Contents
Title Page
Copyright
More P&P Variations
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Pledged to Mr. Darcy
a Pride and Prejudice variation
Valerie Lennox
PLEDGED TO MR. DARCY
© copyright 2019 by Valerie Lennox
http://vjchambers.com
Punk Rawk Books
More P&P Variations
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The Unraveling of Mr. Darcy
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CHAPTER ONE
Complaining of a headache, Elizabeth Bennet had declined to accompany her hosts Mr. and Mrs. Collins to tea at Rosings with Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Elizabeth was not sure if the headache was entirely the reason for crying off, or if it was largely due to her agitation about being near Mr. Darcy, whom she despised rather intensely. She had just learned from Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, that it was Mr. Darcy who was responsible for Mr. Bingley’s leaving her poor sister Jane without a proposal of marriage. She was livid. How dare Mr. Darcy do such a thing?
She was resolved to look over Jane’s previous letters, to try to convince herself that no real damage had been done to her sister, that Jane was as cheerful as ever, though Elizabeth harbored doubts this would be true.
But this was abruptly interrupted by the delivery of a letter for her.
As if Jane had somehow had foreknowledge Elizabeth would be thinking of her just now, the letter was from her sister.
Elizabeth sat down in the parlor and opened it.
Dear Lizzy,
There is no easy way to say all this, so I shall come directly to the point. Our father is dead. He was struck ill with a violent illness, one that left him abed and barely conscious for two days. I had resolved to write to you, but there was little time, for the sickness has been spreading throughout Hertfordshire like wildfire. At least one person in every household is affected, sometimes two or three.
Both Mama and Kitty are also feeling poorly, as is Mrs. Hill and two other of the servants. We are in dire straights here, I’m afraid. I looked in and found father this morning, already gone. Perhaps if I had not been so busy tending to Mama or to Kitty or… I know not. I also should be occupied in any number of other activities besides writing to you, but I don’t know what to do.
I cannot tell you to come home. Perhaps you ought to stay away. The sickness here is so dreadful. I would not risk you. But I long to see you, I cannot deny it. I am frightened and I am grieved, and I need you, Elizabeth.
Jane
Elizabeth was so shocked that she let the letter drop from her fingers and fall to the floor. She felt as though she had been thrust into another world, and the colors of everything had shifted slightly. This must be a dream, she thought. An awful dream, and I shall wake in a moment, and—
A servant appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Darcy is here to see you, madam.”
Elizabeth snatched the letter up off the floor with trembling fingers.
Mr. Darcy nodded at her, his face drawn, all the color gone from his lips. “Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she whispered.
“I had heard of your being in ill health. I came to see you, hoping to find you recovered somewhat.”
“I…” Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She tried to look down at the letter from Jane again, but the words swam in front of her. She said nothing.
Mr. Darcy didn’t seem to notice. He began to pace around the room, seemingly agitated. Finally, he stopped, coming towards her. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
He what? Loved her? No, that could not be. This was some awful dream, some strange dream, because all these things that were happening, none of them would ever happen if she was truly awake.
Mr. Darcy was still talking. “…your family and your other connections, of course. I have striven with myself that you are not at all an appropriate choice, not for someone such as myself. You are, naturally, inferior to me in almost every way. I know that all will judge your family as an obstacle to our union. I have, in fact, done nothing but think on that whenever you came into my mind, struggling as I might to cease thinking of you by making it plain to myself that you are the wrong choice for me. But I cannot keep you from my mind. You seem to haunt me, in fact, and I know not what to do with myself. And now, to see you every day here at my aunt’s home, it is driving me to the brink of madness. I have decided that I must set aside my concern about your poor connections and go forward in pursuit of my feelings. Your connections will not make things easy, of course, but we will find a way to move through all that, I am certain. I know not how, but I simply have no other recourse other than to ask you to marry me.”
Elizabeth looked at him, stunned.
He drew in a breath.
She set Jane’s letter down on the table and began to smooth it out, because it had become creased being clutched in her hand during his speech, during his… proposal.
“I am most anxious to receive your answer, madam,” he said. “In spite of all my endeavors, I have found my affection for you impossible to conquer, and I hope I shall be rewarded by your acceptance of my hand.”
A dream, thought Elizabeth. This must be a dream.
Elizabeth looked back at the letter from Jane. It was still there, and she still remembered its contents. Often times in dreams, one might slide from one occupation to the next without any true realization that one had changed. It was only recalling later, trying to piece together the remnants of the dream, that one realized that parts of it had been incongruous.
But now, this room, Mr. Darcy, the letter… It was all starkly real.
This was no dream.
This was happening.
“My apologies, Miss Bennet, are you all right? You seem so dreadfully pale. Is your head paining you very badly?”
