Looking Forward – WIP Sneak Peek #2 by Jennifer Altman

This month, the Austen Variations authors are taking a moment to look back at 2020 and forward to 2021. Like most of you, 2020 was not a great year for me. Living through a global pandemic, adjusting to working remotely for the first time, and trying to write a book proved to be a losing combination, and although I had hoped to finish and publish my second Pride and Prejudice variation in 2020, unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

But I’m happy to report that the new year is off to a good start so far, and I am creeping ever closer to typing “The End” on my current manuscript. If all goes according to plan, I should have it out sometime this spring. **Cue confetti cannons!**

So, instead of looking back, I thought I’d focus on looking ahead… by sharing another sneak peek at my WIP. As some of you may remember, I posted an excerpt from the book back in August as part of our “After the Wedding” blog theme. (If you haven’t read it, or want a refresher, you can find that excerpt HERE).

The scene I’ll be posting today takes place shortly after the first excerpt. Darcy and Elizabeth have recently wed, but they are a long way from their happily-ever-after. (See earlier post if you want to know why!).

As I said before, I do promise there WILL be a HEA for our favorite couple, but as you’ll see, things are definitely off to a rocky start.  The below scene occurs on their first night at Pemberley.

(Note: This is a work in progress, and as such, has yet to go through final revisions and editing. It is possible that the published version may differ slightly from the excerpt posted below).

Excerpt

Elizabeth stood before the looking glass as Miss Cassidy, her maid, finished fastening the hooks at the back of her gown. It was a modest frock and one Mr. Darcy had seen before, but she had not had time to acquire a new wardrobe before leaving Longbourn. No doubt it was not up to the standards of her new station, but there was nothing for it. Short of wearing a ballgown—and even then she had only two, both of them several years old—this was the nicest dress in her wardrobe. Hopefully it would be suitable for a simple dinner at home.

Elizabeth could not help but wonder how she would ever find her way down to the dining parlor, especially having no idea where the room was even located. She was on the brink of asking Cassidy for directions when a knock sounded in the corridor. The maid went to answer, opening the door a moment later to admit Mr. Darcy who was elegantly attired in black dress.

“Elizabeth,” he said somberly.

“Mr. Darcy.”

Her husband’s lips turned down at the corners, and Elizabeth lifted her chin. She would not apologize for her attire. If Mr. Darcy had wanted a wife of fashion, he should have married Caroline Bingley and not her.

Elizabeth stood. Dismissing the maid with a murmur of thanks, she reached for her gloves. Cassidy hurried out, closing the door behind her, and Elizabeth turned to see that her husband was still regarding her with a frown.

Courtesy BBC

“Must you do that?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We have been married for three days, and yet you are still calling me ‘Mr. Darcy’. I am your husband, not some passing acquaintance. Do you not think it time you began calling me by my given name?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks grew warm and she quickly looked away, fiddling with her gloves. “My parents call one another by their surname. It is not so unusual.”

“Do they never use one another’s Christian names? Even when they are alone?”

“I should have no notion of what they do when they are alone,” Elizabeth prevaricated. “But generally speaking, they do not.”

“I see.” After a moment he added, “And this is your preference?”

“I…”

“Would you have me call you ‘Mrs. Darcy?’”

“No. I have no objection to you calling me Elizabeth.”

“But you will not call me Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth lowered her lashes. “It is not the same.”

“Forgive me, but I do not understand. How is it acceptable for me to call you by your given name, but not for you to do likewise?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, wondering how she could explain.

“It is just that… It is different because you are accustomed to being called Mr. Darcy, and I am accustomed to addressing you in that manner. I am not yet comfortable being addressed as Mrs. Darcy. I… I mean no disrespect, but I do not feel like Mrs. Darcy. And, to me, you do not feel like…”

Her voice trailed off and Darcy visibly stiffened. “Can you not even say it? Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam is my given name.”

“Yes. I know.”

Darcy looked away. After a moment he said, “We should go down. We are already late.”

Elizabeth was tempted to ask how they could be late to a dinner that included no others, but she was too relieved to have the conversation at an end.

After a brief hesitation, Darcy offered his arm, and Elizabeth rested her gloved fingers lightly against his sleeve, allowing him to escort her down the sweeping staircase. They crossed the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing in the silent space before entering a large dining parlor.

