Consequence of Jealousy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Aubrey Anderson

  She awaited his reply with some trepidation, and was surprised at his words.

  “You are wrong, Miss Elizabeth.” She felt confused by the conviction in his words. He flushed a light shade of red, and she wondered what he felt embarrassed about.

  “How so, sir?”

  He turned to her, with a rueful expression. “You speak of wounded pride as a catalyst of your negative judgement of my character. I have no such excuse.”

  “I am afraid I do not understand you, sir.” Elizabeth felt chagrin at her reply, at his candid words.

  “I confessed to you that I was in love with you not long ago, Miss Elizabeth.” His tone was moderately embarrassed, as though he truly did not wish to have this conversation, but he did not turn from her. He allowed her to see his embarrassment. Where once she had considered him a living statue, now he was something different.

  Open.

  “It was my flattered pride that allowed me to believe that you felt the same.” Elizabeth almost raised her brows in reply, but stopped herself just before.

  “How sir?” She had detected pride, ego, and vanity within his character, yet she had not believed his character’s pitfalls laid in that direction. Not in the direction of flattery from a pretty woman, as she had often felt a twinge of embarrassment and distress from Mr. Darcy, as Miss Bingley fawned all over him. He had not seemed to encourage it, and she knew he had not.

  “You were one of the first women I had ever met to state her opinion plainly, even when it went against the wishes of the room. Despite our disagreements, I had begun to look forward to our conversations because you challenged my viewpoint so relentlessly. I enjoyed your honesty,” he admitted, somewhat sadly, “except I misinterpreted it for my own pleasure.”

  At her questioning glance, coupled with a slight squeeze of her small hand within his own, he explained his viewpoint fully. “You have been quiet these past few weeks, and we have not had many opportunities to speak as candidly as we have. A necessary evil at times.” His somber gaze returned to hers. “Other times, it was my pigheadedness and stubborn refusal to admit I was wrong,” he confessed, referring to the first few days of their engagement, after they had fought for the first time. He had not spoken to her, other than brief notes for the days that followed, until the Netherfield ball had occurred.

  “It was poor behaviour, unbefitting of a gentleman. And unfortunately my poor behaviour did not cease, even after I acknowledged my feelings towards you, in London. I--” he paused, “I was embarrassed that I told you that I loved you. I could not help but be honest, but I could not bear to face you. If I made you feel unworthy because of this, I apologise.

  Something akin to relief passed through her, as she processed his words. He did not feel disgust towards her, but at himself.

  “I knew that we would have plenty of time to discuss these matters, when you were ready. Until then, I did not wish to make you feel uneasy at my presence. It has taken me some time, but I enjoy your honesty. At this stage, I wish for your honesty, more than your politeness.”

  They walked a few minutes more, reaching a turn where they could either go inside Netherfield, or continue the circuit once more.

  “Do you have a preference, Miss Elizabeth?” he inquired gently of her. “There is a breakfast spread inside. Or we could continue our walk a few minutes more, if you did not wish to go back to Longbourn.”

  Elizabeth found herself slowly nodding her head in agreement.

  “Miss Elizabeth?”

  She turned to him. “I have a preference, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, feeling entirely at ease for the first time. “I wish to continue our walk together, if you wish the same.”

  She awaited his answer, but did not have to for very long. His smile was answer enough. They continued the circuit, and after a few minutes of silent contemplation, Elizabeth felt bold enough to tuck her arm firmly within the crook of Mr. Darcy’s. It had taken little doing, as although they had still been clasping hands together, when she had began to try and slip her hand from his, he had instantly pulled his away from her, as though he had been burned.

  After a few minutes, he clasped her even more firmly to him, and she wondered how long he could walk like that--having to shorten his strides that much more in an effort to not drag her.

  Elizabeth enjoyed the few minutes of silent contemplation that they both seemed to enjoy, but she could not help but disrupt it. He had paid her a great compliment, and even as he was explaining himself to her, she could not help but feel as though she were about to float away on a cloud, unharmed. All of her anxieties had been washed away with his words.

  “Mr. Darcy?” she queried. His answering expression was more than enough for her reply. She had confessed all but one secret, and now she felt as though she could tell him anything.

