These chapters were tough to write. But sisterhood is one of my favorite things to write about. Me and my sister might not always get along… but one of us is in trouble? Look out! – Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 14- The Heart of Marriage, Book 6 of the Moralities of Marriage, a Pride & Prejudice Variation
By the time Mr. Darcy returned to Pemberley, the greeting of guests had long ended. Instead of fetching the Earl of Derby, he went straight to his rooms to send his valet Simmons on the task of gathering supplies for Dr. Matthews. Along the way, he had to shake off the concerned inquiries of Mrs. Reynolds.
“Sir, are you alright? Where is Dr. Matthews?” she asked.
“A man was injured on Grant’s farm, a laborer. All is well. The young man was highly excitable,” Mr. Darcy said, hoping that would satisfy any others that would enquire. He couldn’t remember if Josiah Grant had revealed it was one of his Lordship’s men or not, and hoped that was information that was shared privately and not in the parlor.
Dashing up the stairs, he detoured to his wife’s suite, suddenly realizing how close he had come to death that afternoon! It was a blessing of Providence that Mr. Nagy had become the steward of Lathom House and rode with the posse recruited to avenge the fall of Dallman. He did not even wait to knock on the door and instead barged in.
Elizabeth Darcy stood in her gown for the evening with her maid hunched over the bottom, setting a hem adjustment. Mr. Darcy’s face was pale and his wife gasped in the shock at his appearance.
Higgins placed a pin in the cushion on her wrist, and rose silently to retreat to the dressing room. The alteration she was making to Mrs. Darcy’s gown was a minor one and if it wasn’t done in time for the ball, her mistress would still be as ravishing as ever.
“Fitzwilliam, you look as though you have seen a ghost,” Elizabeth said as he closed the door behind him.
“My love, I am well” he said quickly. “A man was injured on the Grant farm.”
“Is Dr. Matthews alright?” Elizabeth asked urgently, taking a step forward and reaching out for his hand.
Darcy tugged her toward him, wrapping his arms around her small waist and placing several kisses against her forehead. His heart was racing with the fear he had not felt during the standoff, but now in the presence of the love of his life who was expecting their first child, the risk to his health played foremost in his mind.
He dropped to his knees and placed two protective hands around his wife’s prominent midsection, and closed his eyes.
“Is Dr. Matthews alright?” Elizabeth asked again, and when her husband did not move, she raised her voice. “Fitzwilliam, what senseless adventure have you two had this time?” she asked, trying to keep her voice in a comical tone, but failing to keep at bay her righteous anger at her husband’s penchant for dangerous deeds.
Mr. Darcy rose from his kneeling position and held up a hand. He quickly explained that Dr. Matthews was well, but he needed to send Simmons and supplies back to the farm. Once he did that, he would answer all of her questions about Baslow Dale and why Dr. Matthews was left alone.
“If Simmons is gone, who will dress you for this evening?” she asked, following him as he made for the adjoining door between their suites.
Flashing her the roguish smile she could never resist, he reminded her that they had under-servants for a reason.
“Everyone here has a redundancy, and you are growing ours as we speak,” he said, with a laugh and pecking her cheek. He felt immensely guilty in behaving so very maudlin before her and making her worry more.
Huffing in frustration, Elizabeth called Higgins back and stepped back to the area by the sewing supplies. Her maid dutifully began her work again, and Elizabeth began her vent.
“That man! When he came in here, he looked as though he might suffer an apoplexy any moment! And then tries to laugh it all off that Dr. Matthews is stuck at the Grant Farm and nothing is amiss.!” she said, in a forceful tone and stomped her right foot.
Higgins quickly pulled back just before the foot stomp and then lifted the edge of the fine silk gown back into her fingers. “Yes ma’am, he did not seem himself when he walked in.”
“Thank you for noticing, though I’m certain if he knew, that would be another lecture to me about how the servants aren’t supposed to do this or that,” she said. Then realizing how selfish that sounded she looked down and apologized. “Forgive me, I am very grateful for the work all of you do. You and Simmons take very good care of us.”
Higgins gave a small smile and picked up another pin from the cushion to hold the last of the train adjustment in place.
“There ma’am, please give that a walk and see if it suits you better?” she asked.
Elizabeth began to pace and hopped up and down, then took a quick turn as she mimed dancing in a set downstairs. She clapped her hands, giddy that she was to finally dance with her husband at that evening’s ball.
“Splendid, splendid. I know a longer train is more in fashion,” she said, walking over to the mirror and fretting slightly at how very large her stomach was becoming. She turned to each side to see how far it protruded and smoothed the fabric panel that had been adjusted last week to accommodate her new girth measurement. “But if I am to dance with this new body of mine, the last thing I need is a tripping hazard,” she finished.
