OOOOOH Somebody’s in trouble! XOXOXO Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 37 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
“I am not mourning that man!” Richard Fitzwilliam scoffed at the black armband lying on top of their small table in the parlor. The main house had sent over black bunting for the house, black armbands for the males, and black fabric for gowns to be made for Anne and the other women.
“You don’t think it will show respect to Georgiana? They were lawfully married.” Anne’s fingers trembled slightly as she traced the edge of the black bolts of bombazine. Her husband let out a snort at her declaration of the Wickhams’ status.
“The man was a criminal and a cad. Not even a proper plot, as his wife so emphatically pointed out.” Richard scowled and paced the room, hunting for a sideboard of spirits. When he could find not the bottle he looked expectantly to his wife, who shrugged and pointed at the cupboard.
“Mother visited and I tucked it away to shorten her list of complaints.”
Richard cast open the cupboard and pulled out a decanter of whisky and a glass. As he watched the amber liquid fill the glass, he continued to make his point. “We moved here so that she could not meddle. What is the sense of leaping when she so commands and hiding a fine whisky when she visits if we could do so living in the main house? This is our cottage!” Richard gulped his drink and took a deep breath to maintain his firmness. One look from his wife, though, softened the old Army colonel.
“A visiting tyrant is better than living with one.”
Richard’s face fell as Anne rubbed her growing midsection. Before he could make apologies, she changed the subject.
“Did you visit the Archbishop?” Anne raised an eyebrow as her husband shook his head. “But Darcy—”
“Can bloody well do his own business.” Richard finished his drink, and considered pouring another before placing his glass next to the decanter and joining his wife on the sofa. “She was in shambles. Once I arrived, I couldn’t very well leave her again, especially not as Miss Bingley practically ran from the home the moment I arrived.”
“Miss Bingley?” Anne tried to recollect the name but, having never met the Bingleys, failed to remember the woman’s role.
“Spinster sister of Darcy’s friend. The chap who married Elizabeth’s sister, Jane.” Richard squinted a bit as he realized how tangled the various families had become through marriage.
“Oh dear, I fear I may need a chart,” Anne teased, and Richard growled good-naturedly in her direction. But when his wife sighed he no longer felt in an amorous mood, but a concerned one.
“You wish for me to wear the armband I surmise.” he asked.
Anne shook her head, then nodded.
“Well, which is it, woman?” Richard laughed at his wife’s indecision until she placed a hand firmly on his arm, with a grip he could not ignore.
“Should I perish—”
“You shall not. We do not speak of—”
“But should I perish, and our babe, Georgiana’s child would inherit. You will need their goodwill—”
“I will need nothing of the sort! Should I lose you, there’s no guarantee the babe . . .” Richard trailed off, as he felt ill even thinking his own child might not survive. “And besides, I’ve told you, I’m an old soldier. I don’t need all the trappings of a fussy home. I only endure such a cage at your pleasure, madam.”
Anne smiled, as she knew her husband to be speaking plainly. He would indeed sleep in the stables if he so needed.
“Then wear it for her. She feels betrayed and forgotten. She made a poor choice for a husband, and she will deliver before me. Wear the band tonight at dinner if you ever cared for our cousin.”
“At dinner tonight? I see, you waited until now to tell me of this so the armband is but a trifle.” Anne smirked as she rose from the couch, and her husband eyed the whisky across the room.
Before she could leave, he had to ask a plain question out of petty fairness.
“What about your attire? Surely a gown cannot be made so quickly.” He pointed to the unaltered fabric on the table.
“Julia is letting down the hem of one of my old mourning gowns as we speak. Thankfully, we do not yet have to add panels to the middle.”
Richard frowned, realizing he had been ambushed by the enemy and coaxed into surrender.
“She’s nothing like the docile girl you remember. She is something quite vulgar and horrific.”
“I know,” Anne replied. “She came with my mother this morning with a sour disposition and all the expectation of deference.”
“And still you wish to support this farce of respectability? To mourn a man neither of us wishes was still alive?” Richard no longer resisted the temptation for a second drink and helped himself to another pouring.
