by P. O. Dixon
A Favorite Daughter
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
P. O. Dixon
Contents
Introduction
Prologue
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Featured Book Excerpt
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Introduction
Written in the tradition of many other P. O. Dixon Pride and Prejudice retellings, this charming story combines familiar elements of Jane Austen’s classic to satisfy your want of nostalgia and lots of delightful twists throughout to quench your desire for another romantic escape with Darcy and Elizabeth.
A Favorite Daughter begins in Hertfordshire amid the aftermath of Mr. Thomas Bennet’s passing.
Mr. Bennet had very often wished that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him.
Alas, he did not live long enough to do it.
After her father’s untimely death, Miss Elizabeth Bennet reads a letter from him in which he tasks her with the protection of her family.
Elizabeth is willing to do everything in her power to fulfill her father's dying wish, even if it means marrying a man she cannot love.
There is, however, one man whom she can love. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. The two start out as friends, but Mr. Darcy wants more. Much more.
Surely Elizabeth will not always sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of her family. Or will she?
Author’s Note: This heartwarming story is a Pride and Prejudice retelling designed to do just that, to warm your heart and add a bit of joy along the way. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. All the best!
“That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny.”
Jane Austen
Prologue
If you are reading this letter, my dearest Lizzy, it means you have not preceded me in death. Therefore, I must insist you do not mourn ever long for me. Things are just as they ought to be.
Indeed, this is one area in life in which I have succeeded. No parent wishes to outlive a most beloved child.
If only I might boast of such success in other endeavors—most notably begetting a son to inherit Longbourn. Do I do you a disservice, my child, in contenting myself with the notion that you are like the son I never had? I think not.
Please know that were it in my power to change the terms of the entail, I most assuredly would have done so. I would have bequeathed our family’s home and all my worldly possessions to you.
No one is more deserving.
Instead, I have left you with the unenviable task of caring for your mother, your sisters, and, most importantly, yourself. Were the burden to fall to a lesser person, I might have great cause for concern. That is not to say I believe you will not be met with more than your share of challenges. When trying times come, as they inevitably will, I ask you to embrace your own sage philosophy.
Remember, your courage always rises with any attempts to intimidate you.
Yours in eternal life,
Thomas Bennet
Chapter 1
Hertfordshire, England – Spring 1812
The son her father never had, indeed. Miss Elizabeth Bennet bore this depiction of herself with pride. Being her late father’s favorite daughter, she had shouldered all his estate-related responsibilities, for all intents and purposes. Not that she had not met with more than her share of resistance over the past year, what with the estate’s solicitors being unwilling to work with a lowly female. Her uncle, Mr. Phillips, a local attorney who lived in the nearby town of Meryton, had thereby served as her proxy, but it was Elizabeth who made all the decisions.
On that particular day, she met her friend, Charlotte Lucas, from the neighboring estate, in the lane, and decided to turn and walk with her. Despite having four sisters of her own, Elizabeth relished time spent with Charlotte. Though she was Charlotte’s junior by at least six years, theirs was the most intimate of friendships.
For the most part, Charlotte was a peaceful, easy-going person. She was also practical—too practical at times from Elizabeth’s viewpoint. Charlotte sought comfort even if it meant setting aside her own personal desires. Bent on avoiding conflict and discomfort, she could be accommodating and complacent in a relationship. Elizabeth always felt a particular calm and peacefulness in Charlotte’s presence—a much-needed respite of late, what with the never-ending chaos at Longbourn.
“How is Jane getting along this morning?” Charlotte asked.
“She does very well,” replied Elizabeth. Jane was the eldest Bennet daughter. Owing to a debilitating illness during childhood, she seldom left Longbourn Village. To that day, it pained Elizabeth to witness her dearest sister’s affliction, knowing the limitations inherent in such a state, but Jane bore it with grace and dignity.
“Do give her my best and tell her I look forward to seeing her soon.”
“I shall, indeed. And you must extend my felicitations to your family as well.”
The other young woman nodded, signaling she would. “Has there been any progress toward locating the heir of Longbourn?” Charlotte continued.
Elizabeth shrugged. “So far as I know, the gentleman’s identity and hence his whereabouts remain a mystery.”
“That is a shame. I know how heavily the uncertainty must be weighing on all of you.”
The situation of the entail on her father’s estate had long cast a pall on her family’s equanimity, especially that of Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs. Fanny Bennet, who fancied herself as being of a nervous constitution. Not a day had passed since Mr. Bennet’s death that his widow did not bemoan the helplessness, the injustice, and the cruelty of their fate.