Quickly, Higgins helped her remove her gown and slip into her silk robe, tying the garment tightly just above her belly. Then the maid asked for permission to run the gown down to the team of seamstresses now employed at Pemberley since the Darcys returned home and filled the house with Elizabeth’s sisters. Each woman had their own personal maid, but the amount of laundry, new clothing and repairs to old clothing that had to be done soon outstretched the work of just a maid. They had made some use of the shops in Lambton, but the village of Pemberley was back on the rise and growing again.
“Certainly, and if I need anything, remember, I dressed myself for most of my adult life. I can manage,” Elizabeth said, reminding her maid she was still the same woman who grew up in Hertfordshire.
Higgins nodded. “Yes ma’am, but I would be remiss if I did not remind you that another maid is always awaiting your needs, by the pull chord. Mrs. Reynolds will accuse me of keeping you all to myself,” Betsy Higgins said, with a bit of cheekiness that she and Elizabeth exchanged in the rarest moments, only when they were alone. A maid-for-hire once in the Netherfield Park household, the day Elizabeth Bennet insisted that her personal maid come with her had been the start of Betsy Higgins’ adult life. She had leap-frogged a decade or more of service in a household to become the lady’s maid of one of the wealthiest women of the Ton.
Once her maid left her, Elizabeth scurried over the adjoining door between her suite and her husband’s. She reached up to knock, and then pursed her lips and decided to return to Fitzwilliam the same courtesy he afforded her. She pulled the latch down and entered into his dressing chamber that aligned with hers as the space between the two expansive rooms. She wondered if once upon a time, there was not two dressing rooms in this space, side-by-side, if one was to look at the layout from above, but another bed chamber. Shrugging, she could hear voices on the other side and suspected her husband was taking a bath in bathing rooms built next to their respective dressing rooms. As she waited on the other side of the door, she paused a moment to listen:
“When you’ve finished at Grant’s, you and Dr. Matthews hurry back. Leave two armed guards behind for the protection of the Grant family, but do not allow him or your courage to make you stay,” a voice that sounded very much like her husband’s said.
Elizabeth could not hear the response given, but she gasped at the mention of armed guards. No wonder her husband had looked like a ghost! It sounded as though she was lucky he wasn’t one!
Making a decision, Elizabeth retreated from the door. If the situation at the Grant Farm were as dire as sending armed guards, then Elizabeth had to think. Dashing back to her suite, she pulled the bell chord and asked for Mrs. Reynolds to come to her on a most urgent manner. The young maid who responded agreed and sent for the housekeeper.
Agitated, Elizabeth tried to think of what she knew about the Grants and then scolded herself for not taking the baskets to the tenants. If she had, she would remember where the Grant Farm was situated, and perhaps understand what might have happened. She certainly did not expect Fitzwilliam to give her all of the details, nor did she want to interfere with the situation she assumed he was diffusing.
Within the quarter hour, Mrs. Reynolds arrived to find her mistress doing her best to rub a hole in the elegant Persian rug on the floor with her pacing.
“Yes ma’am, you sent for me? The cold meats are served for our guests downstairs and Cook has assured me that preparations for supper are on time. The musicians have arrived and the ballroom is nearly ready.”
Elizabeth stopped her pacing and waved her hand as though she was swatting away a flying pest. “Thank you, that is wonderful to hear. What can you tell me about the tenants the Grants?” she asked, driving straight to the point of what she wanted to know.
Mrs. Reynolds glanced to the door that connected the Master and Mistress suites. “I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am.”
Elizabeth followed her housekeepers line of sight and stepped forward so that she blocked Mrs. Reynolds’ view of the door. “Please, Mrs. Reynolds, I must know what you know. My husband left in such a hurry and I overheard him say something about armed guards. What has happened?” Elizabeth said pleadingly, her eyes boring into the housekeepers as she begged for answers.
“Armed guards? It’s been ages since such measures were needed!” Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed, and Elizabeth frowned. The housekeeper pulled out a chair for her mistress and encouraged her to sit down.
To be polite, Elizabeth motioned for her housekeeper to do the same, just as she had when she first interviewed with Mrs. Reynolds before she was married.
It was customary for estates such as Pemberley to have several families who leased land from them in order to farm it and provide food and other supplies to the estate in exchange for room and board, among other things. The system had worked well for centuries now and was something both Darcys were quite proud of continuing on their property. Mrs. Reynolds began to explain how the situation with the Grant family was an anomaly.
“The Grants are one of our longest tenants on the Darcy estate,” she began quietly as though concerned about being overheard by someone other than Elizabeth. “They’ve been tenant farmers for multiple generations now. But their farm is in Baslow Dale, a disputed piece of land with his Lordship the Earl of Derby.”
