Over 2,000 readers have devoured Chapters 1-4 between my site and fanfiction.net. I am astounded and humbled by the interest even though it’s been a tough year for me and writing. Did you know for a time, I was managing a Taekwondo studio and took classes, reaching my 5th belt (camo)? I injured my knee twice on hook kicks and have determined that Taekwondo is not for me, but it was fun to learn! Now, back to the sequel I’ve always wanted to write!
-Love and safety to you all-
Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 5 - Happy Was The Day, A Pride and Prejudice Sequel Novel
The following morning delivered the worst weather for the plans of the two eldest Bennet daughters. Showers alternated between a fine mist, one scarcely inconveniencing anyone, and steady pours that made the roads hazardous to travel. Despite the gloomy dispositions of Jane and Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet joined her daughters to break her fast in nothing less than the jolliest of spirits for she had not one, but two daughters, engaged to very wealthy men from London.
“I shall pinch myself once more as last evening feels like it was but a dream! That you managed to secure Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet spoke mostly to herself as her two eldest sulked over their soft-boiled eggs. Suddenly, Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Oh! The romance must have been a clandestine one and that must be why you refused your cousin last year!”
Elizabeth shook her head as she poked a bit of eggshell with her small spoon. “No, Mama, I was not in a secret romance with Mr. Darcy last autumn. When I refused Mr. Collins’ offer, I held no assurances or hope of another from Mr. Darcy.”
Jane glanced up from her meal. She also felt no stomach for food as she worried about Mr. Bingley’s health. Her sister’s words provoked a memory. “But you did turn down Mr. Darcy’s proposal in Kent, so he must have had some feelings for you even last year.”
“Turned down his proposal in Kent? What’s this? You are engaged! How is that so if you turned him down?” Mrs. Bennet asked and Jane suddenly winced in a silent apology to her sister. Elizabeth fumed. Not even Kitty or Mary dared to break the silence and their father continued to study the newspaper.
“Answer her, Lizzy. Your mother loves a good intrigue,” he stated.
“Yes, tell us. How did you fall in love with Mr. Darcy?” Kitty asked with a giggle.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, mortified that she was to be the entertainment for her entire family. In fact and deed there was little inappropriate in her dealings with Mr. Darcy, but to explain it all from start to finish would lead to criticism of her behavior. And his. For this reason alone she justified feeling loyalty to him over the curiosities of her sisters and parents. If she were a few years younger, she might throw a fit and storm upstairs, begging to be left alone. But such antics would not stop the inevitable inquisition, merely the location.
“At the assembly last year, I overheard a very unfortunate slight against me when Mr. Bingley implored Mr. Darcy to dance—”
“We know all about that, you told us!” Kitty said sourly, immediately unhappy with Elizabeth’s offered explanation.
“Yes, and had I felt less, perhaps I would have felt less injury,” Elizabeth snapped back to her interrupting sister, and Kitty’s mouth made a small, rounded shape signaling comprehension.
“He was a very unsociable, proud man last year, but he did dance with you at the ball,” Mrs. Bennet commented, remembering her dislike for the man solely for his disinterest in Jane, then recalling that early on that he had shown preference to Elizabeth.
“Again, all of you were there, but even that evening did not signify to me of any special regard. At the assembly, he refused to dance with me. At Lucas Lodge, I refused to dance with him. The ball merely evened the score, or so I thought,” Elizabeth said, refusing to meet anyone’s eye as she considered how utterly childish their courtship had begun. Her Aunt Gardiner had been correct to see what Elizabeth could not see all along, that Mr. Darcy was a man whose good opinion she sought from the moment she laid eyes upon him.
“When Jane was ill, you must have spent time alone with him,” Mary ventured.
Quickly, Elizabeth shook her head, but then slowly stopped and nodded. “Without words passing between us, in the library reading.”
“Let that put a rest to it! Mr. Darcy has found himself a wife that can sit quietly and read,” Mr. Bennet said, making Elizabeth blush for the insult to her mother and insinuation that Mr. Darcy would desire her to remain silent.
“Not so swiftly, Mr. Bennet. Lizzy has other questions to answer.” Mrs. Bennet ignored her husband’s cruelty and suddenly took a great interest in the particulars of just how her second eldest daughter came to secure one of the richest men of their acquaintance. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh made a point of visiting my parlor to see Lizzy. Surely something must have occurred in Kent.”
Circling back to the failed proposal had pushed the conversation too far for Elizabeth. “Please, can you all just be content for my happiness? Mr. Darcy is a good man, who saved this family after Lydia . . . after Lydia . . .” Elizabeth trailed off as she dared to challenge her father with a sidelong glance, and his face showed a fit of anger the Bennet family rarely saw.
“What of my Lydia? Oh so clever to marry first,” Mrs. Bennet romanticized.
“She would not have married at all if it was not for Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth stated firmly, not allowing her father to break their connection.
Mr. Bennet rattled his newspaper in frustration, folding the half sheet and rolling it up in his hands. “I wondered when you might have sought your glory. Will you not also tell the table how you warned me that Lydia should not go to Brighton? Tell me, did you possess intelligence or experience from the libertine fashion in which I have allowed you and your sister to travel?”
“No, Papa. I warned you of the general evils such behavior creates,” Elizabeth lied once again as Jane struggled to keep her expression indifferent.
“And what of you,” Mr. Bennet turned to Jane, noticing the silent communication passing between his two eldest daughters. “You seem to have some thoughts on the matter, Jane.”
Jane took a deep breath. “Mr. Darcy did tell Lizzy that Mr. Wickham was not to be trusted. A lady of his acquaintance was once in a similar predicament as Miss Mary King.”
“Jane!”
“No, now the truth comes out!” Mr. Bennet said, feeling relief from the guilt he had carried over his youngest’s patched-up nuptials. “Here I was thinking Mr. Darcy a paragon of virtue, a man I should never think to deny any request,” Mr. Bennet echoed the words he had spoken to his favorite daughter just the night before in his study.
“Mr. Darcy knew Mr. Wickham would target my Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet asked, her voice trembling and Elizabeth closed her eyes at the utter ridiculousness of her family. Any other time Lydia was so clever in her aims, and now her mother finally saw Mr. Wickham as the villain.
“No, he could not. No one could have, could they, Kitty?” Lizzy called to her younger sister who had begun to cry at the table.
“I’m sorry, terribly sorry. I knew! Lydia told me she planned to run off with Mr. Wickham!” Kitty began to wail, and Jane wrapped her arm around her shoulder.
“Enough!” Mr. Bennet rose from the table and threw his napkin upon the plate. “Lydia is married. Jane and Elizabeth shall be married. After all, this is a father’s duty: hand over his daughters to any gentleman that knocks and inquires.” Mr. Bennet wrung his hands as he spoke, then clasped them behind his back as he left the dining room. The door to his study slammed with more force than usual making Elizabeth flinch.
