear that they intended to retire for the afternoon with no interruptions. Ordinarily, upon arrival Betsy would follow Mrs. Darcy’s things up to her rooms and see that they were unpacked with great diligence. But this new need for privacy for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy usurped her normal schedule, and she looked around for Simmons, as if her head was on a swivel.
Timidly, she began to explain to the boy who still stood there holding the trunk.
“Yes, I know; I am not daft. I am Mrs. Darcy’s personal maid. Pray, could you show me which way I should go? I believe I have lostSimmons.”
A sharp voice interrupted the exchange of information between the two servants.
“There is to be no lollygagging in the drive. Duncan!” A tall woman, with her gray hair pinned tightly behind her and dressed in a plaid frock of cleanly pressed calico, marched down the steps of Carver House…which Betsy still felt looked more like a castle than a home. She stalked straight to them and looked expectantly at the young man, silently demanding him to answer her with her mere presence.
“This here be Mrs. Darcy’s maid. She’s lost. I best be off to take this to the back.” Duncan nodded his head and joined the rest of the footmen unloading the carriages as Mrs. Dolina McSorley inspected the fair-haired English maid. Not finding much to be impressed about, the housekeeper of Carver House sniffed and turned around with her nose in the air, expecting the maid to follow her.
Betsy missed the expectation, and stood for bit longer before Mrs. McSorley yelled out to her.
Remembering her place in the structure Betsy quickly curtsied, and followed the housekeeper into the house through the large wooden doors with the Darcy crest painted in the middle.
“What shall we call you?” The housekeeper continued to walk on as Betsy stumbled upon her own two feet, admiring the mixture of medieval decor and modern sensibilities inside of the home.
“Mrs. Darcy calls me Betsy. So Betsy, if you please.”
The housekeeper shook her head and clucked her tongue. “No, that will not do.”
“Pardon my impertinence, but if the name is good enough for Mrs. Darcy and what she wishes, then perhaps —” Betsy ceased talking when the housekeeper came to a sudden halt, nearly bumping into the woman. Mrs. McSorley turned on her heel.
“I am not certain what types of houses you are accustomed to serving in, but Carver House keeps traditions above the whims of a new bride who is still learning her way. I’ve had letters from Potter and Reynolds, and it shall be my task to guide the new Mrs. Darcy in the ways of the Master’s ancestors.”
Betsy felt utterly confused, as the last name Darcy did not sound particularly Scottish to her, but perhaps French in origin. As if reading her thoughts, the housekeeper continued her walk and began explaining about the ancestry that lined every wall around her.
“Carver House began as a castle, as you might have gathered. Originally a garrison against the English, in the mid-1600s the Carver family, in great service to the Crown, was awarded the garrison away from the shamed Armstrongs.”
Betsy gasped as Mrs. McSorley detailed a bloody history filled more with strife than safety in the home’s earlier centuries.
“And so, it is Mr. Darcy’s great-great-grandfather on his paternal great-grandmother’s side who lends the name to the house, but his daughter’s marriage to a Darcy that brings the house to the current family. Not the title, however. The earldom died with him.”
Betsy nodded and tried to remember all of the information she had been given, as she knew Mrs. Darcy would be most happy to learn about the home’s history and how it came to be in her husband’s family when they were in private.
“And so I ask you again, girl, what is it we shall call you? This Betsy business is for a housemaid. So long as Mrs. Darcy sees fit to employ you as her personal maid, I need your surname.”
Such a simple question brought a wave of homesickness over Betsy. She had grown up in Surrey, but entered service when she was but barely old enough to carry a bucket of ashes. It was only thanks to her uncle taking a position at Netherfield Park that young Betsy Higgins found a position and promotion to housemaid at a small estate in Hertfordshire.
“Higgins. My name is Elizabeth Higgins.”
The old housekeeper smiled, as the name suited her just fine. They did not have another Higgins on the estate and, as Mrs. McSorley pushed open a well-worn wooden door with plenty of scuff marks on the bottom and more scratches around the knob than any other door on the hall, Betsy Higgins of Surrey, England received her first taste of the servants area of Carver House.
“Follow me, Higgins, and we will get you some refreshment and rest while your mistress is not in need of your services. And I shall introduce you to the rest of the upstairs staff.”
Betsy smiled. Though the decor had made her expect a kitchen frozen from sometime a few centuries ago, like Mr. Darcy’s other houses he had taken great pains to update and modify even his least-visited home. Realizing now that she was beneath the housekeeper, as Higgins she would be second in command of the maids, a position she had not thus far needed to take as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy rarely remained in one household longer than a few weeks.
But Scotland was to be different. And if they were to remain here until the fall and perhaps beyond, it was time for her to cast off the carefree ways of Betsy the new personal maid and come into her own, as Mrs. McSorley expected.
