Table of Contents
Title Page
© 2015, Elizabeth Ann West. All rights reserved.
Acknowledgments
ALSO BY ELIZABETH ANN WEST
To our future selves, the glory is in the work.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SAMPLE A Father's Sins by J Dawn King Prologue
SAMPLE A Father's Sins by J Dawn King Chapter 1
A Virtue of Marriage
The Second Book of The Moralities of Marriage Series
Elizabeth Ann
W E S T
© 2015, Elizabeth Ann West. All rights reserved.
To contact the publisher, please write to
41 Silas Deane Road
Ledyard, CT 06339 or email
[email protected]
Happiness in marriage is a matter of chance.
Jane Austen
Acknowledgments
This novel series would not be possible without the love and kind support of the Jane Austen Fan Fiction community. I am a proud author member of Austen Authors and love working with all of my brothers and sisters writing JAFF! Our genre rocks!
The readers at TheCheapEbook.com are also wonderful friends of my writing and without them, my launches would fall flat on their faces! The “Piggies” are savvy readers with hearts of gold.
To my best friend and #1 pusher to make me do great things, April Floyd, I am indebted to you. You are a superstar and I am lucky to have you to call at all hours of the day!
Finally, to my husband who supports me 110%, my super stepson who tells anyone and everyone his mother is an author, and to my five-year-old daughter who insists I do not write stories, I type them, thank you. Mommy couldn’t do this without you.
Always Smiling,
Elizabeth Ann West
ALSO BY ELIZABETH ANN WEST
AUSTEN INSPIRED
By Consequence of Marriage
What if Darcy never saved Georgiana from the clutches of Wickham? First novel in the Moralities of Marriage series.
The Trouble With Horses
Darcy falls off a horse, Elizabeth saves him and the whole town is talking about it! A sweet historical romance novella.
A Winter Wrong
First book in the Seasons of Serendipity novella series. When Mr. Bennet dies of an epidemic, Elizabeth Bennet learns that the kindness of a stranger can be quite dashing! A sweet, historical romance novella.
A Spring Sentiment
Second book in the Seasons of Serendipity novella series. It's going to take all of the Bennet sisters to get Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth to march down the wedding aisle!
A Summer Shame
Third book in the Seasons of Serendipity novella series. The honeymoon trip of Darcy and Elizabeth is a crowded affair and Jane learns London Society is a scandal waiting to happen.
An Autumn Accord
Fourth book in the Seasons of Serendipity novella series. Darcy and Elizabeth mark the one-year anniversary of her father's death by returning to Hertfordshire where the Widow Bennet has a new problem to share.
OTHER TITLES
Cancelled
Original novel, a modern romance told mostly from the male point-of-view. A robotics engineer becomes engaged to his perfect match when a previous one-night stand shows up to return his shirt. Pregnant. And it’s his.
Visit the Rose Room, an exclusive reading club, for more information and to read free stories. Available free at http://elizabethannwest.com/roseroom
To our future selves, the glory is in the work.
Chapter One
Charlotte Collins plucked more lavender sprigs from the partially shaded corner of her garden, placing long stems of the herb into her white apron. The quick pace formed perspiration under her many layers of clothing, but she would not remove her bonnet lest Mr. Collins return early from his constitutional walk. Her loose hair proved an easy distraction to her toad of a husband.
A dust cloud followed a hastily driven carriage down the lane. The man inside took little notice of the small woman gathering herbs in her garden. Charlotte squinted her eyes at the coach and recognized the equipage. Catching her breath, she hurried to complete her work.
Married to Mr. Collins for three months, she needed to collect and dry as many stems as she could. If she made enough soap for the household, perhaps she could sell some in town for a minor profit. Her husband was always crossest over the lack of funds for their family. At twenty-seven, Charlotte had been long considered “on the shelf,” and her father, a lowly baronet in Hertfordshire had redirected most of her dowry. The day her marriage settlement was signed ended most of the goodwill she had experienced previously from her intended.
“My wife, was that not Mr. Darcy’s carriage just now in the lane?”
Charlotte cringed. She was caught. The last thing she wished to do was talk about Mr. Darcy. Not to Mr. Collins; not to anyone. Since he had arrived with Lady Catherine two months ago, there had been nothing but strife. Lady Catherine’s moods shifted as frequently as a windmill turns, with her husband bearing the brunt of her moments of displeasure. In turn, Charlotte bore the brunt of Mr. Collins’ displeasure.
“I believe so, Mr. Collins.”
“Did you not rise and curtsy as I have instructed you?”
Charlotte stood hastily with her apron corners in hand, unfortunately pulling the corner of her work gown slightly askew, revealing a well-formed, stockinged right calf. She witnessed Mr. Collins’ stare of desire before quickly reaching down and settling her skirts to fall properly. Marching to the back door of the cottage, Mr. Collins blocked her way.