Anne shrugged and leaned against the banister, as she planned to go above stairs and take her bath. “If we make no attempts to amend her now, when do you propose we should make a start?”
Richard closed his eyes at his wife’s wisdom and listened to her small footsteps take the stairs slowly. The cadence provided a soft comfort until he could no longer hear any creaks and groans of the wood floor.
When he opened his eyes he gazed out the window at the lovely afternoon sun, but ruled out another ride. He had just turned Sampson over to the groom before coming in and held significant doubt the beast was up for another ride. Instead, he snatched the decanter of whisky and walked out the back door to sit on the small stone porch overlooking the pond. At least there he could pull out a cigar; the smoke aggravated Anne’s lungs when he smoked indoors. Settling into his plan, Richard silently cursed the wretched widow alliance of his mother-in-law and former ward.
Chapter 38 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had survived two full weeks of the large house party, and yet both relished the final days and ball that had finally arrived. Rising early, as was their habit, they enjoyed breaking their fast privately in Mrs. Darcy’s suite at a much earlier hour than the previous days. The final day had been planned to a perfection of activity.
Mr. Darcy would lead the men in various sports and outdoor pursuits, while Elizabeth had undertaken the Herculean task of organizing an afternoon of musical performances by the ladies. Organizing such an afternoon in the music room would not ordinarily be such a battle except for the egos and expectations of certain members of the house party. Initially, Elizabeth had intended for the women with titles to perform last, as should be their due. But in Scotland, she found the matter to be altogether backwards.
Instead, Lady Margaret Douglas recommended emphatically that Lady Agnew perform after her at the harp and Mrs. Grant in turn. At Lady Margaret’s insistence, and no wish for discord from the others the performance order had been set as Lady Margaret and then Lady Agnew, followed finally by Mrs. Grant.
“But whensoever will Mrs. Darcy grace us with her musical talents?” Lady Margaret asked, a slight shaming of her hostess that she had performed many a time over the course of the visit. However, for the lady’s barbs to find bite required a jealous and socially climbing Mrs. Darcy. As Elizabeth was neither of those things, she laughed off Lady Margaret’s pointed question.
“When I say I perform poorly, it is not false modesty. I’m afraid the pianoforte and music was never my choice of pastime, preferring rather to help my father in his study or ramble about our lands to hear Nature’s symphony.”
While the others held no qualms about Mrs. Darcy’s lack of musical prowess, Lady Margaret clasped her hands in such a fashion as to express shock and amazement that such a young gentlewoman could be so ill-prepared for the demands of the drawing room. At this, Elizabeth’s courage began to rise, and without intending to sound so harsh she professed that her playing and singing satisfied Mr. Darcy, and if there was ever a need for entertaining in London, that she would likely hire professional musicians for the evening so as not to be a servant the evening’s entertainment.
Finding herself unable to rattle Mrs. Darcy, Lady Margaret took her place at the harp and performed an Italian aria that satisfied more than most. The problem arose when it became clear the elitist member of the Douglas clan had made a gross miscalculation. Lady Madeleine Agnew was renowned for her illustrious soprano, and she performed without accompaniment a hymn that moved nearly everyone in the room into a religious experience. The small hairs on Elizabeth’s arms had prickled up at the pure innocence and cry for redemption in Lady Agnew’s song.
But the coup de grâce came when Mrs. Grant took her place at the pianoforte. She performed two rousing songs that had all the other ladies in the parlor tapping their feet and expressing the free-flowing happiness only the magic of music could supply.
Finding herself upstaged, a situation she might’ve avoided had she taken the last spot to perform and then feigned an illness, Lady Margaret confessed to a headache and quit the room entirely. Elizabeth had to stifle a giggle. But enduring the snobbish Douglas couple felt trifling compared to the amiable temperaments of Mrs. Grant and Lady Agnew. And it was the latter who came to Elizabeth’s side as the afternoon began to wane and other ladies quit the parlor for rest before the evening’s ball.