Elizabeth began to understand what kind of crisis might have occurred once she heard that. “How disputed?”
Mrs. Reynold’s grimaced. “It was settled between Old Mr. Darcy and the previous Earl, but the current Earl always claimed his father had been taken advantage of and started threatening to take the matter to the King’s Court. But then Old Mr. Darcy struck another deal, and all was well, until today . . .” she said, reaching for the watch fob she kept on a chain. “Heavens me, Mrs. Darcy, but if you will excuse me, there is still much I must see done,” the housekeeper asked.
Elizabeth thanked Mrs. Reynolds and agreed for her to return to her duties. Before she left, Elizabeth told Mrs. Reynolds to have the staff aid Mr. Simmons in anything he needed with few questions asked. The housekeeper touched the side of her nose and promised a report back to her mistress. Elizabeth smiled and touched her nose just the same, finally feeling as though she had the loyalty of the woman she needed most to be a success as Fitzwilliam’s wife.
Her interview with the housekeeper over and nothing to do but rest until it was time to change or her husband came to speak with her, Elizabeth yawned and eyed her bed. She would never admit to Fitzwilliam that she was tired, but the past couple of days of preparing the house for all of the guests and then greeting them that morning had exhausted her. She had not fully taken a rest earlier because her gown needed an adjustment. But now that she had possibly an hour or two to herself, she pulled back the curtains to her bed and laid down, willing herself to remain calm. In time, she would support her husband in whatever way he needed.
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 15 - The Heart of Marriage, Book 6 of the Moralities of Marriage, a Pride & Prejudice Variation
With time to spare until the ball, Kitty Bennet retreated to her sanctuary of sketching for the afternoon. From her vantage point overlooking the great lawns of Pemberley, she had witnessed Mr. Darcy’s return. Not half an hour later, she remained amused by watching his valet, Mr. Simmons, oversee the loading of a wagon with a multitude of supplies. Her curiosity grew more invested when she spied the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, walking out to speak to the valet.
White cloth and a small glass bottle exchanged between the two senior servants. Two armed guards joined the wagon, and one handed Simmons a firearm. Kitty sucked in her breath as she spied him hide the weapon in his coat. She became so transfixed by the mystery happening down on the lawn that the sudden sound of a canvas falling to floor scared her out of her wits. She uttered a high-pitched shriek that was so brief in duration, one might have thought it was a mouse.
Turning immediately away from the window, she spied an interloper had entered her studio: Viscount Brahmington.
“My lord, have you lost your way?” Kitty asked, not bothering to rise from the window seat, but offering the brooding heir of Matlock a small amount of respect. She glanced out the window to see in there were any new developments, but to her dismay, the wagon was already riding away down the drive. Cursing her luck, she returned her focus back to Mr. Darcy’s cousin.
He didn’t answer her question and lifted the canvas off the floor he had clumsily bumped off the easel. “This is very well-done. Well-done, indeed. Does my cousin know you paint so masterfully?”
Kitty blushed. “My sister and brother are the chief patrons of my art.”
“Yes, yes, I would imagine so,” he said, still holding the painting in his hand and then looking up, to stare directly into Kitty’s face. “Tell me,” he said, fidgeting to place the painting back on the easel. His efforts were in vain as the wooden stand refused to cooperate and he managed to knock that over too. with a great clatter.
Kitty set down her sketchbook in the window seat and rose to assist him.
“This one is tricky,” she explained as she held the legs of the easel steady and nodded for him to place the painting back on the stand.
“Tell me what inspires you,” he said huskily, as he placed the painting down and stood closer to Kitty. Too close.
Turning her head away from him, Kitty began to walk carefully around a few pieces she had been working on that were still curing.
“My inspiration comes from all kinds of places. Nature mostly, but I am working on my portraiture,” she said, off-handed as she felt him follow her deeper into her studio. That was not her intention at all and she quickly tried to turn wide and lead him back to the door.
Viscount Brahmington side-stepped carefully through the projects on the floor so that Kitty was directly in front of him.
“Would you paint me?” he asked.
Kitty took a step backwards.
“I am less than an apprentice, sir.”
He waved his hands in front of him and grimaced. “Kitty, that’s what they call you, yes? We’re family, please call me James.”
Kitty shook her head. “I am more comfortable with formal names, it makes it easier for me to remember who to curtsy to and give precedence,” she explained, and then making her voice firm, she addressed him by his title, “Lord Brahmington.”
He scowled and Kitty took the opportunity to dash over to the window seat and pick up her sketch book. She closed the cover and clutched it to her chest, as though it were a piece of armor. Looking up at the position of the sun she announced she was late to return to her suite.
“I must be getting dressed for the ball. My sister will never forgive me if I am late.”
