by Jennifer Joy
“If it is love you search for, I highly doubt that,” scoffed Darcy.
“Why should I not seek love in a marriage? My parents are perfectly happy and I would follow their example. Not every marriage is a business transaction. You ought to give it a go.”
“You read too many novels, Richard. Love is not a fairy tale.”
“What do you know about it?” Richard snapped. “Have you ever let yourself feel anything? Or do you plan to spend the rest of your life moping in a miserable, loveless marriage?”
“I think we had best return to the house.” Darcy mounted his horse. Sometimes Richard spoke too freely and any response Darcy thought of would only intensify the argument.
The rest of the day and most of the night, Darcy brooded over Richard’s words. What if he was right?
Chapter 2
The next morning Darcy woke before the sun, anxious to leave. The tension in the household was palpable. The servants, who were used to Lady Catherine’s strong character and tended to sympathize with Anne, were warier than usual.
Aunt Catherine had taken her dinner the night before in her rooms, complaining of a headache. Anne, too, was indisposed. Darcy dined alone with Richard and did his best to avoid personal topics. Richard took Darcy’s hint and they enjoyed a pleasurable, if not awkward at times, evening discussing everything from the weather to the possible contents of Anne’s letter.
“I have been pondering all day and I think I have it figured out,” said Richard as he swirled the wine in his glass.
Darcy had been wrapped up in his own thoughts all day, so it was a reprieve for him to focus on the mystery of Anne’s letter.
“The way I see it is that Anne found a copy of Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s will.”
“It did not have the formal appearance of a will. To me, it seemed more like an aged letter,” countered Darcy.
“Very well then. It was a letter which Sir Lewis wrote informing Aunt Catherine that his property was entailed. If Anne were to make it known, Aunt Catherine would lose everything to the male heir.” Richard sat back in his seat and sipped his wine, pleased with himself.
Darcy knit his brows together. “How could Anne blackmail Aunt Catherine with something that would affect her just as much? If Aunt Catherine loses everything, then so does Anne. Where is the benefit in that?”
“Hmm. I see your point. I spoke with Anne this afternoon.” Richard paused and Darcy knew he was waiting for a reaction. He also looked like he had some information he was bursting to share. Darcy settled into his chair and slowly sipped his wine, waiting with a sardonic grin. Patience was not Richard’s virtue.
It took about a minute before Richard burst, “Well, if you will not ask, then I will tell you.”
Darcy’s smile grew wider. It pleased him to push his cousin’s polished buttons after his miserable and revealing morning.
“You may laugh, but I know you are just as interested in Anne’s future as I am. Yes, she brought you great inconvenience, but you would never wish ill-fortune upon her.”
Darcy raised his glass to Richard. What he said was true after all.
“Anne is quitting Rosings to live in London. She desires independence and Aunt Catherine forced it upon her when she threatened to disinherit Anne for not marrying you.”
Darcy cringed. “I would never make Anne marry me by force.”
“Of course not. But, finding herself unwelcome in her own home, she is packing her things as we speak and will leave for London as soon as arrangements can be made.”
“Where will she stay? Does Anne know anybody in London?” asked Darcy.
“That is the thing. Anne’s circle of friends is so limited, she has nowhere to go. Nor can she work as a governess or do anything to secure a position in a good household. She has no prospects.”
Darcy stroked his chin. He formed a mental list of good families in and around town and, one by one, checked them off the list until one name stood out.
Sitting forward in his chair, he asked Richard, “What about the Applewhites?”
Richard thought for a moment. “I do think that will do. When you drop me off in London on the morrow, I will visit them directly. There is no time to waste, for Anne must leave soon.”
Darcy’s conscience was at peace, but he still could not sleep that night. It had been easy to rise before the sun.
Sending his things outside to be packed in the waiting coach, he glanced impatiently around the hall before descending the stairs. Drops of precipitation from the night’s rain clung to the glass windows. Mr. Bowers would be sad to dirty the newly clean and polished coach.