“Bravo. I do not often perform these days, but I confess Lady Margaret goaded me into it.” Lady Agnew reminded Elizabeth of Fitzwilliam’s aunt, Lady Matlock, whom she’d only had the pleasure of meeting a handful of times. Lady Agnew was of the older generation above her, but with her musical talent so renowned, occasionally she could be prevailed upon to brighten a dreary evening with song.
“I confess that I have never heard such beautiful singing in a church, nor a stage!” Elizabeth did not go so far as to ask if Lady Agnew ever had other aspirations with her talents, but such a question wasn’t needed. As Mrs. Grant came to join them with a teacup in hand, a footman entered the parlor with a letter on a silver platter for his mistress.
“Oh, my sister Jane has written. By my word, living so far from each other, I never know when to expect her next correspondence.” Elizabeth grinned and began to tuck the letter into the pocket of her gown.
“Are you so very close to your sister?” Mrs. Grant asked simply. Elizabeth nodded.
“I would say that there was a time when Jane and I were so dedicated to one another that each of us might perform a similar sacrifice as your dear husband has for his brother.”
“It was harder on Francis than he ever shared, to leave the Army for the needs of his family, but I know he did so out of love for his brother.”
Lady Agnew and Elizabeth nodded in unison with a humming of sympathy to comfort Mrs. Grant.
“Mr. Darcy’s own cousin recently left the military and I have heard that his staff still calls him Colonel.” The three ladies shared a laugh as Elizabeth continued, “It’s another tenuous situation of management and ownership of the property not lying within the same person.”
“But that is the way of all genteel families. By the time you inherit, it seems only fitting to delegate the bulk of the work to whomever is waiting in the wings. It is, after all, their inheritance to preserve.” Lady Agnew had punctuated much of the week with her frank and, at times, bombastic declarations. Where Elizabeth found them utterly adorable, she did hesitate to look for Mrs. Grant’s reaction in case she had to mollify insult between her two guests. But Mrs. Grant had proved the mettle of the woman who kept in correspondence with Elizabeth in the many weeks leading up to the house party.
“I shall have to put that idea to my husband. Then I shall see our eldest son more often and my husband as well.” Mrs. Grant’s logic made the three women laugh even harder, as they were finally the only ones left in the sitting room. Mrs. Grant looked around and then urged Mrs. Darcy to open up her letter from her sister. “You cannot fool me; though you may claim you are to go above stairs and rest, I feel certain you have a growing task list of things that you must check upon before such an escape. Go on, open your sister’s letter before you continue being the best hostess in Carver House memory.”
Elizabeth looked sheepish. She had just been thinking the very same thing. Not that she would open up Jane’s letter. Though customary to rest before an evening of dancing, and especially a sound plan in her case, there was in fact a growing list of small errands and tasks that Mrs. Darcy wished to review with Mrs. McSorley and Higgins before retiring. She did not know when she would get a chance to read Jane’s letter, and so she greedily acted upon Mrs. Grant’s encouragement.
As Elizabeth broke the seal and unfolded the missive, she delightfully shared with her friends that her family was in good health and that they prepared for the christening of Jane’s young children. When Jane’s letter began to express condolences and gave an accounting of a discussion she held with Mrs. Hurst, Elizabeth began to feel an uncomfortable warmth spread across her neck and up her cheeks. Her eyes began to blur as she struggled to read the rest of the words until, finally, she felt her body collapsing against her will to the floor below her. Lady Agnew and Mrs. Grant had both reached forward to slow Mrs. Darcy’s fall as she fainted right before them. As the three women lay unladylike, sprawled across the floor, Mrs. Grant turned her head and shouted with all of her might.
“Go and fetch Mr. Darcy! At once! His wife has fainted. And you,” she addressed the other footman who had not moved as quickly as the first one, “come and help us! We must get Mrs. Darcy to bed!” With the efficiency only a colonel’s wife can command, there would be no last-minute tasks checked before the ball, if there was to be a ball at all.
Mrs. Darcy was taken straight to her room, while a fervent search for the master began as word spread through the staff that their adored mistress had taken ill.