The dining room table remained silent until Elizabeth rose quietly without asking for dismissal from her mother. Her thoughts and feelings tormented each step as she desperately missed Mr. Darcy’s presence. She broke the pain marveling at the sudden obsession she couldn’t shake over him, and then combatted a rush of melancholy over her father’s feelings regarding her intended.
Her mother and sisters’ voices resumed in the dining room below and she paused when she reached the solitude of her shared room with Jane. She wished to throw herself onto the bed and weep, over what misfortune she could not even name. Her better senses pushed aside this upheaval for a solution: the pen.
Pulling out a piece of parchment and her quill, she sat underneath the gray, dreary light of the window with the rainy day matching her disposition perfectly.
October 8, 1812
Our parting last evening came about so abruptly, I admit I cursed the rain this morning that has made a visit impossible. I should ask Jane if being engaged dominates her thoughts with Mr. Bingley. Since I have been so fortunate as to find an understanding with you, I find myself thoroughly preoccupied with thoughts of becoming your wife. All other demands such as conversation and routine actions require more focus than ever before! I fear my mind may become addled in some manner by the depth of my affections. My neighbors shall speak of the second Bennet daughter being a lady of good sense only in reference to the past. Their conclusions shall no doubt be bolstered by my family as they have not accepted my marriage plans so easily as they did with Jane and Lydia. I hesitate to bring up Lydia’s lest it causes you pain.
All morning I fielded inquiries as to how we have conducted our clandestine relationship, even parrying accusations we shared an intimacy last year at Netherfield Park while Jane was ill! Kitty could not believe you and I sat for an hour in quiet solitude reading in the library. My father put pain to it, jesting at my expense. A failing of mine was witnessing him take his pleasure at others’ expense to be a sign of great wit and good humor. Receiving such equal treatment by his silvery tongue has acquainted me with the cruelty of it.
Though I’ve yet to receive a missive from you, allow me to anticipate your query. My interview with my father last evening did not go as smoothly as perhaps yours. This is why I was gone to his library for over a quarter-hour and then needed another half of one to compose myself above stairs. But none of my distress was over you, dear sir. Where my father declared he should not deny a man of your stature anything you might request, he cautioned me to think carefully. He fears I shall lose respect for you, fail to submit to your authority, and even hinted I might be determined to have you for your wealth. I did not relate our mutual embarrassment in Kent, though perhaps you revealed the circumstances yourself.
My confidence was indeed misplaced, however, in my sister Jane, who relayed this morning that I spurned your first offer of marriage to all gathered at our table. The intelligence rattled my father’s attitude, so upon further consideration, you likely concealed more than I managed. If I did not know Jane possessed the purest soul and heart, I might question her motive. But I believe she spoke out of genuine concern, which gives me little relief. Oh, why was I so vocal about my opinions last autumn?
Surely no utterance of thought is worth such anxieties of the heart! But do not feel pained for my penance, sir, it is for you I feel the most regret. I worry a moment that should have remained private between us shall become fodder for all the gossips in Meryton, chief among their ranks being my mother and her sister Phillips. Please forgive my misplaced trust. I shall keep what remains between us private even to my most beloved sister.
If terrible tales trickle off tongues, perhaps a wedding with Jane and your friend, Mr. Bingley, will seed disinterest in speculation about Kent. After this morning’s attention was placed solely on me and my plans for a happy life with you, I find I am not in the least interested in a grand affair alone. My mother will no doubt seek to have us wed separately, so she may make the most of the occasion to entertain and boast amongst the neighborhood. I find that I am unhappy we shall have to wait at least three weeks for the banns to be read and perhaps longer since we need to have them read in Derbyshire and London if you hold membership in more than one church. My head is heavy with all of the details one must reconcile in this business of matrimony. I pray that you also see fit to send a missive to me today but shan’t expect writing on these matters until the next letter I receive.
I shall end with the sentiment that you are so generous to suffer a family such as mine and circumstances outside your normal society. I shudder to think what my mother said and did in the three-quarter hour you sat in the parlor with her. But you hold my heart, sir, so I beg that you be gentle. I find separation from you to bring pain of the acutest kind. If these pangs are similar in any way to the tugging of your heartstrings this last twelve-month, please share the method and manner in which you survived.
Your Beloved,
Elizabeth
By evening, a response arrived at Longbourn. The poor servant boy, named Ralph, dispatched back and forth in haste, was so thoroughly soaked that Mrs. Bennet took pity on the lad. She ordered Hill to send him to bed with broth and relieved him of duties for the following morning. The boy’s sneezing and coughing rattled the matriarch’s nerves and she lamented loudly how dangerous illness would be for dear Jane, set to be married soon to Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth ignored her mother’s exclusion to escape with a letter from Mr. Darcy, and her father did not even demand to read it before it was given to her. This proved to be a godsend, as Mr. Darcy’s criticisms were not lightly penned:
My Dearest,
The rain has separated us bringing no joy to this household. Even if Mr. Bingley had a decent mount, we would not dare to ride in this deluge. I’m afraid between Miss Bingley’s incessant and unwelcome attention, and Mr. Bingley’s melancholy, justified I believe, I have isolated myself to the generous apartments offered to me here. I hate to pen the words, but I cannot even rely on Bingley’s good sense if he was not so forlorn. Every other sentence sets him off in a fury!
The rooms I’ve been afforded are very well situated and I’ve given more thought to your request that we stay in Hertfordshire after the wedding. I have not yet asked to trespass on Charles’ hospitality, but do intend to broach the subject when he is of sounder mind. I suspect I shall need to move my things as I believe these accommodations might be best for the future Mrs. Charles Bingley. The room does not boast an adjoining door as our suites in all of our future homes, a consequence of my parents’ great affections that they shared, and a similar future I hope for our union. Though, should your family be acquainted with the previous generation to own Netherfield Park, before leasing the same, please do not believe I pass judgment on their union. Few homes offer architectural features to endear husband and wife. Why, some homes I’ve visited, especially those in my extended family’s domain, keep the master and mistress in separate wings!
I pray I should never anger or disappoint you so that we should live apart.
It appears you are more industrious than I, for your letter has just arrived. The messenger was a tad careless as the ink has run in the corner, but the main sentiments of the letter I can digest. It is difficult for me to read the account you have sent and not feel incensed on your behalf. Would that I could be by your side, alleviate the pain of your family’s intrusion. You are acquainted with my aunt, I assure you that my sympathy for your plight is in earnest. To answer your inquiry, I did not impart details of our interactions in Kent, though I feel even greater pain that my words about your family may trouble you further. To be honest, a virtue I plan to build our future upon, I was left disappointed in your father’s interview. A simple assurance of my affections for you placated him too swiftly in my mind, it bears clearer that the chief of his concern was my wealth and status, to not as you say, deny me any request.
