Rereading this just fuels my current work this week to declutter and design pretty spaces in my home. Now that I’m divorced, not that I would EVER wish the Darcys divorced.. or anyone for that matter…I am like Darcy in this scene where I can have and build what I want 🙂 Â
XOXOXO Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 7 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Another week at Pemberley passed in a peaceful manner despite Elizabeth Bennet’s continued explorations of the house. Fitzwilliam negotiated a cease-fire between Mrs. Reynolds and his intended by reminding Mrs. Reynolds of her place in the chain of command. Continuing her orders, Mrs. Reynolds tamped down the lower staff’s grumblings about the unorthodox relationship between the master and the future mistress.
After breaking their fast in the Conservatory, a room Elizabeth did finally discover with Fitzwilliam’s clues and agreed to be one of the best locations in the home thanks to the careful gardening of the indoor plants and flowers, Mr. Darcy enumerated the last tasks necessary before their departure.
Thoughtfully, Elizabeth replaced her teacup to her saucer and blinked in consternation at her love. Mr. Darcy recognized the look on Elizabeth’s face, and cleared his throat before running a finger along the edge of his cup.
“I wish you would allow me to assist you. I would never go so far to say I was my father’s secretary, but I often wrote letters of business for him and helped with the many accounts.” Elizabeth repeated the same offer she had peppered Fitzwilliam with over the previous week in between her explorations of the house.
“Yes, I would dearly love to work beside you, however, I am afraid that when you are near my focus is severely lacking. Besides, you would not wish me to fire poor Mr. Arnold because you have replaced him, would you?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I could never take the place of a steward!” Elizabeth kept her tone light, but negotiating her new role as his partner in life stressed her last bit of patience as she learned a woman’s role involved a delicate balance of finding her satisfaction yet impugning no others’ insecurities.
“Your mother did not keep the accounts at Longbourn?” Darcy asked, taking care to make sure his words were not insulting.
Elizabeth shrugged and poked at the last few bites of ham on her plate. “She made the decisions in regards to the menu and the management, and though all my sisters were taught to do the sums, I held the most skill in the endeavor. Jane helped Mother by being courteous at all times, and I helped Mother by being calculating.” She laughed lightly, and Fitzwilliam joined the tease of herself. While he laughed, Fitzwilliam motioned for the table to be cleared. He stood from his chair and walked around the table to offer a hand toElizabeth.
“Although you may believe I have not listened to your requests, I can assure you, madam, that your every comfort is my greatest desire.” Fitzwilliam locked eyes with Elizabeth as she gently wet her lips in anticipation of a kiss that did not come. “With your permission, I should like to show you a part of the house.”
Elizabeth protested. “Fitzwilliam, no! I thought you agreed it was permissible for me to discover the house on my own.”
Darcy began to tug on Elizabeth’s hand, and she naturally followed his longer gait out of the Conservatory and into the hall. “I promise this is not disclosing a new part of the house, but one in which you’ve already been.” Fitzwilliam grinned as Elizabeth’s expression became unreadable in confusion, since he spoke in riddles instead of plainly.
As the Conservatory sat in the far corner of the south wing, making it only suitable for the morning meal of the day due to its distance from the kitchen, the couple traversed three corridors before arriving in the main foyer. Their steps echoed on the marble floor as Elizabeth continued to follow Fitzwilliam straight to the back of the house, where the library and his study resided. But he did not lead them to either of those rooms, and instead ended their journey in front of the door to a small downstairs parlor.
“We saw the public sitting room the first day we arrived,” she pronounced, realizing the room fit his clue.
Darcy turned his back to the door and slid his hand behind him to work the knob in a dramatic fashion so that he could still see Elizabeth’s face when she saw his surprise.
“Indeed. But I’m afraid you shall find it is a sitting room no longer.”
Darcy stepped side to side as Elizabeth attempted to encourage him to open the door faster by leaning around him. His other hand playfully batted away her efforts to open the door as he continued to make her wait impatiently. Finally, Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and scoffed at Fitzwilliam’s annoying behavior of taunting her with what lay behind the door.
Fitzwilliam leaned down and pecked Elizabeth on the cheek, an action that left her skin with the sensation of a tingle, as he finally turned the knob and allowed the door swing open behind his back.
“My darling Elizabeth, I present to you, the Mistress’ study.”
