A Spring Society
A Pride and Prejudice Novella Variation
Elizabeth Ann West
Elizabeth Ann West
Contents
Copyright
Also by Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Also by Elizabeth Ann West
About the Author
Copyright
© 2019 Elizabeth Ann West.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-944345-08-2
Book 6 in the Seasons of the Serendipity! Join Mr. and Mrs. Darcy as they await the arrival of their first child with a Pemberley full to the brim with family overstaying their welcome. As Mary Bennet awaits her nuptials with Colonel Fitzwilliam in London, new threats on the Continent change their plans again. It's been a long journey for the Bennet family since losing Mr. Bennet in the autumn of 1811, and they're still finding their way forward as a family.
The books in the Seasons of Serendipity are episodic novellas aimed to be enjoyed like a book version of hour-long miniseries. There are 4 years of story planned for your favorite Jane Austen characters from Pride and Prejudice, and a few new characters to love along the way!
Also by Elizabeth Ann West
The Trouble With Horses
Very Merry Mischief
To Capture Mr. Darcy
The Whisky Wedding
Much to Conceal (exclusively in the boxed set 3 Dates with Mr. Darcy)
If Mr. Darcy Dared (mature)
The Moralities of Marriage Series
By Consequence of Marriage
A Virtue of Marriage
The Blessing of Marriage
The Trappings of Marriage
The Miracle of Marriage (TBA)
The Fruits of Marriage (TBA)
The Seasons of Serendipity Series
A Winter Wrong
A Spring Sentiment
A Summer Shame
An Autumn Accord
A Winter Wonder
A January for Jane (bonus novella)
From Longbourn to Pemberley (Boxed Set, Year One)
A Spring Society
A May for Mary (bonus novella) (TBA)
A Summer Spouse (TBA)
An Autumn Argument (TBA)
Shop all of Elizabeth’s books on all major retailers by visiting her site:
www.elizabethannwest.com
For my grandfather, Orbon Albert Skaggs. But those of us who love him well know him as Bill.
Love, your Cricket
Chapter 1
Bursts of wind knocked Elizabeth Darcy back on her heels, answered by her shrieks of laughter. The tall, stoic Mr. Darcy clambered over the jags to his wife. He surveyed the imposing hills surrounding his estate of Pemberley in Derbyshire, his face stricken with fear.
"Darling, I am anxious that we should retreat to the picnic." Mr. Darcy supported his wife's form as she shook her head. Despite being heavy with child, she stretched to lift the string and urge her kite higher.
"But this is ever so much fun! When the babe arrives, we must be sure to teach him how to fly a kite. Properly."
“If you say so, Mrs. Darcy,” he leaned close to her ear so he might be heard, “would you prefer he learn to fly a kite before or after he’s breeched?”
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth shouted. She had heard the first part of her husband’s words, but the wind had carried his voice off in a different direction as a dive of her kite took her attention.
“It is no matter.”
“Again,” Elizabeth laughed as the brilliantly red and yellow silks tied as a tail to her kite followed the main apparatus in spiraling loops, “I beg your pardon!”
“IT IS NO MATTER!” Darcy shouted as the wind picked that particular moment to cease, and Elizabeth’s kite made a final dramatic plunge straight to the earth. The kite top landed between two large rocks, stuck upright with its tale furiously flapping in the wind like a trapped creature.
Elizabeth hastened across the hill, the weight of her impending motherhood a minor inconvenience to the woman who spent much of her life as an accomplished walker. Darcy chased after her, unwilling to curtail his wife's jubilation, but also not so sure of the rough landscape to keep his most precious possessions safe from harm. If Elizabeth wished to fly a kite, he would allow her. And if she should tumble, it would be his arms to break her fall.
When the young couple reached the poor, pathetic kite crashed among the rocks, they shared a look. Then Elizabeth pouted.
“I suppose the zephyrs have spoken,” she said.
Darcy carefully lifted the kite, slightly misshapen from its Icarus-like descent.
“Perhaps so, perhaps not.” He pulled a Barlow knife from his pocket and began to mend the wood, cut the strings, and refasten the twine. Elizabeth watched in awe of her husband’s quick work, overcome with a surge of emotion that was her constant companion these days. She indeed could imagine her husband teaching a young lad his knowledge of magnificent kite construction.
Down below, the assorted members of their large family continued to enjoy their luncheon on the first warm spring day only the last day of March 1813 could boast. But the family had shrunk to half the size present at Yuletide.
The Gardiners had retreated to London with Mary so she might prepare for her summer wedding to Darcy's cousin, Brigadier General Richard Fitzwilliam. The poor bridegroom held no choice but to return to the winter quarters of his brigade in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, but hope abounded he’d find reassignment outside of London.
Sitting taller with a squeal of excitement, Georgiana Darcy passed a fashion magazine from Paris to her aunt, the Countess of Matlock.
