Remembrances, p.1
Remembrances, page 1
Remembrances
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
~
Cassandra B. Leigh
Remembrances
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
~
Cassandra B. Leigh
Irritated by her mother’s matchmaking scheme, Elizabeth Bennet sets out for the three-mile walk to Netherfield to tend to her sick sister. Was there nothing their mother would not do to put her daughters in the path of eligible men? Trudging through the mud, she loses her footing, falls, and hits her head. She awakens in the arms of a dark, handsome stranger. With no memories, she must rely on the kindness of strangers to help her recover her health. Will her life ever return as it once was?
While ruminating on Elizabeth’s fine form and enchanting eyes, Fitzwilliam Darcy witnesses her fall and springs into action. He carries her to Netherfield where the apothecary can treat the barely conscious lady. As she recovers from a painful concussion, Darcy realises she is not as ordinary as he once supposed and resolves to put himself at her service. Can he make amends for his unkind remarks at the assembly?
This sweet, clean Regency romance begins with Elizabeth’s fateful walk to Netherfield Park.
Remembrances
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Copyright © 2021
All rights are reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means, except for brief extracts for the purpose of review, without my written permission.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Art: SelfPubBookCovers.com/ FrinaArt
Table of 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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
Books by Cassandra B. Leigh
Remembrances
Chapter 1
Wednesday, 13 November 1811
My dearest Lizzy,
I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me—and excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.
Yours, &c.
Jane
Elizabeth Bennet scowled as she trudged over the sodden ground. “If not for your nonsensical matchmaking scheme, Jane would be home, still enjoying excellent health.” Unfortunately, only the birds and a few industrious squirrels heard this complaint.
Mrs Bennet, the object of her reproach, was at Longbourn, boldly encouraged by the success of her plan to put her eldest daughter in Mr Bingley’s path. In her opinion, catching cold was a trifling inconvenience compared to the possibility of gaining the notice of a wealthy, attractive, and unattached newcomer to the neighbourhood.
Elizabeth would not deny that she also hoped for a match between her dearest sister and Mr Bingley. Jane had been in the gentleman’s company a few times in the past month, enjoyed each encounter, and spoke in glowing terms of her admiration for his unassuming manners.
However, there could be no excuse for her mother’s outrageous insistence that Jane ride to Netherfield on horseback. With dark storm clouds overhead, even a simpleton could have predicted that Jane would be soaked to the skin. Furthermore, Elizabeth knew that her sister would not take to her bed with a mere head cold. If the apothecary had been summoned, there could be no doubt that her illness was far more severe.
With only strangers to tend to her precious sister, Elizabeth had decided to walk the three miles to Netherfield and do everything in her power to make Jane more comfortable. Impatient to arrive with little loss of time, she hurried over damp ground and sprang over abundant puddles. She attempted to hold her skirts up to avoid the mud, but this precaution proved sadly ineffective; her petticoat was quickly soiled.
Mrs Bennet had warned her that she would be unfit to be seen at Netherfield; however, Elizabeth convinced herself that nothing would keep her from tending to Jane. She would do her best to hide the stains once she arrived at the house.
Although she was well accustomed to walking long distances, the challenges of this excursion made her ankles weary. Disregarding this minor inconvenience, she jumped over the last stile into Netherfield Park. However, her mind was thrown into disorder when she lost her footing in the slippery mud. She shrieked as she tumbled downwards, knowing she was about to be drenched, but was momentarily diverted by the sight of the brilliant-blue sky dappled with puffy white clouds. When her head hit the ground, blue turned to black.
***
After breaking his fast with his housemates, Fitzwilliam Darcy walked out to the terrace to admire the Netherfield grounds. Charles Bingley had invited him to Hertfordshire to evaluate the leased property and help him determine if he should purchase the estate. Last night’s downpour had thankfully ended, and the wet grass shimmered in the sunlight. He could not approve of the poor drainage and made a note to bring this to his friend’s attention.
Unfortunately, Charles was currently preoccupied with the presence of a local lady who had taken up residence in one of the guest rooms. According to the butler, Miss Jane Bennet had been invited to dine with Charles’s sisters last night but had arrived at the door thoroughly soaked. Darcy supposed there must be some logical reason for a young woman to undertake a ride of three miles in the pouring rain, but he could conceive of none.
Gazing off to the far end of the property, his attention was roused by the sight of a lone figure clad in a brown pelisse climbing over the stile. If he was not mistaken, it was none other than the enchanting Miss—
Seized with horror, he watched her feet fly up and her body crash to the ground. He bolted down the steps, across the driveway, and out to the lawn. As he approached, he called out her name, but she gave no answer. The deep mud hampered his progress and compelled him to watch his steps, lest he suffer the same consequences as Miss Elizabeth.
