Elizabeth in the New World

  ELIZABETH IN THE NEW WORLD

  Maggie Mooha

  NO GREATER LOVE

  Darcy’s sudden, passionate kiss sweeps Elizabeth into a bliss she has never known...but their love is short-lived. On a field of honor, Wickham, once again, engages in an irresponsible act, which leaves Darcy mortally wounded and Elizabeth broken. Refusing to leave Darcy’s side, the last vestiges of her reputation are shattered, and when Elizabeth sees Darcy in his coffin, she is ruined in more ways than one. Devastated and without hope, reluctantly she agrees to accompany friends to Grenada, a Caribbean island on the brink of revolution.

  Things are not what they seem. Darcy hasn’t died, but Elizabeth is gone and he fears it is too late to recapture what he has lost. As he struggles to recuperate, he must put aside his pride and his heritage in order to find the only woman he will ever love. Never before has Darcy sacrificed so much for a passion he fought against so vehemently. And never before has Elizabeth’s strength of character been stronger - it is the only thing standing between her and an end that doesn’t include Darcy.

  www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

  ELIZABETH IN THE NEW WORLD

  Copyright © 2018 Maggie Mooha

  All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

  ISBN 978-1-948029-45-2

  E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  To Madonna, my sister, my traveling companion, and my friend

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When I first began to seriously consider writing about Elizabeth and Darcy entering the world of Fedon’s Rebellion, I found the research extremely challenging. It was difficult to find accurate information about the rebellion. In fact, it was difficult finding ANY information about the rebellion. Below is a list of my primary sources.

  Fedon’s Rebellion 1795–96: Causes and Consequences by Edward L. Cox was used for much of my background material.

  Belvidere Estate Fedon’s House by Herman G. Hall was a great source of information about Fedon’s Rebellion and his home at Belvidere.

  Another invaluable source was Chris Buckmire, who led a tour of Grenada from which I learned so much. You may have your own Grenadan adventure by contacting him at christours@hotmail.com.

  The Grenada National Museum in St. George’s, Grenada, and its staff, were most helpful in my final days of research. On view there are the documents from President MacKenzie to Fedon, and also a portrait of the rebel leader.

  Although the characters of Lieutenant Governor Ninian Home and his wife, and the homes they lived in and the route they took in fleeing the rebellion are accurate, I did take some liberties. Governor Home and his wife were actually childless, and she died after only two years in Grenada. Fedon did capture some fifty-one British prisoners and did execute all of them save two when his demands were not met, but there were no women among them. Fedon was a brilliant strategist and may have prevailed if the French had come to his aid. His rebellion lasted over a year.

  Also, I needed information about the period and found a great deal of it in Jane Austen’s England—Daily Life in the Georgian and Regency Periods by Roy and Lesley Adkins.

  Another helpful source was the website Jane Austen’s World: janeaustensworld.wordpress.com.

  Many thanks to Madonna Pence, Lisa Prokop McCallister, and Joan Svoboda Wendt for all their suggestions.

  Many thanks also to my editor at Boroughs Publishing Group, who taught me a great deal about getting a book in shape for publishing.

  I would also like to recognize Christine King for her photographic skills.

  And thank you, Jane Austen, for your amazing characters.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  ELIZABETH IN THE NEW WORLD

  Joy and Woe are woven fine

  Clothing for the Soul Divine

  Under every grief and pine

  Runs a joy with silken twine.

  —William Blake

  Chapter 1

  From his gaol cell, Wickham tried to recall the exact moment he hatched the plot. Not being a man given to self-examination, nor to reverie even, it wasn’t an easy task. His mind kept drifting to the last time he had availed himself of Lydia’s youthful charms. As he lay on his side, she’d held his gaze as he traced his fingers along the curve of her hip, then up her inner thigh to…

  He needed to think. It had seemed like such a good plan when he’d conceived it, and now it appeared that he would hang for it. Damn that Darcy. He was always the cause of grief. Small comfort that Darcy would not live to see him swing. Small comfort. It was hard for him to believe that only a few days earlier everything was going so well.

  As the first fingers of dawn crept through their London garret, Wickham opened his eyes and smiled. He was the happiest of men. It had only been a few days since he had absconded with Lydia. The girl nearly leapt into his arms at seeing him. He knew she would run off with him. He hardly had to convince her of anything. A day later they were here, and she was his.

  He knew of Darcy’s affection, nay obsession, for Lydia’s sister, Elizabeth Bennet. He had delighted at taunting him with it at the major-general’s ball. Wickham’s own fancies wandered in that direction once. Elizabeth, though, was too, what was the word? Too much trouble. She had a sharp tongue and a lively wit, and what man wanted that? Yes, she was beautiful, but being easily manipulated was so much more appealing. And Lydia had her charms. Besides her youth, she was infinitely malleable. That was a much better quality in a woman than a strong will and a sharp mind.