Chapter 17 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Mrs. Potter paced before the bay windows that faced the street with the most anxiety she had ever held in all her years under Mr. Darcy’s employee. She had sent letters to Mrs. Reynolds and to Mrs. McSorley, detailing the dreadful news of the death of George Wickham. She used the household accounts to pay for an express. She had considered sending a letter directly to Mr. Darcy himself but thought such liberty might overstep her bounds as the butler already had, though her heart ached for the utter chaos enveloping the house.
She watched the streets carefully and more than a few passersby turned their heads directly to look at the townhome, as if news of the murder outside the Carmichaels’ party had already traveled quickly. Gasping in relief, she wiped her hands on her skirt as a black carriage pulled up in front of the house and two elegantly-dressed women were helped down from the vehicle. She nearly ran into the butler as he opened the door to allow entry for Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and she waved away the formalities as she happily welcomed them into the home.
“Oh, thank you so much, both of you, for coming so soon. We have her resting comfortably upstairs.”
Caroline Bingley, the most familiar with Darcy House, nodded pertly in the housekeeper’s direction in a way that had once grated on Mrs. Potter’s nerves. “Of course we should come right away; this is the most dreadful news. Has Mr. Darcy been alerted?” Caroline immediately jumped to her chief concern, despite her sister placing a hand upon her arm as a reminder for Caro to remain calm. Caroline looked sharply at her sister, and pursed her lips before turning back to the housekeeper with an expectant look.
Mrs. Potter did not miss the exchange between the sisters, and she stumbled over her next words. “I am afraid, that is, it is not my place, you see, to send word to the Master unless Mrs. Wickham instructs me to do so.”
Caroline nodded she agreed with the housekeeper’s assessment and did her best to hide her glee that it was she who might write the letter to Mr. Darcy herself. As Caroline already began to think of the words and turns of phrases she would use, with any luck he would leave that baggage Elizabeth Bennet in Derbyshire and come rushing home to London.
Both Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Hurst watched Caroline’s dreamy expression in the silence, creating an awkwardness before Mrs. Hurst spoke up.
“We shall go up now and see to Mrs. Wickham. Thank you, Mrs. Potter.” Louisa practically grabbed Caroline’s arm to drag her up the stairs, reminding her to focus on their task at hand.
“Leave off, Louisa!” Caroline hissed.
“What has come into your mind? Mr. Darcy is gone. He is forever cut off from you. Why, they have likely already left for Scotland.”
“But you do not know that. My spies at our brother’s house have said that Mr. Darcy wanted it to be known they would languish at Pemberley for at least a month’s time. You tell me, Louisa. When have you ever known Mr. Darcy to be reluctant in his decisions?” Caroline explained the source of her hope as the two sisters conspiratorially whispered before reaching Mrs. Wickham’s door. As Caroline reached forward for the knob, Louisa grabbed her wrist and held Caroline at bay.
“Do not tell me, Caroline, that you had anything to do with this?” Louisa charged.
Caroline made an expression of utter repulsion and yanked her hand away from her elder sister, making a great show to rub where her hand grabbed as though she were significantly injured.
“Whatever can you mean? How on earth would I have anything to do with any of this?” Caroline set her shoulders back and opened the door before descending into the playacting of complete despair as she called out in distress, rushing to Mrs. Wickham’s side.
The great sound of a moaning Miss Bingley awakened Georgiana, and she groggily blinked her eyes to make out the form of her friend.
“Caroline?” The sixteen-year-old girl’s voice called out softly from her bed.
“Oh, Georgiana, I am here. I am here!” Caroline abandoned her real sister to collapse near the bed, and grasped Georgiana’s hand. “How are you, dearest? It must’ve been incredibly hard to endure what you have. Do you wish to speak about it?” Miss Bingley played the caring friend as Louisa Hurst watched on, still suspicious of her younger sister’s motives.
Effortlessly, Caroline Bingley extracted from the half- asleep, half-cognizant Georgiana Wickham that, after the death of her husband, an entire crowd of men grabbed George and her and dragged them into the Carmichaels’ house. There, George’s personal effects were searched despite her insistence that he receive medical attention, as George moaned and sputtered in pain. But none of the men seemed to care.
Two men had held her back, while she watched George choke for his last breath before lying on the table, motionless and still. The men had yelled amongst themselves about the documents they found but Georgiana kept screaming and screaming, until finally the two men who were holding her dragged her out of the room entirely and she was forced to sit in Mr. Carmichael’s study as more men she did not recognize came into question her.
“And what kinds of questions did they ask? Do they have a suspect?” Miss Bingley pressed.