He led her into the sitting room, now transformed into a feminine version of his room on the other side of the shared wall. The furnishings were borrowed from around the house and represented the treasures she enumerated to him each night when she shared the fruits of her explorations. From his mother’s chair in the third-floor sitting room to the mechanical swivel chair she had admired in the library, the room held her favorite pieces. The drapes were a light lavender to allow plenty of light to spill into the room. A sitting area sat preserved in the corner, with two shelves lined with books from the library and a gray floral Persian with muted maroons providing a luxurious floor underneath their feet. A Queen Anne-style writing desk stood just beneath the large double windows, with light filtering through a handblown Venetian inkwell placing a kaleidoscope of colors across the numerous quills already trimmed and lying upon a blue velvet blotter.
“This is for me? However did you accomplish this work without my knowing?” Elizabeth asked in all astonishment, as the movement of furniture and changing of the books would most certainly require a great deal of industry that she completely missed though she resided in the same house.
“I had assistance, and you might recall that you and I have taken numerous trips to visit the grounds in the past week.”
Elizabeth stood in the middle of the room, still taking it all in, but stomped her foot lightly as she grinned so widely her cheeks began to ache. “You are crafty, Mr. Darcy; I shall have to keep my eyes upon you.”
Fitzwilliam took great delight in showing Elizabeth more of the features of the room, including the Catherine Bennet original watercolor of Oakham Mount that held the prized position over the fireplace. As Mr. Darcy showed her the accounting books for the house under her purview, and explained that Mrs. Reynolds would now come to her in this space rather than Elizabeth going down to the housekeeper’s office in the basement level, Elizabeth listened intently and felt a surge of happiness in her chest. And while she agreed with the decisions, decor, and even arrangement of the furniture, she could not help but notice the wall between their offices stood startlingly bare.
“Fitzwilliam? Is there something wrong with that wall?” She pointed in the direction of the obvious blankness in the room. But Mr. Darcy shook his head.
“While we are in Scotland I have made arrangements for a door to be installed between our studies, if that pleases you? I know I said I could not bear to focus with you in the same room as me, and that is still true, but I would like for you to have your own entrance into my study. And me into yours, for those times when, despite our responsibilities, we should like to enjoy one another’s company.” Fitzwilliam blushed, as he did not go into great detail about all that he imagined could happen with a door between the studies while allowing the doors to the hall to be locked. But Elizabeth more than understood his insinuation. She gently walked over to the wall and placed her small hand on a place where the door would most likely go. Her eyes caught the view outdoors, and she turned to look at him with an impish smile.
“I agree with your capital improvements, sir, but I have a slight suggestion of my own. Could there be small veranda placed outside of this space with a door going to the outdoors?”
Mr. Darcy joined his Elizabeth on the side of the room that divided their workspaces and took a look out of the same window as she did. He could take the country girl from Hertfordshire to any country in the kingdom, and yet there would be no denying her penchant for the outdoors.
“I shall agree to your improvement only if you shall consider learning to ride a horse with the same fervor you pursue your hobby of walking.” Mr. Darcy’s hands protectively grasped Elizabeth’s waist and pulled her back against his chest. Elizabeth leaned her head back and cooed as she both relished his touch, but considered his request.
“Oh, very well; you do drive a hard bargain, Mr. Darcy. But when I say I ride poorly it is not false modesty.”
Fitzwilliam kissed the top of her head and squeezed her midsection with his arms. “You cannot shake my knowledge, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, that there is no dazzling feat you cannot accomplish when you apply your heart and mind . . .” he paused in his compliment to weigh his next words, then decided to tease, “and stubbornness,” he added as she scoffed.
“How dare you accuse me of being stubborn, sir, when it is your rules that—”
Mr. Darcy whirled Elizabeth around and pressed his body urgently against hers to silence her with the shock of his ardor. Hungrily, he kissed her lips as she allowed him to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the small sofa that remained in the room.
“Fitzwilliam, we mustn’t . . .” she managed as, like the moments they were in a forest together in Kent, his hands had roamed and found great interest in her bosom. As if scorched, he pulled his hand and body away; Elizabeth smoothed her frock from signs of their brief interlude.
“No, you are correct; we must not give in—”
“Well, certainly not here when there are two perfectly good beds above stairs!” She laughed to alleviate her own frustrations with the matter.
Stung by her admonishment, though gently meant, Mr. Darcy scolded himself privately for being such a beast as to nearly consume her in the middle of the morning hours without even locking the door!
Feeling rejected, Elizabeth remembered what they were speaking of before.
“Tell me more about riding horses. You do so enjoy the pastime.” Elizabeth sighed as Mr. Darcy rejoined the conversation, but remained standing away from her. He reminded her that riding a horse would make it easier for her to visit the Holbein family.
Regretfully, their privacy and discussion of horse riding came to an end when Mrs. Reynolds knocked to arrive at her appointed time to go over the accounts. Mr. Darcy left his housekeeper and the woman of his heart to see to their work as he grumpily joined his steward in his study.
