Gretna Green, Pride and Prejudice Fanfiction

Posted on Monday, 25 September 2000, at 5 : 45 p.m.

Author's Note:This little ditty is for Tabbi.

Gretna Green - A Romance

Whenever two lovers are in a hurry to marry, they run off to Gretna Green. But what if they were already there?

Gretna Green, 1910

Elizabeth Bennet read the last page of her novel. The last sentence went:

"So come, my Dearest Love, and we'll away to Gretna Green and Eternal Happiness."

"Oh," said Elizabeth and wiped her eyes, "I wish they were real! Then, Lord Adrian Marstone would step in here in a little while, Lady Clarice Stanhope in his strong arms. And I would make the bed for them! And bring her," she sobbed, "a - hand, a - hand bri - hing her a hot - water bottle for her tiny fe - heet!"

Yes, Elizabeth Bennet was a Romantic, and proud of it. She spent all the long, lonely evenings at her family's boarding - house reading novels, occasionaly interrupted by newlyweads and newlyweads - to - be.

I reckon this is when my Dear Readers all turn into cynics and cry out: 'Hey! You tell us she lives in Gretna Green and is a Romantic? She of all people must know it aint like in those books!?!'
Well say what you like, but Elizabeth had a great imagination and a very boring life, so she was still a Romantic.

Oh, if this is a Romance, I'll have to describe Elizabeth for you, as we've reached Page Three.
She's a bonny lass, lived all her life in Gretna with her Da and Ma and three sisters: Mary, Katherine and Laoghaire (you didn't think her parents would name her Lydia now would you, come on this is a Romance set in Scotland). She had red hair, green eyes, was short and plump and would give a man healthy children, and all the lads in Gretna had been in love with her at one point, but that was when she read Mary Woolstonecraft and turned them all down. So now she was past twenty and alone, despite having buried Mary Woolstonecraft far beneth the lighter stuff in her bookpiles. She had no doubt she'd be a spinster all her life, just as she had no doubt all her sisters would soon be married. Katherine and Laoghaire were too generous with their gifts not to get in trouble very soon.

Anyway, Elizabeth worked the late shift at the boarding - house, and this late September Eve, the wind made that eerie sound it makes just before the entrance of... the Hero.

Suddely! The door flew up, and a man entered, wearing a dark cloak (in a very nice cut, and the fabric was expensive).

"Eyyyeh! Shut the door!" cried out Elizabeth, and flew up out of the comfortable chair.

She rarely had visitors on cold nights, and had she been a cynic, she would have said... But she was no cynic, so we'll hear what her father, who is one, has to say:

"Ahum. I think the weather has an influence on Love. They all come when the weather's been lovely, don't they. Plays havoc with your plans for a picknick, it does."

Anyway, Elizabeth made a charming picture with her hair spilling over her shoulders, and I reckon that that was why the man actually hesitated at the sight of her.

"What?" shrieked she, "Have I a bat in my hair?" (Bats were frequent that year.)

"A bat? Where?" said he, confused.

"Nowhere!" cried she, "do you want a room? Or two?" (In case he was not yet married.)

Oh, and this was when she realised that he looked just like a man from her novels. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he was a lord, but she didn't know that yet and won't find out for some time. The Author just wanted to help her Dear Readers to a mental image.

But Our Elizabeth has to be feisty in this story (or at least she has to be clueless), and so she didn't swoon. You will note that she tried to do something about her hair, though.

"Yes," said he, "I would like you... I mean, I would like a room, yes."

"A room."

"Yes, or two. No! Three, I think, yes, three. Or four."

"Four!" cried she, and wondered if he was backwards. She had trouble imagening any combination requiring more than three rooms, and that one included servants. (Stop snickering, what Elizabeth is trying to say is that the servant would have his or her own room.)

This is when Our Darcy returns to his regular Darcy - behavior, and so he said calmly:

"Right, we need four rooms if you have them."

Elizabeth was drilled by her parents never to admit they had loads of spare beds, and so she said:

"Well let me see... If we... yes... And... Mm, that would work. And will you require anything besides tea in the morning?"

"I think we'll all want the full breakfast. Can I tell my companions to enter?"

"Let me just yell for Angus."

And then she yelled like a banshee:

"AAAAAAAAAAnggggUUUUUUUUsss!" waking all of Gretna including deaf Grandmother Moira MacDonald, age 96.

Darcy shook his head, trying to end the ringing in his ears. And in the stables, an old man awoke and went out to see to the horses and the luggage.

Darcy left and returned with a lady on his arm, and Elizabeth almost gasped when she realised not only was the man like out of one of her novels, but so was his intended. In fact, she was a very close match to the Lady Clarice Stanhope she'd just finished reading about! She was tall, and very slender, and her feet were tiny and she was almost floating instead of walking. And her skin was pale, her eyes were big and blue, and her hair was golden.