The matter of the missing heir heightened everyone’s distress. The gentleman’s name was Mr. Robert Cotton. An exhaustive effort to let him know what had happened had been undertaken. He was said to be living on the continent in Spain. Indeed, he had lived there for years, but he had since removed himself to the Americas.
The search, therefore, continued. Some months later, evidence was uncovered that Mr. Cotton had lived in Canada, but he died, leaving no known children. Thus, the next male in line to inherit Longbourn needed to be notified, but first said person needed to be identified and located.
Elizabeth would have been perfectly satisfied if such a person’s identity was never uncovered. The nagging thought that a stranger might arrive on Longbourn’s doorstep any day, with a wife and children in tow, prepared to toss her own family into the hedgerows, had been her constant companion for the past long months.
“It is such a shame to find oneself always at the mercy of the dictates of the opposite sex,” Elizabeth opined.
“Whoever said it is a man’s world knew exactly of what he spoke,” Charlotte said.
“I should like to think it will not always be this way.”
Charlotte shrugged a little. “Perhaps in generations to come,
when our daughters’ daughters have daughters,” she waxed poetic. “But, then again, we must rely upon the opposite sex to have daughters. Must we not?”
Both ladies laughed at this conjecture.
“As much as I am loath to confess it,” Charlotte continued, “the odds are not exactly in our favor in that regard as we are both on the wrong side of twenty with nary a prospect in sight. I dare say, however, your chances are not nearly so dire as mine with my being seven and twenty.”
“I prefer to think all is not quite lost,” Elizabeth said. “Netherfield has remained unoccupied for far too long. Perhaps a wealthy gentleman from town will decide to purchase it, and when he takes possession, he will be accompanied by enough wealthy gentlemen friends that we may have a surfeit of suitors from which to choose.”
“No doubt our mothers would be thrilled by such a prospect,” Charlotte cried.
“As would we all, I am sure,” said Elizabeth, her spirits rising to playfulness. “Who among us is not in want of a single man of a large fortune?”
Chapter 2
London, England
A moment or two passed before Fitzwilliam Darcy ascended the stairs of his friend Charles Bingley’s home.
Despite Charles’s being one of his closest friends, Darcy rarely called at Bingley’s and with good reason. He would do anything to avoid spending time in company with Bingley’s younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley.
Now there he stood and at the young lady’s behest, no less, by means of a trusted servant. She would not say what was the nature of her summons, only that it was of the utmost importance, and it involved Bingley’s entire future. As Bingley was always getting himself into one poorly conceived scheme or another, Darcy dropped all he was doing and made his way there.
“Darcy, my friend,” said Bingley, bolting from his chair, when Darcy was shown into the drawing-room. “You are just the person whom I wished to see.”
“You are just the person we all wished to see,” exclaimed Miss Bingley, no doubt speaking on behalf of her brother-in-law and her elder sister, Reginald and Louisa Hurst, who were sitting on the sofa opposite her.
Arising to her feet, Miss Bingley hurried across the room and seizing Darcy by his arm, began coaxing him farther into the room. “It is imperative you speak with my brother, Charles, about what he has done before it is too late!”
“Pay no attention to my sister,” said Bingley. “No doubt, once you have heard my news, you will be joining me in a congratulatory toast to my good fortune.”
That what was considered positive by Bingley was viewed as negative by Miss Bingley came as no surprise to Darcy. The opposing nature of the two often balanced each other out and allowed the two siblings to coexist together peacefully. What Bingley appreciated most about his sister was her wit, and she, in turn, lauded his amiability. Problems arose when Miss Bingley supposed her concerns for her brother’s welfare were being dismissed, and she looked to dampen down her brother’s excessive optimism.
In response, Bingley was wont to grow impatient with what he believed was his sister’s negativity and attempt to restrain him. This was one such a time.
Darcy knew the siblings too well to dismiss either of their concerns out of hand by siding with one over the other. On the other hand, Bingley was nothing if not impulsive. The older of the two gentlemen, Darcy had been obliged to rescue his friend from quite a few quandaries, owing to the younger man’s flightiness.
“Bingley,” Darcy said, his voice evidencing some concern, “what have you done?”
“Come, have a seat,” Bingley urged. “I shall tell you everything.”
“Yes,” Miss Bingley added. “You will want to be seated when you hear this.”
Bingley rolled his eyes. “As usual, Caroline is overreacting.”
“Who that knows you as well as I do could help but feel the way I do!” She looked at her sister. “Louisa is just as concerned as I am, are you not?”