“Do we have the last listing of the markets for the wool?” Fitzwilliam asked Mr. Arnold as he sat in his appointed wooden chair at the corner of Darcy’s desk. A tinkling of feminine laughter drifted through the thin wall separating the two spaces. Mr. Darcy looked at his steward, and his steward quickly looked down at his shoes. Despite himself, Fitzwilliam laughed as he realized his exchange with Elizabeth had not been quite so private as he expected!
Regardless, it was good to know that sound traveled easily between the two rooms before the studies became his and hers of a devoted married couple.
Chapter 8 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Alnwick Castle, the country home of the Duke of Northumberland, hosted the annual summer fête under a cloud of uncertainty. Wars, social climbing, and the assassination of the Prime Minister had rattled more than a few old-money families. But it was the hushed schemes of Lord Strange that tittered through the evening dinner parties and afternoon picnics. The guest list of Hugh Percy held not just their status in common, but also their investing.
“Good shot, Matlock. Didn’t think you would have enough spin.” Northumberland gave a half-hearted compliment to the man most eager to win his praise. While the Earl of Matlock did not have funds tied up in the mining scheme, he did owe the Duke a hefty sum from his failed investments of shipping wool to the Americas. His cargo had been seized by a privateer, and so he had been forced to take a personal loan from His Grace. Payment was to be the wedding between his eldest son and the Duke’s third daughter, Mary Louise.
Henry Fitzwilliam accepted a fresh drink from a footman as another stepped up to take his shot.
“My James plays well; you’ll have a worthy opponent in a son-in-law.” Henry chuckled at his own jest for a short moment before slowly dying down to a sigh when none in the room joined him.
Lord Wexley leaned over and called his play, hitting the cue with a crisp crack. “And yet Brahmington is not here. What was it? A headache he called it…like an old maid?”
Wexley’s joke garnered a hearty laugh from the other men in the duke’s billiard room, with Lord Hampton adding on.
“No doubt he’ll be searching for his powders!”
The Earl of Matlock began to defend his son when Hugh Percy pressed the back of his hand against the earl’s breast.
“Save your breath, Matlock. Everyone’s vices are known in this room…we all partake in the same club.”
Henry Fitzwilliam’s face whitened at the casual mention of White’s, one of the places squabbling about the accounts of the Fitzwilliam family. He swallowed hard as the chatter moved on from his son’s habits to some other subject. It was his turn again when the duke once more took charge.
“Hampton, play for Matlock.” He handed the earl’s cue to the man half his age. “We have that dreadful business of a wedding to attend to.”
The two bachelors in the room, Hampton and Wexley, laughed and continued to drink as Henry Fitzwilliam followed Hugh Percy to a back corner, where two chairs sat in a perfect position for a private conversation.
“Have a seat, Matlock; you look as though you might fall off your feet.” The duke’s staff courteously served them both, but Matlock still held a mostly-fresh drink, so he waved off.
“I did not know the gossip of my son had reached so far,” Matlock said in a bitter tone.
“Did you honestly think I would marry off one of my daughters to a man I did not know everything about?”
“I apologize, again, that my second son was not available. His mother and I had no idea he and his cousin planned a secret wedding in Kent…” Matlock trailed off as Northumberland scowled.
“That’s old business. I pulled you aside to tell you that your nephew, Darcy, came to me in London.”
The Earl of Matlock sat up straighter in the leather chair with ancient springs.
“He held the most interesting intelligence about one man’s parentage, a George Wickham.” The duke folded his hands beneath his chin, and watched Henry Fitzwilliam’s expression change to one of contempt before quickly reversing to a neutral position for negotiation.
“So you know this man, Mr. Wickham?” the duke pressed.
“He married my niece. But I am certain you were already aware of that.”
“Yes, but about his parents. Is he truly the bastard son of Lewis deBourgh?”
The Earl of Matlock bit his tongue as he sized up the Duke of Northumberland’s interest in a man so wholly unconnected to him. He tried to think about what he knew of the horrendous scandal nearly thirty years prior, when he was just a young man and his older sister came crying to their father, heavy with child. Her husband had run off with some woman but, for the life of Henry Fitzwilliam, he could not recall the woman’s name. He closed his eyes, and all the popular lady names came to him in a jumble . . . Bess? Mary? He could not think of the name of George Wickham’s mother.
“I can confirm the man’s paternity as much as anyone knows; de Bourgh did claim him as his bastard.”
“Interesting. I do not suppose you will elaborate?”
“It is a private family matter. But what is your interest in this?” The Earl of Matlock felt a surge of protection for his sister, Catherine, and pushed back against the duke’s inquiries.