Elizabeth’s eyes grew round at the elegance of the room, but she managed to quickly school her features as her husband guided her to her place at the head of the table.

Though the polished mahogany surface was only set for two, an elaborate floral centerpiece and several large candelabras filled much of the remaining space.

Slipping into her seat, Elizabeth noted that the second place setting was to her left, as opposed to at the opposite end of the table. She watched as Mr. Darcy took that seat, unfolding his napkin and gesturing to the butler who came forward with the wine.

Catching her looking in his direction, Darcy fixed her with an inscrutable expression.

“I hope you will forgive the unorthodox seating arrangements. When my sister is at home, I always take the seat beside her. The table is too large for two people to converse easily when seated so far from one another.”

“Of course,” Elizbeth murmured, still somewhat surprised that the proper Mr. Darcy would stray so far from formality. But she ceased thinking about it as a door at the back of the room opened, and a string of footmen appeared, carrying a variety of silver trays. A soup tureen was set down closest to Elizabeth, while platters with meat, vegetables, and an assortment of other dishes were spread out along the table.

Elizabeth could only stare in amazement. Goodness, who could be expected to eat so much food? There was enough to feed at least a dozen people.

Realizing that Mr. Darcy was regarding her expectantly, she quickly reached for the tureen.

“Shall I serve the soup,” she asked brightly, as all the footmen save one exited the room.

“Please.” Darcy reached for his glass, taking a swallow of the deep red claret as Elizabeth lifted the lid of the tureen. A rich aroma filled the air, and her eyebrows lifted. “Turtle?”

Darcy nodded. “A bit extravagant for a simple family dinner, perhaps, but I thought you would enjoy it.”

Although the words themselves were considerate, his tone was brusque.

Looking away, Elizabeth murmured her thanks before serving Mr. Darcy and then herself.

Dipping her spoon into the creamy broth, she could feel her husband watching her; luckily, she did not have to dissemble as the soup was delicious.

Courtesy BBC

“This is wonderful. You must give my compliments to your cook.”

Darcy offered her a curt nod before tucking into his own portion. “You may give them to her yourself. I will introduce you to Mrs. Webb in the morning. I hope you will find her satisfactory. She is not classically trained, but her fare is excellent.”

“If this is any indication, I am certain I will enjoy her cooking very much. Has she been with the family for some time?”

“Yes, for several years. I hired her just after my father’s death.”

Elizabeth returned her eyes to her plate, feeling somehow guilty for inadvertently bringing up what must be unhappy memories.

The two ate the remainder of the soup in relative silence. In between bites, Elizabeth surreptitiously studied the rest of the dishes laid out along the table. Besides the soup, there were partridges with bread sauce, an herb pie, roast loin of pork, pickled vegetables, and a ragout of venison braised in red wine.

Although the quantity was out of all proportion to the number of diners, everything was beautifully presented, and the mingled aromas that filled the room caused Elizabeth’s stomach rumble in appreciation.

When they had finished the soup, a footman instantly appeared, clearing their bowls, while another replaced the tureen with a silver dish, lifting the domed cover with a flourish.

Elizabeth blinked at the exquisite gelee, set in an elegant mold and served on a bed of wilted lettuce.

“I hope you will enjoy this; it is one of Mrs. Webb’s specialties.”

Elizabeth turned to look at him, her fingers automatically tightening around her fork.

“It is… lobster?” she asked, as Mr. Darcy carved off a thick slice, neatly sliding it onto her plate.

“Aye, in aspic. It is a favorite of my sister’s.”

Elizabeth lifted her glass, taking a large swallow of wine. “Indeed… it looks… lovely. Almost too lovely to eat,” she added, forcing a laugh.

Darcy regarded her strangely before composing his features. “Yes. It is a quite a work of art. But I assure you it tastes even better than it looks.” As if to demonstrate, he plunged his knife into his own serving, layering a large bite onto the back of his fork and raising it to his lips. Elizabeth toyed with her napkin beneath the table, finally picking up her own fork and slicing off a small corner.

“Is something the matter?”

“No! Not at all,” Elizabeth answered, but she set the morsel down untasted, taking another sip of her wine.

Darcy frowned. “Do you not care for lobster?” he asked.

Elizabeth sighed, finally lifting her eyes to meet his penetrating gaze. “It is not that I do not care for lobster, but rather that lobster does not care for me.”