Drawing closer, he observed her head resting on a flat rock and her boots covered with mud. He knelt at her side and grasped her hand. “Are you injured, Miss Elizabeth?” he inquired, but her eyes were closed, and she remained uncommonly still. Knowing there was little he could do for her outdoors, he picked her up and carried her towards the manor house. He tromped through the sodden lawn, determined to bring her to safety.
Glancing at his charge, she was as lovely in repose as in wakefulness. As he admired her face, her eyes fluttered open. “Why are you carrying me? Put me down this instant,” she said in a disgruntled tone.
Horrified to have offended her, he set her on her feet, and she immediately lost consciousness. He grasped her around the waist to prevent her from crumpling to the ground. Lifting her into his arms once again, he continued his trek to the house, resolving to deliver her into the housekeeper’s care without delay.
“Why are you still carrying me?” Her eyes were unfocused, and she winced as if in pain.
Nothing would compel him to release her again. “This might be a bit improper, but it is somewhat of an emergency.” A gentleman ought not to carry a woman unless he were related to her, but under the circumstances, he must lose no time in conveying her indoors.
“Are we friends?” she inquired.
“I should like to think so. I have had the pleasure of your company several times this past month,” he said. Her head bobbled as though she struggled to keep from resting on his shoulder, but she finally relented. “It seems your injury is more serious than I thought. Fortunately, Mr Bingley has already summoned the apothecary for your sister.”
“Who is Mr Bingley?”
This question gave him pause; the Bennet and Bingley families had dined together multiple times since Charles had leased the property. “Perhaps we should call for a physician instead.” Although he had observed no visible wounds, he suspected a head injury. “We are nearly there,” he said as he approached the driveway.
Charles Bingley flew out of the front door and down the steps. “What is amiss?” he inquired, rushing forward.
“Miss Elizabeth suffered a fall and struck her head.” As they reached the driveway, her eyes remained closed, and Darcy feared she had slipped back into unconsciousness.
Charles instructed a footman to call for his housekeeper. “I suspect she was on her way to visit Miss Bennet,” he said.
When Darcy entered the vestibule, Charles’s sisters gasped at the sight of Miss Elizabeth. “She is covered with mud. Why did she not take a carriage?” Miss Bingley said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“I suspect she has no conveyance at her disposal,” Darcy said, unsurprised that she cared more for the state of Miss Elizabeth’s attire than her health.
Mrs Nicholls arrived and immediately took charge, instructing two footmen to gently carry Miss Elizabeth up to the east guestroom. Darcy surrendered the lady into their care and watched them ascend the stairs.<
Holding up their skirts, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst tiptoed gingerly around his muddy footprints in the vestibule. “What can Miss Elizabeth mean by walking three or four miles in all this mud, and quite alone? It shows a certain country-town indifference to decorum,” Miss Bingley said.
“All because her sister rode out in the rain and caught a cold,” Mrs Hurst added, shaking her head.
“It shows a sisterly affection that I find quite commendable,” Charles said in a harsh tone. Neither of his sisters replied to this caustic remark.
“Perhaps we might notify Miss Elizabeth’s family that she has been injured,” Darcy said, struck by the ladies’ insensitive remarks. When Charles promised to send a message to Longbourn immediately, Darcy left them to change his clothes.
Chapter 2
She awoke, startled by the presence of a strange man raising her eyelids and peering into her eyes. “How are you feeling, Miss Lizzy?” he said in a kindly voice.
“I have a splitting headache,” she said, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the light.
The man nodded. “That is to be expected, I fear,” he said. “You had a bad fall.” He turned her head to the side and gently probed under her hair. When she winced, he released her and nodded once again. “You have a large bump back there.”
“Do I know you?” she inquired.
“Of course, you know me, as does everyone in Meryton,” he said, frowning. “However, I suspect you might not recall at the moment. I am Mr Jones, the apothecary.”
Although she admired the man’s obliging manners, he did not make much sense. “Meryton?” she said.
Mr Jones spoke to the maid. “Has Mr Bennet been notified?”
“Yes, sir, a message was dispatched to Longbourn an hour ago,” the young woman said with a worried crease in her brow.
“Draw the drapes and give her some tea,” Mr Jones said in an authoritative voice. “Rest for a while, Miss Lizzy, and I will await your family downstairs.”
The maid placed an extra pillow behind Lizzy’s head and handed her a teacup. The dimmed light in the chamber helped to relieve the strain on her eyes. After the maid scurried from the room, Lizzy gazed around the bedchamber, which was tastefully appointed with green botanical wallpaper and matching decor. Sipping her tea, she noticed she wore a white nightgown embroidered with colourful flowers.
A fair-haired woman wearing a similar nightgown entered with the maid. “I hoped you would come, Lizzy, but I am dreadfully sorry you have been injured,” she said, then succumbed to a wretched coughing fit. The maid offered the sufferer a cup of tea, which quickly relieved her.
“No, indeed, you must not worry on my account. Other than a headache, I am perfectly well. You are in far worse health than I,” Lizzy said. “I fear I have put Mr Jones to a great deal of trouble.”