  Wickham knew that Darcy would never, ever, let anyone disgrace the Bennets, although they seemed hell-bent on disgracing themselves more often than not. At first Wickham considered deflowering Elizabeth. That would have been enjoyable, but infinitely too much effort, if Elizabeth had consented to it at all. He would probably have had to marry her, and, although that would have torn at Darcy’s heart, he would still have to marry someone who would be more than a match for him. And then there was the matter of fortune.

  What really was his objective? Yes, he wanted Darcy to suffer. Yes, he believed afflicting Elizabeth Bennet was the easiest way to inflict that suffering. There was something else, though. Something that was truly the heart of the matter. He needed money. He needed to have the means of a gentleman. He needed Darcy to settle him with an income. The income that he had be
en so unjustly denied by Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Elizabeth’s sister, Lydia, would do nicely. With only a few weeks in his company, she could perform any act in the repertoire of a two-shilling whore. Her young, nubile body was his to command. He brought her to fits of ecstasy and she him. He had decided in the first week that he should be forced to marry her. Of course, he did have to listen to that constant prattling. That would change, however, when he officially became her lord and master.

  Wickham’s fellow officers were his willing conspirators. He gathered about him men of his ilk. They could be cajoled. They could be bought. Poor Mr. Bennet and his brother-in-law, what was his name, oh yes, Gardiner, were being sent on a veritable festival of misdirection. They would never find him because they could never bribe his cohorts enough to betray him. What a grand joke.

  It was only a matter of time until the scandal was discovered and babbled about everywhere. He wished he could see Darcy’s face when he heard of it. Darcy would come after him himself. He would have enough money to buy his friends. Every man had his price. At least a thousand pounds a year would be his.

  He rose from his blissful encounter with darling Lydia to pour himself another drink. There was a rough banging at the door. Sure that it was the landlord wanting last week’s rent, he opened it before asking who it was and clad only in his undergarments. Lydia squealed. As he turned to look at her, someone pushed him and he wobbled slightly, losing his footing. Two men walked past him.

  Much to his chagrin, it was certainly not the landlord. Nor was it Darcy. How did old Mr. Bennet find him? That was not the plan. Darcy was supposed to find him. Darcy alone and Darcy would negotiate with him. That old fool Bennet. He had the instincts of a bloodhound.

  He staggered to his feet and turned, and there was Bennet standing there, his daughter, still wrapped in bedsheets, sobbing at his feet. Gardiner was there too. Out of instinct, he turned toward the door. Bennet stepped in his way.

  “Scoundrel,” he shouted and slapped him roundly in the face. He had not expected that. It was one thing to shout at him. He could endure that. Everyone shouted at him. His regiment commander especially. The slap, though, was another matter.

  “Prepare to defend yourself, sir,” Wickham said, and lunged toward the sword hanging from its scabbard on the bedpost. As he drew it, Lydia screamed. It was such an ear-piercing scream that he thought every constable in the entire neighborhood would descend upon them. Gardiner, then, attempted to intervene. “Put that thing away,” he shouted.

  Wickham’s head began pounding. Why does everyone shout under these circumstances? Even through his alcoholic haze, he knew this would not end well if he pursued it. Still, the man had laid hands on him.

  He tried to clear his head. His sword was still in his hand. Gardiner shouted, “For God’s sake, man, Bennet is unarmed.”

  He should have stopped for a moment. Perhaps if his head were clearer, he could think.

  But he did not think, and spoke instead. “You decide the time, Bennet, and you choose the weapons. We shall meet upon the field of honor.”

  ***

  Darcy’s carriage lurched. It broke him out of his reverie. What was he doing? Surely, Wickham would relent at the smell of money. Of course, he would. No shots would be fired. The lanterns clanked against the coach. It was nearly dawn.

  The events of the last few weeks had changed his life forever. Elizabeth, his beloved Elizabeth, had refused him. He’d returned to Hunsford, if not a broken man, at least one who was no fit company for gentle folk. As he dwelt in his misery, a letter arrived. It was from Mr. Bennet. That letter, and how events would unfold this morning, would determine how Darcy’s life would reveal itself. Hope or despair? Happiness or desolation?

  News had come of Wickham’s elopement with Lydia, Elizabeth’s sister. She was a silly girl, typical of her breeding and…He must strike thoughts like that from his mind. Elizabeth was raised in the same family, and she was…she was perfect. Besides, had not his own sister, Georgiana, succumbed to Wickham’s charms? He had prevented that tragedy but was not vigilant enough to prevent this one. It was entirely his fault, really. Entirely his fault. He should have realized that the threat was real. Now, he hoped it was not too late.

  Now, sitting in his coach, Darcy thought of the countless ways that George Wickham had tried to hurt him. Perhaps he should have given Wickham the allowance his father had recommended lo these many years ago and let him spend it or gamble it away. He would have been rid of him then, once and for all. No, he had chosen to ignore his father’s wishes because of Wickham’s feckless behavior, and subsequently, Wickham had extracted his revenge at every turn, even involving his own sister, Georgiana. That plot Darcy had foiled. This last one, however, would keep Elizabeth out of reach forever.

