Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4

by Jennifer Lang

As he said it, he thought of Elizabeth’s mother and grimaced. She was not the woman he would choose for a mother-in-law. But Lady Catherine was no better. In her own way, she was just as silly as Mrs Bennet and he thought there was little to choose between them as mothers-in-law.

  But in attacking Elizabeth’s aunts and uncles, Lady Catherine had done herself a disservice, for Mr Darcy knew them to be sensible, intelligent people who had all the appearance and gentility of people of fashion. And so Lady Catherine’s words, which would have carried some weight with him a few months ago, now carried none at all.

  ‘You have said you never offered marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?’ she demanded.

  Mr Darcy smiled, for this was something he could promise with a clear conscious. He would never enter into an engagement since they were already married.

  ‘Yes, Aunt, I will.’

  She nodded her satisfaction.

  ‘Good. Then I expect to see you at Rosings on Friday. Your marriage to Anne will go ahead on Saturday.’

  She did not wait for a reply to this. Saying that she had to visit her dressmaker, she inclined her head by way of leave-taking and swept majestically from the room.

  As the door closed behind her, Mr Darcy glanced at the clock. Insulting and ridiculous though his aunt’s visit had been, it had passed the time, and now it was the hour at which he could leave for Gracechurch Street.

  Elizabeth was in the small sitting room in Gracechurch Street with her aunt, Jane and Mr Bingley when she heard Mr Darcy’s carriage arrive. They were engaged to walk with him in the park that morning. After a night of rain, which had made Elizabeth fear the walk would not go ahead, the morning had proved fine and after greetings had been exchanged they donned their outdoor clothing and set out.

  On reaching the park, Mrs Gardiner fell behind a little with Jane and Mr Bingley, allowing Elizabeth and Mr Darcy some privacy.

  They walked in silence to begin with but then Mr Darcy began to speak.

  ‘I had a visit from my aunt, Lady Catherine, this morning,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’

  Elizabeth felt her heart beat a little more quickly. From the tone of his voice, it was evident that it had not been a casual visit.

  ‘My aunt had heard a rumour that we were married. I did not admit it, out of deference to your reputation and feelings, but the time has come for me to speak.’ He turned to look at her and his voice gentled. ‘We have not mentioned an annulment for some time and this has given me cause to hope. You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were on the day of our marriage then pray tell me so at once. My feelings are entirely changed. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that my true feelings have been finally acknowledged. I am in love with you. It has been growing inside me for some time and now it is so much a part of me that I know it will never leave me. I have wondered —’

  ‘Yes?’ she asked, hardly daring to breathe, so welcome were his words.

  ‘I have wondered if that is why I was so angry when I found myself married to you. Because, in fact, marriage to you was my deepest desire, but one I thought I must deny myself because of family expectations, and other things which are meaningless when set beside my love for you.’

  Elizabeth swallowed but said nothing.

  ‘Elizabeth, I offer you my hand and my heart. You already have both, but it is up to you to decide whether or not you wish to accept them.’

  Elizabeth felt tears of joy spring into her eyes. She, who was usually so outspoken, found it difficult to find the words to say what was in her heart. But immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change since their wedding as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances.

  ‘Then we may announce our marriage?’ he asked.

  ‘We may,’ she said. ‘It will give me great pleasure to share our joy with those who love us.’

  ‘My sister will be delighted. She loves you already,’ said Mr Darcy with a warm smile playing about his lips.

  ‘My sister, too, will be delighted. As for Mama and Papa . . . ’

  She shivered slightly as she thought of her mother’s reaction, and she glanced at him to see if he looked thoroughly mortified. But he only laughed.

  ‘Both our families have their foibles,’ he said. ‘I am sure I can accustom myself to your mother if you can accustom yourself to my aunt.’

  Elizabeth laughed. But then she said, more seriously, ‘The one person I am sorry for is Miss Anne de Bourgh. She did nothing to deserve this.’

  ‘You may set your mind at rest. She is in love with Colonel Fitzwilliam. I had a letter from him only this morning, asking if I would have any objection to his marrying Anne.’

  Elizabeth beamed with pleasure.

  ‘This is a fortunate turn of events. So our love has brought happiness to more than ourselves.’

  ‘Yes’. He covered her hand, which rested on his arm, with his own. ‘Who would have thought, when we entered Rosings church on that fateful morning, that this would be the outcome?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘We have been very fortunate.’

  ‘We have. I thank providence that Mr Collins was taken ill so that this could come about.’

  They reached the end of the path and stopped to wait for the rest of their party. They could not contain their joy and before long Jane, Mr Bingley and Mrs Gardiner knew everything. The happy couple were congratulated and it was a delighted party that made its way back to Gracechurch Street.

  At last Mr Darcy took his leave.

  ‘I must write to Colonel Fitzwilliam and give him my blessing,’ he said.

  ‘Give him mine, too,’ said Elizabeth, parting from him with regret.