She cleared her throat. “I am…” She pointed at Jane’s letter. “That is, excuse me, I have just received some very terrible news regarding my father, and I’m afraid I cannot quite even make sense of what you are saying to me.”
“Oh.” Mr. Darcy drew back. Then he noticed the letter she was pointing to. “You’ve had a letter?”
“Yes, from home,” said Elizabeth.
“And what does it say?”
“That my father is…” Elizabeth’s lower lip started to tremble.
“Oh, dear,” said Darcy, lurching toward her, almost as if he would embrace her.
She was startled and froze in shock.
But he seemed to realize how inappropriate such a movement would be and stopped. He clasped his hands together. “My sincere condolences, Miss Bennet. When I lost my own father, I was quite inconsolable.”
Tears were
beginning to leak out of her cheeks.
He handed her his handkerchief. “You’ll want to go home, I suppose?”
“Yes, indeed,” she said, looking down at the handkerchief as if she did not remember what it was for. She must go home, yes. But how would she get there? “I suppose I shall have to wait until the post—”
“Of course not,” he said. “I shall ready my own carriage and take you back to Hertfordshire. You mustn’t worry about anything. Simply go and pack your things.”
“Sir, that… What I am trying to say is…” She was trying to say that she hated Mr. Darcy, and he apparently thought of her as inferior in every way. She did not wish his kindness, even in the blindness of her grief. But she could not devote enough of her mind to form the thoughts that might make words to tell him thus. It was easier to take his offer. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am most appreciative.”
He only nodded. And then he turned and left the room as quickly as he could.
CHAPTER TWO
Elizabeth was not alone for long, because news spread to those at Rosings from Mr. Darcy. Charlotte and her husband came back at once, accompanied by Charlotte’s sister Maria, and they explained that Mr. Darcy would take her back to Hertfordshire that night if she wished it, which she did. Darcy had no issue with riding through the night, he said, and he was already making himself ready to leave.
There was no discussion of a chaperone, which made Elizabeth wonder if he had told everyone that they were engaged. She still did not think it would be appropriate for a man and woman to go galloping off in the night together, even if she had agreed to marry him. But she could not ask for anyone to come along. The sickness in Hertfordshire was too dire for her to ask it of anyone.
Indeed, she was worried she had not communicated this to Mr. Darcy, and she asked if someone could tell him as much. Perhaps he would wish to withdraw his offer.
But word came back that Mr. Darcy was not worried, and that he would brave the trip anyway.
This made her feel even more as though her engagement to this man had already been decided. She was not sure she wanted that. But… well, she had to admit that the fierce indignation she had been feeling toward him was a pale, pale emotion compared to the hole that had opened up inside her at the news that her father was gone.
It seemed the news kept washing over in waves.
She would be pulling her frocks out of her wardrobe, handing them to a servant, and suddenly, it would come back to her that her father was dead, and it would be so painful that she would lose her balance.
But then, as if her body knew she could not stay standing or moving if she dwelt too long upon this new, horrid truth, she would seemingly forget it, push it aside so that she could move through the air. Because the knowledge was a deep well of pain that would drag her down into its depths, and she did not think she would ever claw her way out. But then, she would be ready to feel the pain of the news afresh, as if she was hearing it for the first time. This cycle repeated itself over and over throughout rest of the day.
Eventually, she did not care at all if she was taken to Longbourn unchaperoned or if she was forced to wed Mr. Darcy, because nothing mattered anymore. She was only grief and pain and there was nothing more to her.
The ride was long. It was late afternoon when they got into the carriage, and after about an hour’s journey, it began to be dusk outside. They traveled quickly and furiously down the road. Elizabeth was tired, but she did not think she would sleep. She was too horrified by the awful news she had received, and she was sure she would stay awake.
But she was wrong. The movement of the carriage soon lulled her into its rhythm and she drifted off. She dreamed of arriving home and finding her father revived, for Jane had sent the letter hastily. Another letter, telling of the error, was on its way, but they had quit Rosings before it arrived.
When Mr. Darcy shook her awake, the knowledge that her dream had not been reality was almost worse than hearing the news in the first place.
They had arrived at Longbourn, and it was dark. The house was dark inside. It was the middle of the night.
They disembarked from the carriage, not bothering with unloading Elizabeth’s things, and went to the door.
Elizabeth opened the door and let them both in. Mr. Darcy hesitated on the doorstep.
She stopped to look at him. Was he going to leave now, having dropped her off at her home and done his duty? She thought that would be a relieving turn of events. She would not mind at all not having to see him again, maybe ever.
