Foiled Elopement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  His business with the coachman concluded, Mr. Darcy opened the door beside her and handed her down. Elizabeth took in the small stone church with pleasure. It was set in a naturally idyllic location and the structure, though ancient, was well-maintained and possessing a great deal of archaic charm. If someone had drawn a church in a storybook, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

  Behind them, the carriage moved away. Mr. Darcy didn’t relinquish her hand as they walked toward the church. Elizabeth had ample time to realize they hadn’t put their gloves back on, but couldn’t regret it. It felt right, her hand clasped in his.

  Inside the small stone building they found no one, though she was pleased by how bright it was, the windows being formed of clear glass. Sunlight streamed in, fragmented by the beveled edges of the panes, to illuminate heavy wooden benches rendered smooth by years of use. Beyond the pews was a simple but elegant display. All in all, Elizabeth thought it a lovely place to wed.

  “If only there was someone to officiate,” she murmured, looking about.

  “That would assist the matter,” Mr. Darcy agreed in his deep, rich voice.

  “Shall we take a turn around the outside in the hope of encountering someone?” she suggested.

  In reply, Mr. Darcy turned them back toward the door, tucking her arm into his.

  Outside, they walked the lawn, coming around the church to find a small rectory, complete with a garden. In that garden, wearing a broad hat to shield him from the sun, toiled a thin young man. He set aside his tools when he saw them, dusting off his hands.

  “Can I assist you?” the man called as they neared.

  “We’re seeking the parson,” Mr. Darcy said. “Would you be him?”

  “Indeed.” The man offered his hand, Mr. Darcy leaving her side to clasp it. “Mr. Logan. What can I do for you?”

  “We should like to be wed,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Elizabeth stepped forward, adding a smile to his statement, lest Mr. Logan worry she might not want the marriage.

  Mr. Logan looked them over. “Well, yes, of course. Arrangements can be made. I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

  “We have not. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We wish to be wed now, today.”

  “Before witnesses, in church,” Elizabeth added, lest the clergyman be too agreeable and marry them before the coachman and witnesses arrived.

  Mr. Logan rocked back on his heels. “Today? Now?”

  “I realize it will be an inconvenience to you,” Mr. Darcy said. “I am willing to donate fifty pounds to you, to use as best you see fit for you or your parishioners. Also, we will also be paying a penny to every witness. They should arrive shortly.”

  “And I would like our names entered in the church registry, and the names of our witnesses, please,” Elizabeth said, worried anew. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Mr. Darcy was a man of too much status to be wedding the likes of her. Even if he didn’t attempt to discredit their union, there may be others who would.

  “Well, yes, I think we shall manage that,” Mr. Logan said. “You sent someone to the village to bring back witnesses?”

  Mr. Darcy nodded.

  “Yes, well, it will be a good day for our small community, then, will it not? It seems Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet are of a generous nature.” Mr. Logan smiled. “If you’ll permit me to change, I’ll meet you in the church?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Darcy said. He offered Elizabeth his arm again.

  She took it, letting him lead her back. Soon the coachman returned, and witnesses began to arrive. The promise of money and the spectacle of a wealthy Englishman brought a crowd of about thirty to the church. Elizabeth was somewhat reassured by the number, though Mr. Darcy’s seemingly careless offer of fifty pounds to Mr. Logan still worried her. With the type of wealth she suspected Mr. Darcy of having, even thirty people could be bribed to say they hadn’t witnessed a wedding.

  Elizabeth waited for the witnesses as they filed in. She had each child say, “I am here to witness the wedding between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.” She had to coax the first child, but he eventually said it. She then gave him a farthing, with another farthing to his mother. One man left, muttering, “This is foolishness,” but the rest remained.

  Mr. Logan performed the ceremony, which was brief. Elizabeth felt bereft in the sea of people filling the small church. So many faces, but none of them known except Mr. Darcy’s, and his not for long. It was with a strange sense of unreality that she found herself declared Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She didn’t know if she was sad or relieved that Mr. Logan did not employ the controversial request for the bride and groom to kiss. She did know that Mr. Darcy smiled down at her in a way that unfurled warmth inside her.

  After the ceremony, Elizabeth gave out pennies, this time requiring the witnesses to say, “I saw Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet get married.” She had Mr. Logan write down the name of each person who said it, asking that he make three copies.

  Still, it didn’t seem like quite enough insurance. Before she went off with Mr. Darcy as his wife, she wanted to be certain his money, which he seemed too ready to spend, couldn’t later be used to make the truth of their union disappear. Yes, he seemed like a good man now, but if Mr. Wickham provided any lesson, it was that men could deceive.

  Elizabeth questioned the milling witnesses, getting the name of the man who kept the local tavern, which doubled as a general store. Not giving her new husband a chance to argue, she suggested they all journey there for a celebratory meal. When they arrived, she approached the tavern owner and handed him one of the lists.

  “We’re looking for a place to have a meal celebrating our union, but first, I’m going to give you enough money so each person here has a credit of,” she turned to Mr. Darcy, “how much?”

  “One pound each,” he said.

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise. That would certainly be memorable for all involved, and become a story that would spread. She returned her attention to the tavern owner.

