by P. O. Dixon
Love Will Grow: A Pride & Prejudice Story
Copyright © 2013 P O Dixon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, in whole or in part, in any form whatsoever.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters depicted in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Image Photo © Olga Altunina | Dreamstime.com
“Friendship is certainly
the finest balm for the pangs of
disappointed love.”
Jane Austen
Chapter 1
“Why on earth does she wish to see me?” Plaguing unanswered questions persisted as Elizabeth gave voice to that which hounded her all morning. “What is she about?”
“I dare say you will find Anne agreeable. She is quite amiable, if not a tad shy,” said Elizabeth’s intimate friend Charlotte. “She wants nothing but a bit of liveliness.”
Her misgivings aside, Elizabeth placed her porcelain teacup on the table. “I should never have imagined Miss de Bourgh—Anne, singling me out as an object for her friendship.” Especially in light of all Mr. Wickham had to say about her haughty disposition. “Considering Mr. Collins’s description of her when he visited us at Longbourn, I must confess she is nothing as I had imagined her.”
“In fairness to my dear husband, Anne is of a rather sickly constitution—why, even she will allow that. However, I believe some days are worse than others. On the whole, she gets along much better than not.”
“Perhaps, after tea, I shall ask her outside for a stroll around Rosings Park’s beautiful gardens. They are some of the finest I have ever beheld.”
Charlotte nodded. “The fresh air will do wonders for Anne’s spirits.”
Elizabeth placed her cup on the side table and arose from her seat. “Well, let it not be said I kept her waiting.”
Charlotte stood to walk to the door with Elizabeth. “Had Mr. Collins known Anne had invited you to tea, I am sure he would have delayed his morning visit to Lady Catherine so the two of you might call on the ladies together.”
Not wishing to express her joy in having missed such an inauspicious occasion, Elizabeth feigned disappointment. Inwardly, she spun around in circles. Thus, my purpose in keeping the invitation to myself.
Mr. Collins gives new meaning to the word tiresome. The sycophant manner he parades himself before his noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh is preposterous. How does Charlotte bear him?
Having rejected the odious man’s marriage proposal mere days before he extended the same request to her friend Charlotte, Elizabeth suspected Charlotte suffered considerable regret.
She silently debated her friend’s situation—the logic behind her reasoning, the practicality of her decision. At seven and twenty, well on her way to being a burden to her family, with little hope and no prospects, Charlotte had posited she would be as happy with Mr. Collins as anyone.
It is a good thing I am not half so practical as my dear friend, else I might be married to my ridiculous cousin!
Her hands on her hips, Charlotte said, “You will give my best to the colonel and Mr. Darcy?”
“What makes you think I shall come across either of the gentlemen?”
Charlotte smiled. “Were I to judge by their enthusiastic reception of your presence last evening, I do not believe they will be elsewhere once they learn you are coming.”
I suppose meeting Colonel Fitzwilliam would not be a bad thing. His presence the evening before made the atmosphere considerably agreeable when allowing for how it might have been had he been absent. Outfitted in his royal blue regalia, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stood nearly a foot shorter than his younger cousin. He was not as handsome, but what he lacked in physical beauty he made up for with charm and affability. How he reminded her of Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth had delighted in regaling him with Darcy’s escapades upon making the acquaintance of the folks of Meryton much to the colonel’s delight and to Darcy’s vexation. As for her prospects of encountering Mr. Darcy, she prayed they were poor.
“The colonel, perhaps, but I doubt Mr. Darcy will wish to have anything to do with me, especially after last evening when I dared to make light of his haughty behaviour whilst in Hertfordshire.”
“I beg to differ, my dear Eliza. I think the gentleman will forgive you almost anything.”
“Charlotte, you know better than to say such a thing. You know the gentleman has deemed me as merely tolerable—not handsome enough to tempt him.”
