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Preface

The renowned (if occasionally peevish) lady of letters, Charlotte Brontë, once carped of fellow authoress Jane Austen’s work, “…she ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her…what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is the unseen seat of Life and the sentient target of death—this Miss Austen ignores.”

It is forever lost what Jane Austen might have made of Jane Eyre, hence we shan’t dally with such a conjecture. And however we are moved to defend Miss Austen’s unparalleled literary gift, we cannot totally disregard Miss Brontë’s observation, for it was quite on the money. Jane Austen wrote of what she knew.Miss Austen never married, it appears her own life passed with only the barest hint of romance. Hence, one must presume she went to her great reward virgo intactus.

As befitting a maiden’s sensibilities, her novels all end with the wedding ceremony. What throbs fast and full, what the blood rushes through, is denied her unforgettable characters and, therefore, us. Dash it all!

We endeavour to right this wrong by compleating at least one of her stories, beginning whence hers leaves off. Our lovers have wed. But the throbbing that we first encounter is not the cry of a passionate heart. Another part of her anatomy is grieving Elizabeth Bennet Darcy.

Part One

As plush a coach as it was, recent rains tried even its heavy springs.Hence, the road to Derbyshire was betimes a bit jarring. Mr. Darcy, with all gentlemanly solicitousness, offered the new Mrs. Darcy a pillow upon which to sit to cushion the ride.

It was a plump tasselled affair, not at all discreet. His making an issue of her sore nether-end was a mortification in and of itself. But, as Elizabeth harboured the conviction that she had adopted a peculiar gait as a result of her most recent (by reason of matrimony) pursuits, her much abused dignity forbade her to accept such a blatant admission of conjugal congress. Thus, the cushion was refused.

Dignity notwithstanding, the unrelenting jiggle of the carriage demanded by the puddles bade her eye that same pillow wistfully as its soft comfort lay wasted upon the empty seat opposite them. As she clung to the handgrip, she knew it was indefensibly foolish not to admit to her husband that he was justified in suspecting that she needed it. But at that moment, not making a concession to him was a matter of principle.

Suffering both from the road and from knowing herself unreasonably miffed, she submitted to the silent chastisement that she must learn to accept the perversely quixotic turns of her new husband.

As each and every muddy mile they travelled diminished the distance betwixt Elizabeth and the awesome duty that awaited her as mistress of such a vast estate as Pemberley, she became ever more uneasy. It was not that she had only then fully comprehended what awaited her, for she had. At least as comprehensibly as it was possible.

Hitherto, there had been the excitement of the wedding, and moreover, the anticipation of connubial pleasures with Mr. Darcy that buffered her from the daunting devoir that lay ahead. In soothing her newly appreciated trepidation, her husband was of no help whatsoever. Indeed, they had no more than stepped from their matrimonial bedchamber before he had reclaimed his recently relinquished mask of reticence. And with it, that maddening hauteur. One peculiar only to him.

It was only subsequent to their engagement that he had ceased addressing her as “Miss Bennet” in lieu of her Christian name. Delightful as that transfiguration was, her previous understanding in regards to her name was usurped in the throes of passion. For in the considerable heat generated the previous evening, he had repeatedly
murmured “Lizzy” in her ear.

To her dismay, their re-emergence into company bade the Master of Pemberleyserve compunction by abandoning that much-appreciated endearment. This disappointment would have been less egregious had he not insisted upon addressing her as “Mrs. Darcy” not only to the help, but privately as well. Her alteration from Lizzy to Mrs. Darcy had been vexatiously abrupt. Therefore, Mrs. Darcy was profoundly aggrieved and sat in petulant silence much of their trip.

This lack of conversation he did nothing to mitigate.

Indeed, it was a repetition of the ride from their wedding to their London honeymoon nest the day before. She had convinced herself hitherto that his quiet could be attributed to nerves (owing to the compleat lack of reserve that night). Presently, she had not a clue.

Upon thinking of that lack of reserve and the resultant kindness done upon her person, it bade her not to think so meanly upon her husband, silent or no. If he had truly been disquieted in apprehension of their wedding-night, might not his present reticence come from unease? It occurred to her that the more firmly he seemed in his own charge, the greater was his perceived threat to it. Hence, his wall of defence. At one time, she might have been amused to think herself such a disconcertion to the arrogant Mr. Darcy. But no more.

Impetuously, she took his hand. In no manner did she want him to believe her a peril to his well-being.

The carriage, evidently unhindered by the weightiness of her ruminations, endeavoured on. Hence, she wrested her attention from them and peered out the window as they ambled down the fashionable avenues of Mayfair. There, even so fine a carriage as theirs excited few heads to turn and watch as they passed.

But once upon the road north, a legion of staring eyes could be detected through the obfuscatory yellow fog that clung persistently to the streets.Unaccustomed as she was to being the occupant of such an elegant coach, Elizabeth was a little off-put to be the object of such general scrutiny. Mr. Darcy, however, as was his habit, practised an impervious gaze just at the horizon, reflecting neither distaste nor notice of the gawking.