“Oh, nothing sinister. It would appear your nephew had cause to ask me to look into helping the young man.”
The Earl of Matlock bristled at the poor lie. “The day Darcy wants to help Wickham is the day I eat my hat.” Henry Fitzwilliam again laughed at his own wit, and stopped when the duke did not join him.
“You believe your nephew has less than honorable intentions toward his sister’s husband? I believe he worries about his family’s entanglements with this mining business. . .” The duke spun his glass on the marbled table between them and watched the liquid stubbornly ripple little at the movement.
“Darcy is too smart to think there’s silver in his home county!”
“Indeed,” the duke took a drink. “He is.”
And with a signal the conversation was at a close, the Duke of Northumberland stood from his chair and abandoned the Earl of Matlock to the quiet corner of the billiard room, electing to return to watching the match between Hampton and Wexley.
Henry Fitzwilliam fumbled with his glass, as he had quite forgot he was holding it, and then downed the contents to settle the heavy feeling of dread nestling deep in his stomach. He would have to warn his wife about this…Margaret would be better at learning His Grace’s angle. He also worried about the mining scheme the duke alluded to. He knew Darcy would never, but what of George Wickham?
The Earl of Matlock shook his head, confident his son and nephew had secured Georgiana’s dowry funds. Although he had to bribe a clerk at the family’s shared solicitor, he could not imagine that sniveling young man fed him false information about the Darcy accounts. There would not have been time to falsify them.
Shouts from the billiard game distracted Henry Fitzwilliam further.
“I say, you did not call that shot. You lost,” Wexley challengedHampton.
“I tapped the corner with my cue before I took my shot! The wager is mine!”
Wexley and Hampton grew dangerously close, Wexley towering over Hampton by a good two inches but Hampton’s braun out sizing Wexley’s wiry frame.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, the game was originally between Wexley and Matlock, therefore it is upon Matlock to claim the win.” The duke threw the conflict at the feet of Henry Fitzwilliam.
“What? Oh, jolly good game, Wexley. I fear my mind is not for billiards tonight. You’ll all have to excuse me.” The Earl of Matlock nodded his respect and received a swift nod in return from the peers in the room.
“But I won! The money should be mine!”
“Why not counter-wager, Hampton? You won one game; why not double the bet on two out of three since you have better odds? Hmm?” The Duke of Northumberland goaded the younger man as he kept an eye on Henry Fitzwilliam leaving the room. Hampton sputtered and spouted until he considered the duke’s words. The heavy wooden door then closed, leaving the room down one occupant.
After Hampton accepted the new wager with a small tease from Wexley, the duke gave his champion Wexley a nod and poor Hampton lost the next two games soundly, making a gentleman’s agreement for three hundred pounds. The house party would not be the first at Alnwick Castle where fortunes swung as wildly as a cricket bat. Nor with Hugh Percy as the head of the family would it be the last.
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 9 - The Trappings of Marriage, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
Back, come back to bed. I have not finished with you.” Georgiana Wickham teased the young footman under her power as he hastily scrounged on the floor for his clothing. Georgiana pitched her laughter to a manic register. Her wayward husband stood in the doorway, frozen with shock and anger. His eyes never left the scrambling footman, a murderous gaze intimidating the lad.
“I am to come home to this? Georgie, you replaced me?” George Wickham continued to block the door as Jack the footman ceased in the middle of the room to look back and forth between the married couple. He could not dare to approach the door, neither was there any safety with Mrs. Wickham. Unsure of what to do, he began to dress in a twitchy manner, as he expected an attack at any moment. George Wickham took one gallant step into the room and spun on his heel to address his disheveled wife surrounded by blankets.
Georgiana Wickham reached over and lifted the glass of wine to empty the goblet with a greedy thirst. As she wiped her mouth, she waved her hand and flashed her husband a dangerous look.
“As you always put it, I have learned how to survive. Now let my paramour leave this room unscathed, and we may speak.” George Wickham sneered at his wife’s demand until Georgiana carefully slid open the drawer to her nightstand and pulled out a pistol, pointing it directly at him. Wickham lifted his hands in surrender as the young footman skittered out the door and slammed it shut behind him.
“So you would shoot me now?”
Georgiana beamed, and ran her free hand through her tousled curls before whipping off the blanket to stand naked before her husband. The profile of her side clearly showed a belly protruding a number of inches with child. Wickham licked his lips at the alluring curves his young wife now sported as a result of their liaisons. He was versed enough to know the timeline of a child’s growth, a round curve hanging over her thighs; his wife had to be at least some months along.
“Has the babe quickened?”