“How were you injured?” the woman inquired, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Although Lizzy found this gesture somewhat intrusive, she did not object. “I do not precisely know,” she said, unable to recall anything except being carried across the lawn by a dark-haired gentleman. “Are we friends?” she inquired.
The woman gasped and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “Do you not know me, Lizzy?” she said, tears springing to her eyes. When Lizzy shook her head, the woman stifled a sob. “I am your sister—Jane.”
Lizzy was grieved when the woman, Jane, wept openly. “I am dreadfully sorry. You must think I am a simpleton, but I cannot seem to concentrate on anything but the ache in my head.”
“I am to blame,” Jane said, tears streaming down her face. “If I had not allowed Mama to browbeat me into riding here on horseback, I would not have taken ill, and you would not have been injured.”
“No, no,” Lizzy said, patting her sister’s hand. Although she had no idea how riding a horse could make one ill, she could not allow Jane to take the blame for her injury.
An older woman burst into the chamber wearing a pale-pink pelisse and a wide-brimmed bonnet, with the apothecary following closely behind. “Why are you out of your bed, Jane?” she cried. “Mr Jones tells me you are dreadfully ill.”
Jane jumped up to embrace the woman. “Oh, Mama! Lizzy has been injured,” she cried.
The woman, who Lizzy concluded must be her mother, sat on the bed and took her hand. “You know your mama, do you not, Lizzy?” she said with a hopeful smile.
Although Lizzy wanted to relieve the woman’s fears, she could find nothing remotely familiar in her face or voice. “Forgive me, Mother, but I cannot recall.”
Mother clutched Lizzy to her breast and released a mournful wail. “My own child, who I have nurtured these twenty years, does not know me,” she said, rocking to and fro, weeping uncontrollably.
“Mrs Bennet, I beg you; do not alarm yourself,” Mr Jones said, pulling her away and easing Lizzy down to the pillow. “I have every expectation that Miss Lizzy will recover her memory in due course.”
“Yes, yes, I shall not rest until she is completely recovered,” Mrs Bennet said, drying her eyes.
“I advise you to take her home,” the apothecary said. “Her recovery will be much easier when she is surrounded by her family in her own house.”
Mother pulled a sachet from her pocket and waved it under her nose. “Thank you, Mr Jones. That is exactly what I shall do. Let the maid help you dress, Lizzy, and you shall come home with me,” she said, then wrapped an arm around Jane. “You are feverish and must return to bed this instant, my dear.” Jane and Mrs Bennet left the room together.
Mr Jones drew closer to the bed. “I will send a draught to give you some relief and shall check in on you tomorrow, Miss Lizzy. You are not to worry,” he said, punctuating this command by pointing a finger at her. When her mother returned, his voice took a softer tone. “Miss Lizzy must have complete rest and tranquillity if she is to recover, Mrs Bennet.”
“Yes, but when will her memory return?” she inquired. Mr Jones lowered his voice to a whisper, and Lizzy did not hear his response. “Weeks?” Mrs Bennet said in a heightened state of alarm. Mr Jones guided her out to the hall, where they continued their conversation.
Lizzy attempted to cobble together the facts as she knew them.
My name is Lizzy Bennet, and I am twenty years old.
Jane is my sister, and Mrs Bennet is our nervous mother.
I have injured my head and lost my memory, which may take weeks to recover.
A dark, handsome gentleman carried me into the house; however, I do not reside here.
Mr Jones, the apothecary, promises to send a draught to Longbourn, my home.
That was the entirety of her recollection to this point. However, she would not even know that much if Mr Jones and Jane had not advised her. She did not wish to complain, but this was not nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity. How had she been injured? Whose house was she in? Who was the handsome gentleman? Why did she have no other memories?
The maid returned carrying a bundle of clothing. “Your clothes are still in the laundry, Miss Lizzy, but your mother has sent Miss Bennet’s riding habit for you. I will help you get dressed if you desire.”
Lizzy agreed. When she donned Jane’s chemise and stockings, she noticed a slight twinge in her right ankle. She must have twisted it when she was injured. The pain increased as she rose to her feet. She gripped the bedpost while the maid assisted her into Jane’s blue habit.
“Your boots have been cleaned and are none the worse for the mud,” the maid said.
“What do you mean?” Lizzy inquired as she gingerly slipped her feet into the boots.
“Your clothes and boots were covered in mud when you arrived earlier.”
Lizzy became alarmed that she could not even recall that minor detail. When the maid offered to pin up her hair, she declined; her scalp was far too tender to risk it. Instead, she tucked her plait under her collar and donned her sister’s bonnet.
She held tightly to the bannister as the maid assisted her down the stairs. She entered a parlour where she found Mrs Bennet and Mr Jones conversing with several people, including the handsome man who had carried her earlier.
The apothecary immediately rushed to her side. “You are limping, Miss Lizzy,” he said, his voice ripe with concern as he guided her to a chair.