  “One pound,” she reiterated. “But there is a catch. In order to receive the credit, they must say to you, ‘I witnessed Fitzwilliam Darcy marry Elizabeth Bennet.’ And a further restriction, they may draw as little or as much of the pound as they want, but each day, only one person can withdraw money.” She frowned, seeing a possible flaw in her hastily constructed plan. “Do you read and write, sir?”

  “Aye,” he said, looking at the list in his hand.

  Elizabeth smiled, relieved. “You will get one pound for your effort as well,” she added.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Mr. Darcy’s expression was, fortunately, one of mild amusement. “Not only are you limited to one person a day using their money, but once a person uses their money, they must wait until everyone else has a chance to use theirs. Because of the additional bookkeeping that will involve, I am going to overrule my wife. You will get two pounds for your efforts, but you will display a copy of the record of the transactions for all to see. Is this acceptable to you?”

  “Aye,” he said with considerable enthusiasm. “And I’d be honored if you have your first meal at my inn. I can have something for you in a jiffy.”

  “How long would it take you to make a meal for all these good people who attended the wedding?” Mr. Darcy asked, gesturing to the crowd of witnesses who’d followed them over.

  “An hour, but it won’t be fancy.”

  “That is acceptable,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Elizabeth was relieved he was taking her extra precautions in good spirits. He had every right to be insulted, if he so chose. She didn’t want to begin her life with Mr. Darcy antagonizing him, but his obvious wealth made her nervous. It was easy to see she was wedding above her station.

  While Mr. Darcy paid the money needed, Mr. Logan approached and invited him to the parsonage until the meal was ready. After turning to her to receive her nod, Mr. Darcy accepted the offer. The t
hree of them left the crowded tavern and headed back toward the church.

  When they got to the parsonage, Mr. Logan briefly excused himself and then returned. “My apologies, but I decided to start a rumor. My bed is made every morning by a maid whom I gave permission to help the tavern keeper with your meal. I went up to the room and messed up the bed. I will not talk about what you did here, but my maid is a gossip. I am perfectly capable of making the bed, and will do so if you request it, but if you want to make it seem like you started your married life here, that will help.”

  Elizabeth was a bit shocked, but more amused. She looked to her husband, to gauge his reaction. She recalled Georgiana saying he had a reserved temperament.

  “Do you have an opinion?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “Can you make it sloppily, so she’ll notice but assumed we wanted to conceal it?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Logan.

  “Easily. I’ll do that now,” he said.

  “Wait.” Elizabeth reached up, found a loose strand of hair and pulled it out. She handed it to Mr. Logan.

  “Better,” he said with a smile.

  “We are already committed,” Mr. Darcy said after Mr. Logan disappeared upstairs.

  “Yes, but this adds some verisimilitude. Thank you for going along with it.”

  He shrugged, leaving her wondering at his true thoughts on Mr. Logan’s initiative, and her actions.

  Seeking a topic with less potential for disagreement, she gave him a mischievous smile. “I wonder how much prices will be raised while people have credit.”

  “Enough to make the innkeeper happy.”

  The meal, which Mr. Darcy paid for, consisted of too-salty, fried, sliced ham with fried onions and bread, washed down with poor quality ale. Leaning close, Mr. Darcy whispered to her that he’d eaten worse food at roadside inns, but not often. The witnesses ate with enthusiasm. Neither bride nor groom ate very much and they left after a short time.

  When they entered the carriage, Elizabeth saw that someone had left flowers for them, probably a child judging by the selection and length of the stems. Elizabeth gathered together the pitiful collection and sighed.

  Mr. Darcy watched her as the carriage started moving. “You are melancholy?”

  “What?” She looked away. “No, not really. This simply isn’t what I envisioned for the happiest day of my life.”

  He didn’t reply. Worried she’d insulted him, Elizabeth turned to face him. His expression contemplative.

  “I never expected to have a happiest day of my life,” he said. “Not by wedding, at least. I expected to marry a woman who would advance my holdings and connections.”

  “I’m sure you did.” She shrugged. How could she explain? “I know it’s silly to have expected love, and I’m not prone to silliness, I assure you. So many women think of little other than marriage. They long for a man with good looks, or with money, or social standing. I never sought any of those things. I always said I would marry only where my heart was engaged and the rest, well, I shouldn’t care one way or the other.” She shook her head, smiling slightly at her folly. “I thought that stance all but guaranteed me love.”

  “Marrying to preserve your reputation was not a reason you expected.”

  “No.” She studied his face, trying to know his mind. “It never occurred to me I should lose it, or that I would meet Georgiana and be part of a plan to save her from unhappiness.”

  “So you agreed to marry me for your reputation and my sister’s happiness?”

  Her wry smile grew. That was a question he should have asked before wedding her. “Yes, and for my sisters. I have every right to throw away my prospects, and an equal right to do no more for Georgiana, all but a stranger, than I have. I do not have the right to ruin my sisters’ chances.”

  “So, I never hoped for love, and you assumed you would have it.” He turned to face her fully. “Are you certain, then, that you will never come to love me?”