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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 39 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
When Mr. Darcy bolted into his wife’s room, he did not find a simpering, injured Elizabeth. Quite the opposite: his wife sat upon her bed in her chemise, clasping her arms around her folded legs to her chest, talking angrily with her maid. When Higgins spied Mr. Darcy, she alighted from the foot of the bed where she had been seated and disappeared as quickly as her feet could carry her to Mrs. Darcy’s wardrobe. Elizabeth turned her face at the man she thought she knew, and angrily glared at him with a stare that might’ve made a weaker man question his fortitude.
“You are well!” Mr. Darcy could scarcely believe his eyes, as nothing about his wife seemed amiss other than the fact that she was clearly very angry about something. “The footman said that you had collapsed—”
“How long have you known that George Wickham was dead?” Elizabeth’s question took the staccato beat of gunshot and paused Mr. Darcy’s progress to her bed mid- step. Sucking in his breath, he completed his step and realized his greatest fear could not have occurred on a worse day. “I worried that you might find out through other means.”
“What has that to do with anything? I should never have found out through other means. You should have been the one to tell me. What else are you keeping from me in this mockery of a wedding trip?” Elizabeth’s mind began to cycle through her nightmares and worries for their families while they had been in Scotland. Compounded by the weight of her homesickness, everything suddenly felt like a falsehood. Her emotions out-shouted any thoughts of reason in her mind as her disloyal husband stood before her.
“This wedding trip is no mockery to me, madam. I have been honest with you: these have been the best weeks of my life.”
“And how can I believe you? You have lied to me and allowed me to go on believing that all was well—oh, my goodness!” Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. “She must think me the most callous, uncaring sister in the world!”
“Who? Who could think such a thing of you?” Mr. Darcy asked earnestly.
Elizabeth dragged her hands down her face as she pulled them down, reigniting another wave of anger at her husband. Her simple, dimwitted husband who had undone so much of what Elizabeth had hoped to accomplish. “Your sister! I wrote to her a letter encouraging the reconciliation! I might as well penned I wish she had died, too!”
Fitzwilliam’s hand clenched into a fist as he brought it up and then thought better of biting his fist. He ruffled his hair and raked his hand down along the back of his neck as he pulled at the skin.
“I have been a complete and utter knave. I thought you had not written a letter because you never brought it to me for us to send it together.”
“I didn’t wish to bother you. I have done so much correspondence, it was no challenge to write a letter to Georgiana. And I placed it on your desk for you to sign.”
“I didn’t read those letters; I merely signed them.”
Elizabeth waved her hands in frustration that the conversation had gone so far off course. Perhaps she should not have put Georgiana’s letter in with the other correspondence for the house party, but it did not negate the fact that her husband never told her about such a serious incident for their family. Finding her tongue dry she choked out the words, utterly fearful of his answer.
“Why did you not trust me to know? Why did you not tell me this burden that you carried while you were so attentive, so kind, so…” Elizabeth thought for a moment as Fitzwilliam still did not answer her query. “You felt guilty!”
For almost a year, her thoughts had been nothing but about this man. She thought she knew his vices and his virtues, but she had misjudged one.
Slowly, Fitzwilliam began to stutter his words. “I was selfish. And, yes, guilty.” His eyes widened in fear as he began to tell the whole story of how he came to conceal such an idiotic secret from his beloved. “I only ever came to Hertfordshire as a means to distract the gossip away from Georgiana. Every moment of the last year has been about her needs and minimizing her consequences. And then for the rest of my family. Every moment.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow as her anger began to melt away into an even worse feeling of disgust. “Every moment?” she asked pointedly.
Fitzwilliam shook his head and dashed to the edge of her bed so as to take his wife’s hands. As Elizabeth spied the sapphire ring, the tainted token repulsed her. She struggled to remove the ring, but Fitzwilliam wrapped his hands around hers and they sparred for a moment. She managed to pull her hands free, only for him to grab them once more. Finally, he squeezed just tight enough to catch her attention and gazed into her eyes with the passion of the man she loved.