Richard met Darcy downstairs and soon they were rambling down the sloppy road, headed for London. Richard would return to his post after making arrangements for Anne and Darcy would spend a couple days in town. He wanted to see his little sister, Georgiana. She had convinced Father to let her finish her education under the tutelage of a private governess in the comfort of Darcy House. A disturbing trend of young ladies leaving school to marry young was all the persuasion Father needed. If it were up to Father, he would have Georgiana marry at thirty. Father could be very sensible sometimes.
Darcy had not realized how lost he was in his thoughts until Richard spoke. “What do you think to do now that you are one of England’s most eligible— and available— bachelors?” The mischievous twinkle in Richard’s eye warned Darcy that he was in for more bantering.
“I shall return to the estate in Pemberley immediately. The right lady will present herself once it is made known that I must marry.”
“Present herself, you say? What, will a fairy godmother wave a wand and your perfect princess magically appear? Since when do you believe in such nonsense?”
“Touché, cousin. Your irony is not lost on me.”
“So… because you are so charming and irresistible, accomplished young ladies with titles and good dowries will line up so that you may have your pick?”
Darcy huffed at Richard, but images of money-hungry ladies and their ruthless mothers flooded his mind. Darcy shivered to shake them off.
After an extended pause, Richard said in a softer tone, “I envy you, Darcy. You do not need to marry a fortune. You can marry whomsoever you please. Tell me, what will you do to win a lady’s affection?” He burrowed into the seat and crossed his leg, ready for a long answer.
“If the lady is worthy, I do not think any special effort need be made on my part. I can provide her with a good home and allowance enough to satisfy her whims. Surely that is enough to win an accomplished lady’s affection.”
Richard uncrossed his leg and gaped at Darcy. “Do you really believe that? I should like to see you survive an evening at Almack’s with the lady you describe. She would be an abominable bore and a manipulative mistress. Do you not believe in love… or… or passion? A good woman is worthy of being well-loved and she is worth fighting for.” His voice got louder as his emotions got stronger.
“Calm yourself. Your coat is red enough without your face matching it.”
Puffing out his breath, Richard said, “You are exasperating. Your parents had an arranged marriage and that was your lot until yesterday. You are a free man now and have the opportunity to choose a wife. Would you not prefer to choose someone you can love? I would give the world to have such a chance.”
Darcy’s mother had died giving birth to Georgiana when he was twelve. He saw her face when he looked at his sister. His father had placed her memory on a pedestal of impossible heights and Darcy had come to believe that she must have been perfect. The grief Darcy felt in his adolescence had overwhelmed his happy memories of their family when it was whole. Darcy was in no hurry to feel such a powerful emotion again.
“You are a romantic. You always have been. I am not. I am too busy to allow myself to feel such things. I will concede that I hope to have a reasonable respect for my future wife— and she for me. But with my name and with my circumstances well-known, I feel confident that I shall easily secure
a bride.” He said the words with all the security of one who got everything he wanted with little effort. When he looked into his cousin’s eyes, he saw a flicker of pity.
Darcy crossed his arms and sat as far back into the coach cushions as he could. He did not want anyone’s pity.
The coach’s wheels, shining when they left Rosings, arrived in London dull and muddy. Darcy was relieved to arrive to his family home and Georgiana. While Richard’s company was generally enjoyable, his fanciful talk of finding a romantic match set Darcy on edge.
Darcy entered his home ready for a bath, a good meal, and some quieter company. What he got was Miss Caroline Bingley— the last woman in the world he wished to spend an afternoon with. Her manners were condescending and she presumed a friendship with Darcy that repulsed him. Her insincerity knew no bounds. Darcy knew her intentions toward him— to become his wife and the Mistress of Pemberley. That would never happen.