“Mrs. Collins, perhaps you are fatigued from your morning’s endeavors and care to join me in a rest? For your health of course.” The man licked his lips and inhaled a deep breath.
The stench of his body odor, pungent from his hasty rush to greet a carriage he had no hope of meeting, made her revile at his invitation. “I feel quite well, thank you,” she managed.
“Yet, you did not stand to greet Mr. Darcy as I have implored you to honor all of the illustrious persons of Rosings. The worthy name of our patroness, and her relations, deserve the reverence of nobility. I presumed you too fatigued to stand or you would obey your husband.” Mr. Collins piety began to bring an irritated tone to his voice. But he was no match for Charlotte.
She bowed her head and slowly raised her eyes to look through her long lashes. “You are correct, sir, that I am unwell with the plague women must bear. I was gathering herbs so that I m
ight brew a tea to lessen these symptoms. I have failed to fulfill my duty to Mr. Darcy’s carriage, but I only did so in hopes of fulfilling my duty to you.”
Mr. Collin’s tongue made an unflattering flapping sound. Charlotte knew well when she had appealed to her husband’s baser nature in order to, once again, absolve her of that particular wifely duty. In this case, she even succeeded in alleviating her guilt for purposely ignoring her husband’s command to curtsy for a rushing coach.
Realizing Mr. Collins needed prompting, she used her best tone of deference. “Sir, might I make myself a cup of tea? I shall sit and plan this week’s meals with Cook.”
Snapping to attention, Mr. Collins nearly jumped out of his wife’s way so she could enter the kitchen. Leaving him in the doorway, she joined Mrs. Plummer, the cook, and deposited her pullings carefully into a bin. With a knowing look, Mrs. Plummer handed Charlotte the twine and wiped her hands from the stew she was stirring. The two women spied through the small window that Mr. Collins continued to walk through the garden to the other side of the property in a direction to check on his beehives.
“Have the eggs been collected from the coop?” Charlotte grabbed a bunch of the pale purple thistle-like blooms and wrapped a cord of twine around the base before tying the bunch to a nail in the windowsill.
“Yes, ma’am. Eileen found three eggs this morn.”
“Three? Mrs. Plummer do we not keep ten chickens? “
Mrs. Plummer looked down at her own bundle and quickly tied it off. “Rightly, you do. But for the life of me, this past week the eggs have been scarce, ma’am. It might be from that last spring storm.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. She highly doubted spring storms were spooking the chickens, at least she’d never seen such a thing at Lucas Lodge, her father’s estate. No, Charlotte suspected a much more sensible reason her eggs were missing, and as Mistress of Hunsford Lodge, she intended to discover the cause.
“See that the stew does not scorch. Mr. Collins is unbearable in the evenings when his dinner does not settle well.” Charlotte left the kitchen to hurry upstairs and freshen up. She was to walk to Rosings and perform her daily visit with Anne de Bourgh as she had done every day since a week after her arrival.
The cook nodded, knowing Mrs. Collins meant no disrespect. The three weeks she had been employed at the parsonage she had watched her new mistress dodge the master’s advances enough to value Charlotte as one smart woman. The entire household pitied the woman forever tied to Mr. Collins, both here and the thereafter, in holy matrimony.
Chapter Two
Fitzwilliam Darcy entered Rosings covered in dust and walked straight to the gaudy sitting room, knowing he’d find his aunt there, never next to her daughter’s sickbed. The walls held so many ornamentations and ancient tapestries, it was a dark and dank room, and Fitzwilliam’s least favorite.
“Fitzwilliam, thank goodness you have come. Anne has taken to her bed once more and Dr. Sneads is certain her time is near.” Lady Catherine lacked any maternal concern in her voice and did not rise from the overly ornate wingback chair she used as an impromptu throne.
“I shall see to my betrothed, presently, once I am changed. Madam.” Darcy bowed and tried to exit the parlor.
“Don't open that door!” Lady Catherine instructed the poor footman. “Whatever did you need to rush to Pemberley for? You never satisfied my question before you abruptly departed two weeks ago. What if Anne had died? You must marry right away, this very afternoon!” Lady Catherine barked her orders from her pretender’s throne.
Darcy clenched his teeth. For two months he had stalled and stymied his family’s attempts to make him wed his sickly cousin, Anne. First, he delayed their arrival as long as he could with matters in London. Then, he spent weeks pouring over the accounts of Rosings, justifying the action as necessary to reconcile the marriage settlement papers. Then he made certain to find a mistake and return to London under the charade of seeing his solicitor. Finally, he used Pemberley as an excuse. But time marched on. He was running out of excuses to delay the wedding.
Richard was to have procured leave a month ago and arrive for the switch in groom, but his military duties continued to thwart their plans. The only sustenance that allowed Darcy to endure night after night of his aunt’s rude, brash manner was the handful of love letters from his true love, Elizabeth Bennet. The two brief times he managed to go to London, he saw his secretly betrothed, but her uncle, Edward Gardiner, refused to allow them any privacy. Darcy couldn’t blame the man; his situation remained precarious and should something happen, Elizabeth would be alone.