Georgiana seemed to come out of a fog as she looked more coherently at Miss Bingley. “No; have you not been listening to anything I have said? They did not care that he was killed. None of them. No one fetched the doctor, no one cared for my comfort. All they cared about was the papers.”
Caroline sighed, and reached up to brush Georgiana’s hair back off of her forehead as Mrs. Hurst approached the bed. Louisa Hurst knew the behavior Georgiana described was the customary response to the death of a common criminal. She knew Mr. Wickham involved himself in various nefarious schemes, but for such behavior to be done so brazenly in their social group, as much as the Carmichaels might be described as such, worried Louisa. Gently, she asked a question of her own.
“Do you remember them saying anything about the papers they found on your husband? Anything at all that we might ask Mr. Hurst to follow up on?”
Georgiana bit her lower lip, and winced as a sudden pain shot across her abdomen. She cried out.
Caroline and Louisa looked at each other in great alarm as Louisa realized Georgiana was with child. Louisa brushed Caroline aside, and took her younger sister’s place as she comforted Georgiana and ordered Caroline to find a glass of wine.
Another pain came across Georgiana and she sucked in her breath, but then relaxed as it was not so severe as the last one.
“Less?” Mrs. Hurst inquired as she noticed the second pain, and Georgiana nodded her head. Louisa handed Georgiana the goblet of wine after helping her to sit up in the bed. Louisa’s eyes traveled down to the burgeoning bump in Mrs. Wickham’s midsection, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“You must rest. With any luck, these pains are just in passing and will ease as your distress calms.”
“I will not lose the babe?” Georgiana asked, suddenly fearful of losing the one possession she cared the most about.
Mrs. Hurst shook her head. “It is unlikely in the state you are in, but these pains, shocking as they are, sometimes are a good sign of the babe’s health and yours. Still, you should remain in bed and let Caroline and me address your needs.”
“Yes, Louisa, will you send notes to the house for my things to be brought here? I could not dream of leaving Georgiana in her time of need.” Miss Bingley invited herself to stay at Darcy House, much like she had in the past, and again the young woman appreciated her friend’s forwardness.
“Caroline, are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Louisa tried to caution her younger sister, but Caroline would have none of it.
“Mr. Darcy himself placed me to oversee the care of his sister when he left this town with our brother. Did you forget?” Caroline snapped, and Louisa backed off, never one to endure conflict as comfortably asCaroline.
Louisa left Georgiana and her sister to their own devices and decided a better use of her time would be to ask Mrs. Potter what she knew of the situation before writing to her husband. The news of George Wickham’s death was entirely dreadful, but the manner in which his murder happened in practically broad daylight, without so much as a care for his survival, made Mrs. Hurst wonder if his widow was even safe.
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 Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
The privileges of becoming Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy included waking up each morning next to the man. Elizabeth rubbed the sandy remnants of slumber from her eyes. She stretched her form as the new business of being a wife meant also waking to a delightful soreness reminding her of the passions they shared in the evening. Blinking her eyes, she startled to see Fitzwilliam sitting up in the bed and gazing down upon her.
“How long have you been awake?” Elizabeth asked as she turned to her right side and took a deep breath.
“I’ve always been an early riser. It makes for a rather fatiguing afternoon.” Mr. Darcy leaned forward to kiss Lizzie upon her temple as she closed her eyes and smiled.
Then she yawned.
“Pardon me; I am, too. I’m often an early riser, but I’m afraid you have seen me only at my worst.”
Her husband shook his head.
“No, it is true! First I was recovering, and then suffering nightmares, and now…” she tilted her chin down as she began toblush.
“Now you have a tiresome husband to wear you out at night.”
The happy couple shared a laugh before Fitzwilliam pushed away and left the bed. Elizabeth sat up to follow his lead, but he held up his hands to indicate for her to stay.
“I have a gift for you. I meant to give it to you last night, but I’m afraid most of my plans for the evening went by the wayside.”
Elizabeth remained seated in the bed, but pulled the sheets up to her chest as she thoroughly enjoyed the view of Mr. Darcy walking bare-chested in her suite of rooms with nothing but his breeches on. She admired the angular structure of his muscles as he bent down to pull something in a velvet case out of a low drawer.
Though they did take a break to enjoy a dinner in her rooms, their time since arriving at Carver House had been full of activity. Mr. Darcy had paused after carrying her over the threshold and offered a quick tour of the home, but Elizabeth declined. A claim she needed a rest was all the inducement the newly-married man needed to take his wife to bed.
Despite his unwavering love for his bride he could not spare her slight discomfort the first time they joined, but with a bit of rest and refreshment, they both found the second and third coupling much more to their mutual satisfaction.