“How fortuitous to run into you here, Darcy,” Miss Bingley said in a haughty voice. She preened and arranged her skirts. Darcy did not appreciate her familiar use of his name. It is Mr. Darcy, to you!
Rising from her chair, Georgiana’s face lit up with a smile and Darcy forgot about Miss Bingley’s offense. Georgiana’s golden curls bounced as she crossed the room. She was every bit as beautiful as Darcy remembered their mother to be.
“William!” She flung her arms around his chest and squeezed. He returned her embrace.
“I did not expect you to pass through town so soon. You only left two days ago.” She looked up at Darcy, her face full of question marks.
“I will explain all later, I promise. For now, I fear I must leave you ladies to make myself more presentable.” Darcy’s sincerest wish was that Miss Bingley would leave before he returned downstairs.
Squeezing Georgiana’s hand, he bowed and left the room.
He took his time bathing and dressing, but when he went downstairs, he heard laughter coming from the sitting room. It was Charles Bingley, Miss Bingley’s brother and Darcy’s close friend.
If Darcy had to endure an evening in Miss Bingley’s presence, since it appeared that Georgiana must have invited them to dine, at least it was in the company of his dear sister and his best friend.
Bingley was everything Darcy was not. He saw the good in every individual he met, trusting their word and intentions immediately. While this combination usually bode ill for a man in trade such as Bingley, he had the unique ability to be so well-liked that he rarely suffered harm. He was sociable and made friends easily.
“Darcy, how good to see you,” Bingley beamed. “I hope you do not mind us intruding on your hospitality. You must be tired from your travels.”
“Think nothing of it.” Darcy waved away his concern.
“I am glad to hear it for I have come to seek your advice. What do you think of a trip to Hertfordshire? It is only half a day’s distance…” Bingley said the last like a question. When pressed for details, Bingley explained that he was ready to settle and buy an estate of his own. Not having any experience as a land owner, he felt it best to lease an estate first. The most promising was a place called Netherfield Park in nearby Hertfordshire.
“Please do say you will come with me. I trust your judgment more than my own.”
The pleading look in Bingley’s eyes made it difficult to refuse and the next day, Darcy once again found himself in his coach on his way to Hertfordshire.
He and Bingley had left after breaking their fast and hoped to see the property that same afternoon. The weather had been abominable, but there was a brief reprieve in the showers and Darcy looked out of the glass window of his carriage to take in the view. A field with clumps of purple flowers in bloom loomed up ahead in the ankle-high grass. He squinted his eyes together as one flower seemed to stand out from the rest. They rounded a corner and he clearly saw that his eyes had fooled him, for the flower walked along the side of the road, wearing a bonnet and carrying a basket.
They were drawing nearer and Bingley noticed her too. Having nothing else to look at, the two men peered out of the glass.
She turned her attention from the blooms in the field by the road and faced them. What a puzzle it was when a horrified expression showed on her face and she frantically waved them away. Darcy looked at Bingley and Bingley looked at Darcy before the two turned back to the glass to see what the problem was.
They were right beside her and Darcy could clearly see her face. She was a handsome young lady, a gentleman’s daughter from her dress, albeit a poor gentleman judging from the layer of mud on her hem and the simplicity of her ensemble.
Darcy signaled for his coachman to stop the coach. Were they blind? Had they fallen asleep?
He blinked as the carriage rolled closer and when he focused on the young lady again, her face, once very fine, was covered in muddy water. She stepped back, wiping her face with her shawl and Darcy watched in horror as she slipped into a puddle of mud.
Chapter 3
Longbourn, Hertfordshire, Earlier that morning
Elizabeth Bennet could stand it no longer. It was before noon and the sun was brilliant, though it had rained the night before. The enclosing clouds threatened to water the fields in a matter of hours, but she had enough time if she hurried. The fields, with their happy purple blooms and fuzzy green stems beckoned her to abandon the growing tension in her home. It was as though the house were shrinking around her and there was no safe retreat.