Aside from my pique at his careless interest in your regard, I can only say that the whole of my experience in your company has shown I’ve fought hard to earn your esteem and respect. It, therefore, follows any respect so challenging to earn cannot be the whim of a besotted heart. I believe that I came to respect you even before I came to love you, and pray you followed a similar path. He is not mistaken that our wealth and position in society shall make us impervious to those petty arguments another husband and wife might suffer. But I am sure we shall argue, most passionately, about the mundane, for you and I are of the same mind to question all around us before we make our judgment. And from those passionate debates, I predict lost afternoons and evenings to each other’s company, oh that we should be so fortunate!
If my penance for such an offending proposal of marriage is that I must now suffer it being known, then so be it. I’ve feared gossip of the worst kind before in my life and cannot say the Lord spared me consequences of my cowardice. Nor your family. Please do not fear to mention your sister, Lydia, though you will forgive me if I cannot quite reconcile myself to writing her married name. I may wish for no connection to that man who trespassed so heavily upon my father’s generosity but could never ask you to release a bond to your flesh and blood. Days will come where we will cleave to each other against any number of demands from your family or mine, but the regard we hold for the most irksome of our relations shall always endure. And now, I suspect your next letter will entreat me, again, to consider reconciliation with my aunt, but I beg you stay such a request until more suns have risen than the twenty thus far.
Regarding the last of your letter, I must wait to answer when I might deliver such information in person. I believe you will forgive me for the delay, but know the emotional discomfort and disruption to rational thought you have described has been my constant companion for over half a year, possibly longer. I cannot prescribe a remedy for the ache, apart from spending a life together at Pemberley.
Do you recall the home from your visit with your aunt and uncle well? I understand it is customary for a young bride to have changes made, and I’m afraid the Mistress’ chambers at both the London townhome and Pemberley have not seen a refreshing since my mother became a Darcy over thirty years ago. Would you like for us to begin the remodels now or wait until after our nuptials for changes that better suit your tastes?
And merely writing about your future accommodations I’m afraid has afflicted me once again with our shared condition that promises a joyful union. The desires of my heart could not cry out more for your jolly company that salves my loneliness. I curse this beastly weather that keeps us apart and from your favorite pastime of countryside rambles.
I can only promise, my Elizabeth, to give you hill upon hill of countryside expressly situated for your exploration. I only hope that you shall invite me along on your adventures so I don’t miss one moment of your laughter. Pray, send back your response at your earliest convenience, at least we do not reside further apart than treble the distance of Rosings and the cottage.
Your Most Devoted,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
When Elizabeth closed her letter, she sighed and leaned back on the bed she shared with Jane.
“Does Mr. Darcy write about Mr. Bingley?” Jane asked as she had sneaked up the stairs while Elizabeth had savored the lengthy letter from her suitor.
“You had a letter from Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth countered, not wishing to disclose any details of what Mr. Darcy wrote, simply on the principle of their new, shared privacy.
Jane shook her head. “His sister wrote, effusing how happy she is we are to marry and lamenting the dreary afternoon she spent with the gentlemen.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Mr. Darcy had written that he had spent most of the day alone, in his rooms. Pangs of jealousy clenched in her heart as she took a deep breath and remembered that Caroline Bingley would know Jane would share her letter. Still, Elizabeth needed to parry the direct question.
“Did you write to Mr. Bingley?”
“Of course not!”
Elizabeth laughed. “I wrote to Mr. Darcy this morning. You should write to Mr. Bingley tonight and if the weather is clear, we can send our responses together.”
“But I could never write to him!”
“Jane! Be sensible! You’re engaged to him! Of course, you can write to him, no one scolded me for writing to Mr. Darcy!”
Jane bit her lower lip and considered her sister’s proposal.
“Come, I will light the candle, and we can write our responses tonight.”
She grabbed Jane’s hand, but her sister balked as Lizzy tried to pull her toward the writing desk in their room.
“I simply cannot. I am not so bold as you,” she argued.
Elizabeth shrugged.
“Well, I shall write to my future husband. Yours can sit wondering if you still have regard for him after his poor showing the other night,” she said, off-handed.
Jane gasped. “Do you truly think that’s why he didn’t write?”
Elizabeth pulled out two pieces of parchment, one for herself and one for Jane, though she frowned at the close quarters for writing. Neither would have much privacy from the other. Still, she could always take a pot of ink and quill over to the bedside table, deferring to Jane the desk. Offering the means of communication that would never have been proper when they were mere acquaintances with the gentlemen, Elizabeth remembered the sage advice from her friend, Charlotte Collins.
“There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement,” she repeated, reflecting on how much had transpired in a year.
Setting her expression into one of sheer determination against her placating nature, Jane accepted the seat as Elizabeth stood the moment her sister neared the desk.
“You’ll be a brave Mrs. Bingley, indeed,” Elizabeth teased her sister.
Jane turned as Elizabeth took her meager supplies to the bedside table, tucking Mr. Darcy’s letter into the pocket of her robe. “What about you? Aren’t you afraid of misstepping as Mrs. Darcy?”
“Terrified.”
But with another deep breath and a slow smile, as her sister’s quill began to write in earnest, Elizabeth feigned beginning her second letter to Mr. Darcy. In that one question, her elder sister had revealed so much, she was not the only Bennet girl nervous about their radical life changes just upon the horizon.
Chapter 6 - Happy Was The Day, A Pride and Prejudice Sequel Novel
The Bennet brides-to-be endured rain and were reduced to epistles from their beaus for the remainder of the week. Elizabeth enjoyed a fastidious exchange with her intended, disagreeing about the pains of sending errand boys back and forth between the houses to deliver the messages and learning about the challenges of Mr. Bingley’s recovery from his fall and loss of a favorite ride.
Jane suffered greatly. Poor Mr. Bingley’s missives lacked the careful and neat handwriting of his friend, and instead were full of inkblots, crossed out lines, and added scribbles in the margins to make sense of lines where he had invariably forgotten to write a crucial word. Even if Jane had wished for privacy in their correspondence, none was to be had for it took multiple readings by at least two of the sisters to find a full meaning in his letters.
“Do you think Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will come to Meryton for services?” Jane nervously asked Elizabeth as they waited for the two carriages that would take their family to the first reading of the banns.
“Mr. Darcy intimated so, though he mentioned Miss Bingley argued such attendance was not compulsory.” Elizabeth frowned in the lone mirror hanging in the hall as her bonnet continued to slip down and shade her eyes. Lydia or Kitty must have borrowed it at some point and stretched the fabric.
