The Darcy Brothers
By
Monica Fairview
Maria Grace
Cassandra Grafton
Susan Mason-Milks
Abigail Reynolds
White Soup Press
Published by: White Soup Press
The Darcy Brothers
Copyright © 2015
All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever.
For information, address
Maria Grace at [email protected]
ISBN-10: 0692370307
ISBN-13: 978-0692370308 (White Soup Press)
Authors’ Website: JaneAustenVariations.com
Table of 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
EPILOGUE
Dedication
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
CHAPTER 1
“So tell me again, why am I going to Rosings?” Theophilus Darcy stretched his long legs across the floorboards of the traveling coach until his feet were not quite touching his brother’s impeccably polished boots.
Fitzwilliam Darcy grunted and shifted in his seat until his feet were free once more.
Theo grinned. So predictable. Why did he take so much pleasure in this?
Darcy clamped his jaws together and swallowed back his sharp words. Theo would not provoke him to intemperate speech, not today. Not again.
He drew a deep breath, savoring the fragrance of the newly refreshed leather upholstery. He would never admit it to his brother, but he delighted in the scent. Simple, elegant, and made to last, exactly as it should be.
“I asked you a question, Brother dear.” Theo tapped his boot against Darcy’s.
Darcy jumped. “Stop that. There is plenty of room in this coach without you crowding me.”
Theo chuckled and pulled back just enough that Darcy would have to concede he complied, but not an inch further. “So touchy. Always have been, as I remember. You never liked sharing a seat with me, even when we were children.” He tapped Darcy’s boot again.
How was it Theo never acted his age? Now six and twenty, he displayed less decorum than Bingley or even Georgiana. Would he never behave as a responsible gentleman ought? He was finally a barrister in his own standing now. How would he ever gain the confidence of the solicitors who would bring business his way when he continued to play the role of an ill-bred adolescent?
Darcy stared at the side glass. His brother’s reflection stared back at him. Theo was a handsome fellow, with a ready smile and easy manner, much like Wickham’s. Darcy’s stomach churned. No wonder he found it so easy to make friends.
Theo’s reflection grinned as he twitched his eyebrows into the expression he knew most rankled Darcy’s nerves. Blast and botheration! Could a man not even enjoy the scenery on a long journey? This would be a long three days indeed.
“I ask you again, why am I going to Rosings?”
Darcy huffed and the side glass fogged. “Apparently, to punish me by making this trip as unpleasant as possible.”
Theo barked out a full-bellied laugh. “Oh, I have not even begun. If that is my purpose, then I must apply myself more whole-heartedly to the task.” He slid down in the seat and parked his feet on the squabs beside Darcy.
Now he was going to scuff the new seat covers! Darcy swept Theo’s feet off. Boot heels thudded on the floor boards. “Enough!”
“Then answer me.”
“We are going to Rosings because Aunt Catherine expects us. We have a duty to her as family. She requires assistance in instructing her Steward and land managers and relies upon Pemberley to provide such assistance.”
“That is why you are going. I—as you know—know next to nothing about estate management, and if she needs contracts drawn up, a broker for another mortgage or an arbitrator for her disputes with her local tradesmen, she requires a solicitor, not my services. There is simply no need for me to be here.”
“We have a family duty to call upon her.”
“You might. But I do not. Have you forgotten she cannot stand the sight of me?”
“Who is responsible for that?”
Theo rolled his eyes. “It is not my fault the Old Bat has no sense of humor.”
“Old Bat? That is how you refer to our aunt? Such disrespect—”
“You cannot tell me you have not thought the self-same thing. Just because you are too proud to admit to your baser feelings—”
“Proud? You consider self-control and good manners marks of pride? No wonder you cannot be permitted in polite company! You give offense—”
“I give offense?” Theo leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers and balanced his chin on his hands. “No, you have it quite reversed, dear Brother. You are the one who gives offense wherever you go.”
Darcy’s eyes bulged, and he coughed back the ungentlemanly invectives.
“Why else would Fitzwilliam Darcy keep company with one of the nouveau riche? Bingley is a jolly fellow, I grant you, but he is decidedly below you. Not only that, but apparently he is unable to control your offensive nature any better than the rest of us. I recall hearing that in Hertfordshire—”
“You are in no position to criticize my friends.” Darcy snorted. Hertfordshire was not a topic to be discussed with Theo. “Hypocrisy does not become you.”
“Hypocrisy?”
“My friends look to me for insight and advice. Yours seek you for money.”
“That is not hypocrisy. I call it generosity, of which I have been the beneficiary in the past. I am only too happy to return the favor in equal measure. One never knows when one might be in need of a generous friend or three.”
