The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Victoria Kincaid
Copyright © 2018 by Victoria Kincaid
Smashwords Edition
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Victoria Kincaid
Chapter One
“What shall I do if Miss Bennet will not speak with me?” Bingley asked. “If she cuts me?”
The carriage rattled over a bump in the road, causing Darcy to lurch as he considered how to respond to this latest inquiry. This subject had occupied Bingley’s entire conversation for the length of their journey to Hertfordshire. Darcy considered new ways to offer reassurances. “It is highly doubtful that Miss Bennet has ever cut anyone in her life.”
“No, no. She is an angel.” With a small sigh, Bingley fell back against the squabs. Within a few minutes he would no doubt find a fresh cause for concern, which Darcy would need to assuage.
Darcy gritted his teeth, wishing he could be as sanguine about his welcome as he was about Bingley’s. Miss Jane Bennet would assuredly receive his friend with tolerable composure and a warm smile, but Darcy could not be as certain about his own reception. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was unlikely to cut Darcy publicly, but her reception of him might be cool. Even disdainful. She might even refuse to speak with him in private, thus depriving him of the opportunity to apologize for his behavior in Kent. The words he had uttered during his proposal at Hunsford Parsonage continued to haunt him; only a heartfelt and abject apology could possibly exorcise them.
Bingley need only apologize to Jane Bennet for his precipitous departure from Netherfield in November. In contrast, Darcy sought Elizabeth’s forgiveness for having offended and insulted her—and her family—while making her an offer of marriage. Not for the first time he wondered if there had ever been such a maladroit proposal in the history of the world.
Darcy’s fingers drummed restlessly on the seat beside his leg. Perhaps this was a fool’s errand. Upon waking that morning, Darcy had nearly convinced himself of its futility; were it not for his obligation to Bingley, he might have begged off the whole venture.
Darcy’s regret over his role in separating Bingley and Miss Bennet had been increasing for some time. As had, he admitted to himself, his desire to see Elizabeth Bennet once more. Two days ago, Darcy had finally confessed to his friend that he had concealed Miss Bennet’s presence in London the previous winter. He also had unburdened himself of the entire sad tale of his proposal to Elizabeth at Hunsford. While rejecting Darcy, Elizabeth had suggested that her older sister had been anything but indifferent to Bingley and actually had mourned the loss of his company.
Bingley’s fitting anger at Darcy’s duplicity had quickly given way to eagerness to see the woman again and seek her forgiveness. When Darcy offered to make amends for his deceit, Bingley demanded that Darcy accompany him to Netherfield as his penance. Darcy had agreed with alacrity. Over the long months of May and June, he had harbored delightful fantasies of encountering Elizabeth, begging her forgiveness, and demonstrating the amiable side of his nature. Perhaps there was hope he could change her opinion of him.
But the nearer the horses brought them to Longbourn, the more Darcy’s doubts increased. While Bingley had every reason to anticipate a warm reception, Darcy did not. After all, Jane Bennet had never declared Bingley to be the last man in the world she would ever be tempted to marry.
“Darcy?”
Bingley’s voice roused Darcy from his reverie and the sight of both his fists clenched on his thighs. Deliberately relaxing his stiff hands, he nodded at Bingley. A smile was beyond his capacity at the moment.
But his friend was not concerned with Darcy’s state of mind. “What if she is engaged to somebody else?”
“Surely not in so short a span of time,” Darcy said even as his mind seized the possibility. Elizabeth might have accepted an offer from another man! Nausea roiled his stomach as Darcy silently urged the carriage to greater swiftness—as if arriving half an hour earlier could thwart such an event.
Dear Lord, there were so many possibilities with which he could torment himself.
Momentarily appeased, Bingley glanced idly out of the window. In relaying the story of the disastrous proposal in Kent, Darcy had deliberately avoided details. His friend did not know of the vehemence of Elizabeth’s rejection or how badly he had botched the proposal. If Bingley understood on what terms they had parted, he never would have suggested that Darcy face her again. He would not have understood why Darcy leapt at the opportunity to visit Longbourn.
Darcy did not understand it himself, save that he had no choice.
Darcy had tried for the better part of three months to forget his feelings for Elizabeth, but she had haunted his waking thoughts and inhabited his dreams. His stubborn heart insisted that only Elizabeth would make an acceptable wife. Every other woman he met paled in comparison.
Bingley noted the angle of the sun. “We are in good time. Perhaps we might visit Longbourn before arriving at Netherfield?”
“Of course,” Darcy said, simultaneously anticipating and dreading the inevitable.
***
Darcy stretched his stiff legs as he alighted from the carriage, hoping that the Bennets would offer them some refreshments. Hours in a closed coach had made for a stifling journey.
The late afternoon sun was still bright, and Darcy squinted as he surveyed the front of Longbourn. There was none of the activity he associated with the house—no servants bustling about or chickens pecking along the drive. The sounds of giggling Bennet daughters did not float in from the garden. Was the family from home? No, there was no reason for alarm; everyone simply must have sought refuge from the heat in the relative coolness of the house.