“It will be such a delight to be reacquainted with Mr. Bingley’s sister,” Jane said, pushing her positivity upon her more practical sister. Jane tried to give Lizzy patience, reminding herself that her sister held no experience in longing for a love interest over time and distance. The two had used the stormy weather to repair the breaches in their sisterly affections. The long days had given them time to talk and reveal many of the secrets they had kept as a direct result of Jane falling in love with Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth’s haphazard courtship with Mr. Darcy.
Boarding the carriages spared Elizabeth from answering her sister in any meaningful way, yet a quarter-hour passed before the two vehicles began to roll away from Longbourn. Their mother and younger sisters fought over who would sit where, and twice, one or the other forgot their shawl or other frippery.
Elizabeth sulked in the squashed traveling conditions, preferring most Sundays to walk to church. But the half week of rain still muddied the roads, and the last desire on her mind was to arrive with her petticoats six inches deep in mud. From there, her mind wandered to imagining every negative comment and conversation Miss Bingley contrived to hold with her Mr. Darcy in the four days she had his company all to herself.
Her distraction was so thorough, she was almost angry with Mr. Darcy himself, who stood stoically outside the church with Mr. Bingley, anxious to greet the Bennets upon arrival until she laughed heartily and shook her delusional anxieties. If Mr. Darcy held any interest in Miss Bingley, he would have availed himself of her availability long ago and Miss Bingley’s desires mattered not a bit of influence to him.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy began as he assisted his intended and her two younger sisters from the second carriage, greeting each one. Mary and Kitty looped arms to walk into the church together to their family pew, giggling as they left Elizabeth alone with Mr. Darcy. “And how are you, my dear?” he whispered, leaning his head ever so slightly to speak where only she might hear.
“I am well,” Elizabeth said, accepting his arm as an escort into the church. The couple waited for Mr. and Mrs. Bennet to begin the promenade first, as was their due, and then Mr. Bingley and Jane to walk behind them. As they waited, Elizabeth felt an arousing tickle of Mr. Darcy’s fingers stroking the inside of her exposed wrist between her glove and sleeve, eliciting a foreign response of desire most inappropriate for one about to walk into a chapel. She blushed, and Mr. Darcy, sensing her distress, ceased.
“My apologies,” he muttered. But Elizabeth swiftly shook her head as they began to walk forward.
“I appreciate the sentiment, just not the timing.” The two shared a conspiratorial smile as they walked into Meryton’s small chapel, a smile that faded as the seating arrangements for service appeared. The Bennet family pew held her father, mother, Jane, and Mr. Bingley, with Kitty and Mary on his other side, leaving only enough room for one more. Behind them, sat Caroline Bingley, doing her best to appear unaffected.
Mr. Darcy, being the gentleman, escorted Elizabeth to her family’s pew, and then slipped behind her, sliding all the way down to the side where Miss Bingley sat, quite alone.
At first, Elizabeth sat frustrated that her youngest sisters had not seen fit to consider that perhaps they should sit with Miss Bingley, and allow the two couples prominence with their parents. But as Mary began to kneel to pray, Elizabeth turned her head ever so slightly. She could plainly spy Mr. Darcy in the pew behind her, gazing back at her in the manner she had learned represented his highest regard. His eyes didn’t break away, even as Miss Bingley handed him the hymnal and the congregation began to sing the processional selection.
Dutiful, Elizabeth turned away and bowed her head as the cross trooped past. Reverend George Wakeman took his place in the lectern, while all sang the last strains of beseeching the angels’ favor. Thankfully, Lizzy knew the natural rhythms and timing of her home vicar, she only felt slightly guilty stealing glance after glance at Fitzwilliam during the reading of the Gospel. Each time she muttered a response with the congregation, she caught herself watching his lips, mesmerized by the mouth that professed devout faith and yet was so very pleasing to kiss. She blushed as she reflected on their trek in the woods, and then more so when she felt Kitty tug gently on her skirt that she was one of the last to sit back down.
During communion, Lizzy again found herself distracted by the thought of sharing a communal cup with Mr. Darcy, one after another, as Jane and Mr. Bingley had in front of her. Unfortunately, the pews had been dismissed from the side where her father sat, and so, Mr. Darcy was not directly behind her, Miss Bingley was. She accepted her remembrance and followed her sister back to the pew, only daring a glance up at Mr. Darcy as he walked by again.
Finally, Elizabeth kneeled and prayed in earnest for her mind and heart to be delivered of the incessant passions she felt for Mr. Darcy, a prayer that as it flitted across her mind, she just as quickly begged the Lord not to grant. For what good would it do for a wife to be unaffected by her husband? She pondered on what remedy there could be for her current affliction, for she felt bereft without him and highly agitated around him, that at last, she settled on a prayer most eager brides find: that God sees fit to see them married in haste!
Elizabeth paid much more attention to the service through the prayers of the people and benediction, up to the point that Reverend Wakeman finally came around to parish announcements.
“I must say, I am elated to share the most delightful news, news that perhaps some of our congregation is already well acquainted with. Could I ask Miss Jane Bennet and Mr. Charles Bingley to please stand?” Reverend Wakeman beamed down at eldest Bennet daughter he had baptized himself, more than two decades ago.
Elizabeth held her breath as she waited for her name and Mr. Darcy’s to be called, but Reverend Wakeman extolled the graces and good disposition of Jane to the rapt attentions around them. Elizabeth squirmed in her pew and she wondered what glad tidings and blessings he would say about her when he pronounced the first week of the banns to have been read and asked for any objections. When of course there were none, he invited the happy couple to again sit down and asked if there were any other announcements for the parish from Sir William Lucas.
Breathing became an accelerated affair as Elizabeth tried to process what had just happened. Her sister had the banns read, but her name was not called. Tears welled in her eyes and the final processional out of the church grew blurred in her vision. She did not nod in reverence of the cross and instead turned panicked-stricken to look at Mr. Darcy. Her face, reddened from crying with tears down her cheeks was met with his stony expression of indifference, one Elizabeth did not mistake for ardor. No, Fitzwilliam was very angry, and she had seen this look once before. In Kent.
Kitty’s sharp elbow brought Elizabeth back to her senses as they were waiting for her to get up and leave the pew because the Lucases had congregated at the other end where Mrs. Bennet spoke rapidly about Jane’s great fortune.
Utterly incensed, Elizabeth stormed out of the church even forgetting to wait for Mr. Darcy’s escort, and trudged over to the far corner of the churchyard, near the tree line. She clenched her fists and wished for all the world for Mr. Darcy not to see her throw a petulant fit over what must have been a misunderstanding. She would speak to Reverend Wakeman, and explain, yes, and that is what she turned around to do, only to see Mr. Darcy already speaking to the vicar. Her father had joined the conversation, and something about the men’s postures gave her pause. Reverend Wakeman placed a benedictive arm on Mr. Darcy’s forearm in some sign of reconciliation, and Mr. Darcy jerked his hand away. He did not bow, whistled for his horse, and took his mount.