They broke their journey for a spare midday meal at a plain but tidy inn. This rest occasioned the innkeeper and his wife into whimpering subservience, thus enlightening Elizabeth to the extreme deference she must weather as Mr. Darcy’s wife.

The brevity of their stop was in all probability ultimately a good thing, blessedly truncating as it did the publican couple’s display. The next fit of veneration from a person of lesser birth than the Darcys (i.e., just about everyone) would not be so unexpected. Elizabeth promised herself that she would practise Darcy’s patrician inscrutability and elude the urge to tell those servile persons they had undoubtedly mistaken her for someone else.

Whilst still partaking of their meal, Darcy apologised unnecessarily upon the austere winter dressing of his county.

Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife: Pride and Prejudice Continues by Linda Berdoll
Books: 0 comments: 07/09/2008

By E.M. Effingham

Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife masterfully aligns Jane Austen’s characters, taking us further into their lives and intrigue. Linda Berdoll, I am in awe.

Nearly ten years hence, my friend Debbie Beckwith and I established a connection over all things Austen. We formed our own society and came together for an exchange of cards, crumpets and empire waist dress designs. Of course, we also came together to view movies based on our beloved author’s novels. To say that we love Jane Austen would be an understatement. Debbie went so far as to name her daughter Elinor, but alas I had all sons. When Debbie recently sent a list of novels she had been perusing based on Jane’s dear characters, I was not tempted. Not as a true fan. But then came an irresistible curiosity toward the novel Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife by Linda Berdoll. Debbie revealed it to be saucy. Hmmmm.

Not being one to read the bodice rippers and not able to face buying something so debaucherous in my own B&N, I decided to wait until a trip to Springfield to pluck the book from the shelf in anonymity. I fought back a blush as I browsed the pages in the quiet of the store, but couldn’t put it down. Indeed! Henry Fielding is sniggering somewhere in an English grave.

Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife picks up where Pride and Prejudice gave way. Mr. Darcy has just proposed to our dear Lizzy. Since Elizabeth Bennet is a chaste lady of her time, she must discover first what it means to ignite passion and then what it means to be the Mistress of Pemberly. We get a closer peep than the servants as Lizzy moves from virginal miss to passionate madame, baudy enough to set Darcy’s hounds to howling.

Home again, I read into the night by the soft glow of my lamp, my eyes wide with intrigue. The regular Jane Austen community is in an uproar over this scandalous enlightenment, but not I. Not when I also count Isabel Allende as another of my favorite authors. Now I shall include Linda Berdoll on that same list.

Amidst the passion is a dear story of Darcy and Lizzy’s struggles together as man and wife: their relentless hopes for an heir to Pemberly, to marry off Miss Georgianna Darcy, to endure the continual absurdity of the Bennets at large, and to avoid any contact with Elizabeth’s brother-in-law, the infamous Mr. Wickham, still ever determined to glean scraps from the Darcy table while sawing away at the legs of that same table. The book is written with Jane’s flair, language and humor, a gifted achievement in and of itself. Yet Berdoll has dispensed with some of Jane’s rambling style that dated her as a pen and quill author (pre-computer). Berdoll masterfully edits her work so that the story keeps your eyes moving forward without having to reread bits and pieces as I sometimes must with my beloved Jane.

At the crux of this novel, Mr. Darcy, the king of pride and prejudice himself, strives to both please his wife and put at ease the ghosts in his closet. Yes, ghosts. His disapproval of a local lord and lady who have claimed an illigitamate heir is tempered only with his own misgivings that he himself may have fathered an illegitimate now working on his own estate. Unfortunately, the young man may well be Mr. Wickham’s unclaimed heir instead, since the mother in question had seduced them both at very early ages before the late Mr. Darcy had discovered the servant’s mischief and sent her from Pemberly, well away from his young son Darcy and charge Wickham.

And then, why did the late Mr. Darcy take such a keen interest in the boy Wickham to begin with? In dealing with his ghosts, the current master of Pemberly may discover more family ghosts than previously anticipated.

Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife: Pride and Prejudice Continues is a literary work of monumental proportions in its own right, taking up the mantle of Austen with distinguishment. Should Austen have been unbound by particulars of society, I believe she would have relished this endeavor herself. I am already on the hunt for Linda Berdoll’s sequel to the sequel.


I loved Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife, and I want more! And being the lucky girl I am, there's more, because Berdoll has written a sequel to this sequel. I will be continuing the exciting story of Darcy and Elizabeth in Darcy & Elizabeth: Nights and Days at Pemberley. I can't wait!

If you want to see what a romance writer can do with Austen’s characters, then Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife is an overheated potboiler of a bodice ripper that can’t fail to elicit a strong opinion one way or the other.



In short, with this book, Linda Berdoll proves herself to be a worthy novelist, and her continuation of Austen’s evergreen tale will live long in readers’ memories, perhaps even as long as the original.