The Winter of Our Discontent: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

by Grace Gibson

But in fact, I did emerge from the event with a husband.

I began to speak aloud, albeit in a low grumble. “Very well. What shall I call you? ‘Dear Baggage?’ I suppose ‘Madam’ will have to do. I swear by all that is holy, I will never speak your given name.”

good lord what happened at the assembly 😭😭😭

I felt the warmth of my shawl being tucked gently around me and knew that Wilson had paid me this small attention.

hmmmm

Because he is my valet, Romney considered it his duty to feel as I do. His active dislike, though not overt, showed itself with regularity in his reports on her activities, his careful attention to gossip below stairs, and his well-timed sniffs whenever she was mentioned. He made a great show every night of locking the adjoining door between my apartment and the mistress’ suite, as if the woman might creep into my room and slit my throat as I slept.

actually comical

Mr Yardley is now my guest. Richard has since accused me of behaving towards the man as if I am in need of surgery to remove a riding crop from my personal anatomy. He then felt the need to goad me with the remark that I cannot hate my wife at the same time as I guard her like a jealous hound.

Richard left me to stew after a parting quip that Mrs Darcy may well have entrapped me, but she did not strike him as entirely awful, and perhaps I ought to have that riding crop removed if I plan to fill my nursery.

“Truly? I congratulate you for your sanguine attitude, sir. If you were to ask me, I would not want dear Miss Darcy to be pulled down by association, but⁠—” “Caroline!” Bingley weakly admonished. “I might counter that Mrs Darcy could be pulled up by their friendship,” I interrupted. My good-natured friend strove to turn the conversation around with false cheerfulness. “I say, Darcy, that is fair of you. I feared your resentment would not allow you to make what you can of it…” His voice trailed off in abject misery. “In point of fact, Mrs Darcy has turned out to be a tireless force at Pemberley. She is devoted to the tenants and takes prodigious care of the house. She intends to do much good on the estate, unlike more fashionable ladies who might have used such a large holding to set themselves up as scions of fashion and social power.” I directed this speech at Miss Bingley, a woman who once coveted the position of my wife for consequence and wealth alone, adding, “Perhaps I always wished for a country wife.”

I paused briefly to ponder the irony of defending and even praising my wife in the face of such an attack. Being proud, I suppose, I refused to open up my wounds for the delectation of anyone, particularly someone of Caroline Bingley’s ilk. Thus, I had defended Mrs Darcy rather more fiercely than I would have thought possible. My immoveable resentment, it seemed, had moved a little, yet I was not in the mood to give it up entirely.

stupid bloody idiot, needs his comeuppance

To me, Mr Darcy presented a gold chain necklace with a large pearl drop pendant. It suited me perfectly, being simple and somewhat short. Georgiana looked abashed, then Mr Darcy grew rather silent, none of which I understood.

when it came time to give Mr Darcy his gift, I admit to being quite nervous. I only got him a book, and a silly satire at that. And after the beautiful pearl he gave me, I felt quite wrong in my choice. I sat back and put down my pen, recalling the look on his face. “Gulliver’s Travels?” he had asked in the strangest, most bewildered tone. “Well, y-yes,” I stammered. “I made a joke about Captain Pedro de Mendez and discovered your sister had never read it.” He stared at me and so I blathered on. “I was sure a library such as yours would have a copy, but after searching quite methodically, I never found it. So, I went to the nursery⁠— “You went to the nursery?” he asked numbly. “Well…yes, to find Gulliver’s Travels, and there it was, but with the entire voyage to Laputa cut out and many other pages shockingly vandalised. I found this, a printing of that same year, for your library…” My monologue dwindled into a feeling of dread. The room fell silent. Mr Darcy looked down at his book and traced the embossing of the leather. “Thank you,” he eventually said. “Have I done wrong, sir?” I asked. Really! I sometimes felt as though there was a story in that house that I did not know, and when I touched upon it, everyone’s eyes fell to the ground, and I was left stupidly ignorant of what I should or should not have said. “What? Oh no. No, of course not.”

cannot explain why I was a fixture at my wife’s bedside. Wilson, who regarded me with scepticism at first, now took my anxious presence as a given. Only when the chamber pot was required or I needed to eat, wash, and shave, was I anywhere but in that room. I slept there, in a chair or on the chaise longue.

She had been through a harrowing illness, and anticipating her recovery, I steeled myself for the hard blow that must surely come when she was stronger and her acute powers of reasoning returned in full force. When would she begin to express her rightful resentment as to how unfairly I had treated her? She should have refused to see me, treated me with cold disdain, and asked me to spend the Season in London so she could recuperate in peace. Instead, when she was ready to be carried downstairs, only I would do. Georgiana’s offers to drive her around the park in the phaeton were politely refused, but I was given this privilege whenever the weather permitted. No one could put a shawl around my wife without the offending object being pushed off five minutes later, yet that evening, when I wrapped her up, she dozed against my shoulder while my sister played Scarlatti. Everyone around us seemed to examine us in frowning amazement. But Elizabeth and I sat closer together and pretended we did not notice they were scrutinising our attachment and scratching their heads.

darlings 😭

This was the moment, strange though it was, I realised I had fallen head over ears in love with Elizabeth Bennet—with my wife. She needed me, and I found that I was utterly at her disposal. Crops be damned, new steward be damned, venereal complaints, diversified interests, Irish travellers—they could all hang! I was finally useful.