“What do you think of this sleeve length? In a softer color of course, but might we have one of these gowns made?” she asked brightly and pointed directly to the left fashion plate in the spread. The publication was months old, but with the many wars on, it was the best to be had.
Margaret Fitzwilliam pursed her lips. “The sleeve perhaps, but not that neckline. It’s too mature for this year. Remember, you are only attending a few, carefully selected events this summer with your uncle and me. Next year is your formal debut.”
There were still many weeks before the Matlocks would return to London as a further effort to reduce their spending. Georgiana joining them provided the appropriate reason for her brother, Fitzwilliam, to help defray the costs of reopening their townhome. And it was all in preparation for the wedding in August between their second son and Elizabeth’s sister, Mary. Ordinarily, the couple might wed much sooner, but Richard insisted on taking his bride on a proper wedding trip and could only be promised a lengthy term of leave in the autumn.
Georgiana swiftly turned the page to another style she preferred. Catherine “Kitty” Bennet, her closest sister in age thanks to the marriage of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, quickly pushed another bite of bread into her mouth so she would not be called upon to speak. She had already heard Geo
rgiana fawn over that particular magazine numerous times.
Unlike Miss Darcy, Kitty held no interest in a debut. Her dreams of writing novels could be accomplished in Derbyshire just as easily as London. And each day made Pemberley feel more like her home since they all left Longbourn more than a year ago after the death of her father.
“Ooh, look at the bonnets! I should dearly love a bonnet trimmed in emerald ribbon, to bring out my eyes.” Georgiana continued to enumerate her needs for her faux debut as Lady Matlock attempted to endure the child’s exuberance. Kitty shifted her weight away from the discussion of balls and hemlines to listen more carefully to the conversation occurring between the earl and his eldest son, Robert.
"That woman's energy is enough to fox us all, I say!” The earl raised a glass of imported wine from Portugal, a creature comfort of living with his nephew while his family's financial situation remained unsteady. "I bet old Darcy got more than he bargained for with that one."
The viscount sourly plucked a blade of grass that dared to offend by laying over the carefully arranged blanket.
"I should say how Mr. and Mrs. Darcy get on is none of our business. I believe we harass them enough with our mere presence. I spy a hale and hearty wife enjoying the fine weather with her husband." Robert Fitzwilliam, Viscount Ashbourne, caught Kitty’s eye for a brief moment. Shyly, Kitty blushed and looked down at her knees, carefully tucked beneath her gown, at the endorsement of her sister by her newly found friend.
"You are so concerned about imposing upon your cousin, then fix it, boy. Marry! Pick a woman with a sizable dowry and be done with it."
"Save your skin with my own, father? That is a rich suggestion, indeed."
The tone of voices from the male members of the picnic drew Lady Matlock's notice. Quickly, she hissed at them both in chastisement.
"Stop it, the two of you. Mrs. Darcy is enjoying that rare burst of energy many a mother can attest to as a sign of a good birthing to come. Why can we not simply enjoy nature's bounty for one afternoon without the two of you spoiling it with talk of money?" Lady Matlock opened her fan and began to furiously flick the accessory to both alleviate her ire and cool her skin.
Lady Matlock used thoughts of her younger son’s marriage to calm her mood. Though Mary Bennet was not a lady of high social standing, the £10,000 dowry comprised of her portion after her father's death with a small anonymous addition by her brother Darcy, was more than sufficient for the countess to see at least one of her children well-settled and secure. Margaret Fitzwilliam's most fervent wish was that marrying would settle her boy and he would give up his childish dreams of dying on some battlefield in a godforsaken country. Yes, the match suited her fine, as she long ago gave up on her second son marrying a titled woman high in society.
Further discussion of the Darcys’ felicity was silenced as a servant approached the merry party carrying a silver tray. A much-abused pack of letters sat upon the plate, and the servant lowered it so that Miss Catherine could accept the one with her name upon it. Feeling the thick pad of messages between her fingers, Kitty felt a thrill of excitement when she recognized the direction coming from her sister Jane in Scotland. Mumbling a hardly decipherable desire to be excused, Kitty leaped from the blanket and caught up to the servant carrying the tray of letters.
“Are you heading up the hill?”
“Yes, madam, there are letters for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.”
“Hand them to me, and I shall take them.”
After a short delay the footman, who worried about allowing Miss Catherine to fulfill his role, relented and she grasped the pile. Kitty bolted up the hill in an unladylike fashion to meet her sister and brother.
"Jane writes! Jane writes!” Kitty called, waving the letters held tightly in a fist above her head, as she struggled to keep the bonnet tied to her head with her other hand. The wind blew gust after gust, but Kitty would not allow her fuzzy mess of hair to show. The only reason she had been permitted to go outdoors was that she agreed to wear not only a scarf but also a monstrously large bonnet to hide the horrific mutilation she exacted on her long tresses at Christmas.