Stubborn, foolish, maddening…would he never see? “Need I remind you, my friends never had me sent down from school?”
“Wickham and I—”
Darcy lifted his hand. “Stop. I have heard this far too many times. No more excuses. Why can you not accept responsibility for what you did and be grateful I was able to persuade the Governors to reinstate you? Without that—”
“Yes, yes, I know, Prince William.” Theo flourished his hand between them and bowed from his shoulders. “Without your timely intervention, your stellar reputation, and a generous quantity of your blunt, I would never have graduated. Without your pull and your support, I would never have attended those three years at the Inns of Court. You forget however that it was I who applied myself—”
“To socializing and revelry and cards—”
“With the most notable barristers at those dinners, who have in turn set me up with connections to solicitors—”
“With whom you would never have contact, except that I pay your Bloomsbury rent.”
“What do you want me to say? That I owe all my gentlemanly standing to you?”
“You mean to tell me you would rather I withdraw—”
“No, just acknowledge I could indeed have made my way without you.”
Darcy leaned back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “And what exactly would you have done?”
“I could have done very well for myself in the
army.”
“I suppose you could have scraped together the four hundred pounds for a commission in the infantry, but where would you come up with the money to rank up? Or would you be content to spend your life as a lowly Ensign?”
“Which would not have been nearly smart enough for you. Your pride could not tolerate the possibility that I might fail to distinguish myself. You had to dictate—”
“I have never dictated—”
“You dictated I accompany you to Rosings. You know I hate it there, and Aunt Catherine hates having me.”
Darcy grumbled deep in his throat.
“You do not trust me.”
If he clamped his teeth any harder, Darcy feared one might crack. Yet, if he did not, there was a very real risk he might finally speak his mind.
“What, no response?” Theo laughed, a coarse, derisive sound. “I must be correct. You always refuse to engage me when I am right.”
No, this cheap ploy to bait him into conversation was not going to work. Darcy turned to face the side glass, even if it meant he still stared into Theo’s smug reflection.
“You could have left me behind at Pemberley easily enough. Or have you forgotten I am quite used to keeping my own establishment? Georgiana and I would have been perfectly fine on our own at home, without you.”
“Not after Ramsgate.” Darcy muttered through clenched teeth.
“So that is what this is all about? I have already told you—”
“Enough.”
“Yes, your Highness.” Theo bowed, this time touching his head to his knees.
Darcy rapped on the ceiling and jumped from the coach before it had stopped moving.
In just a few moments, his horse was readied and their journey resumed. At last, relief from Theo’s mindless droning and constant needling. He had been too much in Wickham’s company no doubt, and had picked up some of that rake’s worst traits.
At least that was finally at an end now. Not that Theo had much use for Wickham anymore, but still, the cad was safely away from the entire Darcy family and things were finally as they should be.
Now all Darcy had to do was forget one Elizabeth Bennet, and his world would once again be set completely to rights. He huffed out a heavy breath and resettled in his saddle. His horse shook his head and glanced back at him. Darcy clucked his tongue and his mount returned to his walk.
How did one young lady—one bewitching, maddening, enticing young lady—manage to discompose him so? She crept into his thoughts when he least expected. Each book he picked up, he wondered if she had read it and what her pert—or impertinent—opinions might be on it. Each trail he walked, he wondered if it would be to her liking. Each time he heard tell of an assembly or ball, he cringed, remembering again his ungentlemanly words spoken in the hearing of a young woman who was well worth pleasing.
He winced, those fateful words echoing again in his mind. …not handsome enough to tempt me… How could he have said something not only so ungracious, but so utterly and completely untrue? Surely those words would haunt him until his dying day.
Darcy had to get her out of his head. Time with his Aunt Catherine—and cousin, Anne—was just the tonic to do it. How could a woman like Anne exist in the same world that contained an Elizabeth Bennet? The two were unalike in every imaginable way.
Lady Catherine still expected him to marry Anne.
He gulped back the bitter tang coating his tongue, the same one he always tasted whenever his aunt brought up the topic of marriage. How would he disabuse her of the notion he would marry according to her will?
Perhaps he could recommend his brother as a fitting substitute. That would insure Theo a secure source of income if he failed as a barrister, which he might do simply to vex Darcy.
But Theo was right—Lady Catherine barely tolerated him and that only for Darcy and Georgiana’s sake. She could never accept him as a son. Blast and botheration.
A cold raindrop hit his nose. He glanced over his shoulder. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, whipped together by a chill wind. The next posting station should be close, maybe a quarter of a mile off. Perhaps—
Thunder cracked. Heavy, cold drops pelted his face. Perhaps not.