“Yet, he was decidedly tempted at the Netherfield ball, would you not say? What other young lady of our acquaintance was so fortunate as to stand opposite him on the dance floor?”
Elizabeth frowned. By her account, they argued more than they danced. “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.” What on earth did he mean by his presumptuous declaration? His asking her to dance had suspended her pleasure!
Paying court to his cousin is one thing. Heaven forbid I should see Mr. Darcy too!
Whether or not by design, her friend’s intimations had unleashed matters best left unaddressed. Elizabeth opened the door to take her leave and threw a furtive glance over her shoulder. “Oh, Charlotte, you are incorrigible!”
*
Anne sat in the window seat looking over the courtyard. Elizabeth would be arriving at any minute. Her meeting the young woman the evening before had not been disappointing. Few details had escaped Anne’s notice. Miss Elizabeth’s greenish-brown muslin gown was plain, completely unadorned. Anne smoothed her silk gown. She touched her brooch, one of the few heirlooms she wore regularly. Miss Elizabeth lacked jewellery of any sort. Her skin was rather brown, even a bit coarser than I should have supposed it ought to be—a consequence of her recent travels, no doubt. Errant strands of chestnut-coloured hair skirted her face. Her bright eyes beamed of exertion from having walked the distance from the Parsonage House.
Anne had anticipated the meeting for weeks—since she had received the letter from her cousin Georgiana in which she was effusive in her extolment of Miss Elizabeth’s many fine virtues. What is it about this woman who has inspired such awe in my younger cousin? By all accounts, Georgiana has never even met her.
Georgiana, also her closest friend and the sister of her future husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy, described Miss Elizabeth Bennet as charming, lively, and witty. Anne drew but one conclusion from such praises—this was not her cousin’s own opinion, but rather the estimation of her older brother.
Anne did not fancy herself as truly engaged. Truth be told, she and her cousin were not engaged at all—not officially—not yet. That is where Miss Elizabeth fit in her plans. Anne was certain the young woman would assist her in her crusade to help her cousin along and hasten their eventual betrothal.
How fortuitous for her to enjoy such opportunity to improve her acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth with so little trouble to herself owing to her connection with the Collinses. She spoke as few words as possible to the gentleman—her mother’s rector and ardent servant. She rather preferred to spare him the burden of excessive bowing and scraping, for he did quite enough of that for her mother. However, Anne held a particular regard for his wife, Charlotte. She often drove out in her phaeton to visit her friend. Once in a while, she went into the house to sit with Charlotte and have tea.
Anne learned the Bennet family’s estate was entailed to the male line, specifically to Mr. Collins. How intriguing! Miss Elizabeth, a country miss whose family had no connections, no fortune, had managed to capture her cousin Darcy’s notice, so much so he wrote to his sister speaking of his fascination
.
Anne glanced at the ornate clock atop the far mantelpiece. Its impatient ticking brought to mind the events of the evening before quite vividly. She had studied the clock in anticipation, calculating the precise moment of her beloved cousin’s entrance—her heart beating with excitement when he graced the room with his presence.
Judging by the manner Miss Elizabeth looked at my cousin when he entered the parlour, his being in Kent came as a complete surprise to her. She did not seem pleased. At least, they greeted each other cordially. Anne’s plan stood no chance if Miss Elizabeth and her cousin did not get along.
Darcy’s flagrant failure to acknowledge Mr. Collins’s rather obsequious greeting with little more than a dismissive nod had not surprised Anne. He can be quite haughty when he chooses. However, with Elizabeth he had been a consummate gentleman.
Because Anne had made a great point of asking, Charlotte accommodated her wish to know how the inhabitants of Hertfordshire had received her cousin. Of all Charlotte’s accounts, Darcy’s ill-spoken remark regarding Miss Elizabeth stood out most.
She is fairly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me!
Alas, Miss Elizabeth was the one who overheard him. Then, as if trying to assuage her vanity, she had made a point of relating the makings of her wounded pride to all who would listen.