  “You stated earlier, that your flattered pride had caused your confession to me.” At his affirming nod, she felt the strength to continue, “Well I have another confession, one that has been caused by my wounded pride. Ever since our argument, I had chastised myself for believing you to be different than what I had previously believed. I did this even more, after you had made your amends by bringing your sister and cousin to Gracechurch Street. I was tired of believing one facet of your character above all others, and then discovering a new one. I did not wish to do it any longer. It would have been easier,” she confessed to him quietly, “if you had simply done as you wished, without a care in the world for the opinion of others. Then I would have been justified, but at peace. But now I----”

  God take her, but she could not say it. She had spoken around the subject for a length of time, hoping that when the time came, that the words would simply pour from her throat, but she had no such luck. Beholding Mr. Darcy, she gazed truthfully into his eyes, hoping he would understand her.

  It would be a shame if he could not, for she felt nothing but care and understanding for him right now. Every time she stopped to consider all that he had done for her and for her family, she could not help but lament her ever changing judgements on him, but also acknowledge the truth of it to herself.

  She tried again.

  “Mr. Darcy, I---” care for you. The words were stuck, and the more she thought about them, the more they seemed weak in comparison for all that he had done for her. She could not tell him that she loved him, but perhaps she could soon.

  Was it enough?

  Fortunately, Elizabeth was later able to realize, he grasped her meaning, as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her face. Without knowing what she was doing, Elizabeth grasped the side of his face, and guided his lips to hers.

  He kissed her fully then, and Elizabeth blushed to realize that she did not wish for it to be over. She tried to glance away from him, to preserve some semblance of her modesty, when Mr. Darcy’s other hand gently caressed her cheek. She melted then, pressing almost insistently to his side, and he held her, gently stroking her hair.

  The kiss was a promise, one that they were making to each other.

  For several, long minutes, they did not speak, simply enjoyed the bare truth of each other’s company. It was not until Mr. Bingley had gone out to the garden, looking for Mr. Darcy, that they broke apart. Even then, they clasped hands as they walked into Netherfield’s open dining room.

  “I shall have to send a note to my parents, so that they do not worry,” Elizabeth murmured to her betrothed. “Mr. Darcy, would you---”

  He interrupted. “Please, call me by my name. I think we may enjoy that right a little early, Elizabeth.”

  She liked the way her name sounded on his lips, and so she tried for herself. “Fitzwilliam, would you---”

  “Lizzie!”

  Georgiana came into the dining room, dressed in a simple white muslin gown with a blue ribbon around her waist. She looked to Elizabeth and then to Fitzwilliam. “I did not know you intended to visit before breakfast. I am glad I did not miss you. Mr. Bingley was about to ride in the carriage with me to Longbourn.”
/>   Elizabeth gave her newest sister a smile, exchanging a brief glance with Fitzwilliam.

  “I decided to come early and spend a few minutes walking with William, Georgiana.”

  She did not miss Georgiana’s slow smile to her admission and use of her betrothed’s name.

  “Shall we eat breakfast?” she suggested lightly.

  The End

  Coming Soon!

  A Short Story Collection

  by

  Aubrey Anderson

  And

  Marion Kay Hill

  New author Marion Kay Hill and I will be debuting a new short story collection soon. It is currently untitled, but the book’s has one overarching theme, that ties together each tale of how Elizabeth and Darcy end up confessing their love for one another.

  This collection’s theme?

  Rumours.

  Please enjoy this short sample.

  *******************

  When Elizabeth sat down to dinner, she anticipated that she should be able to almost blend into the background of the Bennet household, due to Kitty weeping loudly on the other side of poor Mary.

  Beside her, Elizabeth could sense the concern radiating off of Jane’s still form. How could Jane be so good, Elizabeth mused to herself, for she was not quite that selfless at the moment. She wished she could chastise herself for her innate selfishness, for she had not endured the absolute agony of a capricious love. The shadows that Mr. Bingley had left in Netherfield was the embarrassment of an almost jilted bride--at least in the eyes of their friends and neighbours.

  Elizabeth knew her people. They were well intentioned, good people, but two things thrived in Meryton: the price of grain and gossip. And Meryton had not had a chance to sink their teeth into such a delectable piece of gossip since Jane had come out, nearly eight years ago, and had refused an aging baronet who had taken a fancy to her.