“Your Mr. Darcy has a mean temper, Lizzy,” Kitty said, as she had joined her sister’s side and watched the display.
“No, he doesn’t,” she said, tears falling anew and cursing herself for this fresh penchant for crying. “He just cannot abide impropriety and rejection. Nor can I,” Lizzy finished, as her father called for her. She did not think to disobey, for she had a number of words to share with her father, in private.
The carriage assignments jumbled, as Mrs. Bennet and Jane rode with Mr. Bingley’s sister and Mr. Bingley. Mary and Kitty would take the second Bennet carriage home, but Elizabeth cared not for any of it as she accepted her father’s hand and used the leather strap tacked overhead to find her seat in the conveyance.
“I am grateful we found this time alone, Elizabeth. I’m very concerned about your behavior with Mr. Darcy.”
“And I am very concerned about my family’s treatment of Mr. Darcy. Why were the banns only read for Jane?”
Mr. Bennet scowled as the carriage began to roll away, leaving the churchyard. “You cannot expect to be the same as your sister,” Mr. Bennet explained.
Elizabeth looked dumbfounded. “But yet, I am the same as Jane. I am engaged to be married. You gave your blessing four days ago!”
“And I’ve yet to sign a marriage contract!”
With a heavy sigh, Elizabeth realized she could not contradict her father’s declaration. He spoke the truth, and Jane was engaged an entire week before she came to her understanding with Mr. Darcy. In that time, both Mr. Bingley and her father had sat down with her Uncle Phillips, but she was not privy to the terms of the settlement. She wondered if Jane even knew the terms.
“There were four days of rain! You punish my choice of husband over the weather?”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “There are other concerns, many I detailed to you the night he applied for your hand. Are you certain, Lizzy, that you wish to align yourself with a man who not one person can speak well of in our neighborhood? Ordinarily, I would cast aside such trifling matters of popularity as meaningless, until I witnessed the man’s temper this morning.”
“You do not know him as I do, he was injured and he does not express himself as he ought to around new people.”
“Nay, child, he was a brute. Reverend Wakeman calmed him down, and still, he jumped on his horse to ride away. Tell me, did he even farewell you?” Mr. Bennet drove his point home and Elizabeth felt her eyes prick anew with tears.
“Why? Why are you being so cruel? If I did not read into his actions, why could not you? Was it not you who told me it was my turn to be crossed in love? Or did you mean not a love that took me away from here? Mayhap I should set my sights on John Lucas.” Elizabeth met her father’s cruelty with her own.
Mr. Bennet groaned and adjusted his posture on the bench to spy movement outside the carriage window. A rider on a horse that looked a great deal like the very gentleman he disfavored rode in the distance, towards Longbourn.
“I would no sooner see you with that slavish oaf than tied to a rich man who values you too little, that’s all. Please believe me that my actions are for your benefit and protection. An old man can learn from his mistakes, a time or two,” he said, as the carriage came to a complete stop.
As soon as Mr. Bennet descended the stairs, he was accosted by Mr. Darcy.
“I request a private word with Miss Elizabeth, please sir,” he said, with all deference to Mr. Bennet.
Mr. Bennet threw his hands up as Elizabeth clambered out of the carriage and answered for herself.
“Yes! Yes, you may have a word!” She accepted Mr. Darcy’s hand from the carriage.
“I am quite unneeded. Unneeded! She won’t take my advice anymore!” And he left the couple to themselves.
The two ignored Mr. Bennet entirely, and a stable hand rushed forward to take care of Mr. Darcy’s horse.
“You have my apology, madam, in the way I conducted myself, and I wondered if we might stroll in your family’s garden?”
Elizabeth twisted her lips in slight annoyance, as he had run off and left the church without saying a word. As the second Bennet carriage could be spied coming up the lane, Elizabeth gave up her torture of poor Mr. Darcy in exchange for the two of them to walk alone, without her younger sisters joining them.
“Follow me,” she said, and she took off with a laugh, her legs grateful for the exercise after sitting so long that morning both at church and in the carriages.
Chapter 7 - Happy Was The Day, A Pride and Prejudice Sequel Novel
Puddles of water stood in the ditches to the sides of the road, and Elizabeth veered to her right onto a well-worn path that snaked through the trees lining her father’s lands. A large log, what was left of a grand oak tree in the spring, lay across the trail from where it had blown over. Mr. Darcy offered her his hand, but Elizabeth giggled as she grasped the thick branch, bare of any leaves, to pull herself up with a large step, steadied herself as the trunk was slippery, and then jumped with all of the might her legs could muster.
“Impressive,” Mr. Darcy remarked, before following her example, only his long legs carried him a good distance further, and she had to sidestep out of his way, sloshing her boot down into a deep trench of muck from decaying leaves and water.
“Arghh,” she groaned, as the cold water seeped up over the edge of her anklet, and she tried to shake free of the water. With it already inside the shoe, her foot just became soggier by the effort, and she cringed.
“My dearest, are you hurt? I’m so thoughtless!”
“Stay, stay! I’m well!” she managed, waving her hands as the trees were still so threadbare, her family could spy them from the yard. “I began the game, I merely lost. I am uninjured, but my left foot is no longer dry.” She looped her arm in his, showing she could walk just fine with one foot soaked and the other dry.
“I’m afraid your boot may be ruined,” he said, with a frown, as his eyes carefully watched her steps, allowing some low tree branches to abuse his hat. The beaver fell off, and again, Elizabeth was in a fit of laughter, as Mr. Darcy turned around, bewildered, but then fetched his lost companion. “And now, my hat! My goodness, if we were not engaged to wed, I’m afraid we’d both be quite compelled now!” A rare jest from him brightened Elizabeth’s mood even more, and their eyes met in a shared glisten of mirth.
Oh, why couldn’t her father know this man?
Realizing with his back to Longbourn, along the trail, no one could see her. She stepped forward boldly as he adjusted his hat, with the full intention of casting propriety aside. With his hands adjusting the brim, Elizabeth stood up on her tiptoes, grasped his lapels, and kissed his lips, catching Mr. Darcy utterly by surprise.
She relished the feel of his lips against hers, the heat of affection passing between them making her quite forget her near-frozen left foot.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered her name after, half pleading for her to put him out of his misery.
“A little further, I wish to show you somewhere special,” she said, and she turned around for him to follow once more, extending her hand behind her for his grasp.
Leading him to one of her favorite reading spots in the wood, she lamented that the season was all wrong for the majesty of the place. In spring, the branches above would be alive with buds of yellow-green, and a symphony of birds and insects all awakening from winter’s dull chill. In summer, the shades of emerald would filter sunlight down into dazzling displays of dance upon the forest floor. They’d have to settle for the warm hearth hues of autumn, littering the ground around them, with little on the trees after the days of storms.