Silly now in hindsight, the action had been the result of overwhelming grief. Kitty had been the last to learn that her favorite sister, Lydia, died giving birth to Mr. Wickham’s bastard child the previous summer. She had feared being forced to London to find a husband and could think of no other way to escape such a fate as no one seemed to care about her wishes. Only after her hair was shorn did she discover no one would have forced her to debut with there being such an easy excuse of fewer than two years since her father’s death.
The wind blew so strongly, and inconveniently in the wrong direction that Kitty's voice could not be heard by the Darcys. But Kitty could listen to their voices carried upon the wind, down the hill to her, as she made her stumbling progress up the mound.
By the time she arrived, Mr. Darcy had convinced Elizabeth to give him a try, but he was a sore disappointment for spectacle. Unlike Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy did not dash about the top of the hill attempting to harness the wind but instead stood steadfastly in one place so that the kite held its position with a modicum of regularity.
"Kitty!" Elizabeth greeted her sister. "Did you see me fly it? It was so very exhilarating! Come, William, allow Kitty a try."
Kitty shook her head.
"We have letters from Jane!" Kitty had to shout as conditions atop the hill were even worse for conversation. Elizabeth brightened more at that news if it was even possible since the kite had done a fair job of cheering the young wife from the glooms of winter. Both sisters wasted little time in opening their missives and nearly simultaneously shouted out the only news that Fitzwilliam knew before either of them.
"THEY HAVE MARRIED!" the sisters shouted in unison.
With little prompting, Kitty and Elizabeth shared a hug in a renewed episode of girlish laughter. It felt as though so much happiness was nearly a sin.
Once the sisters calmed, Elizabeth gazed down the hill with a look of disappointment. In the distance, finally strolling up to the picnic arm-in-arm, came her mother with Alistair Darcy. Alistair had surprised them all with an early return from India in late December. With nature’s thaw came the likelihood that Pemberley would become less burdened, but in the meantime, her mother, despite her widow’s gray ensemble, could too often be found alone with Alistair. The developing situation vexed both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, however, when Elizabeth looked up to point them out to her husband, she could not because Fitzwilliam was eager to announce his success with the kite.
"I believe you shall find my kite flying skills superior to yours!"
With that minor warning, Fitzwilliam Darcy began to swiftly tug and maneuver the string in such a manner the glorious kite flickered, fluttered, and turned topsy-turvy on his slightest command. Both women moved closer to the spectacle, and Elizabeth found herself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her husband. Another little Darcy wished for his sentiments to be known with a set of strong kicks to his mother’s stomach.
The joyous afternoon continued in such a manner until the dark clouds on the horizon began their trek too close for the party. When it appeared they descended from the sky and touched the hills directly, the servants packed away all of the food, blankets, and the kite. Mr. Darcy drove his wife in a new phaeton as the rest of the party boarded carriages to take them back to the main house.
Once all returned safe and sound to the fussing of Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, the great house of Pemberley began the daily shift into the afternoon routine; rest for the ladies, especially for the mistress of the house, and diversions for the gentlemen. Rarely did Mr. Darcy join the gentlemen in the library or billiard room as he preferred to remain with his wife until she slept, and then he crept down to his study to work, even resorting to using the servants’ hallways if necessary. Both Lord Matlock and Alistair Darcy left their nephew alone, perhaps because they both always assumed he remained above stairs or because they preferred th
eir drinking and dining without his mere presence wounding their pride.
The spring plantings were well underway with the last threat of frost long past, and it was Mrs. Reynolds who interrupted Darcy’s reading of his steward's reports.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy, but Mrs. Darcy wishes for some adjustments to the evening menu.”
“Mrs. Reynolds . . .” Darcy began to warn his housekeeper. Relations between his wife and one of the longest-serving members of the household had soured since Elizabeth’s insistence that the staff receive lessons in reading and basic arithmetic. At first, even Fitzwilliam had privately sided with Mrs. Reynolds, but now that it was likely the house would start some measures of austerity come summer, Darcy presently sided with his wife. The men and women born on the property would find work elsewhere with better skills and his recommendation.
“Yes, sir, but the problem is we do not have any oysters, and the mistress is asleep. I cannot bear to wake her, and yet I’m afraid the best Cook can offer is an oyster sauce over roasted partridge.”
Darcy frowned as he thought about his wife’s disappointment. He knew the changes to the menu were in celebration of her sister’s nuptials, but then logic got the better of him. “How are we to have an oyster sauce if there are no oysters?”
Mrs. Reynolds blanched. “Well, we did have the oysters in stock, as Mrs. Darcy was aware. But I’m afraid . . .”
When his housekeeper struggled to give an explanation, Fitzwilliam understood. The rich tongues of his less than flush relatives had devoured the oysters.
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