  Startling a moment, at the small jab of her sister’s elbow, Elizabeth realised she had been staring at the wall, and not receiving the platter that was offered before her. Scooping a small portion of the food offered, Elizabeth began to eat with fervour. It would not due to linger.

  “Oh mama! I simply cannot bear it! I know, papa---!”

  Here, Lydia turned her imploring eyes to her long suffering father, who looked as though he wished to shrink within his chair until he had disappeared, preferably to his library.

  “--that I had promised not to say one word until after supper had finished, but I cannot, else I shall surely burst!” finished Lydia’s proclamation.

  Beside her, Kitty gave a piteous whimper, one that she had attempted to hold in so soon after Lydia’s announcement. Her dinner forgotten, she let loose with a litany of her own---

  “Tell her papa, mama, tell her! It is not fair that Lydia should be invited by Mrs. Forster to go Brighton, and not me! I am almost two years older--tell her!”

  Her eyes were not welling with tears; they over flowed down from her eyes to her now splotchy cheeks.

  Sensing a miniscule threat to her much anticipated trip, Lydia drew up her considerable amount of energy towards the true authority in the Bennet household --Mrs. Bennet--and responded to Kitty’s heartfelt plea.

  “Tell Kitty this, mama! It is not anyone else’s fault, least of all mine that I am Mrs. Forster’s particular friend and not she! So what if Kitty is two years older--Mrs. Forster prefers my company, and there is nothing that Kitty shall be able to do about it otherwise!”

  Ignoring the now wailing Kitty, Lydia continued, “Why should Mrs. Forster care that I am but fifteen and Kitty seventeen? It is I who reworks those horrid bonnets she buys in the shops, not Kitty! Perhaps Mrs. Forster would enjoy your company more if you did more than cough and drink tea!” Flittering away from the table, Lydia finished triumphantly, “Oh mama, I shall be in the company of the officers, every evening!” Her eyes were alight with a triumphant gleam as she surveyed Kitty’s expression and manner, now dangerously close to a fit of uncontrollable hysterics.

  Before Mr. Bennet could get a word in edgewise, Mrs. Bennet leapt to her favourite’s defense, ready to go to war.

  “Now, now Mr. Bennet!” she exclaimed, “we discussed this earlier if you have a care to remember--although you have rarely sought my advice these past score and five years of our wedded life--so I am hardly surprised that you should disregard my own opinion--” here she grew more emboldened, “--worse yet! Go back upon it---!”

  “Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet started, his dark eyes no longer glittering in perturbed silence, “I should be grateful if you should allow me the luxury of recalling my own words, indeed, of even relaying them to our daughters, before your nerves get the best of you!”

  At Mr. Bennet’s subtle chastisement, Mrs. Bennet sat; somewhat cowed.

  As Mr. Bennet began to speak, Elizabeth unconsciously turned her head, not wishing to hear much more about Brighton and the officers and Mr. Wickham, not even a reminder of all that he was connected to---

  “Lizzie?”

  Forcing a smile to her face, Elizabeth addressed her father, “Yes, papa?”, in what she hoped was her normal tone of impish delight, as they both often shared amusing and double sided exchanges during the many displays of Bennet women hysterics.

  “Are you well?” her father probed in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but did not know what to say. All but one of her sisters and mama were staring at her, while Jane remained a silent, immobile figure beside her.

  Mr. Wickham.

  Mr. Darcy.

  Lydia.

  The officers should be leaving for Brighton soon enough, and no doubt Lydia would invite Mr. Wickham and a few other choice officers over to Longbourn, if nothing to gloat over her fortune to Kitty one last time before leaving.

  “I--” Elizabeth paused, as even she did not anticipate what her next words should be, “I should like to speak to you in your study, after supper, papa.” she finally stated, as though it was not her wont to spend at least a few minutes every evening within that space.

  Mr. Bennet simply nodded thoughtfully, and then turned to address Mrs. Bennet, who was now loudly complaining of his ignoring her for his favourite.

  Lydia should go to Brighton! For why should she be punished for being the favourite of another?

  There was more, but Elizabeth did not hear, nor did she wish to.

  Mr. Darcy’s words haunted her, and she found that she had to get them out.

  To whom, was the question.