  Mr Darcy bent and kissed her hand. ‘I will.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Colonel Fitzwilliam watched out for Mr Darcy’s reply to his letter, for his future depended on it. If Mr Darcy were not in love with Miss Elizabeth, as he suspected, and if Mr Darcy still intended to marry Anne, then the situation would be difficult. But to his relief, when the answer came, it contained the news that the Darcys marriage was now real and that they both wished Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne every happiness.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam read the letter aloud to Anne as they took one of their now-customary rides.

  ‘Then we have nothing to wish for, and nothing to wait for,’ said Anne.

  The regular exercise was beginning to do her good. She was already stronger and had a healthier colour than formerly. Her disposition, too, had changed for the better and she was now seldom cross, and only then when Colonel Fitzwilliam could not distract Lady Catherine and Mrs Jenkinson.

  ‘The only problem is how to tell my mother,’ continued Anne.

  She looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam anxiously. She was much stronger than formerly but she was still inclined to be intimidated by Lady Catherine.

  ‘You may leave that to me,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘I will speak to her as soon as we return, but for now let us enjoy our ride.’

  They made the most of the morning. March had turned to April and the mild weather continued so that their ride was thoroughly pleasurable. When they returned to the house, leaving their horses to the care of the grooms, Anne went into the drawing-room and Colonel Fitzwilliam went into the small sitting-room where Lady Catherine was writing some letters.

  ‘Lady Catherine, I wish to speak to you on a serious matter,’ he said.

  Lady Catherine nodded graciously and invited him to sit down.

  He settled himself on an elegant, gilded chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

  ‘Some weeks ago there was a wedding rehearsal, as you know. Mr Collins was ill and through an oversight on my part, his replacement did not realise the wedding was to be a rehearsal. As a result, Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet were truly married.’

  Lady Catherine gav
e a patronising smile.

  ‘A rumour, my dear Colonel, started by Mrs Collins’s sister, Miss Maria Lucas. A pretty girl, but featherbrained. Take no noticed of it.’

  ‘It is not a rumour,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  ‘I went to London and spoke to Mr Darcy personally,’ said Lady Catherine. ‘I asked him if he had ever proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and he assured me that he had not.’

  ‘Because he did not propose to her,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  He handed her Mr Darcy’s letter, which explained everything. When she had finished reading, but before she had a chance to speak, he said, ‘I would like to marry Anne and she would like to marry me.’

  As he went on to explain the advantages of the match, he could see Lady Catherine adjusting to this new information and seizing hold of the lifeline he offered her: Miss Anne de Bourgh had not been jilted at the altar by Mr Darcy, as the gossips were sure to say. Instead, Miss Anne de Bourgh had rejected one of the richest bachelors in the country because she was in love with another man Her story then became one of a fine and noble love that disdained fortune and followed the heart. The fact that her chosen husband was from one of the highest families in the land added respectability to the story, and by the time Colonel Fitzwilliam had finished speaking, Lady Catherine was reconciled to this new state of affairs.

  ‘I always said that Darcy was not the husband for Anne,’ said Lady Catherine, in an impressive about turn. ‘It was obvious to me that she was in love with you, and I have never been one to stand in the way of true love,’ she said magnificently. ‘Sir Lewis and I were married for love, when I could have married a man with a title, and Anne has always taken after me.’

  Two women who were less like each other would be hard to imagine, but Colonel Fitzwilliam let it pass.

  ‘Then we have your approval?’ he asked.

  Lady Catherine nodded her head graciously.

  ‘And we may marry in Rosings church next week?’ asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  ‘You may. It is fitting that Anne should be married here, at the church on her own estate, where her tenants can see her married and wish her joy.’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam admired his aunt’s tactics. By displaying Anne’s marriage in front of the local people she would scotch any rumours that Anne had intended to marry Mr Darcy, and those who had witness Mr Darcy’s marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be forced to conclude that that was the arrangement all along.

  They talked at length, making all the arrangements, and then Colonel Fitzwilliam went to find Anne, to tell her the news.

  It was a season of weddings. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne married in April. Jane and Mr Bingley brought their wedding forward to May. In consequence of this, Lydia refused Mrs Forster’s invitation to go to Brighton, for Mr Bingley’s family descended on Netherfield and Mr Bingley had three very handsome brothers who were disposed to admire her. In a very short space of time, fickle Lydia decided that a blue coat was just as exciting as a red one.

  ‘It is perhaps just as well,’ said Elizabeth to Jane, as the two of them strolled through the garden at Longbourn on the day before Jane’s wedding. ‘I dread to think of what might have happened if she had gone to Brighton. In a camp full of officers - some of them decidedly not gentlemen - anything might have happened.’

  Now that Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were truly married, there were no secrets between them and Elizabeth knew the full details of Mr Wickham’s villainy: that he had attempted to elope with Miss Darcy when she was but fifteen years old for the sake of her dowry. And Mr Wickham was one of the men who were in Brighton. True, Lydia had no dowry, but a man such as George Wickham would not draw the line at running away with a young lady for other, more carnal, reasons, and Lydia was just silly enough to go with him. Elizabeth shuddered at the idea that, had things been otherwise, Mr Darcy might have had to rescue Lydia from his worst enemy.