She looked very tired.

"Her Ladyship would like to go to her room at once," said Darcy. Elizabeth was quick to react.

"I'll take you up, Milady," said she and walked ahead up the stairs. On her way, she pulled the cord that would tell her sisters they were needed downstairs.

The room was plain, but warm and cozy, and Elizabeth performed the duties of a lady's maid, as the lady told her she had no servants with her.

"No servants? But why would you need four rooms, then?" she asked (if the Dear Readers thinks this was too pushy to be asking the ladyship, Elizabeth being beneath her in rank and suchlike, the Autor's only defence is to reveal that while Elizabeth still thought the Lady very Romantic and such, her eagerness to serve as a lady's maid had faded after about the third button on Her Ladyship's dress. And the Lady had so many buttons!)

"Oh, there are four of us, traveling," the Lady explained. "My name is Lady Jane... Well, no need to reveal the rest, tomorrow I will be Lady Jane Something Else, oh please make sure you fold the petticoats correctly, and do try to do something about my hat, will you?"

Undressed, Ladies were the same as any other woman, Elizabeth realised, only skinnier.

Later, Laoghaire told Elizabeth the dark man's name was F. Darcy, and his companions were a lady and a gentleman, and the lady was very snotty.
"Oh, and one of them asked to know your name Lizzie! Highly improper, if you want my meaning, seeing as he's to be married tomorrow!"
Elizabeth agreed, but, being a Romantic, she couldn't help that her heart skipped a beat.

The next day was her day off, wich meant she went for a good long walk in the hills, singing loudly like a banshee (her singing and her shouting sounded very similar), jumping over cow's droppings, and making sure she stepped into every pool of mud there was. Her petticoats were six inches deep in mud, and her face much brightened by the exsercise.

She went up a hill, and almost, but not quite, bumped into the tall dark and handsome F. Darcy, and they stared wildly at each other.

"Well," said Elizabeth when she found her voice (she wasn't one to keep her breath to cool her porridge, as the Aulde Scots used to say), "reckon you'll be late for kirk, no?"

"No," he said cooly (masking a wildly beating heart, but she didn't know that), "the service isn't until late this afternoon. Lady Jane is probably still asleep."

"She's a proper Lady, all right," sighed Elizabeth, in her novels all the Ladies slept late, and she informed F. Darcy of this.

"Lords and Ladies all sleep late, you see, it's a Sign of Good Breeding."

"Oh, really?" said he, much interested. "What other quirks do Lords and Ladies have, if I may ask, Miss Elizabeth?" (Last word with a tenderness that was completely lost on Elizabeth.)

"Ooch, well, they instantly Recognize each other as Gentle Folk, even though some of them have come into Worse Circumstances. Blood will Tell, you see."

"Ahum, right. Anything else, Miss Elizabeth?" (He really liked her name.)

"Well... Oh my, Laoghaire's behind the barn again!" And with that she took off, lifting her shirts so as to run faster, and spurted downhill, leaving the gentleman far behind (incidentally giving him a nice view of her... heels).

When she had, to put it nicely, narrowly "rescued" Laoghaire from the dangerous clutches of George Wickham, the Welsh cow - man, and sent her off to the kitchens, Elizabeth decided to attend church, as weddings gave her a good cry. She wasn't really happy about F. Darcy marrying, but he wasn't for the likes of her, she knew that. No, Lady Jane was his kinda girl. Only...

"Well you silly girl, you should be happy about it, I'm certain Lady Jane is running from an evil father just to marry F. Darcy and live with him in Eternal Happiness..." She really really tried to sigh at that image but couldn't quite do it.

Oh, well. Her friend Charlotte Collins had given her a new novel, and so she had something to comfort her. Charlotte read even more Romance than Elizabeth, as she was married to a horrible old smelly priest she didn't love.

"Lizzie!" her Ma shouted suddenly, "Lady Jane wants you!"

"But it's my day off, Ma!"

"Never you mind, girl, if the Lady wants to see you she wants to see you! Off you go!"

Grumbling above her breath, Elizabeth stomped up to the Lady's room. Outside, she stopped and put on a fake smile.

"Yes My Lady?"

"Oh, Elizabeth... This is my dear sister Miss. Bingley, she has need of you." said Lady Jane, who was lounging in bed and didn't at all look like she was ready to be married this afternoon. Across the room, another woman was standing, half - dressed. She was what Elizabeth's novels would call 'handsome, but not pretty enough to tempt His Lordship', which meant that if the girl was 'spirited' she'd get him, and if she was snotty she'd lose him to the spirited one.