“I explained that I saw to the preparations of the mistress suite at Pemberley. If a man is to take a wife, there are certain preparations that must be met. I had planned to stop off in London to see that home, but your missive said Anne was dying.” He didn’t add that he instructed the decorations based on the Elizabeth’s tastes, not Anne’s.
“She is! Her doctor assures me there is precious little time and one more illness will take her away! Marry and be done with it, you can have your bits of muslin on the side.” Lady Catherine waved her hands to emphasize the trifling nature of such concerns.
Love of his cousins and Elizabeth had prevented Darcy from taking just such action. To him, Anne was unwell, but never appeared to be upon death’s door as her mother called it. A more mercenary man would marry one, wait for her to die, and then marry again, just to procure another estate. Taking another bow, Darcy’s patience ended.
“Again I tell you, I shall see to my betrothed and her comfort after I have changed.”
Darcy returned to the Master’s chambers of Rosings and met with his man Simmons. Allowing his valet to undress him, he awaited the water for a bath. He was not unfeeling towards Anne, she was his dear cousin. But he had only ever briefly intended to marry her once when the scheme was first pressed by all of his older relations. That fleeting reconciliation to a loveless marriage occurred while he mistakenly believed Elizabeth Bennet promised to another and before his other cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, acquainted them to his secret love affair with Anne. His future companion had once described his life as a Shakespearean comedy, yet if matters did not change soon, Darcy would likely find him the hero of a tragedy.
“Sir, would you care to wear your charcoal coat or full black?” Simmons asked as another servant motioned Darcy’s bath was prepared.
“Black.” Darcy climbed into the tub and slunk into the hot water with his long legs bending up at the knee. If Anne’s deterioration in fact existed, the perilous future of his family and personal happiness hung in the balance. Certainly, if Lady Catherine lost Rosings to a late, madness-induced will by her late husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh, he was not prepared to take on the old baggage at Pemberley. This whole trouble began and ended with one man, Wickham. Had he simply disappeared, gone to America or elsewhere after Darcy paid him the value of the living willed to him by his own father, none of this would be happening. But Wickham ran off with Darcy’s own sister, before her sixteenth birthday. The two now married, it would be nary impossible to avoid probate should Anne pass away unmarried. A bastard child, a will of a madman, and too much wealth for unscrupulous souls to manage, Darcy thought sourly.
After soaking for a full quarter hour, Darcy called Simmons for his clothes. His black suit of the finest cloth London could offer cut his tall frame into a handsome figure, but Darcy didn’t need confidence in his appearance. The women of the Ton and even lower circles had ever chased after him as a fair prize to be caught. Yet it was one country miss who nearly died by his horse in a horrific accident last autumn that had captured his heart. Darcy wished he had managed to stop in London, if only to see his Elizabeth again.
“Shall I unpack your trunk, sir, or do you plan to travel again soon?” Simmons asked as he brushed small bits of lint off his master’s coat.
Darcy tugged on this coat sleeve, glancing in the mirror, horrified at how gaunt his own face appeared. One year
shy of his thirtieth birthday and yet the ghost of his father stared back at him in the lines and fatigue under his eyes.
“Please wait for my audience with Miss de Bourgh. At the very least we shall spend a week here so I may again go over the estate accounts.” Despite wishing he could return to his love, and drag Richard out to Kent if necessary, Fitzwilliam Darcy couldn’t keep avoiding his responsibilities forever.
Chapter Three
Sunlight poured through a dusty window at the top of the landing allowing Charlotte Collins a moment to check her disposition in the looking glass at the top of the servant’s staircase before entering Anne de Bourgh’s sick room. Her normally invigorating afternoon walk to Rosings was ruined by her husband’s insistence on attending her, claiming concern over her earlier fatigue. She would have to remember to curtail her fibs when it came to her stamina in the middle of the day, though sidestepping Mr. Collins’ regular attentions couldn’t last.
With a cheery smile and her fake reading material in hand, Charlotte inhaled through her nose and stepped inside.
“Charlotte, you are early.” The excitement in Anne’s voice couldn’t be mistaken, though it barely rose above a hoarse whisper.
“Shhh…no need to wear yourself out, Anne. My husband insisted upon walking with me, completely removing the time where I usually stroll your lovely gardens and park before attending to you . . .” Charlotte gave her friend an impertinent laugh, knowing Anne loved to hear about Charlotte’s walks. In some ways, walking the gardens of Rosings reminded Charlotte of her life when it was more carefree in Hertfordshire, tromping after her friend, Elizabeth Bennet, in woods, streams, and fields.
Darcy appeared outside of his cousin’s room moments later, shocked at the familiarity he heard between Anne and one that was unfamiliar, yet still comforting in an odd way. This shock kept him eavesdropping, as he stood rooted to the very floor and couldn’t have performed a different action if he had tried.
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