*****
It was two days before the rains ceased. Much as Darcy wished to escape his brother's baiting, he had been obliged, long before the next watering stop, to return to the carriage, and the remainder of the first day's journey passed much as it began. The ensuing four and twenty hours drew to a close at a coaching inn in Watford, and as the third and final day dawned, Darcy woke unrefreshed. Spending the night in Hertfordshire had not been conducive to sleep, and even when he had finally drifted into a restless slumber, his dreams were haunted by memories of the previous autumn and a pair of fine eyes.
Theo had made a late night of it, joining a card-playing group of young men at a table in the public bar, and Darcy had thrown him a warning look before retiring to his room. The flagons of ale lined up on the table did not auger well for his brother who was, in Darcy's opinion, a little too fond of imbibing and then making rash decisions.
Though the rain clouds had gone, dispersed by a strong wind, the condition of the roads did not advocate riding, and thus they faced a third day of confinement within the carriage. With Darcy's lack of proper sleep and Theo's late night, neither was in a frame of mind to tolerate the other's failings, and this soon led to the resumption of an old argument.
“Something preys upon your mind, Brother.” Theo raised a hand as Darcy began to shake his head. “I am a grown man of six and twenty; why will you not confide in me?”
“There is nothing to tell, and even if there were, I doubt you would be my confidante.”
Theo grunted. “No; being of royal blood, you consider yourself above the needs of the humble mortal and yourself the only counsel you require.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and fixed Darcy with a stare. “When are you going to get off your high horse and realize you can trust me?”
“How can I trust you?” Darcy blew out a frustrated breath. “Did you see through Wickham after the Cambridge debacle? No; then you are once more in collusion with him over the study of the law—and I use the word 'study' lightly.”
Theo's normally genial countenance darkened and he sat back in his seat. “You cannot compare me to him. I completed my studies; I have a profession.”
Darcy ignored him. “Yet I foolishly placed Georgiana under your protection in Ramsgate.”
“Ramsgate was not my fault!”
“How can you absolve yourself so easily? When will you start to accept responsibility for your actions?”
“Because, I repeat, it was not my fault! I was not to blame at the time, and I am unlikely to lay claim to it several months later.”
“Yet you fell in with Wickham’s scheme.”
“I told you before, it was not by design, and I had no idea what he and that Younge woman had afoot. You should be thankful I was there. If I had not been, you probably would not have followed, and Georgiana would be lost to us.” Theo’s voice faltered, and Darcy observed his troubled countenance. No doubt his mind had travelled down a similar road to his own: it would not be the first sibling they had lost, though to different circumstances.
*****
A heavy silence ensued which neither brother seemed inclined to break, each staring out of opposite windows. Eventually, the movement of the carriage was sufficient for Theo's late night to catch up with him and he slept, and Darcy pulled out his watch. Georgiana and her companion should be on their way to Town now. He sighed as he tucked the fob away. He had not wanted to leave her when they set off for Kent and though the journey to London from Derbyshire was a long one, it was worth it to know his sister would be only a few hours’ ride away. With all that had happened, he could not face leaving her so far away. He glanced at his brother’s slumbering form and his expression darkened. Theo’s suggestion he remain at Pemberley with Georgiana was quite ridiculous in the circums
tances.
He turned to stare out of the window, wishing to push Theo from his thoughts, but though he did not regret the cessation of their bickering, he now found his mind falling towards that which he would forget: Elizabeth Bennet.
Resignedly, Darcy stared at the passing countryside. They had skirted London now and were entering Kent, and with little persuasion, his mind flew back to the last time he had seen her—at the Netherfield ball.
It had been a night of mixed emotions: his determination to secure her hand for a set had not delivered the pleasurable half hour he had hoped, yet the antagonism stirred by their conversation had kept him enthralled. The behavior of her family throughout the evening—her elder sister excepted—soon followed upon this reflection and he sighed.
As if her immediate family did not present sufficient challenge, her more distant connections afforded likewise. What was the name of that peculiar man, her cousin? He was dashed if he could recall it, yet he could picture without hesitation his appalling dance with Elizabeth—the all-significant first set—and his constant shadowing of her throughout the evening.
Caroline Bingley had amused no one but herself during their journey to London over the likelihood of seeing Eliza Bennet wed to her cousin. Yet was she so far from the mark? The heir to her family estate... though his insides churned at the notion, Darcy could not deny its validity.
Within seconds, Elizabeth’s face was before him—chin slightly raised, lips almost pursed, as though struggling to contain a smile, her eyes full of intelligence and light. A familiar tight sensation grasped Darcy’s chest, and he closed his eyes. When? When would he ever forget her?
The Darcy Brothers Page 1