This one was snotty.

And you, My Dear Reader, can trust Elizabeth on this one, as Elizabeth spent her next hour dressing the dame. And she wasn't exactly thanked for it, it was more along the lines of: "No, no, that goes there, you silly girl..." or "If you give it even one wrinkle I will personally box your ears..."

You get the picture.

And it didn't make it any easier that Miss Bingley spotted F. Darcy (she called him 'Darce') outside the window, waiting for someone. Miss Bingley then said things that no respectable woman should say, things about how Mr. Darcy was built, and Elizabeth was mortified. To speak to Lady Jane so about the man the Lady was to marry this day, and Lady Jane only laughing! And Our Elizabeth was much too innocent to hear this talk, really the situation was quite horrid.

When, at last, she was released from her duties, she stumbled into the hallway, only to be accosted by a strange man in his shirtsleeves. He was handsome, all golden curls, but very pale and sickly - looking.

"Oh, splendid!" he said, and grabbed hold of her, for support she hoped, prepared to yell if his Intentions Were Less Than Honourable.

"Listen, you are to tell Her Ladyship I'm much too ill to make it today. She'll have to postpone the thing until tomorrow. Give her my regards, and all that... I'm back to my bed."

"You what?" cried out Elizabeth, instantly on Lady Jane's side, despite having developed a great dislike for that lady (and also a suspicion the Lady was a tad behind her wheels, to put it nicely). This man, evidently F. Darcy's witness, meant to cancel Lady Jane's wedding just like that!

"You want her to postpone the Happiest Day of her life, and her having eloped all the way here, just because you are feeling a tad behind the weather? Well my Aunt Fanny, you are a sorry sight, indeed!"

The man frowned.

"Now, look here, girl, don't you raise your voice at me, in fact, don't raise your voice at all, I have a horrid headache, and what's more, she can't well want me there in the state I'm in! Not that it is any of your concern!"

"Well but let George take your place, then! He's done it before!"

"What? Who's George?"

"George Wickham, the Welsh cow - man! He is often used when there is a shortage of persons, and he does it with great..." she searched for the word,

"...He does it like a Real Lord, too!" George did look handsome in his Sunday Suit, all the Gretna girls agreed on that.

"Miss Elizabeth, is this fop bothering you?" said the angry voice of F. Darcy behind her then. The strange man let go of her.

"Really, Darce, I wasn't about to fondle the servant - girl on my wedding - day!" said the stranger, putting his head in his hands.

"She's not a servant - girl, and I'll not have you embarrass her either! What's the ruckus about?"

"The wedding's off, for today. I wanted Jane to know, is all."

"Still hung...?" here F. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, "ah, still felling under the weather, Bingley? Well, all right, I'll tell the ladies. Back to bed with you."

Bingley stumbled back to his bed. And then F. Darcy took Elizabeth for a long walk in the hills, only leaving a note to his future bride about the delay.

It was a very quiet walk, as Elizabeth was very upset with him for leaving his bride at the altar (so to speak), only due to the fact that his witness was hung over (with very little to do during the long Winters, Elizabeth had seen one or two drunk men, so she was aware of the term), and really, this was no way for a Romantic Hero to behave.
It was a very quiet walk, as Fitzwilliam Darcy was occupied composing a proposal, a proposal that had to include the fact that he was not worthy to even kiss her heels, and lots of pleading.

On the way back from the hills, Miss Bingley came up to them and took Darcy's arm in a very friendly manner, forcing Elizabeth to walk behind them. She didn't mind, but her opinions of him sank even more, when she heard him listen in silence to Miss Bingley complaining about Lady Jane. Really, he was no romantic Hero at all, and Lady Jane, on account of her being a Lady, deserved better.

That night Elizabeth cried over F. Darcy, who was a pig and about to marry the prettiest woman in the world.
F. Darcy was smiling in his sleep, thinking about a clueless redhead with very fine eyes.
Miss Bingley couldn't sleep, the haggis didn't agree with her posh digestive system.

The next morning, Lady Jane summoned Elizabeth to her room.

"Well, Elizabeth, my dear Miss Bingley is terribly ill this morning, something she ate, her fault really for stuffing herself, I myself only eat bread and fruits, too keep slim and beautiful, you really should try it Elizabeth, anyway, I can't postpone this yet again, soon my relatives will be here, so I have decided you shall take Miss Bingley's place in church."

"Me?" said Elizabeth. "But..."

"No buts, you are the only suitable girl around here, and in a proper dress no one can tell your real station in life. Well do hurry up, there is one of Miss Bingley's dresses, just shorten the skirt a bit and it will be fine. My dresses are, naturally, all to small for you."