Elizabeth winced at her mother’s premature rejoicing growing louder upstairs. Her younger sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia did not improve the situation at all. Mary’s self-righteous preaching depressed any light in the day. Kitty and Lydia, on the other hand, ridiculed their desperate situation with their childlike banter. Jane, her eldest sister, sat embroidering a cushion, her needle stabbing the coarse fabric relentlessly.
“Take care of your fingers, dear Jane,” Elizabeth warned, strumming her fingers on the window sill overlooking the glistening grass.
Jane dropped her work onto her lap. “Why do things have to be so difficult? Would Mr. Collins simply release Father from this horrid entail, I need not take out my frustration on this innocent cushion. You are not immune, Lizzy. Your pacing and finger-tapping are disconcerting.”
“I am sorry.” And Elizabeth truly was. Her father had returned to Longbourn after a special trip to persuade Mr. Collins, his cousin and heir, to release them of the entail on their property. Elizabeth and her father had discussed it at great length. On one hand, any man would be a fool to sign over his inheritance, but therein lay their hope for Mr. Collins was known to be a fool. They would lose nothing in trying. So, before Mr. Bennet lost his resolve, he had traveled to Hunsford, the rectory at Rosings, where Mr. Collins edified his flock with the very sermons Mary was reciting this unfortunate day.
Evidently, Mr. Collins was not as foolish as they had supposed. Taking the counsel of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, he would arrive in two days hence to court and marry one of their household. Meddlesome biddy.
Catching herself pacing about the room again, Elizabeth knew that only one thing would calm the anxiety she felt. She needed to go for a walk in the fresh country air. Grabbing a basket and a shawl, Elizabeth told Jane, “I will be back shortly.”
Jane nodded and continued piercing the cushion with her needle.
Elizabeth put on her bonnet and stepped out of the house. A nice, long walk to collect flowers would be just the thing.
Jane’s voice trailed after her, “It might rain.”
“I shan’t go far,” Elizabeth said as she closed the door behind her. Looking up at the clouds, she determined that she might have an hour before the rain came. That would be long enough.
Elizabeth could not be certain if she heard Jane’s sigh or only imagined it. She was known for her love of long walks and had been caught in a shower before. In all probability, she would again unless she kept track of the time and the clouds above her.
T
he sweet breeze had a relaxing effect as Elizabeth breathed it in deeply. Moisture was in the air, but spring was just beginning and she had wildflowers to gather.
In an effort to keep her skirts dry, she walked along the edge of the lane in the direction of empty Netherfield Park. The rain of the night before sat in puddles on top of the already saturated road, but she knew where to step and would not muddy her boots too badly. Walking between the ruts made by thousands of carriage wheels over the years and the standing water along the side of the road, Elizabeth took care not to muddy her hem.
The hems of her dresses were a constant source of dismay for her mother. Elizabeth herself usually thought nothing of them until they needed washed. Then she heard plenty from her mother, who oversaw the impossible task of keeping her careless daughter’s dresses clean and presentable. Mrs. Bennet was convinced that Elizabeth would happen upon an available gentleman of fortune only to have her daughter be seen with a dirty hem. La, the shame! Since the likelihood of such an occurrence was so slight as to not exist, Elizabeth worried little about the state of her hems. Nobody would be around the unoccupied property.
Elizabeth found a bounce in her step as she thought about more pleasant things— next month’s activities. Elizabeth’s parents had decided it was time for her younger sisters to come out, yet she and her older sister, Jane, remained unmarried. So, her understanding aunt and uncle Gardiner had invited her and Jane to spend the season with them in London. They had four young children of their own and Elizabeth looked forward to seeing them. Emma, the youngest at ten years of age, was her personal favorite.
Elizabeth filled her basket with fragrant blossoms, walking from patch to patch down the road and skipping over the trench of muddy water to gather blooms when she could. The flowers were worth the effort. Their perfume was preferable to any fancy, bottled concoction.