Of course, she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t have to marry him now, after that unchaperoned carriage ride. Why had no one been concerned about it? Was the news so grave that propriety could be abandoned? Elizabeth wanted to ask, but she also wanted him to go, and the more she spoke to him, the longer he would be tarrying here on her doorstep.
“It doesn’t seem proper to enter without knocking,” he said.
“It is my house,” she said. “Besides, my sister’s letter told me that the bulk of our servants have the sickness as well. There is likely no one to answer a knocked door, nor to announce you. And it is very late at night.”
“Yes,” he said. “All of that seems to add to the impropriety.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “come in or don’t, but stop dithering about it.” She turned her back on him and came face to face with Jane, coming through the house with a candle, still dressed in a morning dress. Hadn’t she been abed? There were no lights on in the house.
Jane set the candle down. “Lizzy?” she said, voice breaking. She hurried to embrace her sister.
Elizabeth clutched Jane, and suddenly, it was as if a dam had broken loose in her. She began to sob.
Jane cried too.
They held each other and wept. Dimly, Elizabeth was aware of the door closing behind them. She did not look to see if Darcy had come in or stayed out.
Some time later, feeling wrung out, her eyes refused to create any tears. She and Jane let go of each other.
“Mr. Darcy?” said Jane in a surprised voice.
Elizabeth turned and there he was, standing in the doorway with his head bowed.
“What are you doing here?” said Jane. She looked at Elizabeth, confused.
“He brought me here.”
“Oh, yes, you told me that he was visiting his aunt at Rosings in a letter,” said Jane.
“Indeed, madam,” said Mr. Darcy quietly. “I am most terribly sorry.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jane. “And thank you ever so much for bringing Elizabeth home. We are in your debt.” She looked around. “I’m afraid I don’t know if I have anything to offer you. Our servants, all but one, are feeling poorly and I told Mrs. Smith to get some rest. She quite worked herself to death—oh, dear, I did not mean that.” Jane touched her lips.
Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Jane.
“Miss Bennet, please do not trouble yourself,” said Mr. Darcy. “I do not need to be waited on. I am here to assist you in any way I can. What can I do?”
“Er…” Jane looked around as if the answer to that question might come from somewhere on the walls around. “Truthfully, I do not know. I am trying to lay out the bodies, and—”
“Bodies?” said Elizabeth sharply.
“Oh,” said Jane, turning to her. “Yes, I… no, I suppose you wouldn’t have gotten the letter I just sent out today.”
“Jane, what do you mean, bodies? More than one?”
“It is wretched.” Jane’s voice broke. “Our father and our mother gone, and Kitty and Mary too.”
“What?” Elizabeth’s voice came out shrill. She foundered, unable to hold herself up, sure she was going to fall into a boneless heap.
Mr. Darcy was there, behind her, holding her up.
She let him, too horrified to protest at any thing.
Jane was crying again, but in a careless way, as if she had cried so much lately that she barely noticed. “I don’t know what to do. Mrs. Smith and I were
working on laying out Papa when Lydia found our mother, and then I went to check on Kitty and Mary—it is so fast, Lizzy, the sickness, so insidious. They were gone before we could even call for a doctor, not that there is one to be had, for everyone in town is sick and everyone is dying, and… oh, Lord.” She buried her head in her hands.
Elizabeth wanted to comfort her, but she could not breathe.
Jane raised her head. “I don’t know if there is any point in it, for there will be so many dead, and we shall all be calling house to house to view all the bodies, but I think I must stick to tradition. I know not what else to do. And then I worry, for who will even be at the funeral, Lizzy, without Papa?”
Women weren’t permitted to go to funerals, due to their delicate dispositions. But it was odd, because the laying out of the bodies often fell to the women, although there was usually help from servants. But the Bennets had never had an army of servants to begin with, so they were always obliged to do more than some others of gentry might have.
Elizabeth actually wanted to help. She wanted to wash and dress the bodies, to see her beloved sisters and parents and to touch them, and…
She dissolved into tears again.
Darcy was still behind her, holding her upright. Abruptly, he moved his hand down her back and gave her a nudge.
She was so stunned by this, she stopped crying and looked up at him in indignation.
“Both of you to the sitting room,” said Darcy.
“What?” said Jane.
“Now,” said Mr. Darcy, pushing against Elizabeth’s back.
Elizabeth found herself walking.
Mr. Darcy let go of her and took Jane’s shoulder and gave her a push as well. “Go into the sitting room and sit down—” He broke off. “Is the sitting room where you have laid out your father?”
Jane nodded.
“The, um…” Darcy looked about. “Do you have a library?”
“Indeed, sir,” said Elizabeth.
“Go there, then. Both of you sit down and do not think of anything that needs to be done, just rest for a few moments.”
Pledged to Mr Darcy Page 1