  But now there was no danger of anything like that coming about, and the worst that could be said of Lydia was that she flirted with all three of Mr Bingley’s brothers at once, embarrassing her family. Or rather, embarrassing all her family except her mother, who thought Lydia was very clever and predicted another wedding before the summer was over, confidently expected Lydia to marry another Mr Bingley.

  Elizabeth and Jane shook their heads over their mother’s silliness, but as this was the only cloud in their happiness it was an almost perfect summer for them.

  ‘To think, Lizzy, you are married to the man you love and I am soon to be married to the man I love,’ said Jane. ‘We must be the two most fortunate women in the kingdom.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We have both had trials and tribulations to contend with, but we have come through our difficulties and now we are rewarded with the men of our dreams.’

  At this moment, they saw the gentlemen in question coming to meet them. Mr Bingley, genial and friendly as always, was looking neat and handsome in his cream breeches and blue coat. But it was Mr Darcy who drew Elizabeth’s eye. Taller and more darkly handsome than his friend, he had a brooding air that suited him well. His eyes were full of love for her as he walked towards her and a loving smile played about his lips. As he reached her and took her hand, Elizabeth thought how lucky she had been, for he was truly everything she had ever wanted in a husband and he made her happy each and every day.

  He offered her his arm and she took it, then they strolled through the garden. Basking in the early summer sunshine, Elizabeth knew that her life was now complete. She loved and was loved by Mr Darcy. Her present moment was filled with happiness but she knew that each and every day – each and every year – would bring new joys and happinesses, and she gave a happy sigh.

  Mr Darcy turned towards her and turned up her chin with his finger. They were by now out of sight of Jane and Mr Bingley, and out of sight of the house. Mr Darcy bent and kissed her on the lips and she kissed him back. Then they parted and walked on again.

  Elizabeth knew herself to be thoroughly content. Life could hold no greater pleasure than the future that awaited her as the wife of her beloved Mr Darcy.

  A Pemberley Christmas

  Darcy and Elizabeth What If? #11

  JENNIFER LANG

  Table of Contents

  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 One

  Mr Darcy of Pemberley looked around the burnt-out shell of the sitting-room and sank to the floor in despair. A year ago he had been at the height of his strength and power. His investments had prospered and his estate had flourished. He had saved his sister from the clutches of a despicable fortune hunter and he had prided himself on saving his friend, Mr Bingley, from marrying a woman who was beneath him. Everything had been going so well.

  But what a terrible difference the last year had made. Now he was a sad and broken man. His investments had failed and the east wing of Pemberley had been ravaged by fire. A spark from a candle had landed on the rug in the small sitting-room in the east wing, where it had smouldered unnoticed until it had eventually set the room ablaze. The fire had not been discovered until it had taken a firm hold, and the copious water used to quench it had done almost as much damage as the flames. As if this were not enough, the home farm had recently been damaged in a storm and now lay in ruins.

  He was roused from his dismal thoughts by a respectful cough behind him. The estate carpenter was reporting to him in order to let him know the extent of the damage.

  Mr Darcy gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention to Mr Carter. He listened dully as he heard an account of all the damage and the likely cost
of the repairs.

  ‘I’ll need to hire some extra workmen. It’s more than the estate carpenters can handle. The window frames collapsed, shattering the glass, and the repairs need to be done quickly or the weather will finish what the fire and water started. When should I make a start?’ asked Mr Carter.

  ‘Never,’ said Mr Darcy.

  ‘Never?’ asked Mr Carter, startled. ‘But Sir. . .’ he protested.

  Mr Darcy’s shoulders sank.

  ‘You might as well know, Carter. It will soon be common knowledge. My investments have failed. The war with France has decimated them and I do not even have enough money for the upkeep of Pemberley, let alone for repairs.’

  ‘But the sitting-room is open to the elements!’ protested Mr Carter. ‘The snow will come in and the hail and the sleet —’

  ‘Did you not hear me?’ asked Mr Darcy wearily. ‘Everything I had is gone. There is no money to pay for the extra workmen or the materials needed. The room must be boarded up with wood from the estate, but that is all. The east wing must be shut up.’

  Mr Carter shook his head and his expression fell, but in the face of his master’s orders, and his master’s overwhelming sorrow, he tugged his forelock, said, ‘Very good, Sir,’ and bowed himself out of the ruined room.

  ‘I don’t like to see it,’ said Mr Carter to his wife later that day. He was in his parlour, where he was sitting in his usual chair to the left of the hearth while his wife sat on the other side, busying herself with her needlework. He lived on the estate, in a neat cottage made of stone, and inside it was homely and welcoming. He lit his pipe and gave a few puffs, then said, ‘I’ve never seen the master broken, not even when his father died, and not when his mother died either. He was sad and grieving then, but not like this. Not hopeless.’ He puffed some more on his pipe. ‘It’s all gone wrong at once, that’s the trouble. First there was the home farm getting destroyed in the storm, then the fire and now his investments failing just at the wrong moment. Even so, it’s not like him to give up.’