Elizabeth was quite determined to refuse, but Lady Jane called on Ma Bennet, and Ma Bennet told Elizabeth she'd do it, or marry the cow - man. Elizabeth had little choice; she put on the dress.

The party assembled in church. Elizabeth looked very lovely in her dark green dress, with a little hat on her head and the red curls around her face. F. Darcy drew her to one side, and looked down into her face.

"Miss Bennet, I must tell you how ardently..."

But he was interrupted by a new voice:

"There will be no weddings here today!"

Elizabeth And F. Darcy both turned, and beheld the horrid old woman who was marching up to Lady Jane.

"Young woman, I wouldn't let him marry you if you were the Queen of England!" the old bird shouted at Lady Jane. "Your looks may tempt him today, but tomorrow your looks will fade, and he will feel the very same regret my dear Lewis felt, looking at me after twenty years of marriage."

"Aunt Catherine!" cried out F. Darcy. "What are you doing here?"

"Yes," added Mr. Bingley, now quite recovered, "just why are you shouting at Jane for? It's not as if I'm your nephew, you know."

Lady Jane, who until that very moment had stood with her mouth wide open, the very picture of stunned fear, recovered, and turned to F. Darcy.

"Oh my, Fitzwilliam, I think your auld Aunt has gone soft in the head!"

"I have not!" cried Aunt Catherine, "and where did you pick up such language, Missy?"

Unexpectedly, Lady Jane blushed.

"...George the Welsh cow - man."

"What? Speak up girl!"

"Ahum!... George the Welsh cow - man."

"George the Welsh cow - man?" cried everyone in church, including the smelly old priest Collins.

"Yes!" cried Lady (not that Elizabeth thought she really deserved that title anymore) Jane defiantly. "Well," and she turned towards Mr. Bingley, "you had to get drunk and postpone the wedding, so I decided I should use my last day in freedom! Can you blame me?"

Mr. Bingley looked at her for a long moment.

"Well... no, I guess I can't blame you for that, Jane." He shrugged. "Jolly thing to be told in church, but, all things considered, I don't blame you."

"Why are you asking him to absolve you?" cried Elizabeth now. Suddenly, F. Darcy's actions were seen in a better light. With such a woman for future wife, she could not blame him for his unattentiveness. Well, almost. "Ask F. Darcy here instead!"

She pointed at Darcy, who blinked, confused.

"Yes indeed!" cried Aunt Catherine, "this lovely (green suits you very well, dear) young lady is very right: why don't you apologize to him?"

"Why should I," said Lady Jane, shrugging. "He's only the witness."

Stunned silence from Elizabeth and Aunt Catherine.

Then Darcy Realised.

"Oh!" he said to his Aunt, "you thought I was eloping with Jane! But I'm not, she's marrying Bingley!"

"Is she?" said the smelly old priest. "What about the Welsh cow - man?"

Elizabeth found her voice.

"She's not marrying George Wickham! Laoghaire is in the familiar way, my Da would kill him if he married Lady Jane!"

All looked at Lady Jane, who looked back.

"What? What? You didn't think I'd marry someone other than Bingley, did you? A Welsh cow - man?"

Elizabeth sniffed.

"There are worse things."

"I agree," said Aunt Catherne, with an acerbic look at Lady Jane.

"Oh, get on with it, before her father comes charging in with a gun!" cried Bingley impatiently.

"Whose father," muttered Darcy, but then he turned to Elizabeth.

"Was that why you were so cold towards me? You thought I was marrying Jane?"

"Yes. And also, you're not suppose to encourage gentlemen soon - to - be - married. Or any gentlemen, for that matter."

"A girl after my own heart!" cried Aunt Catherine.

"Mine too..." mumbled Fitzwilliam Darcy (Lord), and took hold of Elizabeth's hand. Elizabeth looked into his dark eyes, and felt her knees go a little weak.
He leaned down for their first kiss, when she stopped him.

"And you are not going to marry Miss Bingley?"

"Certainly not!" cried he, aghast. "I'm going to marry you, my sweetest, lovliest Elizabeth.

And they kissed.

That day, two weddings took place in Gretna Green. Lady Jane and Mr. Bingley's, and the hastily arranged match between Laoghaire and cow - man George Wickham (I almost added 'and Mr. Bennet', because he was standing over them with his shotgun, frowning). Fitzwilliam Darcy courted Miss Elizabeth for two additional months, and then they were married in St. George's, Hannover Square, a wedding paid for by his Aunt Catherine.

Elizabeth didn't stop reading Romance Novels, but she read Mary Wollstonecraft too, and her husband said he didn't know which was worse.

FINIS