Is there a gentleman on earth who might recover from such a transgression? I suppose anything is possible, especially if the gentleman is determined.
Last night’s scrutiny of my beloved cousin confirms my suspicion that his unflattering opinion of Miss Elizabeth has changed since he uttered those ill-conceived words. Nevertheless, where it concerned Darcy, one thing was certain. What with Miss Elizabeth’s lack of fortune and low connections, he would never act on his improved regard.
He will do nothing more than admire her from afar.
Anne folded her arms over her knees. I found Miss Elizabeth’s comportment fascinating. During dinner, she left Mother aghast with her impertinent answers to the barrage of questions regarding her family. After dinner, she took part in high-spirited repartee with my cousins. Never before had Anne bore witness to such an exhibition.
She rested her hands in her lap as the events of the evening before replayed. Whatever on earth her cousins were discussing with Miss Elizabeth over at the pianoforte was, no doubt, a merry debate, judging by Richard’s laughter, which regularly floated across the large room and stole what little attention and composure she had. A perfect opportunity to put her scheme into effect wasted away whilst she had sat at the card table, paired with her mother, playing against Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
Plunging herself in the midst of the lively party at the pianoforte had become paramount. By the end of the second game, Anne orchestrated her escape with the excuse of asking her faithful companion, Miss Jenkinson, to take her place at the card table whilst she spoke to her cousin.
How could her mother object? Whilst the game would go on, she would put herself directly in Darcy’s way.
She arrived at the place where the others were to hear the colonel making light of Darcy’s haughty mien, as was his favourite wont. He placed his hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Pray enlighten me on my cousin’s behaviour in Hertfordshire.”
A tiny twinkle brightened the guest’s eyes as she recited Darcy’s exploits, none of which surprised Anne. Her cousin was never one to recommend himself amongst strangers. Darcy responded to Miss Elizabeth’s chastisements with a rather clumsy explanation along those lines.
A professed wallflower, the time had come for Anne to emerge from the shadows—the first step in her plan.
It was too much! Their banter swirled about her head with the ferocity of barrelling winds. The striking, almost alarming, verbal repartee that followed bolstered rather than discouraged her usually reserved cousin.
“I am not afraid of you, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy had said whilst giving his jacket sleeve a nonchalant tug.
Not afraid of her! Anne had forced her mouth closed—such was a necessity owing to the spectacular nature of Darcy and Miss Elizabeth’s discourse. Even Richard, known for being long-winded and demonstrative, conceded the floor to their unrelenting back and forth.
Anne determined to put an end to the shocking display by cajoling her cousins away from the guest’s side with well-intended rebukes. In a manner reminiscent of her mother, she chided them for monopolising Miss Elizabeth’s attention to the neglect of Lady Catherine. Soon enough her mother rearranged the card game to include her cousins—just as Anne had intended.
Once she had the guest to herself, the time had come to take the next step in her quest to recommend herself to Miss Elizabeth. Anne invited her to tea—just the two of them. At first, Miss Elizabeth had seemed hesitant, even a bit weary of the invitation, but she acquiesced. They then conceded that addressing each other by their given names would be mutually agreeable.
Looking up at the skies, Anne recalled her parting words to Elizabeth. Concerned for her comfort, Anne asked if she should send around the carriage in the morning. Whilst leaning closer to Elizabeth, she had spoken in a conspiratorial whisper. “As you heard my mother prognosticate at dinner, we shall have rain tomorrow.”
The younger woman had laughed softly and said, “I thank you for your thoughtfulness. However, I much prefer a solitary walk along one of Rosings Park’s splendid lanes. As for Lady Catherine’s prediction, I shall take my chances.”
Anne unfolded her hand and sighed. How she envied Elizabeth, her liveliness and her spiritedness. She looked forward to forming a closer acquaintance with the witty, albeit impertinent, young lady. If nothing else, she might gain a modicum of her spirit. It would serve her well, both as her mother’s daughter and her cousin’s future wife.