The two men strode to the front door, and Darcy reached out to knock—only to withdraw his hand with an oath. A length of black crepe had been secured to the knocker.
Bingley sucked in a breath. “They are in mourning.”
The two friends exchanged a swift glance. If only Darcy knew the family well enough to have maintained a correspondence with Mr. Bennet! Or indeed anyone in the neighborhood. But he had been too proud then to forge the ties that would provide him with valuable information now.
What if they mourned Elizabeth’s father? The Longbourn property was entailed away upon the odious Collins, placing the Bennets in distressing circumstances. Or perhaps it was Elizabeth’s mother—or one of her sisters. Darcy’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. What had Elizabeth endured these past few months? He should have visited earlier.
Bracing himself for distressing news, Darcy banged the head of his walking stick on the door.
The ensuing wait stretched several minutes, tempting Darcy to knock again, but finally the door was opened by a craggy faced housekeeper. She stared dully at the two men, only coming alive when they gave their names and produced cards.
She ushered them into a cramped drawing room, mumbling that the family would soon join them. Darcy’s eye was caught by a fraying sofa arm and several chairs at least thirty years out of fashion, but he dismissed such observations as uncharitable. The housekeeper eventually returned with a tea service that she set on a low table, but they still saw nobody from the family.
After several minutes, the door opened to admit Mr. Bennet, moving slowly and with a heavy tread. At least he was not the one who had perished, Darcy thought with relief. Still, he might have aged ten years since their last meeting; Bennet’s face was drawn and pale as he shook his visitors’ hands. They had exchanged only a few pleasantries before Mrs. Bennet and Miss Jane Bennet—both wearing black mourning clothes—slipped into the room. Darcy had hoped the deceased was some distant relative, but their demeanor and dress suggested otherwise.
Mrs. Bennet gave Darcy a cursory curtsey but hurried to Bingley, embracing him warmly. “Mr. Bingley, I am so glad you are come, even under these circumstances!”
“I am very glad to be back in Hertfordshire, madam,” Bingley responded.
Surprisingly, the normally voluble Mrs. Bennet did not follow up on the subject but merely invited them to sit. Darcy took a chair opposite the three Bennets while Bingley and Jane had somehow managed to sit beside each other. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.
“I am afraid we are behind the news,” Bingley said finally, his face solemn. “I see that your family is in mourning…?”
Jane Bennet’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
“You do not know?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “I thought you called to offer your condolences.”
“I am afraid we have had no recent word from Meryton,” Bingley responded.
Tears rolled down Jane’s cheeks. Darcy found himself holding his breath. All evidence suggested a grave loss. Had one of the younger daughters perished?
“Our darling Lizzy is gone!” Mrs. Bennet sobbed. “Gone! A full fortnight now.”
Chapter Two
Darcy’s mind spun. He heard the words but was unable to comprehend them. Who was Lizzy? Oh yes, that was what the Bennet family called Elizabeth. But that meant…
The room swung alarmingly, causing Darcy to grab the edge of his chair.
“Elizabeth has passed away?” Bingley echoed incredulously.
No. No.
Darcy’s head shook in denial even as Mr. Bennet nodded solemnly. Darcy staggered to his feet. “No…” The word was intended to be a forceful denial, but it emerged as a single strangled syllable. The world reeled again, and Darcy grabbed the back of his chair to keep his balance.
The eyes which had been fixed on Bingley now turned to Darcy. Mr. Bennet blinked rapidly at him while Mrs. Bennet’s mouth hung open with an imitation of a fish that would have been humorous under other circumstances. Jane Bennet’s eyes were soft with understanding even as she blinked back her own tears. Darcy could only conclude that only Jane knew the story of his disastrous proposal to her sister.
Darcy’s mind scrambled about like a frenzied animal in a cage, seeking relief from a horror that could not be escaped. The words could not possibly be true. He conceived and immediately dismissed several explanations. He had misheard. Or there was a mistake. Perhaps they lied. Or they meant some other Lizzy.
Of course, his Elizabeth could not have perished. Not just before he had realized how badly he needed her in his life. Not when happiness had seemed within his grasp. At any moment she would walk through the door and take her place on the settee beside her sister.
But the rational part of Darcy’s mind reasserted itself. No other explanation was possible. At the very moment he had recognized that he would do anything—give anything—if she would accept his hand, she was lost to him. His resolutions to improve his behavior…his rehearsed apologies…his plans for the future… It was all for naught.
Bingley’s eyes darted to Darcy’s face as he realized that choking noise was emerging from the back of his own throat. This reaction must necessarily betray his feelings for Elizabeth, but it hardly signified. Nothing mattered now.
Elizabeth…
Darcy’s shock and horror were reflected in Bingley’s face. As Jane sobbed softly into a handkerchief that already was quite damp, Bingley’s hand hesitantly reached out to hers where it lay on the arm of the settee. Jane glanced up at Bingley in surprise. Then her fingers curled around his.