When at last they reached the round clearing in the trees, a circle of only a few majestic oaks stood sparsely apart as stoic guardians of the crude, stone edification built between them. Elizabeth turned to see Fitzwilliam’s expression and did not like what she spied. Instead of intrigue, she found him frowning.
“Well?”
He opened his mouth and paused, taking a few steps from her and trying to make sense of the haphazard piles of stone and other natural material that seemed to stand between three oak trees.
“I’m afraid I am at a loss, is it some kind of folly?”
She shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand, but still could not hide her laugh.
“No, not a folly!”
She realized the poor man likely had little experience in the play of children.
“It is the remnants of the great castle! Or at least, that’s what my father said,” she explained, abandoning his side to demonstrate the slight depression in the forest floor that served as a moat, crossing the logs laid across it. She lifted her skirts and walked around the great trees, and then up to where she was standing on the makeshift platform, Mr. Darcy could not spy behind the crumbling wall.
“My sisters and I played here for hours, much like my father and his brother who built it. You may not cross, good knight, until you say the words to distinguish friend from foe!” she bellowed, as Mr. Darcy made a move to follow her. He took another leap afforded by his long legs, reaching the wall where his fair maiden finally stood eye-to-eye with him. He locked eyes with her and held his breath just as she held hers.
“Oh, but brave Princess, I’ve journeyed all this way and I’m afraid no one has told me the words. But I dearly pray you find fit to make me your friend, and never your foe,” he said, leaning forward to not kiss her lips, but dipping his head down and daring to press his lips to the rising curve of her bosom, just at the edge of the low neckline.
“Sir, knight,” she started, and Mr. Darcy continued his kisses along her decolletage, slipping his tongue against her skin and tasting the slight hint of saltiness from their physical exertion as he inhaled the scent of lavender. Her hands wrapped around his head as she practically crushed him to her body as her knees began to feel too weak to hold her balance. “Fitzwilliam,” she managed before his hands reached around her waist and effortlessly lifted her out of the protection of her “castle,” over the crumbling stone wall.
As he lowered her to the ground, sadly placing his newest interest of her body out of the convenient reach of his lips, the two nuzzled their faces together, feeling the chilled tips of each other’s noses. Their warm breath lingered in the air around them, a happy condition only the sighs of lovers provided on a crisp, autumn afternoon.
“Our children will have the most imaginative, playful mother and I can scarcely wait to raise them with you,” Mr. Darcy pulled her body in closer to his, emphasizing the future physical connections that would result in Elizabeth carrying his child.
She gasped.
“You do wish to be a mother?” he asked, surprising them both as such a question hardly sounded normal. But Elizabeth nodded and smiled up at him.
“I worry that our passions are so strong, and so very new to me, do you fear them burning themselves out, like a roaring fire running out of timber?”
“Is that what you fear?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“My parents, you see, and my father’s warning . . .” she trailed off as she had no logical way to explain her convoluted feelings of pure, unadulterated bliss in Mr. Darcy’s company, then the squabbles and cruelty both of her parents inflicted on each other. “I worry that we discount that at first, we both did not like each other very much,” she explained.
Mr. Darcy wrapped his arms tighter around Elizabeth, holding her to his chest, as the two of them were very rarely afforded the luxury of such privacy.
“My temper at church today has not done much to assure you that I shall be the sturdy sort of husband you are asking for.”
She began to speak, but he squeezed her arms signaling her to wait. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“I can only offer the explanation that I am not accustomed to seeing you in distress, nor with the position of being unable to alleviate it. But I can swear that your happiness is my chief concern, and anything so much that is in my power to give, I dedicate my life to that enterprise.”
The two separated a little so that their lips could meet once more in a passionate kiss that threatened to overwhelm them both. Hands roamed both the familiar curves and forms and a few new places. When at last they each took a pause, Mr. Darcy pressed his forehead against hers.
“We simply cannot go on like this, and they will expect us back. Can you write to your aunt in London?”
Elizabeth, breathing hard, struggled to find logic in his aims. “Yes, but why?”
“Ask if you may visit. I must go to London and see my solicitor about our settlement, and I shall procure a special license as well.”
“You believe my father will continue to thwart our aims to be married?”
Mr. Darcy sighed and again embraced her to reassure them both. “I am not certain, but I lend credit to your concern. As you are one and twenty, and though I should never desire to place you in distress, would you choose me over your family’s demands?”
Elizabeth yanked herself free of his embrace and took a few paces away from Fitzwilliam. He froze in panic, misunderstanding her anger was not directed at him, but the very situation her father’s behavior had placed them in. Turning around, she faced Fitzwilliam with her hands clenched in fists by her side. Then she gulped.
“You are to be my husband and no other. Where anyone asks me to choose between them and you, they shall be sorely disappointed.”
Breaking into a broad grin, Fitzwilliam Darcy rushed forward to pick Elizabeth up and spin them both as he showered her with affection. They laughed until they were dizzy, and then at last settled on returning to Longbourn as a plan was formed between them.
“Remind me to never make you angry at me.”
“Oh, are you frightened?” she asked, not truly believing him even if he confessed such.
“No, but dangerously aroused and scarcely able to keep myself under good regulation.”
She paused in their journey back, and he again fretted that he had pressed too quickly their intimacy. Again she reassured him it was merely her naivete and that she also anticipated the marriage state, then blushed profusely for daring to reveal so much of her wanton desires toward him.
“I know you, and recognize that we are both creatures of the strongest emotions, even if we are not the best at expressing the same,” he began, as they were less than a few hundred yards from Longbourn. “Your letter, your first one, asked me how I reconciled the pangs of loving you, Madam, and surviving our separation, especially when I did not believe you returned the regard.”
She flinched, and he cleared his throat but did not dwell on comforting her for the vehement rejection of his hand in the past. He turned, blocking the view of Longbourn ahead with his broad shoulders.
Carefully, he pulled something from his waistcoat pocket, a letter addressed to her.
“You do not have to accept what I’ve placed in my hand, as the contents of it will rival those books in your father’s office that you explored to satisfy your curiosity.”
“How did you guess?”
He chuckled. “When your father lectured me, I perused his shelves with my gaze, as fathers have a terrific habit of placing such literature in the same locations. Four slender volumes, pale grey, top shelf on the right?”
Elizabeth sucked in her breath, but couldn’t help her smile. She had indeed read her father’s copies of Les Liaisons Dangereuses.
“I also assumed your sisters never bothered to learn how to read French,” he said, balancing the letter on his fingertips.
“They did not. Nor Latin,” she said. She stared at the letter he offered, so desperate to know the contents, but her father, her father absolutely could read French.