Darcy approached the bed and held the folded velvet case out for Elizabeth’s acceptance. She felt surprised at the weight of the gift as she carefully placed it upon her lap and untied the white ribbon holding the two sides together. When she unrolled the velvet fabric from the center, a sparkling set of sapphires and a teardrop pendant with matching earrings and combs lay in a perfect presentation. Elizabeth gasped.
“Fitzwilliam, these are beautiful!” She jerked her head to look at her husband, who grinned sheepishly.
“If you remember the last time, I was not able to be present for you to find your gift. But if you are to react like that each time,” he leaned over the bed and supported his upper body with his arms to give his wife a kiss, “I believe I shall feel compelled to give you a gift every morning.”
Elizabeth laughed at his boast, privately hoping he would never do such a thing. A wedding gift from her husband on the first morning of their marriage perfectly suited her. But daily gifts? That was an extravagance she did not feel she could bear.
“Let’s see if it fits,” he suggested, and Elizabeth panicked as she realized she must look a fright. Still, she assisted him by lifting her long tresses that she imagined to be hopelessly tangled into a mess.
“This set belonged to my great-grandmother, the first Carver to become a Darcy, and they are the rightful jewels for the mistress of this home.”
As he clasped the heavy necklace to lay fetchingly across her breastbone, he could not help but feel a surge of emotion that made his face as still as stone. Elizabeth knew the man well enough to tell when his silence derived out of self-preservation, much like his nostril twitched when he told a falsehood. She took pity on him and gazed down at the stones.
“The blue is so remarkable, I’ve never seen a stone with so many hues, from the color of ink to indigo.”
“Just like the sea, as they were designed to depict. The jeweler almost refused to part with these sapphires.” Darcy’s finger delicately stroked the golden filigree cresting like waves over the smaller stones around the large pendant in the middle.
“This must have been a favorite of your mother’s.” Elizabeth recalled the painting of Lady Anne Darcy in the private sitting room, but Fitzwilliam frowned.
“She never wore them.”
“She did not? But why?” Elizabeth’s curiosity was innocently meant, but she still realized how rude it might sound after the words tumbled from her tongue.
Her husband rocked back to sit further away and looked up at the ceiling, as if reading the intricately casted plaster up there would give him answers.
“Do you know the dowry of Miss Caroline Bingley?”
Elizabeth scowled, not finding a mention of Miss Bingley to be at all a person she wished to speak about on her first morning as a married woman.
“How on earth should I know such a detail as that?” she retorted.
“Mmm, pardon me.” He returned his gaze to his wife, embarrassed as she arched an eyebrow for explanation. “In London, everyone seems to know all about everyone.” He cleared his throat. “Such as my—”
“Ten thousand a year,” she finished, looking away with a blush. Of course, in his society, the subject of money and worth was shared as freely as the hindquarter measurements of a racing horse.
“My sister’s dowry is £30 000.”
“And Miss Bingley’s is . . .”
“£20 000.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth tried to piece together this intelligence, rather confused as she knew her husband’s net worth to be considerably more than Mr. Bingley’s. Then, with that thought, suddenly she began to understand. Her mouth dropped slightly as she pulled the sheets even tighter around her for comfort as she prepared herself for Fitzwilliam’s tale.
When his own grandmother had been Mistress of Carver House, there had been need to replace the sapphires with paste stones. The many wars of the Crown had decimated the coffers of the ever-loyal Carver and Darcy families, to the point of near ruin. It was the shrewd business sense of his father that his family even held on to Pemberley and Carver, the house in Grosvenor Square bought from another family that was not so lucky.
“And so your father gave your sister a modest dowry.”
Darcy laughed.
“Well, not so modest as mine.” Elizabeth again felt her cheeks begin to burn.
“No, no, do not fear that I meant to judge your family. But, yes, for my sister’s status as my sister, her settlement represented my family’s holdings at the time of her birth; before our success in India, and based primarily on my mother’s own settlement.”
Elizabeth’s head began to ache as such dreary talk of finances before she’d had even a proper meal took its toll. Her stomach grumbled in agreement, and Fitzwilliam began to panic.
“What a brute am I, holding my wife captive in bed!” he exclaimed to lighten the mood, which made Elizabeth lean forward and meet his person with affection. He accepted her surprise invitation in an affable way, and listened as she whispered how much she loved his gift.
When at last they realized neither one could possibly forgo food any longer, they reluctantly dressed and left her rooms.
“After we break our fast, I believe I would like to take you up on that tour of the house. I wish to learn more about your family.”
“You mean you will not insist on discovering each nook and cranny for yourself?” Mr. Darcy led his wife down the stairs to the ornate entryway below.
“Oh no, I’m certain the staff here have been warned of my mischievous ways. I must be sure to behave properly in all things, so as to catch them off guard.”
He smiled at his wife’s logic, and sighed in complete happiness when she looped her arm in his and waited for him to show her the way to the dining room.
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.