Darcy averted his eyes.
“How—” Bingley cleared his throat. “How did such a melancholy event come to pass?”
Knowing the particulars would change nothing, Darcy thought dully. Still unsteady on his feet, he toppled back onto the chair, allowing the words of the conversation to wash over him. Their meaning registered only in a distant part of his mind.
“Oh, it was the most dreadful thing!” Despite her evident grief, Mrs. Bennet’s voice was strong, as if she relished relaying the bad news. “I had presentiments of danger. I did. I told my sister Phillips that no good would come of the trip, but nobody would listen to me.”
Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes.
“Lizzy had planned on visiting the Lake District with her aunt and uncle, but they had to alter the plans at the last minute. Would that they had undertaken that journey! Then my beloved Lizzy would still be with us.” Mrs. Bennet dabbed her eyes dramatically with her handkerchief. “Instead the Gardiners took Lizzy to Brighton where she could visit her sister Lydia. Lydia is a particular friend of Mrs. Forster’s you see, and such a favorite with all the officers.”
Mr. Bennet appeared to be grinding his teeth.
Oblivious, Mrs. Bennet rattled on. “While at Brighton, Lizzy thought to visit her friend, Anna Wilson, who married a man from the isle of Jersey. The Gardiners’ friend captained the cutter that takes supplies to the garrison on Jersey; he offered to take Lizzy so she could call upon her friend. She was the only woman aboard, but the captain said he would watch over her….”
Here Mrs. Bennet paused and glanced at Darcy uncertainly, although Bingley had asked the question. Darcy nodded for her to continue. He had never been to Jersey, or any of the Channel Islands, but he knew they were heavily fortified since they lay so close to the French coast.
“Well,” Mrs. Bennet continued with a flourish of her handkerchief, “the boat had almost reached Jersey when it exploded!” Her eyes were wide with excitement. “Just blasted to pieces!”
In the ensuing silence, Mr. Bennet stood and strode swiftly from the room, blinking furiously. His wife paid him no heed. As Jane sobbed anew, Bingley handed her his handkerchief.
“There was quite a lot of gunpowder in the hold, you see,” Mrs. Bennet explained after a moment. “Somehow it ignited.”
Now Darcy recalled reading of the incident in the paper, but he had taken little notice of it. How blissfully ignorant had he been, unaware that such a distant incident had ruined all his chances for happiness!
Mrs. Bennet was sniffing dramatically and dabbing her eyes.
Bingley released a shaky breath. “Did anyone survive the mishap?”
The older woman shook her head vigorously. “It was very deep water. They were not even able to recover m-most of the b-b-bodies…” Her tears flowed more freely, affected grief giving way to genuine emotion. “My L-Lizzy at the bottom of the ocean!” The last word dissolved into a sob.
Bingley’s eyes sought Darcy’s in wide-eyed alarm as they listened to the quiet sobs of the two women. A distant part of Darcy’s mind supposed he should attempt to provide words of comfort, but grief paralyzed his tongue.
Eventually, Jane stumbled to her mother, sitting beside her on the sofa and e
mbracing her.
I should give my condolences. It is only proper under the circumstances. But the moment seemed beyond any possible speech, the events too enormous for words. If he so much as opened his mouth, Darcy would shatter into shards—like a glass vase dropped on the floor, never to be reassembled. I will never see Elizabeth again.
How paltry and petty his objections to Elizabeth were revealed to be. Her family’s lack of propriety, her connections shriveled to insignificance. He had allowed these trivial considerations to blind himself to her truth worth. In other words, he had been an unpardonable fool. He would happily accept an entire town’s worth of inappropriate relations if he could have another hour’s conversation with her.
A thick, uncomfortable silence had fallen over the room. Finally, Bingley coughed. “Is there to be a service?”
Darcy’s heart gave a tiny leap. He could make one more gesture to honor Elizabeth; he could attend her funeral.
But Jane dashed the hope to pieces in the next moment. “The funeral was a week ago,” she responded in a low voice. “There is a headstone in the churchyard, although we had nothing to bury.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes.
Darcy pictured Mr. Bennet standing solemn and solitary by the graveside of his second eldest daughter. No wonder the man had aged so considerably.
As another heavy silence closed in, Darcy conjured up words of sympathy, but the huge obstruction in his throat made speech impossible. He breathed too quickly but could not seem to slow the strangled gasps, even as the lack of air made him lightheaded. The walls of the room were bearing down on him, slowly and inexorably, and he needed to escape.
Darcy lurched to his feet. “I fear you have long been desiring our absence at such a time.”
Appearing a bit shocked, Bingley also struggled to stand.
Jane regarded Darcy sympathetically. “Your visit was a welcome distraction. I hope you will come again.” Her gaze slid to Bingley.
He nodded earnestly. “If you would like.”
“I pray you do return,” Jane responded, regarding him shyly. “It is good to have the comfort of friends.”
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