“You do not have to accept,”
“But I want,” she began, then closed her eyes. Part of her mind said she ought to do what was proper, but what was proper for a woman engaged to a man? She remembered what she had just declared a moment ago, that to her, Mr. Darcy was paramount. “I want to read anything you write to me,” she finished.
He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “And you understand the contents of the letter are . . . sensitive?” he asked. When she gave a single nod, his voice became huskier. “Private?”
She licked her lips, unable to risk a kiss as they were too close to Longbourn.
“The letter will not fall into anyone else’s hands, but only my father would be able to read it,” she said, trying to reassure Mr. Darcy.
He brightened at that intelligence, and the letter was slid into a pocket of her gown just before they looped arms and finished the last of the trek back to Longbourn.
Chapter 8 - Happy Was The Day, A Pride and Prejudice Sequel Novel
The afternoon passed pleasantly, though the men bid adieu not long after Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth finished their private walk as neither wished to formally visit on a Sunday. As Elizabeth planned to go above stairs, her father beckoned to her and she humored him in his study.
Involuntarily, her eyes rose to the set of four slender volumes on the top shelf, grinning like a cat that had caught the mouse, as her letter from her own Valmont sat awaiting in her pocket. No wonder the epistolary novels were so exciting to read, living one in real life sent an absolute rush of blood to her head!
“What did you discuss in your private conversation with Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet asked, pressing his fingertips together as he considered his favorite daughter before him.
She shrugged. “Oh this and that, he apologized for reacting poorly to see me in distress,” she simplified.
“To see you in distress! He shall act the fool and offend one and all?” Mr. Bennet howled in a jolly disposition at such antics. “And how shall he weather taking you to a ballroom in London? If you are angered or insulted there, will he toss a tantrum at an earl or a duke?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and refused to be baited. “I’m certain his uncle, an earl, has seen Mr. Darcy lose his temper before. But I believe once he and I are married, he will likely grow more accustomed to surviving my company,” she said, poking harmless fun at herself before he could.
“Did he give you a letter?”
“Father.”
“You were never one to lie, Lizzy, pray do not start now. I can see the outline of the crease in your gown,” he motioned toward the protruding corner on her left side.
Elizabeth froze. Her father extended his hand. Obediently, she reached into her pocket and handed over the private missive, immediately wishing she had turned around and tossed it into the fire. Mr. Bennet broke the seal, opened the letter, and after the briefest of glances, handed it back to her.
“Papa?”
“The man is smart, I’ll give him that. He has enough sense to write to you in French.”
“You do not wish to read it?” Elizabeth asked, confused that her father demanded the letter, looked inside, but then returned it.
“Heavens no! What quiet sighs of love Monsieur Darcy pens to his peu d’amour is of no consequence to me. I only wished to make sure there was no sharing of the private letter with Kitty or Mary.”
Elizabeth squinted at her father, unclear exactly who this new man was that suddenly worried over the propriety of any of his daughters.
“Oh, and do make sure you hide it better. I should like them to continue to believe I confiscated the letter.”
“Father!”
Mr. Bennet pursed his lips at his daughter’s censure. “An old man can learn from his mistakes, my child. He can learn from his mistakes.”
Finally dismissed from the mortifying interview, but grateful her father had not sought a deeper reading of the letter meant only for her, Elizabeth stood in a quandary. If she went above stairs, her sisters would know she possessed the letter to read. And there was at least an hour or more until supper, a thought that brought an inspired idea! Adjusting her gown so the contents of her pocket became less conspicuous, Elizabeth Bennet tucked down to a place she had not needed since she was a young child: the larder.
The kitchens bustled with activity as the hour before Sunday supper gave nearly every Bennett servant something to do. Mrs. Hill spied Elizabeth walking amongst the work tables and raised an eyebrow at the young woman who ordinarily only used the kitchens as her morning departure point for her rambles.
“Miss Lizzy?” Mrs. Hill inquired as Elizabeth offered her a sheepish grin.
“I need a few moments to myself?” she asked, instead of demanded, unlike some ladies believed they always must lord over those beneath them. Sadly, some of the younger Bennet sisters revealed their lack of confidence in the way they spoke to Hill, Betsy, and the other maids and footmen. Elizabeth’s unassuming ways, and respect for the men and women, made living at Longbourn pleasanter than other households where the help held no loyalty to the master or mistress. The second Bennet daughter owned the respect of almost all who worked below stairs.
“I’m afraid the larder won’t provide you much relief at this hour, but you may use my office,” Mrs. Hill offered. Elizabeth nodded, offering her thanks.
“How is young Ralph? Fully recovered I hope?” she asked, accepting a proffered bowl of sugared plums from a young kitchen maid Elizabeth had gifted a pair of walking shoes earlier in the year. They shared a girlish mischief while Cook had her back turned.
Mrs. Hill continued her quieter discussion with one of the footmen, pointing to the young lad in question finishing his supper in the corner. Elizabeth waved at the young man indicated, who sat up straighter as a more senior footman told him to hurry up with his dawdling.
The bowl of plums tucked under her arm, Elizabeth turned the door handle to the small closet that was Mrs. Hill’s private office. She lit the candle and then locked the door behind her, knowing she was as safe as she could be in a household where her mother held all of the keys. Placing a round, gooey morsel into her mouth, Elizabeth grimaced at the overpowering sweetness as she retrieved her clandestine letter.
Her eyes swiftly scanned the missive, catching certain French phrases that would have immediately clued her father that the letter was very personal in nature. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she felt thankful he did not give a more careful reading, but felt mortified all the same that he was aware of the general contents. She also lamented that she had not thought to borrow the same dictionary she had used to translate the other books in French her father owned, the ones he was aware she had read. Still, Mr. Darcy wrote in the conversational style, and so Elizabeth understood the gist.
After a very thorough section complementing her many attributes, that included not only her bosom, but also the tautness of her calves he explained:
… and so my love, many nights I lay in great anticipation of when we might retire together as husband and wife. An anticipation I endured even as early as our nights together here at Netherfield Park, which I’m afraid to confess were very undesirable for both the agitated state in which they placed my body, and my mind’s prejudices against our union. How ironic that the very house in which I first became aware of the threat my affections for you shall be our first home as husband and wife? Does such intelligence disappoint you? I can only hope the feelings I have expressed in this letter aid in soothing away any lingering pain my first proposal created by insult. Your letter asked how I endured the months of unrequited love, a love I was never sure would be returned after Kent.
The poets pen long lines about the suffering and prickling of love lost. I can confess turning to Shakespeare, I’ve memorized number 87. I had believed, erroneously, that I had your regard, your affection, through being a man anxious for the smallest indication. I was utterly foolish to read into small sighs and looks from you that I mistook for ardor, but were actually disdain.
Nevertheless, I did find salvation. And like the poet, in sleep I became your king, your lover, your confidante. In sleep, I dreamt of laughter, your laughter, all around as we tumbled in the verdant fields of Pemberley, where I dearly pray for the day I hear your lips whisper three simple words.