“Why do you think I took a lover? If you can be in the arms of Mrs. Younge, then I will certainly not keep my bed cold like a widow, when I am not one.”
“But you looked not this rounded a fortnight ago . . .”
Georgiana shrugged. Mrs. Potter had told her it might take many months for a first-time mother to show progress. “I’ve not had my courses in over five months, which you would know if you had been here.”
George Wickham took another two steps, but his wife raised the pistol once more. George stopped.
“Before you come closer, I shall have your word that you will not strike me or hurt me in any way. For if you do, I will have no qualms slitting your throat from ear to ear as you sleep.”
“Georgie–”
Georgiana held up her empty palm, still standing in the glorious nude of a woman with child. “No, save your silver tongue for a woman with ears willing to listen. Things are different now; I have other priorities I must worry about.” Georgiana’s empty hand protectively cradled her belly. “I have written to my brother and cousin to inform them on my condition. I intend to go to Pemberley to have my child, and I shall not have you come along unless you can behave.”
George Wickham was never one to pick a fight he was not sure he would win. He was a man willing to do whatever necessary to secure his future, but he survived through the years of his schemes with a healthy amount of self-preservation. He moved his hands to reach inside his coat pocket, and Georgiana clucked her tongue, so he ceased mid-action with his fingertips just touching the lining.
“Can we agree I did not expect to find you in flagrante delicto and that perhaps I came home for a reason?”
“You mean you came home because you need me.”
Wickham shrugged. But his little wife was not incorrect.
“I came to invite you for an evening on the town, Mrs. Wickham. We have both been invited to another dinner party at the Whitcombs, this time with the riches to spend.”
Georgiana wrinkled her nose as Wickham leaned forward, lifting Georgiana’s robe from where it lay draped over the trunk in front of her bed. He held out the silk garment as a way to relax his wife and also encourage her to cover up. The continued view of her physical offerings began to stir in his loins a need he knew would not be fulfilled in her present state of anger. His gesture of kindness worked. Georgiana lowered the pistol. She accepted her robe and put the weapon back into the drawer.
“Do not think for a moment you are safe. I have weapons hidden all throughout this house, as I made good use of your absence.”
“Georgie, I–” George Wickham truly appeared conflicted as he tried to explain his absence to his wife. “I have spent those nights fattening the geese and now it’s time for the slaughter.”
Georgiana snorted as she pulled the bell cord four times for her maid. If they were to go out that evening,  she needed to bathe.
“You mean you spent those nights in the arms of your lover. We no longer have to lie to each other, George. You’ve never loved me. And while I thought I was in love with you, it appears to have been a childhood fancy.” Georgiana Wickham, the sister of Fitzwilliam Darcy, granddaughter of the Fifth Earl of Matlock, stared at her husband with cold indifference in her eyes. Life experience had broken the young, vivacious girl he had married, but George Wickham was not selfless enough to feel remorse over his responsibility for the change in her.
“So you will help me? I mean us? I can count upon you?” George reached out his hand, and Georgiana responded by offering her own. Her husband gallantly bent over and kissed the top, almost as a show of fealty to a queen with how low he bowed.
“Don’t think too much of this. I am horrendously bored, and the food here is terrible. I am going to dine and drink, and if you can orchestrate your schemes around my plans . . .” her voice trailed off as he signalled he understood with a nod, “then I shall be present to assist you.”
George Wickham began to explain the particulars of his need to speak to a few judges and other government officials, as he finally held the proof of Lord Strange’s scheme to defraud dozens of men. He did not add that these efforts to learn more about potentially holding a claim to Rosings had yielded nothing. He droned on and on about the details of each investment while Georgiana listened halfheartedly until finally, her bath was ready. For her this news was old news, as she had helped him nick the ledger the last time they played cards at the Whitcombs’. As she dismissed her husband from her suite of rooms, George Wickham stood in the doorway for the detail he had held closest to his chest.
“The Prince Regent himself has invested,” he pronounced, to Georgiana’s gasp. Once she overcame her surprise his young, diminutive wife slowly smiled,  her eyes slanted in greed.
“And if we bring down Lord Strange, His Royal Highness will be quite grateful?”
Wickham pursed his lips in a fulsome expression. “I do believe if we conduct ourselves correctly, within a year we shall be Lord and Lady Wickham for such service to the Crown.”
With his fanciful promise of a title from an appreciative monarch, Georgiana giggled in a close approximation of the girl who ran away with the steward son. Finally shooing George completely away, Georgiana Wickham enjoyed her bath with the hope that a babe born in the autumn and Lord Strange’s mining business ruined, her fortunes were indeed taking a turn for the better.
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.