  George Wickham had run away with Elizabeth’s sister, Lydia. They were not married. Although Darcy had offered his services in searching for Lydia, he had arrived in London too late. Elizabeth’s father had found the couple in some stinking lair in London, and one thing had led to another. Now Darcy was forced to be a second in a duel. A second for poor Mr. Bennet.

  No matter how this turned out, no good could come of it. If Mr. Bennet killed Wickham, Lydia would still be disgraced and have no hope of marrying. That would compromise or ruin her sisters. There would be even more of an impediment to his marrying Elizabeth. Marry her? She had refused him. Oh, Elizabeth.

  If Mr. Wickham killed Mr. Bennet, which was much more likely, then there would be no hope for Lydia. Wickham would leave her in an instant, and all the Bennet girls would not only be unmarriageable but also eventually without a home, because Mr. Bennet’s estate was entailed to Mr. Collins.

  There was one way that something positive could come of the entire affair. Darcy could intercept Wickham before the duel and offer him money to marry the simpering Lydia. Once the marriage was accomplished, the duel would be all but forgotten and the Bennet sisters would be saved from disgrace.

  Wickham’s words, however, rang in his head. Wickham’s plan all along was to hurt the Bennets to exact his revenge upon him. He was sure of it. Again, he felt a pang of guilt. Why had he been silent? Had he told of George Wickham’s plot to run off with his sister Georgiana and make off with her fortune, the Bennets would have avoided Wickham like the plague. It was spilt milk now. He must think of a way out of this predicament.

  Two things that Darcy could rely upon worked in his favor. One was that Wickham was mercenary. The other was that Wickham was a coward. He had no honor. It suddenly became clear to him. He knew what he must do. With his walking stick, he rapped on the carriage ceiling. The driver opened the trap door.

  “Sir?” he asked.

  “Take me to Regent Street.”

  ***

  Darcy arrived at the Gardiners’ the following day as the sun’s pink and golden rays began to colour the clouds. Although a servant opened the door, Mr. Bennet stood ready in the hall. He looked exceedingly agitated. Darcy made a slight bow.

  “Thank goodness you have come, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice shaking. “I apologize for involving you, but you are the only gentleman of our acquaintance whom I trust…”

  “Anything I can do to alleviate you or your family’s suffering,” he said gallantly. Mr. Bennet did not smile. He looked as if he would go apoplectic at a moment’s notice.

  “Did you bring the pistols, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet asked, his voice quavering.

  “Indeed, I did,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Have you ever handled a pistol before?”

  “No, never,” Mr. Bennet squeaked.

  Darcy put a comforting hand on Mr. Bennet’s arm. “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Bennet. I will teach you what you need to know, but I must speak with you first, as I think we may circumvent these proceedings altogether.”

  “What are you saying, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet asked, hope shining in his eyes.

  “I do believe that we can make this situation come out to our satisfaction,” s
aid Darcy confidently. Mr. Bennet smiled.

  “I will rely upon you,” he said as they entered the study.

  ***

  “Papa, are you in there? I would like to speak to you before you go,” Elizabeth called through the study door.

  Mr. Bennet was already at the door, opening it. Elizabeth entered and began to speak but stopped short when she saw Darcy. For a moment, she was speechless.

  Mr. Bennet looked from one to the other. It was Darcy who spoke first.

  He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Miss Bennet. I am sorry that we are not meeting under happier circumstances. I will take my leave, so that you may speak to your father alone.” He made his way toward her to the door.

  As if awakened from a dream, she suddenly cried, “No,” before he reached the door. He stopped, a surprised look on his face. They both looked at Mr. Bennet.

  “Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet offered. “I think perhaps you might want to have a word with Mr. Darcy. I will go and have my breakfast.” He tried to sound lighthearted, but Elizabeth knew he was hiding his dread from her.

  As soon as they were alone, Elizabeth went to the window. She could not look in Darcy’s face. She was afraid her countenance would reveal all the tumult of emotions she was feeling.

  “Mr. Darcy, why are you here?” she asked finally.

  “Your father asked me to be his second in his duel with Mr. Wickham. He felt that I, being a gentleman, would possess the necessary knowledge and…” he groped for the word, “authority, to see that all proceeded fairly with adherence to the rules.”

  “Rules?” she cried and turned upon him. “Rules. Mr. Darcy, what good can come of this? Can you not do something to stop it? My father—” Her voice broke and she turned away from him once more, burying her face in her handkerchief. “My father is an elderly man, a country gentleman. What does he know of dueling?” The tears welled in her eyes, and then broke free and ran down her cheeks. She wished he would rush to her and throw his arms around her and hold her to his breast. Instead, he stood apart and spoke calmly.