Before I slumber, which even Bingley has noted I am keen to retire earlier than not, I lay awake, and all of the visions of my dreams pass in my mind’s eye, raising a yearning that connects between my body and soul. My hand becomes yours, and I close my eyes desperately wishing it to be true. Where you might find privacy, I would urge you the same, allow your thoughts to think of my love for you and envision my hands instead of your own. The release is fleeting, I’m afraid, and before our understanding, I suffered the hollow echo of my wishes and dreams to be untrue. Now, I accept the bittersweet conclusion that these methods of satisfaction are no longer false lovers of manual persuasion, merely the torturous jailers of Father Time.
My dearest, know that I ache for your company, and treasure the moments we are together now, even if we are restricted in our adventures together by the rules of society. I understand now my ancestors, men of centuries ago, meeting a woman so beautiful and bewitching that they bellowed proudly of winning her affections. Crying and howling, threatening any other man that came near her. There is a primal emotion that I experience when we are near, an unsatisfied desire to protect and keep you from all harm that may approach. It is that deep-seated, perhaps possessory instinct, that I constantly fight to keep in check. The natural course of things for a man and woman in our condition is to leave others behind, cleave to one another. And yet, through the trappings of civilization we are denied access to our true natures. I hope you agree with me that we hasten to the married state.
Your Most Devoted,
- Darcy
“Lizzy? Lizzy!”
The call of her name startled Elizabeth out of her daydreams of Mr. Darcy and she hastily folded the letter again to hide in her pocket. The housekeeper’s office door opened and Elizabeth snatched the bowl of sweets protectively against her chest.
“There you are, goodness child, sneaking sweets before dinner? That is so unlike you!” Mrs. Bennet took the bowl away, scowling. Truthfully, it had usually been Lydia or Kitty sneaking down into the kitchen to find food between meals.
Elizabeth looked down, appropriately ashamed to lead her mother to believe the sugared plums were her only transgression.
“Sorry, Mama.”
“You’ll regret your figure come your wedding day if you start this up,” she scolded. Then she sighed, and took pity on her daughter, thrusting the bowl back. “Oh, take them upstairs and share them with your sisters. Nothing can be gained from eating alone in sorrow.”
Elizabeth blew out the candle and accepted the bowl, picking another plum to pop into her mouth. She slid by Mrs. Bennet, not daring to ask why her mother was looking for her, and meekly walked through the kitchen, back to the stairs leading up to the dining room.
As she entered the parlor, she found her three sisters anxiously awaiting supper, and Kitty’s eyes widened in surprise as she spied the sweets in Elizabeth’s hands.
“Plums!”
Elizabeth placed the bowl on the table and suddenly felt slightly underdressed for dinner.
“Are the gentlemen joining us?” she asked Jane, who was wearing a different frock than before.
She shook her head. “I had hoped . . .but,”
“But Mr. Bingley sent a note that they are indisposed! And now Jane is sad!” Kitty said, and offered the bowl to Mary and Jane, who she had just teased.
“Kitty, it is not proper for them to dine out on a Sunday,” Jane explained, forlorn.
Elizabeth snorted, thinking of the letter from Mr. Darcy that had other objections to the polite rules of society. A familiar warmth began to spread through her body, and she felt she might blush. Turning away, she announced she would make ready for supper as well, at least clean up and refresh her attire.
As she took the stairs by twos for the exercise, her mind raced to the end of his letter encouraging her to use her hands as his. She laughed out loud at the poor man’s ignorance. Just wait until he learned she had solved that particular problem long ago!
Thank you for reading and for your comments below. 🙂 -EAW
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Chapter 17 Happy Was The Day
Sorry for the delay, but I sincerely promise the deep-dive on research I did going back to 1650 is going to make the pay-off in
Chapter 18 Happy Was The Day
This poor little Frankenstein story is all untangled now, I think. 🙂 Mr. Darcy’s Twelfth Night, that for a moment was going to be the
Chapter 19 Happy Was The Day
Writing OC is one the best parts of writing derivative fiction. Please welcome Mr. Lamont Scudamore Winde to the story, who had a deeply researched
Chapter 20 Happy Was The Day
If you really think about it . . . Mr. Darcy does create a ton of trouble for himself. Oh, and Mr. Bennet needs a
Chapter 21 Happy Was The Day
More about the Darcy privilege… or at least what Fitzwilliam thinks about it! (PS previous chapter had an update to make the story clearer!) -Love
Chapter 22 Happy Was The Day
It is a truth universally acknowledged that from time to time an author becomes stuck. Such a situation occurred with this book, namely because I
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.
I have loved reading these chapters on your site as opposed to FanFicton. I read chapters 1-4 yesterday, but I was unable to leave a comment. I was surprised at the way Bingley cried over his horse. Also, did the doctor from London come to look at his head? His outbreak about Darcy shooting his horse at the Bennet household was most unusual to say the least.! I can understand Darcy’s anger at his and Elizabeth’s banns not being read, but she was crying. What was he to do, especially since Mr. Bennet had not spoken to them prior as to why their banns were not announced! I am surprised at Jane’s behavior in discussing Elizabeth’s private affairs at the breakfast table! Why should Mr. Bennet get angry at Elizabeth and Darcy when he refused to listen to Elizabeth’s advice in the first place regarding Lydia? Now Mrs. Bennet decides to worry about Lydia? I always find the behavior of this family to be ridiculous, which is why Darcy had such a difficult time reconciling himself to marrying Elizabeth in the first place!
Really unhappy with how the Bennets are treating our dear couple. Hopefully they manage to make it to the Gardiner house and marry to outsmart Mr. Bennet!
So far I am thoroughly engrossed in the story of our favorite couple’s betrothal…. as always your insight into their thoughts and feelings is ingenious. No suggestions I can make; great story so far!
These chapters caused me some disappointment in Elizabeth and Darcy’s behavior. When they start behaving like Wickham and Lydia, I stop reading because I feel their characters have varied too much. I read these variations for the love of these characters and the regency time period. I don’t do variations that are sensual, intimate, murders, kidnappings, vampires etc. Also, appears this is going to be a variation when Jane and Elizabeth are at odds. These always make me sad, however also feel a little vindicated since I have always viewed the issue with this family is all of their tendency to play favorites with each other. Mary and Kitty seem promising as maybe the only ones to have learned from Lydia’s behavior. My wonder is about the letter? Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged letters all week during the rain, but Mr. Bennett wants to call Elizabeth out on the one Darcy gave her after church? Also she was dressed for church, went on a walk with Darcy, ended up on the ground with muddy shoes. Nobody notices that? Seems to be some contradictions. Thanks for writing, I very much enjoyed reading Seasons of Serendipity twice!