“I beg your pardon? Do you mean to tell me it makes you ill?”

Elizabeth nodded sheepishly. “Yes, I am afraid so.”

Deliberately, Darcy set down his fork, pushing his plate towards the center of the table. “You should have said something.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Darcy motioned to the footman standing at the corner of the room.

“Peter, take this back to the kitchens. See if Mrs. Webb has any fish she can send instead.”

The footman nodded as Elizabeth blanched. “Mr. Darcy, truly that is not necessary. There is more than enough food on the table without an additional dish. Indeed, I do not think I will be able to eat half of what is here. And there is certainly no need for you to send your own dish back, when you were clearly enjoying it.”

The footman glanced from Elizabeth to her husband before Mr. Darcy waved him off with a flick of his wrist. When Peter had gone, he continued, “I would no longer find any pleasure in it.” Gesturing to the other dishes laid out before them his mouth curled as he added, “May I serve you something else? Some venison perhaps? Or a bit of the herb pie? Unless those items make you ill as well?”

Elizabeth folded her arms, anger quickly replacing any sense of remorse. Glad the footman had not yet returned, she answered coolly, “That was uncalled for.”

Courtesy BBC

“I beg your pardon? It was a simple question. I think it would be helpful for me to know if there are other foods you cannot tolerate.”

“Nothing that is on this table.”

Darcy sent her a withering glance and once again, Elizabeth sighed. “It is mostly shellfish. Lobster especially, but also oysters and crawfish.”

“Yet you ate the soup.”

“Yes. For some reason, turtle has never given me any difficulty.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed, but he did not say anything further. A moment later, the footman returned and Darcy lifted Elizabeth’s plate, filling it with hefty portions of the dishes remaining on the table.

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence. When the last dish had been cleared away, Elizabeth stood, Darcy immediately following suit.

Taking a breath, Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “If I may, I should like to go to the kitchens. I wish to speak to Mrs. Webb.”

“That will not be necessary. You will see her in the morning.”

Elizabeth instantly bristled at her husband’s commanding tone. “Necessary or not, I intend to go. Will you take me, or shall I ask one of the footmen?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened and for a moment their gazes locked together in a silent battle of wills. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth was aware of the servants regarding them with rapt attention.

Finally, Darcy looked away, saying in a strained voice, “Very well. If you are that determined, I will escort you.”

The footman, Peter, jumped to the side, hurriedly opening the door at the back of the room and Elizabeth followed Darcy down a narrow corridor and then several flights of stairs. At the bottom of the steps he turned left, leading her along another passageway and through a series of rooms that Elizabeth soon realized were all part of Pemberley’s kitchens. Her head swiveled left and right as she took in pantries and larders, all while hurrying to keep up with Mr. Darcy, who moved at a brisk pace. As they continued through the labyrinth of rooms, Elizabeth was once again reminded of the size of the manor of which she was now mistress and her throat constricted. At Longbourn, the kitchens consisted of one good-sized room with a small stillroom and pantry attached. But here at Pemberley, the space was at least triple the size. Elizabeth noticed in passing that every chamber they walked through was immaculately clean, the shelves neatly stocked, and the floors gleaming.

Darcy continued to weave his way through a maze of corridors, several startled footmen leaping out of the way with a hasty bow as they passed. Finally, they entered a vast room with several long tables running down its center and an enormous hearth where multiple pots were hung above a crackling blaze. The air filled with the scrape of chairs being hastily pushed back as several maids and footmen leapt to their feet, one young girl actually emitting a startled squeak.

A plump woman of middle years with graying curls escaping the confines of her starched cap stepped quickly in their direction, dropping a deep curtsy. Mr. Darcy offered a deferential bow. To Elizabeth’s surprise, his expression instantly altered, an amiable smile gracing his features as he regarded the cook who still looked excessively ill at ease.

“Mr. Darcy, sir! I hope nothing was amiss with the dinner?”

“No, not at all, Mrs. Webb. The meal was delicious, as always.” Cupping Elizabeth’s elbow he continued. “Pray, forgive our intrusion. If you would allow me to introduce my wife,” he said, nodding in Elizabeth’s direction. “I believe Mrs. Darcy wished to have a word.”

***

Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear what you think.  Looking forward to sharing more of the story as I get closer to publication.

Until next time!

JA