“I would be happy to escort you,” he offered and held out an arm.
“Certainly,” Kitty said, gulping as she did not like this one bit. Thinking quickly she instructed Lord Brahmington to walk with her to the nursery. “I have to see my sister, Mrs. Bingley, about a family matter,” she said, and she began to walk to the door instead of taking the Viscount’s arm.
To her relief, he allowed her to walk past him and as she exited the door she walked quickly down the hall towards the nursery, not waiting for Viscount Brahmington nor hearing him behind her. When she reached the door, she turned her head, but he was not to be found.
With a deep breath, she entered the nursery to find Jane nursing one of the twins. She quickly shut the door, forgetting to be quiet, and disturbing the other baby in its cot.
“Oh dear me,” she said, apologizing to Jane and setting her sketchbook on a table, and then rushing over to the cot to spy her goddaughter wailing at the top of her lungs. She scooped the infant up and began to settle her just as she done many times before.
Baby Lynn recognized the scent of her Aunt Catherine, a mixture of linseed oil and rosewater, and soon ceased her screams.
Jane smiled as her son finished feeding. “You’re one of the few people she settles for.”
Kitty patted little Lynn and walked around in a circuit, feeling grateful that if the child spit up on her now, at least she was not wearing her gown for the ball.
Jane kept her tone light and happy so as to not disturb the twins further. “You looked like you had seen a ghost when you came in here, was someone chasing you?”
“Where is the nurse?” Kitty asked.
“Taking a small break at my direction. I like to be alone with my children when I can and not feel as though someone is judging me. You just missed Charles, he was here helping me but got called away on some matter by Fitzwilliam.”
Kitty nodded. “They loaded a wagon and took armed guards,” she shared.
Jane set a happy, slumbering Charlie into his cot. She reached out for Lynn and Kitty handed the infant over. “Fitzwilliam and Charles went too?” she asked, trying to not sound alarmed. Mother of two, Jane had long learned that if the people in the nursery were tense, the children seemed to sense it and start crying.
Kitty shook her head, and then realized Jane could not see her. “No,” she said, “just Mr. Simmons.”
“Hmm,” Jane uttered, and gazed down lovingly at Lynn as she fed her daughter from the opposite side of her brother. The trip to see Buxton Hall had disrupted her supply and now she was lucky to have enough to feed the twins twice in a day. Soon, she would have to leave all feedings to the wet nurses.
Kitty retreated to her sketch book and when she opened the nursery door, she looked down the hall. Not spying anyone, she closed the door and hesitated. She turned around to her sister.
Kitty took a deep breath and spoke quickly to Jane. “Nothing happened. But Viscount Brahmington came into my studio uninvited and asked me to paint him. I declined, and then said I needed to get ready for the ball. He offered to escort me to my room, and I didn’t feel comfortable, so I lied and said I needed to come here,” she finished and closed her eyes tightly to avoid her sister’s derision.
When Jane said nothing, Kitty slowly opened one eye, and then the other, and the expression of anger on her elder sister’s face was one Kitty had only ever seen one other time, and that was when Jane was in labor.
Jane pursed her lips and breathed through her nose, rocking Lynn slightly more forcibly than usual.
“I know I made a mistake—” Kitty began, but Jane cut her off.
“Hush, you did not,” Jane said, tersely, unable to remain cheerful for the sake of her children.
The door to the nursery opened and two nurses entered after Kitty shuffled out of the way.
“Mrs. Bingley,” said one of the nurses, looking at Jane carefully.
Jane nodded and handed Lynn to her nurse with a quiet sigh of relief. She watched as the nurse settled Lynn in her cot next to baby Charles. Moments later both babies were fast asleep again, their little chests rising up and down softly with every breath.
You’ve been reading The Heart of Marriage.
Coming soon to stores.
Book 6 of the Moralities of Marriage Series.
The final book of the Moralities of Marriage Series sees Mr. and Mrs. Darcy fighting off scandal and family strife once and for all. Mr. Darcy is summoned to London to provide answers for Mr. Wickham’s crimes. Too many of High Society were hoodwinked by the mining scheme, and outside forces would relish plundering the Darcy coffers to compensate for their losses.
At Pemberley, Elizabeth is set on establishing herself as Mistress of the House, no matter what her mother believes. As the house goes into mourning for Mr. Darcy’s aunt, her sisters are despondent that the yuletide ball is cancelled. Especially when none of them knew the woman! The Bingleys try to distract the younger sisters by enlisting their aid in finding a home of their own.
The old scores of his parents’ generation keep Darcy in London longer than he planned. Not even his cousin is immune to the costs of past treacheries. Despite the machinations of Marlborough and Derby, Fitzwilliam is desperate to get home and see the birth of his first child.
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