If Elizabeth should accept my plea, my stratagem just might work. My hopes and dreams rest upon a favourable outcome.
Anne’s cynical voice of despair fought against further repression. Can I trust her?
Chapter 2
The bright, airy ambiance and the soft pastels blanketing the walls and furnishings stood in stark contrast to the dreary prospect Elizabeth had anticipated. In light of Anne’s gloomy attire the evening before, Elizabeth half-expected to be entertained in a dungeon. The sitting room reflected none of Anne’s character. To all appearances, she spends little time in this room.
Confirming Elizabeth’s unspoken sentiments, Anne said, “I told you it would be only the two of us. I usually spend a large part of my day with Mrs. Jenkinson, but we rarely sit in here. We pass much of our time together in the library.”
“Oh, are you a great reader?”
“I am not as great a reader as my mother and Mrs. Jenkinson would like, but there is so little to occupy one’s time, and I much rather would read a book, any book, than employ my time embroidering, drawing, or painting screens.”
“I must confess to sharing your sentiments, for I much rather would spend my time reading as well. That is, when I am not out of doors enjoying the countryside.”
Her voice tinged, Anne said, “I know.”
“Do you mean to say you enjoy exploring the countryside, as well?” Anne’s pale complexion belied the notion.
“No, Elizabeth. I mean to say I am aware you enjoy extensive reading and you enjoy walking about the countryside. My cousin Georgiana told me as much.”
Elizabeth hid her piqued curiosity behind a polite smile. “I have yet to meet Miss Darcy.”
“Granted, however, she speaks fondly of you in her letters on account of what her brother wrote to her when you two were in Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth crumpled her brow. “I find that rather odd.”
In truth, she found it quite disturbing. Why did Mr. Darcy speak of me in his letters to his sister? She might have expected him to mention Miss Caroline Bingley, a pretentious young lady from town and the sister of his best friend. The woman had fancied herself an object of his esteem. The way she fawned over him when they were together at Netherfield h
ad been a source of considerable amusement for Elizabeth whilst her dearest sister Jane recovered from a bout with a cold—the consequence of having arrived at the estate on horseback in the middle of a rainstorm. Elizabeth, however, had never made such a fuss over him. In fact, she credited herself with having done the complete opposite.
Anne interrupted Elizabeth’s reverie. “I was quite enraptured over the way you comported yourself with my cousin last evening.”
“I suppose you are referring to my banter with Mr. Darcy. I assure you, I have had many opportunities to practise.” Elizabeth offered a bemused smile. Lady Catherine had chastised her by remarking that if she would practise on the pianoforte her performance would be not at all amiss. “I wish I could say as much for my exhibition on your mother’s magnificent pianoforte. You see, I have been remiss in improving my skills in that regard.”
“You play fairly well—I am sure.”
Did Anne intend her quick retort as a thinly-veiled compliment or an unmitigated insult? She is more similar to her mother than I feared. Why did such a revelation surprise her? Had Mr. Wickham not told her that Lady Catherine, her daughter Anne, Mr. Darcy, and his sister, Miss Darcy, were all cut from the same haughty cloth?
“Perchance my cousin spoke of me when the two of you were together in Hertfordshire?”
“No, not a word.”
“I suspect you find it rather strange given all your time in his company there was no mention of our engagement.”
“I am afraid Mr. Darcy and I did not discuss his family. In fact, we said as little to each other as possible. Almost every conversation we had found us on opposite sides of the topic at hand. However, I did learn of your engagement—from Mr. Wickham. He said he had been attached to Mr. Darcy’s family since his birth. I take it you must know him.”
“Indeed.” Anne smoothed her silk gown.
Elizabeth brushed her hair behind her ear. Does Anne ever where muslin, as one might expect at this time of the day, even of someone with all her wealth? I wonder if Miss Darcy shares a similar propensity.