“Every moment until you and I finally left for Gretna Green was in the service of another. I didn’t wish to stay at Pemberley for nearly a month. I did so in hopes of satisfying Charles and your father. Call me a selfish creature, but all I have wanted since the day I held your lifeless body in my hands was to make you well again. And as you recovered, I met a dazzling woman of great intellect and even greater care for those around her that I would be a fool not to make her my wife.”
Elizabeth blinked back tears. “But you lied to me. Did you plan on telling me at all?”
“Yes,” Fitzwilliam answered quickly, and as Elizabeth pursed her lips he continued. “It is never right for a young bride to go into mourning. And you were so excited for this house party, that I planned to tell you next week once we were alone again. And now, I’ve ruined it all.” Fitzwilliam gently released his wife’s hands, but not before holding just her right hand and bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss.
Elizabeth felt the heat of his affections even though she so dearly did not wish to be attracted to the man. And with time, she was certain she might begin to see his logic when she was able to think about the situation more rationally.
“There’s much more we need to speak about as a result of Wickham’s murder. But first I shall go downstairs and announce the cancellation of the ball.” Mr. Darcy leaned forward to rise from the bed, when Elizabeth grasped his coat sleeve and held fast. Such unexpected force caught Fitzwilliam off balance, and instead of merely remaining seated on the bed he fell backwards into a prone position on his back. Sensing her short tenure of dominance Elizabeth towered over him like a tiger over its prey, pressing her nose almost to his.
“You shall do no such thing, husband. If you truly wish to atone for your idiocy, I shall only accept payment of reconciliation on the dance floor.”
Though she was still very cross, Fitzwilliam found himself delightfully aroused at his wife’s display of strength. Licking his lips, his eyes searched his Lizzie’s for a sign of permission, and when her eyelids began to droop and her own lips parted he leaned up to begin a kiss that ignited more passion for both of them. Elizabeth properly straddled her husband as their kiss deepened, and she was suddenly reminded of the peculiarities of Scottish fashion for men against her backside.
Though her own passions had begun to reach an urgent sense of need for herself, she felt it best to delay their relations lest Fitzwilliam think such a serious transgression would result in no punishment. She removed herself from her husband’s person and left the bed to hurriedly pull her bell cord the appropriate number of times to summon Higgins.
Fitzwilliam groaned as he watched his wife’s actions and then looked down at the haphazardly-arranged kilt. His wife smiled as she caught a view before he restored his dress and attempted to stand with dignity from her bed.
“If you fainted—”
“I did faint, but I am well now,” Elizabeth interrupted him, further pricking his annoyance.
“If you have fainted,” Darcy growled, “then I cannot in good conscience allow you to overexert yourself. We should call a doctor.”
“There is no need.” Elizabeth held out her palm as Mr. Darcy approached her, wishing to keep some distance between them before she lost her nerve on abstaining. “Tell me, Fitzwilliam, when was the last time I’ve denied you my bed since we’ve come to Scotland?”
“You’ve never denied me your—” Mr. Darcy answered, just as Higgins entered the room after a perfunctory knock.
As the realization began to sink in, Elizabeth called over her shoulder as her maid began to escort her to her dressing table. “It is still early, so please do not become too excited or speak to others. The only two people who know that I fainted are more than satisfied, and everyone is counting on us. Now you must go!” Elizabeth ordered as Higgins began to brush her mistress’ hair. She forced herself to look only at Elizabeth’s hair brush, as she had a good idea that the master was not in the mistress’s good graces.
Mr. Darcy took advantage of the shared door between their suite of rooms to call for his own man rather than risk the hallway. As the door closed with more sound than usual Mrs. Darcy bit her lower lip as she looked to Higgins, and the two women shared a conspiratorial laugh as Elizabeth refused to be out of sorts on what was to be the pinnacle moment of the entire fortnight. And as she gazed down at the sapphire ring on her right hand, she decided that she would indeed don the jewels of the Carver family and represent the house well, even if the pit of her stomach wished to do nothing but go back to bed and find comfort in her husband’s embrace.
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.