  She stared up at him, surprised. Was that sorrow in his tone? Did he, who never planned to love his wife, desire his wife should love him? “I don’t know you, Mr. Darcy. Without knowing you, how can I know if I shall come to care for you?”

  He stared down at her, expression thoughtful. Reaching out, he grazed her cheek with strong fingers. “Perhaps there is a way to assess the potential for stronger feelings between us.”

  “Such as?” she asked, suddenly feeling they were very much alone.

  “This.” He cupped her cheek in his palm, bringing his mouth down to meet hers.

  Elizabeth went still, unsure what to expect as their lips met.

  His kiss was soft, feather light at first, taunting her with the promise of more. She leaned into him, seeking. His arms encircled her and held her against him. His mouth became more insistent, stirring an afore unknown wave of longing from somewhere deep within her. Elizabeth twined her arms around his neck, trying to draw him nearer still.

  Suddenly, she jerked back, pain radiating outward through her ribs from where they’d collided with the pianoforte.

  Mr. Darcy stared down at her, looking confused.

  “My ribs,” she said trying to suppress a grimace.

  “Yes, I forgot. I’m sorry.” His expression clouded with more than remorse.

  She regretted her admission, aware she’d reawaken his anger toward Mr. Wickham. He turned to glower at the carriage wall across from him, leaning back. With empty space between them on the seat, she felt oddly bereft. After a short time, his breathing became even. He settled more firmly into his corner. His eyes drifted closed. Elizabeth realized he’d fallen asleep. She decided she would never tell anyone that she fell asleep on the way to her wedding and her husband fell asleep while returning.

  Chapter Twelve – In-laws Met

  Mr. Bennet arrived at the Sleeping Cat with a profound sense of relief. The journey had been blissfully uneventful. He offered Jane a smile. She made a pleasant travel companion, his eldest child. Perhaps he should have spent more time with her over the years. With her kind nature and pretty looks, she was sure to leave home soon, and take much that was sensible with her. He and Elizabeth would be alone in a sea of foolishness.

  When they arrived at the Sleeping Cat Inn, Mr. Bennet was pleased to see it was a neat, well-maintained building. It stood a bit apart from the rest of the town, giving it a certain prominence. The wide porch, extensive stable and large innyard added to the general appearance of respectability.

  Disembarking and sending his driver toward the stable to see to the carriage and horses, Mr. Bennet led the way inside. The large common room was airy, with wide windows along one wall to let in fresh air and daylight. A highly-polished bar stretched along the far wall, with a fireplace and pianoforte opposite each other at the two shorter ends of the room.

  A man came out from behind the bar to greet them, further reassuring Mr. Bennet with his cheerful demeanor. “Welcome to the Sleeping Cat,” the man said. “I’m the innkeeper, Mr. Buchanan. How may we be of service today, sir?”

  “I’m Mr. Bennet,” he said by way of greeting. “This is my daughter, Miss Jane Bennet. We’re here to collect another of my daughters, Elizabeth. She said she would be here.”

  The man rocked back on his heels slightly, his expression clouding in a way Mr. Bennet didn’t care for. “Miss Bennet was here, and will return this evening, but she is not here now. She left for Scotland this morning.”

  “Scotland?” She couldn’t be on her way to his sister, if she meant to be back by evening.

  Mr. Buchanan nodded. He tugged at his collar. “She left in the company of a Mr. Darcy. They mean to marry.”

  Jane gasped.

  Mr. Bennet stared at the innkeeper. Mr. Buchanan could not possibly be correct. Running off to Scotland was something Lydia would do, not Elizabeth. She was the most intelligent of his daughters and not prone to flightiness at all.

  “Mr. Bennet?” the innkeeper said, his voice sounding oddly far off. “Perhaps you should sit down, sir.”

>   “Papa, do sit down,” Jane said.

  Mr. Bennet nodded, claiming the chair nearest him. “She’s gone to get married?” His Elizabeth wouldn’t do something so rash. As far as he knew, she’d never even fancied a gentleman. Who was this Mr. Darcy?

  “Maybe it’s not so dire,” Jane said, taking the seat beside him. Her expression brightened. “Maybe Lizzy’s in love. It was bound to happen eventually.”

  Mr. Bennet looked up at Mr. Buchanan. “Is my daughter in love?”

  The innkeeper cleared his throat. “I couldn’t say, sir.” He glanced across the room toward a table where two respectable looking gentlemen sat at a gaming board. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Bennet, I think I may know a way to help. I won’t be long.”

  Mr. Bennet nodded again, his mind churning. He was vaguely aware of Mr. Buchanan going to the table with the two gentlemen and then disappearing through a door in the back. Mr. Bennet frowned at the table, trying to comprehend what was taking place.

  “Do you think it’s really true?” Jane asked. “It doesn’t seem like something Lizzy would do.”

  Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I don’t know.” If it wasn’t true, what did that mean? Had something happened to Elizabeth and this was the innkeeper’s way of hiding it? Better the man’s words were true than that. He looked around the common room again, expecting it to appear more sinister than before, but nothing had changed. The two respectable looking gentlemen were watching him, though.

  “I’m sure all will be well, Papa.” Jane covered his hand with hers where it rested on the table.