Louisa’s expression was unreadable, which also came as no surprise to Darcy. Despite always being a staunch supporter of whatever scheme the younger sister concocted, the elder sister did not like finding herself in the middle of disagreements between her siblings. She said nothing.
“Again,” Darcy said after taking a seat closest to Bingley, “what have you done?”
Returning to his own seat, Bingley cleared his throat. “Well, you know that my excellent father always intended to purchase an estate.”
Indeed, Darcy knew the story well. Bingley had inherited property in the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father, who, as his friend cited, had intended to purchase an estate but did not live to do it.
“I have just returned from Hertfordshire,” said Bingley in concluding his speech.
“You are looking at the new owner of a long uninhabited estate in some godforsaken part of the country just outside of some small town of which no one has ever heard,” Miss Bingley exclaimed.
Darcy caught his breath. Dear God, pray Bingley has not been duped!
Darcy dared not voice such a concern out loud. Bingley had the right to spend his fortune in whatever manner he might choose. But he had seen his friend mere days prior, and there had been no mention whatsoever of such grandiose plans.
“Trust me, Darcy, the situation is hardly as dire as Caroline makes it sound.”
“Who in the world would purchase an estate on a whim? Who would forgo an exhaustive search of all the other properties to be seen before entering into such an endeavor and without proper counsel, and most of all, who would purchase an estate in the middle of nowhere?” Miss Bingley cried. “Can you really expect our friends and acquaintances from town to travel to the wilds of Hertfordshire for visits?” She peered at Darcy. “Surely you agree with me. Surely you have the same questions.”
Sitting on the edge of his seat, his spine straight, Darcy said, “I must confess to wanting to know more.”
Bingley said, “It is not as though I did not consider such things. It is just that I took one look at the place, and I knew I was destined to be its master. That said, I did exercise some caution. You see, rather than make an offer to purchase the estate, I decided to let it instead.”
That last detail must have been news to Miss Bingley. Her face gradually contorted from wariness to relief.
Darcy released his breath. “Does the estate have a name?”
Bingley nodded. “The name of the estate is Netherfield Park. And the unheard-of town that Caroline spoke of so dismissively is Meryton. I daresay it is roughly the size of Lambton.”
The young woman scoffed. “Next, I suppose you will be comparing Netherfield Park to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy’s home.”
“Netherfield Park is no Pemberley by any stretch of the imagination, but it is perfect for me.” Directing his attention to Darcy, he continued, “I can hardly wait to show it to you. I am counting on you to be my guest, and as my closest and most trusted friend, I am hoping you will teach me all there is to know about the management of such an estate.”
Between Bingley and Darcy, there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Indeed, Darcy found Bingley’s easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper to be most endearing—a disposition which offered a pronounced contrast to Darcy’s own. The older man was clever, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.
On the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgment, the highest opinion. This was all the more reason for Darcy’s concern that Bingley had taken on the responsibility of an estate, even if he was meant to be a tenant.
Bingley’s situation, though impetuously conceived, is salvageable.
Leaning forward, Darcy extended his hand to his friend. “Bingley, you know I will do whatever I can to be of service to you.”
“Capital!” Bingley exclaimed, accepting his friend’s show of support. “I plan to return to Netherfield as soon as the manor house is properly s
ituated. Pray, you will be among my party. I really do not think I will enjoy this new adventure half so much as I might unless you are by my side.”
Chapter 3
Kent, England
A man of the cloth, Mr. William Collins knew himself to be an excellent arbiter of that which would be considered a fault. Among his list of human frailties, pride was uppermost. However, on that particular day, he could not help but feel a certain sense of pride owing to his good fortune.
A young man of five and twenty, he came from modest means. During the prior year, he had been granted the living in Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, by the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A humble man, by his own estimation, he was thereby set for the rest of his life.
Indeed, he had no reason to suppose his situation in life could get any better than it was. Then, he received notification that he had inherited an estate in Hertfordshire. Located near the small town of Meryton, the estate was named Longbourn Village. Almost overnight, it seemed, he was the master of his own home. He was a landowner. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word. Mr. Collins’s happiness was almost complete.
If ever there was a cause to suffer pride, this was it.
Mr. Collins, who had been hurrying along the lane, halted in his tracks. What a splendid view of the manor house he beheld. It was idyllically situated in the heart of Rosings Park. The green grass beneath his feet was as lush as the most exquisite Persian rug. The glazing on the manor house alone, he knew to be quite costly. The sun’s rays reflecting off the windows of the manor house gave further proof to the structure’s majesty.
